#i love this series and i'm getting my hopes up really high for the finale to knock it out of the park

[waynes-multiverse]

Ooooh, Arty! I'm so excited for this series (and your FBI one, which I'm hopping into next) 😍 You know I'm obsessed with those things 😂👏

Let's jump into it! 🍿

You were sitting in a bar, hoping that when the results of the final poll came you were drunk enough that you’d cheer and scream like a madwoman to counteract the inevitable news that you’d lose the 2014 presidential elections to your only eligible opponent, Amara Shurley.

I can see why she'd need a bodyguard. Girl, you can't be sitting in a bar as a presidential candidate. Please tell me Secret Service has eyes on this "madwoman" 😂

Either way, you both had incredibly good future legislations and laws, and whoever was elected there’d be a woman as the President for the first time, which was good. Really good.

Yup 💯💯💯 Although, I don't think Shurley's up for the job... 😒

Bella, your other, redhead best friend, sighed and smacked Steph upside her blonde head, earning a gasp at the potentially ruined heatless curls (no, they weren’t ruined, she’s just being dramatic).

Bella sounds like me 😂 Are we redheads all the same?

You asked in severe mild concern, while Steph just looked either repulsed or amused.

I love when authors add (funny) information in parentheses or strike words through! It adds so much comedy and is my favorite kind of writing style 🤍

That means you got… 64% of the vote

Whoa! You can almost call that a landslide! 🥳

Suck it, Amara 😝

You were the President. The first female President. POTUS. The youngest ever elected too, at 35.

Dude, she's winning in, like... life 👀

But there's something missing... Ah yes! Who will be the First Gentleman? *coughs*

And please tell me the girls are moving with her into the White House. I'd die 😂😂

“I’m Becky Rosen, I’ll be your assistant.

Oh dear God, no... 😂 I had a feeling when she snuck up on me in this paragraph lmao

But is she okay? Why do I get the sense her eye bags don't come from being overworked? Is someone threatening her? Trying to gain access to Mme Pres. through her? I'm on alert! 👀

Well, you did say unorthodox applicants can apply if they wanted to, you just didn’t expect a dude in prison to put his file through.

That is a fair assumption 😅 Only one dude would be this crazy to apply to the freaking White House as personal bodyguard to the freaking president 🙈

A hitman with a list of bodies long enough to fill a small town cemetery

Jesus effing Christ...

I wonder what really went on there? Can't imagine Dean, even AU!Dean, to be this damn cold-blooded without a somewhat (we do forgive him a lot) sound reason

Dean had always been a man who thrived on freedom—the smell of asphalt under the Impala’s tires, the weight of a weapon he knew as intimately as his own heartbeat, the thrill of a job well done.

Chills! Literal chills! 👏

“Unorthodox candidates,” he muttered, smirking. “Guess I qualify.”

Uhm, sweetie...? You feelin' good? 😂

I love how his whole plan rides on "oh, I can get pardoned if I work for the president" 🤣 Dream big, I guess

Before my incarceration, I was highly skilled in tactical operations, surveillance, and neutralising high-level targets. My ability to assess danger and act decisively has been tested in some of the most dangerous environments.

That sounds almost like one Russell Shaw 😏 (Which makes sense, considering they're both the same person – thanks Jackles 😂)

neither were fancy words, and he used a lot of them.

You did good, boo 😘👏

Feldman stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You realize this is insane, right? You’re in here for life. They’re not going to let you out just because you can write a heartfelt letter.”

A realist, you might say 😂

His lawyer might eat his own ass after he gets out 🤣🤣

“The fuck is this?” You gestured to the heavy shackles on Dean’s wrists and ankles

I love her! She treats him like a human being already, and not like a murderous animal 🤍

He’s not being a perv.

Mmm, I don't quite believe you, Mr. Winchester 😅

“But the equal amounts of money went to Stanford in deposits. Why?”

Ah! And suddenly, it all becomes quite clear. Of course he did all this crazy shit for Sammy. And I bet Sammy, the prosecutor, just loves the fact that his brother is a hitman in prison 😂

You’re. Hired. He could die.

Arty, if this is foreshadowing, I will kill you. Hope you have your bodyguard ready 😝

That whole reunion with Sam made me tear up for real 😭 That was so sweet and genuine!

“He’s teething,” Eden said with a weary smile. “So, you know…living the dream.”

Yes. Just been there last week again 😂

Her family also seems so sweet. She needs a good support system with this job, and it seems like she has that 🤍

Dean Winchester strode into the room with the kind of presence that made people stop and take notice. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a casual confidence that hinted at years of facing danger head-on. He wore a dark gray suit that was tailored just enough to highlight his powerful frame but not so tight as to make him look polished or delicate. The crisp white shirt underneath contrasted against his tanned skin, and his black tie was slightly loosened, as if he’d deliberately left it that way.

I died somewhere while reading this paragraph 🔥🥵🫠

Steph scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. He’s better than that, he puts Adonis to shame— where’s he been hiding?”

I'm with Steph on this one. Ben Affleck? Ew.

And I have a feeling those walls aren't as thick as the girls believe they are 😂

“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled

DECEASED 🤣🤣🤣 Bella should join the PR team!

That whole conversation has me rolling on the floor, girl 😂 There were so many gems here 🤍✨

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” Sam said with a grin. “Besides, you deserve someone who can keep up with you.”

Joking or not, I can't believe Sam's entertaining this idea and encouraging him to hit on the president (and his only ticket outta prison) 😂

Wonderful first chapter, babe! 👏👏👏 So stoked to see where this goes, to have more wild girl chats, and more romantic as well as sexual tension! 😏😍

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 1

SUMMARY: You’re the first female president of the USA, having won the 2014 elections against Amara Shurley by a landslide. Now that you were a symbol of feminism, reform and a better country, it meant that there were a lot more assassination attempts bound to be on your head. For that, you needed a personal bodyguard, so you had to pick right. And you picked right in convicted ex-hitman Dean Winchester. Right?

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, angst, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

A/N: In honour of our queen Kamala Harris, who didn’t win the 2024 elections, so I give you what could’ve been

NOW PLAYING: Power by Little Mix

office fever

God, the wait was killing you.

You were sitting in a bar, hoping that when the results of the final poll came you were drunk enough that you’d cheer and scream like a madwoman to counteract the inevitable news that you’d lose the 2014 presidential elections to your only eligible opponent, Amara Shurley. Either way, you both had incredibly good future legislations and laws, and whoever was elected there’d be a woman as the President for the first time, which was good. Really good.

“Come on, babes, cheer up!” Stephanie, one of your two best friends, drawled, checking her manicured nails while absent-mindedly sipping on a Long Island Iced Tea like it was merely water, but that was Steph O’Donnell for you, plain and simple. Eh, she was a bit nails-obsessed, but you loved her anyway for it, she did always look immaculate.

Bella, your other, redhead best friend, sighed and smacked Steph upside her blonde head, earning a gasp at the potentially ruined heatless curls (no, they weren’t ruined, she’s just being dramatic). “Maybe you just need to get less alcohol in your system.” She said pointedly, plucking the vodka shot out of your fingers.

“Bels, if anything, she needs more.” Steph pointed out after checking if her hair wasn’t frizzed up in a pocket mirror. “If she wins, it just means she’s capable of partying harder.”

Bella sighed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a small laugh, tsking internally at the notion. “She needs to remain sober for when she gets the results, and she’s going to win.” Bella turned to you with a sparkling smile and took your hand, squeezing it. “We’re here for you, girl. Sure, it’s totally possible that the Amara Shurley woman could win the election — she’s older — but if the country’s not stupid, then you’ll be the next POTUS.”

“I’m not sure whether to feel better or worse.” You playfully rolled your eyes, but let the vodka shot go and gestured to the bartender with a resigned sigh. Yeah, you could go without alcohol for tonight. “But ok. One mocktail, and surprise me with it. Cheers.” You looked to Bella with raised eyebrows, tipping your head slightly. “So, what if I lose the election?”

Bella tutted, and Steph looked up from her nails in shock— damn, that’s how you knew you were in deep shit. “Baby girl, you better get that thinking out of your head right now.” Steph gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in shock. “You are an icon for a feminist nation— a non-toxic feminist nation. If people don’t vote for you, I’m gonna kill those who didn’t, those who did can live.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Steph, no—”

“Yes—”

A loud squeal from Bella distracted both of you and almost made Steph spill the Cosmo that matched her nails and also made her shoot a you bitch look that she really didn’t mean, but then Bella started flapping her hands and making squealing and unintelligible, Brittany from Alvin and the Chipmunk-esque sounds that made you and Steph share a look. “You ok, Bels?” You asked in severe mild concern, while Steph just looked either repulsed or amused.

“Are you having a stroke?” Steph continued, checking for any signs of maybe a heart attack or an ice cube lodged down her throat so her speech becomes little whistles.

“Do you smell toast?” You waved a hand in front of your nose, but then her phone was shoved in front of your face so the screen and everything went blurry, not to mention the sting of the light on your eyes— shit, that burned until your retinas. Grabbing the phone from her, you held it at a distance and squinted (“grandma”, said Steph) but then saw the headline.

2014 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS, FINAL POLL RESULTS

Then you scrolled down, with bated breath and clutching Bella’s hand like you wanted to rip it off, and you took a shaky look at the numbers.

AMARA SHURLEY — 36%

That means you got… 64% of the vote, now that you did the math. Holy shit. “Holy shit!” You gasped, letting out a Bella-reminiscent squeal just as Steph did, and you were smothered by two heavily-perfumed hugs, the wind knocked out of you, but did that matter? No.

You were the President. The first female President. POTUS. The youngest ever elected too, at 35.

Holy fuck, holy shit, holy crap. This was the most beautiful day of your life, beside the day you met Bella and Steph, that day was important. “You’re POTUS.” Steph grinned, waving for, like, six whiskeys for all of you to down.

“You’re POTUS, baby girl.” Bella giggled, squeezing your shoulders and then spinning around on her bar stool, pointing obviously to you and yelling “POTUS!”, earning a round of cheers and applause from the patrons that made you bury your face in your hands.

But you did it with a grin. You were the President.

Honestly, being the President was exhilarating, cause that meant you got to make real change, it was incredible. Your new security team had fended off the paparazzi from smothering you Bella and Steph style except more annoying as you were escorted into the White House, a woman only a little younger than you waiting with an eager grin and a clipboard hugged to her chest.

“Welcome to the White House, Madam President.” She grinned, holding out her hand nervously then retracting it— she didn’t know what new bosses wanted, alright? “I’m Becky Rosen, I’ll be your assistant. Anything you need, I’ll handle it. Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water, a martini— if you want a martini I’ll have the barman get one ready and waiting for you in the Oval Office…”

During that time she’d been rambling you’d examined Becky, getting a feel for what she was like. Thank God your assistant was a woman also and she seemed like good fun, lively spirit, definitely someone who won’t make your schedule sound boring. But she looked overworked and tired, maybe from the last president— that’d be Raphael Easton, right? Yeah.

“Two things,” you started as you were walking through the halls to the Oval Office, “do you have the files for personal bodyguard applicants that I can cycle through before making official speeches?”

“They’re all on your desk, ma’am.” Becky answered almost immediately— damn, she was rather eager, and happy with her job, clearly, but also had dark circles and eye bags that made something twinge in you. It didn’t sit right.

You nodded, then gave her a warm smile, gently taking the clipboard. “How ‘bout you take the day off, yeah? It’s only my first day, I don’t need anything yet, and I can get the applicants from…” You looked through the labels on the file: FBI, CIA, private agencies, ADX Supermax— ADX Supermax?

“What’s wrong, ma’am?” Becky asked, seeing the way your words trailed off upon seeing the file amid all the other incredibly professional outlets for protection, an applicant from the ADX. Well, you did say unorthodox applicants can apply if they wanted to, you just didn’t expect a dude in prison to put his file through.

Oh. Upon opening it, it was just a letter.

You looked up to Becky, biting your lip in thought, cause if this guy’s in the Supermax, he’s prolific.

“Do I have a direct line to the director of the FBI?”

ADX Florence was a fortress, a high-tech prison designed to keep America’s most dangerous criminals sealed away from the world. It wasn’t a place where hope grew. Dean Winchester, prisoner 11347-7, wasn’t the kind of guy to expect hope anyway. A hitman with a list of bodies long enough to fill a small town cemetery, he had resigned himself to spending the rest of his days in this tomb of concrete and steel.

It wasn’t regret that gnawed at him in the sterile silence of his cell. Regret wasn’t his style. He’d made his choices, taken his hits, and lived by the only code he knew: survival. But that didn’t mean he liked being locked away. Dean had always been a man who thrived on freedom—the smell of asphalt under the Impala’s tires, the weight of a weapon he knew as intimately as his own heartbeat, the thrill of a job well done.

Now, his days were measured in three meals delivered through a slot and the endless monotony of isolation. Until that morning in 2008 when the guard, a surly guy Dean called Mustache, slid a newspaper into his cell along with the breakfast tray.

Dean didn’t read newspapers often. What was the point? The world moved on without him. But that day, boredom got the better of him. He skimmed headlines about wars, scandals, and the economy’s nosedive. Nothing he hadn’t expected. Then his eyes landed on something that made him sit up straighter on the cot.

“Wanted: Elite Personal Security for First Female President. Apply Now.”

The ad stood out like a neon sign in a desert. Beneath the bold letters was a glossy image of the President standing in front of the White House, flanked by Secret Service agents. The text outlined the need for a personal bodyguard—someone with impeccable skills, discretion, and a willingness to take a bullet if necessary. Experience required. Unorthodox candidates welcome.

Dean read it twice, then a third time, the words stirring something he hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t quite hope, but it was close.

ADX Supermax wasn’t the kind of place where people left easily. But this ad…this ad was a door, cracked open just wide enough for someone like him to slip through.

“Unorthodox candidates,” he muttered, smirking. “Guess I qualify.”

By lunchtime, Dean had a plan. It wasn’t perfect—nothing he did ever was—but it was a shot, and that was more than he usually got in this place.

He spent hours staring at the blank sheet of paper he’d salvaged from a previous legal memo. Writing wasn’t his strong suit. Hell, if he’d been good at words, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in the killing business in the first place. But this wasn’t about flowery language. It was about convincing someone that a convicted hitman could be trusted with the life of the most powerful person in the country.

Dean leaned over the small desk bolted to the wall of his cell, chewing the end of his pen as he started to scribble.

To Madam President,

I am writing to express my interest in the position of personal security for the President. I realize my application may raise questions, given my current circumstances, but I ask for your consideration based on my unique qualifications.

Before my incarceration, I was highly skilled in tactical operations, surveillance, and neutralising high-level targets. My ability to assess danger and act decisively has been tested in some of the most dangerous environments.

Though I am serving time for my past actions, I believe in redemption. This position represents an opportunity for me to use my skills for a greater purpose. I have spent my years here reflecting on my choices, and I am prepared to dedicate my life to protecting someone who stands for hope and progress in this country.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I am available for an interview at your convenience.

Sincerely, Dean Winchester

He read over the letter a dozen times, making minor adjustments. It was rough, sure, but it was honest. And honesty was something he didn’t traffic in often, neither were fancy words, and he used a lot of them.

By the time he was done, his hand ached, and the paper was smudged from his grip. He folded it carefully and tucked it into the pocket of his jumpsuit.

The next step was trickier.

Dean’s lawyer, a wiry man named Feldman who’d been paid off by some shadowy client years ago to keep an eye on him, didn’t usually show up unless Dean demanded it. This time, Dean played the card of “urgent legal matter.” When Feldman arrived, looking mildly annoyed but curious, Dean slid the letter across the table during their monitored meeting.

“You want me to…submit this?” Feldman asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean nodded. “Straight to the President’s office. No detours, no ‘I’ll get to it later.’ This is priority one.”

Feldman stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You realize this is insane, right? You’re in here for life. They’re not going to let you out just because you can write a heartfelt letter.”

“They might if they’re desperate enough,” Dean countered. “And that ad says they’re looking for someone who can do the job, not someone who looks good on paper. I can do the job.”

Feldman sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “And if I say no?”

Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You won’t. You owe me.”

Feldman muttered something under his breath but pocketed the letter. “You’re lucky I like long shots.”

Weeks passed. Dean didn’t hear anything, and for a while, he wondered if Feldman had tossed the letter in the nearest trash can. But then, one morning, Mustache appeared at his cell with an unreadable expression.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he said gruffly.

Dean frowned. “Who?”

“Didn’t say. Get up.”

Visitors were rare, especially unannounced ones. Dean followed Mustache down the cold, narrow corridors, his curiosity growing. When he reached the visitor room, his breath caught.

The woman sitting on the other side of the plexiglass partition was dressed in a crisp suit, her posture radiating authority. She wasn’t Feldman, and she definitely wasn’t a typical visitor.

Dean picked up the phone on his side of the glass.

“Mr. Winchester,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “I’m here on behalf of the President.”

He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Guess you got my letter.”

Her expression didn’t change. “We did. It was…unconventional.”

“That’s me in a nutshell.”

She glanced at a folder on the table in front of her. “Your record is extensive. Multiple charges of murder-for-hire, conspiracy, weapons trafficking…” She looked up, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “Why should we trust you?”

Dean leaned forward, his tone serious. “Because I know what I’m doing. You want someone who’ll lay down their life for the President? Someone who’ll see the threats before anyone else does? That’s me. I’ve been on both sides of this game. I know how killers think because I’ve been one. And if you give me this chance, I’ll prove that I’m more than what’s in that file.”

The woman studied him for a long moment before standing. “We’ll be in touch.”

Dean hung up the phone, watching her leave with a mixture of hope and disbelief. For the first time in years, it felt like the world outside ADX Supermax wasn’t as far away as it seemed.

You’d been running interviews for a bodyguard for about a week now, and you’d only started them once Becky had gotten a good rest, as well as the rest of the staff at the White House so they could spend good time with their families. First few weeks of presidency were busy ones, so you wanted your employees to have some time for themselves before anything happened.

Nobody seemed suitable to you, even though you’d been presented with the best FBI, CIA and private outlet’s security detail they had, they’d each and all failed your every attempt to make them seem credible, you didn’t want anyone like that. Tabloids had already gotten to smearing your name regarding this, but you were more concerned with your final applicant.

Dean Winchester.

You’d asked the FBI to send over every file they had on him, and the list was — you hated to say it — extensive. Many assassinations of high and low-level targets, and he was credited with over 100 assassinations in the past two years— you had your doubts about this guy, the director of the FBI had said he was in there for a reason.

You’d find out if he was unhinged, or just a normal man.

Well, Dean had been escorted as covertly as possible with a bunch of military and secret service agents, which didn’t make sense as his hands were shackled to his feet. The only way he’d be getting out of these chains was if he was a magician, and he wasn’t, just incredibly good at marksmanship and fighting, thank John for that.

“Alright, alright.” He scoffed, almost tripping out of the car as he was practically shoved up the steps by the agents by his head. “I’m moving, I’m moving, Jesus fuck, you ladies are uptight.” He got to the door of the White House, and holy shit, he was really here. He got let in, hearing a Secret Service agent blabbing in his ear.

“Any funny business, 353, and we’re sending you straight back. You’re gonna address Madam President with respect, no cheek—” Ugh, the sound of his voice was grating, but all Dean could do was let out a terse nod as he was led to the door of the Oval Office and led inside. He stepped in, glaring at the service agent who had been yapping about decorum. Then, suddenly—

“Oi! Hey, hey!” A woman’s voice snapped, and he looked up from his shackles to see you, and boy, were you young for a president. You had to be his age, right? Yeah, and you were surprisingly gorgeous for a POTUS, but the way you’d stood up with a loud chair screech from your desk, snapped your fingers and pointing at Dean’s shackles with a livid expression, he knew the agents were in deep shit.

“The fuck is this?” You gestured to the heavy shackles on Dean’s wrists and ankles— they were quite heavy and uncomfortable, now that he paid attention to it, but he was more focused on how much of a little Spitfire you were. Young, but you were snapping at these middle-aged men as if they were 5 year old children. “You might as well put a chain around his neck, for God’s sake— whichever of you has the key, take those things off and leave my office, if he kills me, fine, just have Amara take my place, she’ll do a damn good job as well.”

The service agents stood there, stunned, and then a stern look from you — “Damn,” Dean muttered — got the agent next to Dean to shove the key in the lock to his wrists and ankles, letting the chains fall free, and they were promptly carried out. You sighed, returning to your desk, running a hand through your hair.

“I am so sorry about that, Mr Winchester, I’ve just always found those chains really inhumane.” You rushed the sentence, gesturing to your desk in front of you and sipping your coffee to calm down. Honestly, not your best option, it probably made you more jittery.

Dean didn’t argue, he didn’t want to get scolded, just made his way to the desk, grey jumpsuit — he was in protective custody in prison — rustling with every step until he sat down on the irresistibly comfy chair, cause wow, prison chairs were hard and low standard.

His ass felt like it was in heaven right now.

“No problem, ma’am, I see the point. Not exactly the cleanest slate.” He didn’t think it was wise to make a joke of how he’d assassinated people for hire, but it made you laugh, so maybe that was good going. Who knows? “And call me Dean.”

“I see that.” You smiled, then gestured to Dean with a warm smile, not something he was used to unless it was the smiles of his mom that he barely remembered. Otherwise it was either hungry, lustful smiles of desperate women and cunning smiles of ruthless businessmen and mafia bosses. “So, Dean, before we get started, would you like anything? Tea, coffee, water, beer, whiskey— one candidate asked for straight vodka. He’s not getting the job.” Damn. The new POTUS was cool.

“Water would be great.” Dean would have a drop of whiskey, but he wanted to make a good impression and hydrate himself with something other than low-quality prison water. So, when you passed him the water, he downed the tall glass in three gulps, but then paused when he saw you watching.

Then he swallowed. Shit.

But you weren’t judging him, you seemed understanding, that yes, prison water probably tasted like rat piss, so he finished the rest of the glass and wiped his hand with the back of his mouth. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise. Prison must be really rough, treat yourself.” You waved him off, shaking your head, then peered through his file. Rather interesting family background, how did he turn out that way? “Says here that your father’s a Marine Corporal veteran, thanks for his service, and your brother’s a prosecution lawyer that graduated from Stanford Law. Impressive.” You looked up at him, thumb playing with the ring on your middle finger, eyes focused on the paper.

Dean couldn’t help but note that you were beautiful. Not objectively, just factually beautiful. He’s not being a perv.

“My brother’s a nerd.” Dean stated with a smile as you talked about his family, he didn’t blame them, he wasn’t a bookworm, he wasn’t as smart as his little brother in that aspect, Sam was all about studying and being the good kid.

"Yeah, my brother used to say I was a nerd, now look at me." You chuckled, then nodded in acknowledgement. "You, however, you graduated just on the mark, no honours, didn't go to college and transactions show you started as a hitman when you were 20." You paused for a second, cause that was what you couldn’t put your finger on. "But the equal amounts of money went to Stanford in deposits. Why?"

Dean knew he was gonna be interrogated by the new President, that’s a given, and he made sure to prepare himself for the whole psychological evaluation of himself. His expression remained unreadable, only slightly surprised by how quickly you put together that he’d been paying for his brother’s college.

“He’s family. Sammy’s a good kid, he deserves to get away from this life.” Dean answered, it was a simple answer. It didn’t really dig deep into his past or his true relationships with his family.

Well, all you had to know was that his dad was paranoid after returning from deployment and taught him how to shoot like James fucking Bond and Sammy too, but Sam had left for college while Dean had nothing he could do for himself.

"Mhm." You hummed, looking through the rest of it. "Now my guys are finding that in the years since your brother left college, money you've earned from assassinations ordered by high level clients — that are now behind bars — has been wired to a rehab centre down in Delaware. I looked into it, and I found out your father's staying there. None of that money's going to you." Your voice wasn't judging. You instead sounded understanding.

The only reason why Dean wasn’t surprised or shocked by the fact that you knew this was the fact that you were the President. He should’ve guessed. He smiled slightly as you remained understanding about the whole situation though, most other politicians would’ve seen this as a chance to blackmail and threaten him.

“Yeah, my dad’s got severe PTSD. It’s the only good one nearby.” He explained as he crossed his arms. It would be hard to find a rehab centre that accepted his dad given the whole violent record he had.

You couldn’t help but feel sympathy at that. Dean’s juvenile record wasn’t the cleanest, so no shops would’ve hired him so he could make that money, only black ops would. It was strange, and you’d be under fire by the media if you voiced it, but you saw his struggle. “You did it for your family.” You were surprised at how softly you said that.

“Family don’t end in blood, ma’am.” Dean replied, honestly, and you were hit where it hurt by that statement. You were expecting a cold-hearted killer, not a man trying to do right by his post-traumatic father and little brother. “Not if I’m still breathin’. Sammy’s got a good life, a wife, by what I’ve heard. Don’t wanna burden him with all that shit, a-and I haven’t talked to him in a few years. My boy.” He cleared his throat to not get too emotional.

You had to do that too, just to be clear.

“I’m sorry.” But that wouldn’t just fix everything, so you took a moment to let that hang in order to give him some time. “Only important question I’m gonna ask. Hypothetically, we’re under fire at one of my events. You’ve gotten me to safety, and I give you the order to do the same for civilians. Do you do it?”

Dean took in the question, eyebrow raised slightly as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as he studied you. That was a odd but interesting question. This was a job interview for real, it seems.

But this answer was simple.

“Civilians. I’d get the innocents out first.” He said, there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in his voice. Civilians, innocent people will always come first before anything and anyone. He’d made sure when performing hits that no civilians, women, fathers, men, mothers, children— were safely out of the way before taking a shot. If they weren’t, he refused. He wasn’t risking it.

He was expecting you to refuse him on the spot, but instead two words came out that almost made him go “holy shit”.

“You’re hired.”

You’re. Hired. He could die.

“I-I’m sorry, Madam President, I’m what?” He practically gasped, hands clutching the arms of his seat, watching you take out some already prepared parole papers and walking to the door in your heels, handing the file to one of the service agents.

“Hired.” You said simply, a shrug and a smile offered as you walked to the desk. Fucking hell, Dean had never seen a stranger president in his life. “Your parole is being passed effective immediately, and I wanna get you in touch with my stylist and wardrobe guy so we can get you some new and frankly more comfortable clothes. You’ll be staying here, at the White House, you’ll have full access to my staff for anything you might need, but most importantly, you need to call your family.” You tapped your landline that you had prepared on the desk with a small, encouraging smile. “I have Sam’s number and the rehab centre’s number both in your directory file, I’ll give you some time to talk rather than waiting like a creep.”

As you walked out, Dean couldn’t believe his ears. He was now the President’s bodyguard, he got to live in luxury, no doubt there was a large paycheck and he got to call Sammy again. His Sammy, oh, holy shit.

His hand shook as he reached for the landline, opening the file and there it was, Sam’s number, and it’d changed since he got put in prison a good six months ago. His fingers fumbled, clumsily dialling the number and waiting a moment as the dial tone stopped and the ringing shook his eardrum. Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up, please pick up—

“Hello?” Dean’s heart broke upon hearing Sam’s voice again, and he took a shaky breath. Get a grip, Winchester, it’s only your little brother, the man you raised your while life.

“Bitch.” His voice sounded like he’d smoked cigarettes, and he’d quit that habit after high school, but all he could hear was the dead silence of realisation on the other side.

“Jerk.”

The motorcade pulled up to the white-brick colonial house just as the late afternoon sun began to dip behind the row of oaks lining the driveway. You leaned back in your seat, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. For months now, your life had been a whirlwind of campaign rallies, debates, and sleepless nights in cramped hotels. It all felt surreal. You were the President of the United States. Yet, somehow, coming home to this house—the one you’d grown up in—was what made it all feel real.

Secret Service agents stepped out first, scanning the quiet suburban neighborhood for threats. You glanced out the tinted window, catching a glimpse of the familiar front porch where your father had painted the railing a deep blue years ago. The door creaked open, and a small figure darted out onto the lawn before anyone could stop him.

“Austin!”

The call came from Eden, your sister-in-law, who appeared a moment later, balancing baby Wyatt on her hip. She looked harried but happy, waving at you from the porch. Austin, however, was already halfway to the car, his untied sneakers slapping against the pavement.

You smiled despite yourself. Rolling down the window, you called out, “Hold on, buddy, let them do their job.”

The boy skidded to a stop as one of the agents gently but firmly intercepted him, patting him on the shoulder and guiding him back toward the porch. Austin complied, but his excitement was evident in every bouncing step.

By the time you exited the car, your father, Mark, was standing on the porch steps, arms crossed but with a wide grin splitting his face. “There she is,” he said, his voice booming with pride. “Madame President.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you climbed the steps. “Dad, don’t start.”

“Oh, I’ll start, alright,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “My daughter, the leader of the free world! They’re gonna need to expand that Oval Office just to fit my pride.”

“Mark, give her some room to breathe,” your mother, Odette, chided as she stepped outside. She was smaller than you remembered, her hair streaked with more gray than the last time you’d seen her. But her smile was as warm as ever. She held her arms open, and you leaned into her familiar embrace, the scent of lavender and vanilla washing over you.

“It’s good to see you, Mom,” you murmured.

“We’re so proud of you,” she said softly, pulling back to study your face. “But I bet you’re exhausted.”

You nodded, glancing over her shoulder to see your older brother Ryan descending the stairs, a grin on his face. “Well, well, look who decided to come back down to earth,” he teased, reaching out to clap you on the shoulder.

“Someone’s gotta keep you grounded,” you shot back, the familiar rhythm of sibling banter falling into place as though no time had passed.

Eden appeared beside him, Wyatt still on her hip. She offered you a smile, and you leaned in to kiss her cheek. “How’s this little guy doing?” you asked, reaching out to tickle Wyatt’s chin. The baby let out a squeal of laughter, his chubby arms flailing.

“He’s teething,” Eden said with a weary smile. “So, you know…living the dream.”

Austin, who had been hovering impatiently at the edge of the group, finally couldn’t contain himself. “Auntie!” he shouted, throwing his arms around your waist.

“Hey, kiddo,” you said, ruffling his hair. “What’s new?”

“I got an A on my science project!” he said, looking up at you with bright eyes.

“That’s great!” you said. “What was the project?”

“Volcanoes,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Dad helped me with the lava.”

Ryan coughed. “Helped is a strong word. He mostly just told me what to do.”

“That’s because you were doing it wrong!” Austin protested, and the group dissolved into laughter.

Inside, the house was exactly as you remembered it. The worn hardwood floors creaked under your feet, and the faint scent of your mother’s cooking lingered in the air. The walls were covered with family photos—some old, some new—including one of you on election night, surrounded by your team, your face frozen in an expression of shock and joy.

Dinner was already laid out on the long wooden table in the dining room. A roast chicken sat in the center, surrounded by bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans, and your mother’s famous macaroni casserole. It was a far cry from the catered meals you’d been eating on the campaign trail, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Odette said, ushering everyone to their seats.

You took your usual spot, sandwiched between Austin and your father, while Ryan carved the chicken. Plates were passed around, and soon the room was filled with the clatter of silverware and the hum of conversation.

Mark raised his glass of water. “A toast,” he said, his voice cutting through the din. “To my daughter. The first woman to sit in the Oval Office. You’ve made us all so proud.”

“Here, here!” Ryan chimed in, lifting his own glass.

You felt a lump rise in your throat as you clinked glasses with everyone around the table. For a moment, the weight of your responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by the simple joy of being surrounded by the people who had always believed in you.

After dinner, you helped your mother clear the table, despite her protests. “You’re the President now,” she said, swatting your hands away from the plates. “You don’t need to be doing dishes.”

“Maybe not,” you said, grinning. “But I don’t think I’ve outgrown being your daughter.”

She relented, shaking her head with a fond smile, and the two of you worked side by side in comfortable silence. When the last dish was put away, you found yourself drawn to the living room, where the rest of the family had gathered.

Ryan was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a photo album with Austin perched beside him. Eden sat in the armchair, rocking Wyatt to sleep, while Mark stood by the fireplace, nursing a cup of coffee.

You sank into the armchair opposite Eden, your eyes drawn to the flickering flames in the hearth. “It feels good to be home,” you said softly.

Mark looked over at you, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve got a hell of a road ahead of you, kid,” he said. “But don’t forget—you’ve got us. We’re here for you, no matter what.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in your chest. “I know,” you said. “And I’m going to need that. All of it.”

Ryan looked up from the photo album, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Think we’ll get to visit the White House? Austin’s dying to see the bowling alley.”

Austin’s head snapped up. “There’s a bowling alley?”

You laughed. “There is. And yeah, you’ll all come visit. But I can’t promise I’ll have much time for bowling.”

“Why not?” Austin asked, his brow furrowing. “You’re the President. Can’t you just…make time?”

The simplicity of his question made you smile. “It’s a little more complicated than that, buddy,” you said. “But I’ll do my best.”

Later that night, after the house had quieted and everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself standing in the backyard. The air was crisp and cool, and the stars above were brighter than you remembered. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the enormity of your new role settle over you like a heavy cloak.

The back door creaked open, and Mark stepped outside, a blanket draped over his shoulders. He joined you on the porch, handing you a steaming mug of tea.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Too much on my mind.”

Mark nodded, staring out at the dark yard. “It’s a big job,” he said. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

“I hope so,” you said quietly.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “You’ve got what it takes,” he said. “And you’ve got us. Don’t forget that.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Dad.”

He smiled, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.”

As you followed him inside, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in months. No matter how hard the road ahead might be, you knew you wouldn’t be walking it alone.

The Oval Office was as grand as you’d imagined—perhaps even more so. Its high, curved ceilings and rich, historic decor exuded authority, yet the warmth of the afternoon sunlight filtering through the tall windows softened the edges, giving the room an almost serene quality.

You sat at the Resolute Desk, a stack of documents waiting for your signature. Each one bore the weight of history. Education reforms. Trade agreements. Environmental policies. Every flick of your pen carried consequences that rippled far beyond the iconic walls of this room.

Across the room, Becky, your ever-efficient assistant, was perched on the edge of one of the armchairs, tablet in hand. “After this meeting with the education committee, you’ve got a fifteen-minute break before the press briefing,” she said, scrolling rapidly through the day’s schedule. “Then at three, there’s the Cabinet discussion on infrastructure. And don’t forget the call with the German Chancellor at four.”

“Got it,” you replied, signing your name with a practiced flourish. “Anything else?”

Becky hesitated, glancing at her screen. “Oh, and your new personal bodyguard will be arriving shortly. Dean Winchester.”

You kept your expression neutral, though you’d been briefed extensively on this particular appointment. A former hitman, Dean’s resume wasn’t exactly typical for someone tasked with protecting the President. But his unconventional background—and the skillset that came with it—was exactly why he’d been chosen.

“Right,” you said, setting your pen down. “I’ve read his file. Has he been through security clearance?”

“Thoroughly vetted,” Becky assured you. “And cleared. He should be here any moment.”

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Let’s hope he lives up to the hype.”

Just as Becky opened her mouth to reply, the door opened.

You looked up, and the words you were about to say caught in your throat.

Dean Winchester strode into the room with the kind of presence that made people stop and take notice. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a casual confidence that hinted at years of facing danger head-on. He wore a dark gray suit that was tailored just enough to highlight his powerful frame but not so tight as to make him look polished or delicate. The crisp white shirt underneath contrasted against his tanned skin, and his black tie was slightly loosened, as if he’d deliberately left it that way.

Despite the formal attire, there was an undeniable ruggedness about him. His short, tousled hair was just slightly too messy to be regulation, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw added an edge that no amount of tailoring could hide. His green eyes, sharp and assessing, swept the room before landing on you.

You found yourself momentarily distracted by the way the suit accentuated his broad chest and tapered waist. It was a rare thing for someone to wear something so formal yet exude the kind of raw, unrefined masculinity that Dean seemed to embody.

“Madame President,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he stopped a respectful distance from your desk.

You forced yourself to refocus, clearing your throat as you rose from your seat. “Mr. Winchester.” You allowed yourself a small smile, noting the way his gaze remained steady but professional. “You clean up well.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Thanks. I aim to please.”

Becky glanced between the two of you before standing. “I’ll step out and make sure everything’s ready for the committee meeting,” she said, gathering her tablet.

“Thanks, Becky,” you said, watching her leave before turning back to Dean.

For a moment, the room felt smaller. His presence was magnetic, and you couldn’t help but take him in once more, your gaze lingering on the way his shoulders filled out the suit jacket, the way his long fingers rested casually at his sides, the way they gripped his chair as he sat down. You snapped your attention back to his face before he could notice.

Dean leaned back slightly in the chair, taking in the sight of you as you scanned your schedule on the tablet in front of you. The soft lighting of the Oval Office seemed to highlight the sharp lines of your features, and the way you carried yourself—confident, composed, entirely in command—struck him in a way he hadn’t expected.

He’d done his research, of course. He knew your career milestones, your policies, even a few of your personal quirks. But seeing you in person was different. The photographs didn’t do you justice.

As you spoke, your voice clear and firm, Dean found himself watching the curve of your lips, the subtle tilt of your head when you emphasized a point. You had a presence that filled the room, a quiet strength that made it impossible to look away.

“Your main job,” you were saying, “is to ensure my safety, both here and when I travel. You’ll coordinate with the Secret Service, but your focus will be on close-range protection. You’ll accompany me to all public appearances, meetings, and events.”

Dean nodded, forcing himself to focus on your words rather than the way your blouse fit perfectly beneath your blazer. “Understood. Anything specific I should know about your routine?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “It varies. I keep a tight schedule, but unexpected situations come up all the time. You’ll need to be adaptable.”

“I’m good at that,” Dean said, his tone confident but not cocky.

“Good.” You swiped at the tablet, then set it down on the desk. “I’ve read your file. Your skillset is…impressive.”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “That’s one way to put it.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a wry smile. “I’d call it unconventional, but that seems to be exactly what I need.”

Dean’s gaze flicked over you again, this time lingering on the curve of your jawline, the way your fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the desk. He’d worked with plenty of high-profile people before, but you were in a league of your own.

“Anything else I should be aware of?” he asked, his voice low.

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment. “You’re going to see me at my best and my worst,” you said plainly. “Long hours, high stress, bad days, good days. It comes with the territory.”

Dean nodded. “I’m here to do my job, ma’am. Whatever it takes.”

Something in his tone made you pause, your gaze sharpening as you studied him. “You’ve been in worse situations, haven’t you?”

“Let’s just say I’m no stranger to high stakes,” he replied, his smirk returning.

You leaned back in your chair, satisfied. “Good. I’ll need someone who can keep a cool head under pressure. And someone who doesn’t mind telling me the hard truth when I need to hear it.”

Dean’s smirk widened slightly. “I can handle that.”

The conversation shifted to logistics—your upcoming travel schedule, security protocols, and daily routines. Dean asked a few questions, his tone professional, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was studying you as much as he was listening.

If you noticed the way his eyes dipped to your collarbone when you leaned forward to make a point, or how his gaze lingered on the curve of your wrist as you gestured, you didn’t let on. You were focused, deliberate, every bit the commander-in-chief he’d expected.

When the meeting wrapped up, you stood and extended a hand again. “Welcome aboard, Dean. I look forward to working with you.”

Dean rose, his hand engulfing yours once more. “The pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him, “And Dean?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“You really do look good in that suit.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Alone again, you returned to your desk, your mind already shifting to the next task. But for a moment, you allowed yourself a small smile.

It was going to be an interesting partnership.

“Ok, excuse me?” Bella had practically squealed when the door to your bedroom behind you, her and Steph had been shut by Dean, who was now waiting outside to give you some privacy, and thank God those walls were thick enough to hide this conversation. “You didn’t tell us your bodyguard was a Ben Affleck and Brad Pitt combo.”

Steph scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. He’s better than that, he puts Adonis to shame— where’s he been hiding?” They both turned to you expectantly, clearly not aware that your Adonis-transcendent bodyguard was fresh out of the United States Penitentiary, Administrative Maximum Facility. Oh, that’s gonna be a hard pill to swallow, right?

“Prison.” You swallowed, clearing your throat awkwardly upon saying it, cause you weren’t often the bringer of news that a guy like Dean used to be a prolific criminal who kills for money. “ADX Florence. An ex-hitman, to be clear, with over 100 kills in the past two years.”

“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled, clearly not phased, which kind of concerned you with which brain they both were thinking from, and hopefully not the downstairs one. “Even better, oh my god, I was getting worried he’s a goodie.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly grin. “Right? Like, you can’t just drop ‘ex-hitman with over 100 kills’ and not expect us to have questions. Or fantasies.”

“Steph!” you choked, glancing toward the door as if Dean could hear through the thick walls.

“What? I’m just saying!” She crossed her arms, leaning back against the bedpost. “Honestly, though? He’s got that whole ‘dark past but reformed bad boy’ thing going for him. You’re living every romance novel heroine’s dream.”

Bella, not to be outdone, clutched at her chest dramatically. “Forget romance novels—I’d climb him like a tree. That man looks like he could bench press me and not even break a sweat.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we not?”

“We absolutely can,” Bella countered, her voice rising with glee. “Seriously, you’ve got the hottest bodyguard in the country, and you didn’t think we needed to know this? Girl, where’s your sense of sisterhood?”

Steph was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you’re withholding important information. Like, what’s he like in person? Is he all business, or does he have that smoldering, ‘I could kill you, but I won’t’ energy?”

Your cheeks burned, both from their shameless gushing and the mental image Steph’s words conjured. “He’s…fine. Professional.”

“‘Professional,’ she says,” Bella snorted. “Professional at looking fine as hell, maybe.” She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “Come on. What’s he like? Does he flirt? Does he give you those ‘I’m secretly in love with you’ stares when you’re not looking?”

You glared at her. “No. Absolutely not. He’s just doing his job.”

“Sure he is,” Steph said with a smirk, clearly not buying it. “But don’t think we didn’t notice the way he looked at you when he shut the door earlier.”

You blinked. “What? He didn’t—”

“Oh, honey,” Bella interrupted, waving her hand dramatically. “He totally did. That man looked at you like you were the last piece of chocolate cake at a birthday party. And don’t even get me started on how he stood. You know, all broody and protective, like some kind of…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Alpha wolf guarding his mate,” Steph supplied helpfully.

“Exactly!” Bella snapped her fingers. “Thank you, Steph. That’s exactly the vibe.”

You groaned again, resisting the urge to bang your head against the nearest wall. “You two need help.”

“What we need,” Steph said, grinning wickedly, “is for you to admit that you’ve at least thought about it. Because if you haven’t, you’re lying.”

“I haven’t!” you protested, a little too quickly.

Bella’s eyes lit up like she’d just won the lottery. “Oh my God, you totally have! Look at you—your ears are turning red.”

“Leave me alone,” you muttered, glaring at the floor.

But they weren’t about to let you off the hook.

“Okay, okay,” Steph said, holding up a hand as if to calm the chaos. “Let’s be serious for a second. He’s obviously gorgeous, and clearly there’s some…tension. But what’s the story? Like, how did you even end up with him as your bodyguard? I feel like there’s a Netflix series waiting to happen here.”

You hesitated, weighing how much to tell them. “It’s…complicated. He was recommended through some very high-level channels. Apparently, he’s the best at what he does.”

“And what he does is kill people,” Bella said, her voice dripping with mock solemnity.

You shot her a look. “Not anymore. He’s reformed. He went through a rigorous vetting process before he was even considered for the position.”

Steph tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, he’s done bad things, but now he’s protecting the President of the United States. That’s a redemption arc if I’ve ever heard one.”

Bella sighed wistfully. “And he’s doing it all while looking like a Calvin Klein model who got lost on his way to the shoot.”

“Can we not turn this into a thirst-fest?” you pleaded, though you knew it was a losing battle.

Bella leaned closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, sweetie. It’s already a thirst-fest. You’re just in denial.”

The conversation spiraled from there, with Bella and Steph taking turns crafting increasingly absurd fantasies about Dean’s hypothetical love life.

“He probably has a tragic backstory,” Bella said dreamily, lying back on the bed. “Like, maybe he lost the love of his life in some tragic accident, and now he’s sworn to protect others to atone for his past.”

“Or,” Steph countered, “he’s secretly a billionaire who does this for the adrenaline rush. Like, by day he’s your bodyguard, but by night he’s funding orphanages and saving puppies.”

Bella clapped her hands. “Yes! And in his free time, he restores classic cars and writes poetry.”

You stared at them, equal parts amused and horrified. “You two have officially lost it.”

“Or,” Steph said, ignoring you entirely, “he’s secretly in love with you, and this whole bodyguard thing is just an excuse to be close to you.”

Bella gasped, sitting up suddenly. “Steph, that’s it! That’s the one!”

You buried your face in your hands. “I regret ever letting you meet him.”

“Don’t be like that,” Bella said, patting your shoulder. “We’re just saying—you’re sitting on a goldmine of romantic potential here. If you don’t at least consider it, we will.”

“Noted,” you said dryly, standing up and heading for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do. Unlike you two.”

Bella and Steph exchanged knowing looks as you opened the door to find Dean standing just outside, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

He straightened slightly when you stepped into the hallway, his eyes meeting yours. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” you said quickly, avoiding his gaze as you brushed past him.

But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Steph and Bella might have been onto something.

The drive to Sam’s place was smooth, the kind of easy journey Dean Winchester hadn’t experienced in years. Maybe ever. The hum of the Impala’s engine, a comforting growl beneath him, was as close to peace as Dean could imagine. His day off had finally rolled around, and he hadn’t hesitated to decide how he’d spend it.

Sam had settled in a quiet neighborhood outside Washington, D.C., where tree-lined streets and neat, white-picket fences painted a picture of suburban serenity. It was a far cry from the lives they’d led growing up, but Dean couldn’t deny it suited his little brother.

Pulling up to the house, Dean killed the engine and climbed out, adjusting his leather jacket as he took in the sight. The two-story home was modest but inviting, with a tidy lawn and a swing set in the backyard visible through the side gate. He could hear faint laughter—probably from Dean Jr., Sam and Jess’s kid, who, much to Dean’s delight, was his namesake.

Dean’s boots crunched against the gravel path as he approached the front door. Before he could knock, it swung open, and Sam stood there, looking every bit the family man.

“Dean,” Sam greeted, his face lighting up in a grin. “Right on time.”

“Of course,” Dean said, stepping inside. “I’m punctual now. Didn’t you hear? I’ve got a government job.”

Sam chuckled, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he shut the door behind him. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in. Pictures adorned the walls—Jess and Sam on their wedding day, little Dean Jr. blowing out candles on a birthday cake, snapshots of family trips to the beach. The scent of something delicious wafted from the kitchen, and Dean’s stomach growled in response.

“Jess is cooking?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She insists,” Sam replied with a shrug. “Says you need a proper meal after all that ‘White House food.’”

Dean smirked. “Tell her I’m not gonna argue with that.”

Jess appeared moments later, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She was glowing, as she always seemed to be, her blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail and her smile bright enough to light up the room.

“Dean!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a quick hug. “It’s been too long.”

“Too long,” Dean agreed, glancing over her shoulder. “Where’s the rugrat?”

As if on cue, the sound of small feet thudding down the stairs filled the house. Dean Jr. appeared, his face lighting up when he saw his uncle. The kid was a spitting image of Sam, with floppy brown hair and wide hazel eyes, but he had Dean’s mischievous grin.

“Uncle Dean!”

“Dean-o!” Dean crouched, catching the boy as he barreled into him. “What’s up, kiddo? You keeping your old man in line?”

Dean Jr. nodded enthusiastically. “Dad says you work for the President now. Is that true?”

Dean ruffled the boy’s hair. “Sure is. Cool, huh?”

“Super cool,” Dean Jr. said, his eyes wide with awe.

“Alright, enough hero worship,” Sam teased, though his smile betrayed how much he enjoyed seeing his son and brother bond. “Come on, dinner’s almost ready.”

The meal was hearty—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables—and filled with easy conversation. Dean filled them in on the basics of his new job, skirting around the grittier details of his past. Sam and Jess shared stories about their life, from Jess’s latest work project to Dean Jr.’s adventures in Little League.

It was only after the dishes were cleared and Jess had taken Dean Jr. upstairs to bed that the conversation turned serious.

The brothers sat in the living room, each nursing a beer. The light from the fireplace cast a warm glow, and the house was quiet except for the occasional creak of the floorboards above.

“So,” Sam began, leaning back on the couch, “you gonna tell me how this happened?”

Dean took a long swig of his beer, then set the bottle down on the coffee table. “What, me working for the President? Thought you already knew.”

“I know the headlines,” Sam said, his brow furrowing. “But what I don’t know is how you went from ADX Florence to the White House.”

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Figured you’d ask eventually.”

“Of course I’d ask.” Sam’s voice was gentle but firm. “You were in prison, Dean. The kind of prison people don’t just walk out of.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It started with a newspaper.”

Sam blinked. “A newspaper?”

Dean nodded. “I was in my cell, flipping through this paper someone left behind. Saw an ad for a private security position with the President. They were looking for someone who could think outside the box, someone with…unconventional skills.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “And you thought, ‘Hey, that sounds like me’?”

“Something like that.” Dean’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Figured I didn’t have much to lose, so I wrote up a resume. Handed it off to my lawyer, told him to file it.”

Sam stared at him, his disbelief evident. “And they just…hired you?”

“No,” Dean said with a chuckle. “They didn’t even call me at first. Took weeks before I heard anything. When they finally did, they put me through the wringer—interviews, background checks, psych evaluations. The works.”

“And they still hired you?” Sam asked, shaking his head in amazement.

“Guess they figured my track record spoke for itself,” Dean said, his tone turning more serious. “I’ve done things, Sam. Bad things. But I’ve also done what needed to be done when no one else could. They saw that.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, processing his brother’s words. “And now you’re protecting the most powerful person in the world.”

Dean nodded. “Guess you could say I’m making up for lost time.”

Sam studied his brother, his expression thoughtful. “You know, Jess and I were talking about you the other night. About how far you’ve come. We’re proud of you, Dean.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, not used to hearing such straightforward praise. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Sammy.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m serious. You’ve been through hell and back, and somehow you’re still standing.”

Dean took another sip of his beer, his gaze distant. “Yeah, well. Standing’s about all I’m good at.”

“That’s not true,” Sam said firmly. “You’ve got a purpose now. A second chance. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Dean glanced at his brother, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam returned the smile, then leaned back with a sigh. “So, what’s she like? The President.”

Dean hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “She’s…different.”

“Different how?”

“She’s smart. Sharp as hell. Tough, but not in a fake way. And she actually listens, which is more than I can say for most people in her position.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you respect her.”

“I do,” Dean admitted.

“And for your type…” Sam smirked, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “She’s pretty hot.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “Sam!”

“What?” Sam asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying. You’ve got a thing for strong women, and she sounds like she fits the bill.”

Dean shook his head, trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” Sam said with a grin. “Besides, you deserve someone who can keep up with you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through him at his brother’s words.

The rest of the evening passed in easy conversation, the kind that only happened between brothers who’d been through it all together. When Dean finally stood to leave, Sam walked him to the door, clapping him on the shoulder as he stepped outside.

“Take care of yourself, Dean,” Sam said, his voice quiet but steady.

“You too, Sammy,” Dean replied, his gaze lingering on his brother’s home—the warmth, the love, the life Sam had built.

As Dean climbed into the Impala and drove away, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in this world after all.

NEXT UP:

“Dean,” you said, a touch of surprise in your voice. “I thought you were on your break.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his gaze locked with yours, and the air seemed to thicken. There was something different about him—an intensity in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken.

Without a word, he reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening it further before slipping it over his head and tossing it onto one of the chairs.

Your eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing?”

Dean didn’t answer. He shrugged out of his suit jacket next, draping it over the back of a chair with deliberate ease. His movements were slow, calculated, and impossibly confident.

“Dean?” you repeated, your voice catching slightly.

His shirt followed. Button by button, he undid it with maddening patience, his green eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitched as he peeled it off, revealing the broad, chiseled planes of his chest and the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin—a testament to a dangerous past.

By the time his hands went to his belt, your pulse was racing.

“What are you—” you began, but the words died in your throat as he stepped forward.

In one smooth motion, Dean swept the documents off your desk, scattering them across the floor. He leaned down, his hands bracketing you on either side as he effortlessly lifted you onto the polished wood surface.

TAGLIST: @goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

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©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

[secret-citrus]

Rotting brain alert: Betty wished for Simon to be kept safe, but Simon is actively trying to make himself the Ice King again to ensure the safety and magical status of Fionna and Cake's world, but Fionna and Cake's world was illegally created in his head, so by the rules Scarab is following Simon must be killed, but Golbetty will never sign off on that death warrant bc the express purpose of her existence right now is "keep Simon safe", but Scarab is doing all of this for selfish reasons (to take down Prismo over an old beef) so he's likely not going to take kindly to Golbetty saying he can't kill Simon to destroy the illegal universe, and ajfhdksahfkjlda LOOK AT ALL THIS SET-UP FOR A GREAT SEASON FINALE, OH MY G O D

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were. 

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you. 

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive. 

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later. 

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost. 

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go. 

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question. 

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you. 

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet. 

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong. 

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours. 

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms. 

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close. 

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want. 

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel. 

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart. 

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you. 

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you. 

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure. 

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger. 

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes. 

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies. 

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch. 

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.  

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.  

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way. 

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak. 

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear. 

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you. 

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to. 

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him. 

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise. 

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important. 

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra. 

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him. 

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked. 

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands. 

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Not right now,” he agrees. 

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides. 

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown. 

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range. 

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff. 

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight. 

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles. 

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing. 

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs. 

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought. 

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning. 

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you. 

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together. 

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles. 

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage. 

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair. 

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess. 

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you. 

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you. 

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this? 

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself. 

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches. 

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply. 

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone. 

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck. 

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him. 

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff. 

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again. 

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod. 

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.  

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze. 

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction. 

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him. 

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions. 

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core. 

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry. 

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious. 

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest. 

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him. 

Thankfully, he delivers. 

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl. 

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you. 

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds. 

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second. 

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh. 

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer. 

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit. 

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair. 

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light. 

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous. 

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning. 

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan. 

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it. 

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection. 

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core. 

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first. 

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen. 

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

-

part three

[kjthenbee]

The more I think about the Nandermo interview scene at the end of S6E3, the more I realize just how significant that entire scene is for Nandor as a character.

These first three episodes have told us multiple times that Nandor is not the person he used to be - he is no longer a purely violent, apathetic, selfish man (though he obviously retains some of those qualities). He's changed - he's softer. And Guillermo is the reason for this change.

We've seen how Nandor used to treat Guillermo early on in the series. I can imagine that when little 19yo Guillermo first came to him, Nandor was dismissive, thinking of him as nothing more than another familiar that he was going to string along for years - and, of course, bright-eyed young Guillermo, who was willing to do whatever it took to become a vampire, wouldn't have cared how he was treated.

But now, 15 some years later, everything is different. Guillermo isn't his familiar anymore. They aren't bound by the power imbalance of that relationship any longer. Guillermo has become someone important to Nandor, possibly more important than anyone has ever been before. No matter how much shit they've gone through, or how much Nandor has fucked things up, Guillermo has always stayed, and he has always cared. Even when he does leave, he never stays gone for long. Nandor has never experienced this type of a relationship with someone before - a relationship with someone who loves and cares for him unconditionally.

In the interview scene, Nandor totally could have messed with Guillermo, could have just... not taken him seriously. He could have done the interview in the main room with all the other vampires and had a laugh about the whole thing, but he didn't. He specifically took Guillermo to a private room to conduct the "interview". And the entire time, he treated it with the utmost sincerity- and you can see it in the way he looks at Guillermo with such attentiveness, such fondness. He lets him talk, and just listens. When Guillermo talks about not having many friends as a child, Nandor sympathizes and tells him that that must have been hard even if he himself does not know what this is like. He smiles with him, and laughs with him.

On top of all of this, Nandor very much could have left Guillermo hypnotized - he could have had his former meek, obedient familiar back by his side. The Nandor from just a couple of seasons ago might have done just that. But now, he's learned. He knows that he can't do that to Guillermo. He can't do that to someone he genuinely loves cares about deeply. The Guillermo that he knows now - confident, competent, and sure of himself - is the Guillermo he loves. Nandor does not want to take that away from him for his own selfish reasons. So, he just lets himself have one thing: Guillermo can sleep under the stairs one last time, then he'll unhypnotize him, and things will be back to the way they were - with them at a distance. But at least Guillermo will be himself.

Soooo yeah. I really hope that this is not just fanservice or whatever and that the writers are actually setting something up between them this time. I want so badly to believe that we might actually get some payoff to this 5 season long will-they-won't-they setup. I mean, seriously - what do the writers have to lose with this being the final season?

I'm trying not to keep my expectations too high just because of how many times we've been burned in the past, but this scene (along with the shed scene where Nandor was still talking like Nixon lmao) have gotten me hopeful again...

So here I am, back in Nandermo hell, one last time...

[zaczenemiji]

Curtain Calls and Curveballs II

Kenji Sato x Actress!Reader

Synopsis: After high school graduation, you never expected to see Kenji Sato again. But fate reunites you both at the same university where your love/hate relationship continues to grow.

Word Count: 1,376

Genre/Warning: Coming of Age, Enemies to Lover, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn

Author's Note: Oops, it became a short series 🫢 Part 3’s otw and I changed the title

PART ONE | PART THREE

MASTERLIST

You were dead wrong when you thought that high school graduation would be the last time you’d ever have to interact with Kenji. You remember your last words then, saying, “Congrats, Sato! I hope this is the last time I ever have to deal with you again.”

To which he replied with, “I’m sure this isn’t the last, (y/n)—to me at least—if ever you really are going to be the actress you dream of being.”

You were hurrying across the busy campus of your university, juggling a stack of drama textbooks and a cup of coffee.

Just as you were about to approach the performing arts building, you noticed a group of students gathered around a bulletin board. Your curiosity built up as you got closer to see what the commotion was about.

“Did you hear? There's a big baseball game this weekend.” a familiar voice called out.

You turned, heart skipping a beat. You didn’t expect to see anyone from high school here, let alone Kenji Sato. He stood there, his signature confident grin in place, holding a baseball glove.

"Kenji?" you blurted out, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

Kenji raised an eyebrow, looking equally taken aback. "I could ask you the same thing,” he said. “I thought you were off to some fancy drama school."

“I am,” you rolled your eyes, recovering from the shock. “This university has one of the best drama programs in LA. What about you? I thought you were headed straight for the big leagues."

“Not yet,” Kenji chuckled, shaking his head. “I've got a scholarship to play baseball here while I get my degree.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, sizing each other up. The familiar tension from high school crept back in, but it was tinged with the novelty of your new surroundings.

"So, you're still playing ball?" you asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah, and I'm still throwing strikes," Kenji replied with a smirk. "And you? Still pretending to be someone else on stage?"

“Ugh!” you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips. "It's called acting, Kenji. Something you'd know nothing about."

Kenji laughed, the sound surprisingly warm. "Fair enough. So, are you coming to the game this weekend? It's against our biggest rival. Should be a good show."

"I might," you said, shrugging. "If I don't have rehearsals."

"Typical," Kenji said, shaking his head. "Always busy with your little plays."

"And you're always busy chasing a ball," you retorted.

The rivalry that had defined your high school years was still there, but it was different now but no less present.

"Well, I've got to get to practice," Kenji said finally, stepping back. "Try not to trip on stage, (y/n)."

"And you try not to get hit by a pitch, Sato," she shot back.

As you went your own way, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Being in college felt like being in an unknown and bigger territory with so much more people. It was nice to come across someone you know in a crowd of unfamiliar faces; even if that was Kenji.

So many things have changed since you got into college. The only thing that didn’t, of course, was your rivalry with Kenji but the competition was less intense since you were in different programs.

This shift allowed you to focus on your individual passions without the constant pressure of direct competition. Here, in college, people didn’t know about the rivalry you had.

But this anonymity disappeared quicker than you thought because, for every time you came across each other, you’d always be hurling sarcastic remarks; as you two always did.

One bustling afternoon in the cafeteria, you were with your new friends, laughing and discussing your upcoming production.

"Hey, (y/n), I heard your play's actually worth watching this time," Kenji called out, smirking as he approached with his tray.

“Kenji,” You looked up, a frown on your face. "I thought you'd be busy throwing balls around. What brings you to the world of real talent?"

Kenji chuckled, setting his tray down. "Just wanted to see if you're still pretending to be someone you're not."

One of your friends raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. "You two know each other?"

“Unfortunately,” you said, rolling your eyes as you sighed. "Kenji here thinks he's the king of everything just because he can throw a ball."

"Careful, (y/n). Your jealousy is showing," Kenji retorted, grinning.

Your friends exchanged looks, quickly picking up on the rivalry. "So, you two have a history?"

"You could say that," Kenji said. "She's been trying to keep up with me since high school."

You scoffed, "In your dreams, Sato."

On baseball games, you’d attend with a group of friends from your program more to support the school than to see Kenji, or so you told yourself.

As you settled in your seat, one of your guy friends nudged you. "Isn't that the guy you're always talking about? The baseball star?" He asked.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. "Yes, that's Kenji,” you said. “Try not to feed his ego."

Kenji was on the mound, winding up for a pitch. He glanced towards the stands where he spotted you and your friends. With a smirk, he nodded in your direction.

"Is he waving at us?" another friend asked.

“No,” you shook your head. "He's just trying to show off. Watch, he'll probably strike this guy out just to make a point."

Sure enough, Kenji delivered a fastball that struck the batter out, the crowd erupting in cheers. He turned back to you, giving a mock bow.

Your guy friend laughed. "You weren't kidding,” he said. He's got a flair for the dramatic."

"Tell me about it," you muttered. "He's always been like this."

More than once, on your rehearsals, you’d find Kenji standing by the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.

"Nice performance, (y/n)," he called out, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Almost believed you were someone else."

You paused, turning to face him with a raised eyebrow. "What are you doing here, Kenji?” You asked. “Lost your way to the field?"

The director looked between the two of you, intrigued. "Friend of yours, (y/n)?" He asked.

"Hardly," you answered, crossing your arms. "Just someone who thinks he's more important than he actually is."

Kenji grinned, unfazed. "Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” he said. “You know, your acting. Seems like everyone's talking about it."

"Well, I'm flattered," you said dryly. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have real work to do."

As Kenji left, one of your fellow actors whispered, "He really gets under your skin, doesn't he?"

You sighed, shaking her head. "He's been doing it for years."

During hell week, your exams season, you’d spend your time in the library a little longer. Of course, Kenji knew about this. He’s been keeping tabs on you since coming across you when you were freshmen.

You were studying in a quiet corner of the library when Kenji walked in. He made his way over, pulling out a chair across from you.

"Studying hard, I see," he said, grinning. "Trying to finally beat me at something?"

You looked up, exasperated. "Kenji, some of us actually have exams to prepare for,” you replied. “Don't you have a game to practice for?"

"Already did," he said. "Thought I'd see what the academic life is like. How's the memorizing going? More lines to learn?"

"At least I use my brain for something other than sports," you shot back.

A nearby student, overhearing the exchange, glanced over with curiosity. "Do you two always bicker like this?"

You nodded, not missing a beat, “Pretty much. It's our thing."

Kenji laughed, leaning back in his chair, "Can't let her get too comfortable, can I?"

As he left, the student shook his head, smiling, "You two have a strange relationship."

You didn’t even know that guy or from what program he’s in. It felt like it was high school all over again where everyone knew of your rivalry, and it’s the only thing they knew between you two.

And soon enough, it will be what the world knows about you two.

PART THREE

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

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[tsxkkis]

omg omg can i request? pls ignore if you dont!

s3 of haikyuu will always be my favourite season, maybe due to the fact that tsukishima realizes his potential in playing volleyball? (him having his MOMENT is my favouriteee scene)

so could you write gf manager reader x tsukki, where reader witnesses him having his first moment (blocking ushijima's spike), injuring his hand etc etc up until they receive their throphy and medals in the end ?🥹🥹💕 shes a proudddd reader and literally just smooch smooch hug hug tsukki because hes the mvp of karasuno x shiratorizawa 🥰😤

i realized that theres nobody includes this scene in their fics and i wonder why? 🤔🧐

# tsukishima kei - mvp

a/n: i am terribly sorry anon bcs this took so long T-T i'm not quite sure about some parts of this fic but overall i really enjoyed writing this request!! tsukishima is my fav for many reasons, one of which being the fact that i see myself in him a lot, and the particular moment during the shiratorizawa vs karasuno match is also my fav from the entire series!! i hope u enjoy reading this fic^^ i feel like it's not exactly what you asked for, so i'm sorry if i went too far away from your idea....

summary: tsukishima finally regains his love for volleyball.

warnings: a few swear words here and there, the fic doesn't exactly portray what happened in the series (i switched it up a bit)

'are you stressed?'

'not even a bit.'

'you're lying. i can read you like a book.'

tsukishima kei let out a deep breath, rolling his eyes as he looked away from your face. you were obviously right; there was no way he wouldn't be stressed before the game that determined whether or not karasuno would go to nationals. as much as he hated to admit it, he was almost as stressed as others. he was just better at controlling which of his emotions are shown.

you squeezed his hand, his fingers instinctively intertwining with yours. all it took was a reassuring smile from you to help with his nerves, his muscles finally relaxing after being tensed up for the last twenty minutes or so. he still tried to get used to you being more than a friend. your relationship was quite awkward and fresh, so much so in fact that you never even had your first kiss yet.

'i'm sure you'll do great.' you stated calmly, trying to hide the fact that you were even more stressed about the match than him. 'in fact, i'm positive that you'll win.'

'even if we do, it won't be because of me.' he mumbled, letting out a silent laugh when he saw the angry look on your face. 'oh, come on. it's not like i'm the greatest player this team has.'

'you know i hate it when you talk down on yourself.' you said, the tone serious and sharp, rather unusual for you. it stayed like that for only a short while, taken over by a softer, understanding one. 'you're a vital part of this team, tsukishima. winning this match is not up to a single person. it's a team effort. your input is as important as that of kageyama or hinata.'

he opened his mouth to say something but was instantly stopped by the voice of his captain, daichi, calling the team up to quickly warm up as the match was about to start.

you smiled at the boy, letting go of his hand before lightly patting him on the back.

'do your best for me, alright?'

'i will.' a barely noticeable smile appeared on his face, his hand affectionately ruffling your hair. 'don't worry too much about it.'

you finally realized why tsukishima kei never tried more. why he would never stay longer like other karasuno players to polish his skills, why he didn't truly seem to love the sport he chose to play in high school.

'you're insufferable, you know?' his words sent shivers down your spine. 'why don't you leave it the fuck alone?'

opposite forces, some might say. no one really knew what drew you and tsukishima to eachother - both of you completely different from one another, and yet oh so similar at the same time. frustration took over you every time you looked at him, and now you knew why.

he was like a mirror in which you could see all your flaws, and it irritated you a great deal.

his outlook on life and the way he viewed himself made you furious. how can someone be so full of contradictions? so cocky and confident, and yet so vulnerable and self depreciating at the same time. so full of himself and yet so hateful towards the person he saw in the reflection of every window, every mirror.

how can someone so great at what they do, so intelligent and talented, be so critical?

'because i can't! i can't leave it alone, you absolute moron.' the thought of how loud you were didn't stop you from continuing to shout, a mixed look on your face that tsukishima couldn't quite decipher. were you angry or sad? and why the hell would it bug you so much to evoke such strong emotions within you?

'you're saying i'm insufferable? from the moment i laid my eyes on you, you've been nothing but insufferable. so much so, that i want to gouge them out every time they spot you.' you ignored your watery eyes and tsukishima's surprised face, almost as if he didn't expect you to blow up like this. 'it pains me to see you be so full of doubt and hatred and i- i can't understand why you would think so lowly of yourself, why you feel inferior to the other guys in every way possible, when you could be so much more than them. do you even realize your potential, tsukishima?'

he stayed silent. for the first time since knowing you, tsukishima kei did not have an answer to your words.

'your doubts are so irrational i don't know if it makes me angry or sad. you're truly incredible on the court. you're intelligent, you can read the opponents well, you have the physical predispositions for volleyball and a natural talent that you choose to ignore because-'

'but what is talent without passion?'

that singular sentence managed to catch you off guard so much you had no idea how to answer him. such a simple question, and yet such a philosophical, confusing one.

'why should i put my all into something i'm not even passionate about, huh?' tsukishima tried to keep his composed nature, but it was hard to stay intact after what you've said. as much as he did not want to admit it, your words hit him deeply. 'why waste my time and energy for something that does not give me any satisfaction at all? tell me that, because i have no fucking idea.'

'passion is not something that dissapears once and never shows up again, you idiot.' you took a step closer, as if that was going to help you get your point across. 'if your passion is genuine, it will always be there. whether small or big, it will always crawl around in the back of your mind. if you ever truly loved volleyball, the moment where you fall in love with it again will come sooner or later.'

your words were met with complete silence, but you didn't mind. tsukishima slowly processed your words, a focused look gracing his face, lips in a tight line. even though it was only a couple of minutes, for you it felt like hours - awaiting an answer, any answer at all.

tsukishima moved closer, his tall frame hovering over you as he wrapped his arms around you, catching you in a tight hug, much to your surprise.

'thank you.' he mumbled quietly, glad that in this very moment you couldn't see his face, and the stupid smile plastered to it.

the moment where you fall in love with it again will come sooner or later.

tsukishima's mind lingered over these words whenever he played, awaiting this moment to come almost eagerly. the match was particularly hard - with ushijima wakatoshi as their opponent, the chances of winning were incredibly slim. every spike of his went through the block, his serves were absolutely killer, and his teammates did everything to deliver the ball to him at all costs.

what a hassle.

you noticed that his demeanor on the court changed from what it used to be. tsukishima seemed more invested now - almost as if he was trying to impress you, to keep his word. as happy as it made you, you were still anxious about the match and it's final score, hand shaky and a bit sweaty as your eyes followed the ball flying around from one side of the net to another.

another spike from ushijima, it'll probably be another point for shiratoriza-

and that's when you realized.

you saw the ball hit the ground on shiratorizawa's side of the net surprised gasps from everyone watching the match. you saw the shocked look on ushijima's face, the horror in the eyes of his teammates as the ball bounced off of the floor for the second, third, fourth time.

silence took over the court for just a mere second, quickly interrupted by tsukishima's triumphant scream.

he looked more than content with his performance. he looked... happy.

the rest of the boys joined him, screaming in unison. it was just one point, right? but for some reason, for both you and tsukishima, this one was worth a thousand.

for the first time in years, tsukishima kei felt that his spark for volleyball came back.

you noticed that his eyes were now focused on you, a full, cheeky smile gracing his face, and it only made you tear up. a short moment, probably insignificant for people around, but for the two of you it was like a breath of fresh air, like getting rid of the shackles that once held you in place, enabling you from moving forward.

'y/n, are you... alright?' coach ukai looked with his brows slightly furrowed, confused by your teary eyes and big grin plastered to your face.

'yeah, yeah, i'm fine. sorry, coach.' you mumbled, bowing a little as your eyes focused on the court. 'actually, could kiyoko replace me here for the rest of the match? i'm not quite feeling well.'

'tsukishima is injured.'

'what?' akiteru spoke in unison with you, terrified voices mixing together as you looked down from the stands to see the boy walking off of the court and rushing to the medical office along with kiyoko. your instincts took over you - feet moving on their own as you quickly ran towards the same place.

the two blondes followed right behind you, stopping only when in front of the door to the medical office, gasping for air after such a short run. as athletic as your boyfriend was, you were quite the opposite; getting tired after a little to no physical activity at times.

tsukishima saw your head peeking through the doorframe, a small smile on his face the moment he laid eyes on you.before you opened your mouth to say something, he already gave you an answer.

'yes, i feel fine.' he stated quietly, sitting down on the edge of a chair. 'you don't need to worry.'

'are you going back on court?' he only gave you a small nod in response, seemingly feeling better already as he stood up, his hand taped up.

you looked up at him, taking in the expression on his face, just how focused he already was. he looked almost as if he already had a plan to defeat shiratorizawa in this match. seeing him so eager to go back and play almost made you laugh a little - you swore you never saw him get this invested into something ever.

'go and win then.' you mumbled, patting him on the shoulder as he headed towards the gym hall.

'oh don't worry. we will.'

you couldn't stop the tears rolling down your cheeks as you saw karasuno emerge victorious from the hardest volleyball match they had to play this year, hugging yachi tightly as both of you celebrated the win of your team.

the triumphant screams filled the gym hall, the team emotional after doing what many deemed impossible. as most of them enjoyed themselves, not planning on leaving the euphoric state for a long while, tsukishima could only think of doing one thing - going to you.

you were the only person he truly wanted to celebrate with.

after the ceremony of getting the medals, to everyone's utmost shock, considering your relationship wasn't exactly public, tsukishima went up to you almost immediately, a cocky smile on his face as he ruffled your hair, looking down at you from behind his glasses.

'you didn't exactly look quite as content with your performance before getting the prize.' you mumbled, looking at the blonde haired boy with your head tilted to the side.

'well, i could've blocked more of ushijima's spikes.' he started, rolling his eyes at the sole idea of not being able to do that during today's match. 'i only managed to block one and-'

you decided to use the only method that was for sure going to shut him up in that moment, lightly grabbing him by the tshirt and pulling him closer, lips clashing for a split second in a short, sweet kiss.

'no talking down on yourself today, kei.' you said, unconsciously smiling as you saw his face getting red at what you just did, cheeks covered by a tomato-like red colour. 'i'm proud of you no matter what you think about today's match.'

he stood still for a few seconds, as if processing what had just happened seconds ago, the redness on his face deepening with each passing moment. his hand was quick to grab yours, almost dragging you away from the team and to a more private, less occupied area of the building.

'do that again.' he mumbled, after he finally led you to a quiet hallway.

'huh?'

'it was... nice.'

your eyes lit up, a cheeky smile gracing your face as you finally realized what he was on about.

'ohh, you want another kiss?' you said teasingly, eyes quickly glancing from his face down to his lips. he rolled his eyes, unamused by your act of playing dumb.

'come on, don't make me repeat myself.' still somewhat embarrassed of what he was asking for, tsukishima stood in one place, awaiting your next action.

a sigh left your lips as you took a step towards your boyfriend, standing on your tippy toes to be able to reach his face.

'alright. i guess you deserve it, match mvp.'

your arms were wrapped around his neck in no time as your lips gently touched his, tsukishima immediately kissing you back, hands positioned on your waist as you felt a smile creeping up on his face. he let out a short laugh, seeing your face being just as red as his was moments ago, hand reaching to squeeze yours.

'what?' you mumbled, as he hasn't spoken a word since breaking the kiss.

'that's surely the best prize i got today.'

taglist: @moonswolfie @wyrcan @kitsune-kita

[buckysdollbarnes]

you are in love series - part one

one look, dark room

PAIRING: tfawts!bucky x grad student!reader

Summary: Moving to NYC to go to grad school, your friend's dad has a connection with the owner of a rental building in Brooklyn where you can live on your own, for cheaper than you could get anywhere else. On a student's budget, you strive to still make your place your own by thrifting as much decor as possible. Meeting your quiet and somewhat secretive neighbor, James, you gain some free labor to help you move the random stuff you buy, and with that he may be growing to love parts of the modern world he has been missing. With you in a big, new city feeling alone for the first time and Bucky wanting to make a connection with someone other than Sam and his therapist, maybe online marketplaces and a turntable will bring you both what you need most.

warnings: mild language

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is my first time EVER writing fiction, usually I only ever write academic papers so this is fun. :) I read over and revised this chapter so many times, so I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed and I'm excited to start on the next chapter.

a/n: also!! sorry for it being so long genuinely just so much had to happen in this chapter for it to be set up the way I wanted, which I think I did well enough. lmk what you think <3

Why did I think carrying this by myself was a good idea? It might be cute and a great deal, but I don’t think I'll be able to feel my arms tomorrow. I might need to hit the gym again before I find more bargains like this. Hell, maybe I'll even invest in a neck towel, because this heat is unbearable. I’ve been searching for some larger pieces to fill my apartment, and this vintage bar cart should fit perfectly. Just five more blocks to go.

Moving here alone has certainly come with its challenges: being on my own in such a big city, dealing with a lot of stress, and managing on a tight budget. But I’m determined to make it work though and prove everyone wrong. Growing up, you see so many romcoms where the heroine leaves everything behind to chase her dreams in NYC, landing a job at a magazine or fashion house, living in a gorgeous high-rise, and meeting the perfect guy. It’s a beautiful fantasy really, but the reality is much tougher. New York isn’t a movie set; it’s a real city with real people, and you have to work just as hard, if not harder, to be here. I know that, but it feels like a majority of my people back home DON’T know that I know that.

I came here for school. In about two months, I’ll be starting my Master’s program at NYU. I don’t think I’ve ever been as proud as when I received my acceptance email. I worked my ass off in undergrad to earn strong recommendations and good academic standing, and seeing it all come together was a huge relief—until the reality of the cost hit me.

Luckily, a friend's dad has a connection with a landlord in Brooklyn and got me a good deal on a place of my own. It’s incredible not to have a roommate in this market, especially in a place where your bed doesn’t touch your stove, though it can be a bit lonely.

Finally, reaching the stoop, out of breath, you set the cart down on the pavement. Wiping your brow, you notice the street is unusually quiet for this time of day. The city never truly sleeps, but the residential streets seem to take occasional naps. A little breath of air somewhere where it feels like oxygen is running out sometimes. Light filters through the trees, momentarily blinding you, and you turn back toward the building.

“How on earth am I going to get this up to my floor?”

Carrying it down the street was one thing, but hauling it up the stairs is a whole different challenge. Plus, who knows when the building's maintenance has last been here, the steps might not hold up under the cart’s weight. They usually feel like they could give away holding one person.

Deciding that falling to your death and being crushed isn’t really how you want to go, you open the double doors and drag the cart into the lobby, using the wheels on one side. Passing the main desk where the worker, who looks completely uninterested, engrossed in a crossword puzzle, you make your way to the end of the hall and start pulling the cart backwards up the incline of the stairwell.

“Nah, I can’t,” you say aloud, after struggling up two floors, letting the cart rest on the landing. There’s still three more floors to go, but your body is clearly telling you the cart belongs right here. Maybe the universe wants it to stay here—who knows, maybe the entire second floor needs a communal bar more than you do.

“Excuse me,” a quiet but rough male voice comes from behind me. You turn around to see him—a guy you’ve seen around your floor a few times, though you’ve never talked. One of the neighbors. You quickly realize you’re blocking the entire staircase.

“Sorry! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’ll move this um — just give me a second.”

You shove the cart closer to the wall to make some space for him to pass, but he stays put, his gloved hands in his pockets. He’s definitely handsome—tall and solid, but not intimidating. His furrowed brow and tight-lipped expression don’t exactly scream “welcome,” but he’s still got a certain charm.

He shifts a bit, clearly wanting to say something but hesitating. Feeling a bit awkward under his gaze, you decide to try talking to him again.

“You can just squeeze by if you want. It’s just really heavy, so I’m taking a quick break before I try lifting it up again.”

After a moment, he seems to make up his mind and asks, “Do you need help?”

Looking back at him, you consider saying no. You pride yourself on being independent and capable, and part of you wants to insist you can handle it. But then you think about the struggle of getting the cart up the last two flights of stairs—only this time, it's three—and decide against it.

“You wouldn’t mind? You’re headed down, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

He gives a little smirk that makes you feel a bit dizzy.

“Well, I’m already here so.”

You nod slowly, a small smile appearing on your face.

“Sure, you can take this end, and I’ll get this o—” you start to say, but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you, lifting the cart with ease and starting up the stairs without breaking a sweat.

“Hey! Be careful, uh—,” you pause, realizing you don’t know his name.

He picks up on your hesitation and hesitates himself, considering whether to give his name. He’s wary of how others might perceive him, potentially recognizing his name from past news broadcasts or papers, still dealing with the shadows of his past despite his efforts to make amends. Not wanting to be dishonest, he chooses the safe option.

“James.”

“Be careful, James. I don’t want you tripping and falling on my account.”

“Won’t happen, doll.”

“What-,” you start, caught off guard by the pet name, “what if it does?”

“It won’t, see?” With the last few steps, you and James arrive at your floor. “Already here.”

He must have seen you around before too, to know where you live.

He gives you a quick look and then carries the cart to your door.

“This is yours, right?” He turns and looks at you expectantly. You rush over, fumbling for your keys to unlock the door. If he’s willing to move it all the way, who are you to turn him down?

You lead James into your apartment, wondering if it looks anything like his. The layout can’t be that different; it’s not exactly a luxury building.

He strolls further into the room.

“You can set it right here,” you say quickly. “Thank you for bringing it up for me. I was honestly thinking about giving up when you showed up.”

Setting the cart where you indicated, he straightens up, rolls his shoulders back, and gives you a look that feels intense.

“It’s no problem.”

His gaze wanders around your apartment, taking in the mix of vintage furniture and eclectic decor. On a student’s budget, you’ve filled your space with secondhand finds. It’s more affordable and personal that way. The place might not be filled with new things, but it’s entirely curated by you. Finding beauty in the mix of old and new is something you do well, and now, thanks to James, you have one more piece to add.

James’s eyes land on your turntable setup. He seems intrigued by your collection of records but doesn’t say anything, turning his attention back to you.

“I have to go.”

Your eyebrows lift at his abruptness. Sensing your surprise, he quickly adds, “I’ve got an appointment.”

You nod vigorously, urging him to go and thanking him again for his kindness. Feeling a bit sad that this chance encounter with your new neighbor is ending so quickly, you call out as he heads for the door.

“I’ll see you around then? Since you live here too.”

He turns on his heel, giving you one last smirk.

“Yeah, you’ll see me.”

As he heads down the stairs, you shut your door and lock it behind you. Wandering over to where James’s gaze lingered, you pull an album from the shelf, lift the acrylic cover on your turntable, and set the record down. You close the cover, push play, and let the needle softly drop onto the vinyl. As the music starts, your mind drifts back to James.

Embarrassingly, you find yourself hoping this isn’t a one-time encounter. You don’t know much about him beyond his name, but there’s something about him that makes you want to see him again.

“Two hundred bucks for this is crazy,” you mutter to yourself, staring in disbelief at the sofa you’re eyeing on Facebook Marketplace.

“People are practically giving this stuff away.”

Not wanting to miss out on such a good deal, you message the seller to check if it’s still available.

Since you got the bar cart about a week and a half ago, you haven’t picked up anything else. With the July heat blasting, just thinking about moving a sofa in this weather makes you want to rip off your skin to cool down.

You can’t help but think of James, who you’ve seen briefly in the hallway since your last encounter. He just nodded as he passed by, and that was it.

Your phone dings, snapping you out of your thoughts. The seller confirms the sofa is still available and offers to deliver it since they have a truck.

Excited, you reply with a yes, and they let you know they’ll head your way soon.

You get up to rearrange your furniture, making space for the new sofa. You don’t have much to move since you’ve been slowly collecting things. As you shift the pieces around, your turntable stops, signaling it’s time to flip the record. After you do, you take a moment to picture how the sofa will fit in the space.

Then it hits you—moving a sofa is way heavier than the bar cart. If you struggled with that, how on earth will you manage this?

“Independent woman, my ass.”

With the delivery imminent, you decide on the only solution you can think of. Without hesitation, you head to the apartment across the hall and knock softly on the door. You wait, hoping James will answer. After a moment of shuffling and then silence, you start to wonder if you should just try something else.

Just then, the door cracks open, revealing half of James’s face. He looks curious but not annoyed—no one usually visits him.

“Hey! James! Great to see you again! I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I was wondering if you could help me out a bit? I just bought a sofa from this marketplace deal, and the seller’s coming to drop it off right now. He said he’d deliver it, but didn’t offer to help get it up to my apartment. I realized a sofa is way heavier than a bar cart, and you saw me struggle with that, so I was kinda sorta hoping you could help me bring it up here?”

After your rambling, you offer him a hopeful smile, waiting for his response.

A few moments of silence later, that smirk you’ve been missing appears on his face. Opening the door wider, he comments with a grin.

“You bought another thing you knew you couldn’t get up the stairs?”

“I honestly didn’t think it through. The deal was too good to pass up. I’m really sorry for bothering you. I can try to find someone else if you’re busy.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help, doll.”

The smile that blooms on your face is unavoidable.

As the delivery guy drives away, James shows you where to grab the sofa and effortlessly lifts the other end. He encourages you to take the lead, making sure the weight is on him as you both navigate the stairs. With minimal effort, you get the sofa up to your place.

After some awkward maneuvering, you finally get the sofa into your apartment through the thin door and set it down. You put your hands on your hips and exhale deeply, only to find James already looking at you with that same intense gaze from before. It makes you a little nervous.

You can’t help but feel grateful—there’s no way you would have managed this on your own.

“I could have handled the bar cart,” you say, nodding toward the cart now adorned with bottles in the corner, “but this? No chance. Thanks so much for your help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “I wasn’t busy.”

As you look at him, you start to feel like you know him from somewhere beyond being just a neighbor. Maybe you’ve seen him around the city before you moved?

Brushing off the thought, you offer, “You’ve helped me out twice now, and it doesn’t feel right not to return the favor. If your whole evening consists of not being busy, why not stay for dinner? I promise I’ll cook something totally good and not poisonous.”

James looks surprised by your offer but quickly hides it.

“You don’t need to do that. You don’t owe me anything,” he says, not wanting you to feel obligated or uncomfortable. He worries that his presence might not be enjoyable.

He wishes he could be as charming as he was back in the 40s. Being friendly used to come easily, and if he were still the same person he was at 26, he wouldn’t have left so quickly after helping you on the stairs the first time. He wouldn’t have had a therapists appointment to go to and he wouldn’t have a hidden arm made of metal. He’d have asked you to dinner or for you to let him take you dancing instead in return for his brawn. Now, he struggles to make new connections beyond a few familiar faces, like Sam, and asking someone for a dance feels out of reach.

“No, no! Stay, I insist! It gets kind of lonely around here, doesn’t it? Why not have a friend dinner?” you press, hoping he’ll take you up on the offer.

Seeing your sincerity, though still feeling a bit miffed, he finally agrees.

“Yeah, sure. I can stay.”

James settles onto the sofa while you work in the kitchen. You’ve decided on making some stuffed ravioli and garlic bread—easy, delicious, hard to mess up.

Before getting into cooking, you switch out the record, letting new music drift softly through the space. Unbeknownst to you, James watches closely, paying attention to how you handle the records and the turntable. The care you take when putting a record back in its slip, taking a new one out of its dust cover, and gently putting it on.

Seeing you focused on cooking, James gets up and strolls over to your setup. He runs his fingers lightly across the spines of the record sleeves, feeling a surprising sense of comfort. He hadn’t realized people still used record players so often.

The setup looks quite familiar to him, with many aspects reminiscent of the record players he used back in his earlier days. In his life before this one.

As you finish preparing the pasta and pull the bread from the oven, you call out, “Hey, food’s ready!”

You glance back to see James hovering by the turntable. He quickly moves to the table and sits down.

Over dinner, the conversation flows comfortably. James seems to be relaxing a bit, his initial reserve fading. He’s still somewhat guarded, but what he does share is genuinely interesting. You sense that opening up is challenging for him, so you respect his pace and take whatever he is willing to give. Laughing with each other a few times and getting through some odd topics, he mentions that he hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in quite a while and thanks you with a smile.

After a pleasant dinner, you decide to bring up something you’d been curious about.

“You like records?”

Caught off guard by the question, James tries to answer without revealing too much about himself. It feels strange to be here, knowing you don’t really know who he is, but he worries that being too open might scare you away. He decides to keep his secrets for now, selfishly hoping to get to know you better before revealing more.

“Yeah, I used to have quite a few records as a kid. My ma would play them too, especially when she was cooking, just like you. I didn’t realize they were still so popular.”

Excited by this glimpse into his past, you push further.

“Oh, there’s definitely a huge market for vinyl. Lots of people who think it makes them superior, but also a lot who just love the physical aspect of it.”

“So which one are you?” he asks.

You laugh and reply, “Maybe a bit of both.”

You glance up at him from beneath your lashes, catching his rare smile.

“But really, I just like having it. There’s something different about the listening experience. It requires more effort than just hitting play on a playlist. It’s about choosing a full album and actually sitting down to listen. That feels more intentional to me, and that’s why I do it.”

James seems to ponder your answer, his expression softer than before. He then turns his gaze back to the turntable.

“So, since you mentioned you had records as a kid, do you not have any now?” you ask.

He shakes his head.

“Haven’t had any for a long time. Talking about it makes me miss them. Everything these days feels so complicated. I like simple things like that.”

Watching him as he looks away, you hesitate but notice the nostalgic shine in his eyes. You sense he might appreciate physical music even more than you do.

“If you ever get any and don’t have a place to play them, you’re welcome to use mine.”

He turns to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I mean, I know it’s not the most convenient offer, but it’s there. One record lover to another,” you add with a smile.

He returns your smile, saying, “Okay… thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Doll.”

That night, Bucky lies on his makeshift bed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and replaying the events of the day. You knocking on his door for help with the couch, inviting him over for dinner, and all the easygoing conversation you shared. It was such a stark contrast to his usual rigidity. He'd let his guard down just a little—letting himself smile or flirt ever so slightly.

He wishes he were better at this. It used to come so naturally. Hell, before he left for war, he’d gone dancing with both his own date and Steve’s at the same time. Now, he finds himself listening to you talk while struggling to share anything of his own.

He doesn’t want to pass up your invitation, especially since you’re inviting him into your space again. Clearly, his reserve hasn’t put you off too much.

“What would I even bring?” he wonders aloud.

All he’s ever listened to is 40’s music and big band. He doubts that’s readily available these days.

Rolling onto his side, he grabs the cell phone Steve had insisted he get before he went back in time to live his real life, without Bucky.

“You can do anything on here, Buck!”

Scrolling through the three contacts he has, he taps on the name of the guy who’s been trying to reach him for weeks.

“So, is there a valid reason why you haven’t picked up my damn calls?” Sam’s voice comes through.

“Sam, hi.”

“Did you finally learn how to click the screen? Is that why I’m hearing from you now, old man?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t like the thing. Too confusing,” Bucky says, grimacing as he fiddles with the phone.

“Okay, okay, what’s going on, man? You doing alright?”

“I’m fine. I just have a question and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t harass me about it.”

“Is it about wizards?”

“What?”

“Wizards. Is the question about wizards?”

“No, what the hell. Look, I had dinner with one of my neighbors tonight—”

“Was it a girl?”

“Does it matter?”

“Hell yes, it matters. And from that response, I KNOW it was a girl, so—”

“It doesn’t matter. She has a record player, which I didn’t know people still used, and she offered to let me use it, but I don’t have anything to play on it.”

“I’m not getting the problem.”

“I only like the stuff from the 40’s and—”

“Did you listen to that Marvin Gaye playlist I sent you?”

“Not interested.”

“C’mon, man, it’s good stuff. Give it a listen.”

“Not feeling it.”

“Alright, your loss, I guess. Still not seeing the problem though.”

“What do I bring? I can’t just bring around the stuff I know because where would I even get it?”

“Whoa, man, what do you mean, where would you get it? Just go to a record store and hit up the vintage section or something.”

Bucky pauses, mulling over Sam’s words.

“They have that?”

“Duh. You know, you could answer these questions a lot easier if you just looked them up on your phone—”

“Thanks, Sam. Talk to you later.”

Lying back down, Bucky decides that the next time he’s out to see his therapist, he’ll first stop by a record store to find something to bring over to your place.

Your easygoing presence was so comforting, and he found himself longing for it as he drifted off to sleep. He’d see you again soon enough.

Later in the week, as you wind down from a busy day, you focus on making your space as calming as possible.

You light some candles and turn on an orange floor lamp, the soft glow wrapping around you and setting the perfect mood to sink into your sofa with the book you’ve been neglecting.

You’ve just started settling into your reading when you’re jolted out of your half-nap by the sound of someone knocking on your door.

You get up and peer through the peephole, and there’s your dinner guest from earlier in the week.

Opening the door with a smile, you greet him.

“Hey James, unexpected visit! What’s up?”

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks. You glance down and realize your outfit—shorts that really lived up to their name and a tank top—might not be the most guest-appropriate.

Brushing off your embarrassment, you look back up at him.

“I’ve got something I’d like to play, if that’s alright?”

Bucky’s mind races. Standing at your door, he worries maybe you only offered your place to be nice, and now he’s making a fool of himself. Of course, you didn’t want him there—he could barely talk.

Just as he’s about to get lost in his own head, your bright smile pulls him out of it.

“Oh my gosh, please, come in. What do you have?”

His doubt fades away as he sees your genuine excitement.

“Brought some Sinatra. Not sure if you’re into that, but I used to like his stuff when I was younger.”

You spin around abruptly, staring at him in disbelief.

“There’s no way you think I don’t know who Frank Sinatra is…”

Bucky stumbles over his words.

“Well, I mean, it’s not exactly new stuff so—”

“You think I wouldn’t know ‘Fly Me to the Moon’? ‘Singin’ in the Rain’? ‘New York, New York’? I mean, I even moved to New York—I had to get the romanticism from somewhere.”

“What are those?”

You pause, confused.

“Like, the most iconic Frank Sinatra songs. You are talking about Frank Sinatra, right? Not some other Sinatra I’ve never heard of?”

“No, you’re right, it’s Frank.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I guess I don’t know those ones.” He admits.

“So, what era are we talking about?” You ask, reaching for the record.

As you grasp the sleeve, you notice a glint of light catching James’s bare hand. Realizing he’s not wearing gloves, confusion sets in before it clicks. You HAD seen James before.

Looking up at him, he seems frozen, obviously panicking. He planned to tell you eventually, but not like this. Not when you weren’t close enough yet.

He thought there is no way you are going to want anything to do with him now.

You thought there is no way was there's an actual Avenger in your apartment right now.

You’re frozen, just like him, but more in shock rather than fear.

“Do you… usually go by James?” you ask cautiously.

Hesitating, he shakes his head.

“What do you usually go by then?”

Bucky feels anxiety creeping up his back. You’re both still holding the record, and he can’t tell if you’re scared or just surprised.

“Bucky.”

You stay silent for a moment while Bucky’s nerves are on edge.

“So… metal hand…”

Clenching his jaw, he replies, “Arm.”

“You’re that Bucky.”

“Yes.”

After a long pause, you start again.

“You’re an Avenger and you didn’t tell me?”

Bucky hesitates, his discomfort visible. “I’m— I’m not an Avenger.”

“What do you mean? You’re totally an Avenger! Why wouldn’t you tell me? How did I not recognize you before?” you ask, laughing in disbelief.

Bucky’s taken aback. You really thought he was an Avenger? You’re not scared of him at all, which surprises him. You must not know much about his past if you’re still standing this close.

“No wonder you don’t know ‘New York, New York,’” you say, almost to yourself. “It’s from after your time! This is crazy, I—”

You’re interrupted by his response.

“Are you not scared?”

“Of course not.”

Bucky closes in on himself, panic evident. “If you really knew me, you’d want nothing to do with me. I’ve—”

“I might not know the version of you you’re talking about, but I’ve met James, who helped me not once, but twice  carry stuff he definitely didn’t have to up the stairs, stayed for dinner, has been very polite to me, and has given me zero reasons to be scared of him.”

He looks at you, his piercing blue eyes revealing an internal struggle. That one look holds more weight than his words. You can see the battle within him, torn between his past and the present moment.

“Listen,” you say, finally letting go of the record, “if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. But I’m not scared of you, and I actually like your company. So, regardless of whether you’re James, Bucky, or whoever, you’re still welcome here.”

You pause, adding, “And we can still play this if you’d like.”

Bucky struggles with his inner turmoil. The idea that you know who he is but still want him around is foreign to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of the kindness you’re offering, but it’s been so long since he’s received such warmth that it’s almost impossible to turn it down.

He’s not comfortable with his identity or his past, but in this moment, he wants to push it aside. If you don’t care, maybe he can allow himself not to care, even if just for a bit. Maybe he can prove something to himself, or even his therapist.

Handing you the record, he relaxes his face slightly. You’ve always thought him handsome, but in the dim light of the dark room, he looks almost ethereal.

You’re hoping he believes you because your excitement for his company tonight feels more significant than it probably should, but you’re okay with that.

“I’m Bucky.”

You smile warmly at this change. “Alright, Bucky. What do you want to do?”

He gazes at you deeply, his look sending a shiver down your spine and warming your chest. “Play it.”

a/n: well, hope this was alright. as I mentioned before, ive never wrote fiction before, but ive definitely read enough to get the gist.

[hisphoria]

high society, lhs

synopsis: growing up in the high society hasn’t always been easy. being the eldest daughter of the y/l/n estate, you have now reached of the age to be married off to some other rich man that your parents have chosen for you. it’s not easy when all the candidates have these few rules for you.

1. as a loving doting wife you must stay at the estate almost always, making sure everything is always in order and planning balls and 2. you basically just get to do nothing and stand on the sidelines, just merely a decoration for your husband if you will.

you were ready for what this all meant for you. although you didn’t want any of it and you felt like you were going to lose your mind as soon as you got married, you were at least getting married to the man you have convinced yourself that you have been in love with for four years. You were to wed nikolaos another noble that your family has been close to since you were a child and naturally that childhood friend of yours became the only boy you had ever dreamt about.

there was one worry though.

and that was the fact that nikolaos was no different from the other nobles who just wanted a pretty wife to stand by them and nothing more. nikolaos truly wasn't a bad person and you believed he meant well, he just of course went along with typical society rules.

you began to rethink everything after you met the highest noble of the highest nobles, lee heeseung. after both of his parents passed, he of course inherited the entire estate to himself. the only other family he has being his grandmother who keeps on pestering him about the fact that he needs to get married and heeseung being one who has never had any interests in getting married... well, it's a difficult task for him.

he must find someone that will be willing to marry him just for the title. someone to marry him so his grandmother can finally stop bothering him. while this isn't a hard thing for heeseung to do since almost every noble girl of the ton would be willing to marry him, he needs someone who has no interest in him. someone who will not bother him if he doesn't even speak to them if they aren't at some social event.

and of course, he found that in you.

featuring: lee heeseung, sim jaeyun, park jongseong, park sunghoon, nishimura riki, kim sunoo, yang jungwon

status: currently writing. start: first chapter release 07/14/24. end: tba

genre: non-idol au, arranged marriage trope, enha as royals, victorian era?

content & warning: cursing, drinking, sexual humor, some toxic mentality maybe? (not really sure yet how this story is gonna go tbh), and lotssss of angst

a/n: this will be my first au so bare with me! i'm hoping this series doesn't take too long, first chapter should be out 07/14/24 not sure about end i haven't planned out the whole story yet. i will be linking and putting the chapters below when finished! :)

chapter 01, debut

[bingbongsupremacy]

This might be bad but could you write a Steve Harrington story where he left the reader for nancy after they were secretly dating bc she’s plus sized. Then once he cleans up his act he writes her a letter. I was thinking it could be based on closure by Taylor Swift! Thank you !

Closure

This isn't bad ! I can totally do that. I listened to the song for the first time today so I hope you like this! Also, This is going to be a two part piece. I wanted to give some background context so that's what this first part is about. I'll be working on part 2 soon. I hope you don't mind.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x plus size!reader

Warnings: I'm not a basketball player nor have I ever been a manager. Honestly I've never really been to a basketball game so I'm not sure if this is all super accurate. Pls let me know. Cursing, Use of Y/N, use of the word girl, some self doubt.

Series Summary: You never knew Steve could be so shallow. When he leaves you to date Nancy Wheeler, you're left with a pain you thought he'd never leave cause you. Maybe you should've stayed friends.

*Not Proof Read* Stranger Things Masterlist

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

*****

Teenage love. Powerful. Fast. Fun. Potent.

The first boy I fell in love with was Steve Harrington. How couldn't I have? His perfect hair. Beautiful eyes. His flirty smile.

Every girl liked Steve at one point or another.

Steve and I grew up together in Hawkins. We never had the same classes together, but boy, I knew of Steve. We finally officially met in high school when I became the manager for the Hawkins High Basketball team.

Freshman Year - 1981

" Alright guys, huddle up. " Coach Ryan shouts to the sweaty boys drilling around the gym. " This is our manager. You will treat them with respect, you hear? I want none of that bullshit that went on last year. You got that Seniors? " Coach Ryan sends a pointed look at the upperclassmen. " If I hear of anyone disrespecting our manager, you'll be running on bleachers for the next month. I'm serious. "

What an introduction.

I shift slightly, a little uncomfortable with the gazes of the boys. I send a small smile to the team, trying to calm myself. " Hey, guys. Let me know if you need anything. " I scan the group in front of me. My eyes land on a familiar face on the back row. His friendly smile sends a wave of butterflies fluttering throughout my body. My eyes linger on him for a few seconds before I force myself to look away.

The last thing I need is for him to realize I like him. How awkward.

The coach makes a few more announcements before he dismisses the boys to the locker rooms.

" I needs you to gather up the balls and take them back to the equipment room. " Coach Ryan nods in the direction of the small closet on the other side of the room.

" Sure thing! Anything else? " I ask, reaching down to pick up one of the stray balls.

" Not that I can think of. I'll be in my office if you need me. " Coach Ryan nods a goodbye before heading towards the boys locker room where his office is located.

I look around the gym. Abandoned basketballs lay scattered around the gym. This is going to take a minute.

I pull the metal ball holder behind me as I begin picking everything up.

" Here ya go. " A voice startles me from behind.

I turn to see Steve holding two basketballs under his arms. He sends me a small smile.

" Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. " He sets the basketballs on the top rack.

I smile back at him. " It's all good. I scare easily. "

Steve jogs over to one of the balls a few feet away from us, swiftly picking it up.

" Oh, you don't need to do that. I've got it. It's my job anyway. "

Steve shakes his head, a looks piece of hair falling in front of his face. " I don't mind. It's kinda fucked up you have to clean up our mess. "

I shrug. " I mean, I signed up to do it. "

Steve nods. " Why did you sign up to be a manager? "

" Honestly, to get out of class. " I feel heat begin to spread over my face at the sound of Steve's laugh. " I hate biology. "

" Whaddya mean? Mr. Jackson's a world-class comedian. You're telling me you don't like his cell jokes? " Steve grins.

I cringe, memories of Mr. Jackson's awkward dad jokes and the silence following filling my mind. " I could do without. "

" You know, I don't think we've actually ever talked before. " Steve points out while heading towards another ball. Instead of returning it to the cart, he dribbles it towards the hoop closest to us. He shoots it into the hoop, the ball making a loud sound as it returns to the ground.

" Well, we've never had a class together. " I shrug, taking the ball from him as he hands it over to me.

" What a shame. "

Does Steve like talking to me?

" I mean, that doesn't mean we can't start now. We're gonna be stuck together for the next few months. "

Steve picks up the last basketball. " True. I gotta go get changed before my mom gets here. It's been nice. See ya tomorrow? " His eyes steadily hold my gaze.

I nod. " For sure. "

Steve's smile widens slightly. " Later, Y/N. "

" Bye Steve. " My throat feels tight from excitement. I can't believe that just happened. Steve knows I exist. He knows I exist! And he actually likes talking to me! This...this is fucking great.

Sophomore Year - 1982

" Hurry the fuck up, Y/N. " Steve groans, his sweaty forehead pressed against his forearm. He lazily leans against the now empty bleachers, his eyes following me as I finish writing down the total of money the team made off of concessions.

" I told you that you didn't have to wait for me. I have shit to finish up here. " I nod towards the clip board in front of me.

" I'd be a shitty friend if I left you here. What if you get...kidnapped or some shit. I'd be first on the suspect list. "

Friend. I'm only his friend. Gosh, I need to get over this stupid crush. I mean, it's been over a year since we met and he hasn't said anything about liking me. Why would he like me now? He's into girls like Chrissy. Why else would he flirt with girls like her and not with me? If he liked me he'd tell me. Right?

I roll my eyes, trying to shake off my thoughts and focus of the impatient boy in front of me. " Great to see you care about me so much. Definitely isn't because of your reputation. "

Steve lets out a small laugh. " You know I'm fucking with you, right? "

" I know. Look, I'm almost done. Grab your duffle from the locker, will you? By the time you get back I'll have everything finished. Plus it'll give me a break from your whiny ass. " I joke.

" Ouch. And here I thought you loved me. " Steve holds a hand up to his heart, humor clearly in his tone.

For a moment my heart begins to race. Love. He knows? He doesn't know. Shut the fuck up and be normal. He's a friend. Just a friend.

" What made you believe that? Tommy's obviously my number 1. "

I'm not the biggest fan of Tommy. He's hot a cold. Somedays he's decent, other days he's a complete shit head. He's changed a lot since middle school.

For a moment something flashes over Steve's expression. Surprise maybe? Annoyance? As quickly as it comes it's gone. His playful expression returns. " I'll be sure to let him know that. "

" Don't you fucking dare! " My head snaps towards him. " I'll kill you, Harrington. I'm not even joking. He'll never let me live that shit down, even if it's a lie. And Carol will beat the shit out of me. "

Steve raises an eyebrow in amusement. He leans back against the bleachers, crossing his arms. " Don't worry, I'll sell tickets for the show. I'll even cheer you on. "

I roll my eyes. " Of course you would. "

" I'm gonna go grab my stuff before the janitors lock the locker rooms up for the night. " Steve laughs, pushing himself up. " Hurry the fuck up before I leave you here. "

" You wouldn't dare. "

" Watch me. " With that, he strolls towards the direction of the locker rooms. His strides ooze with confidence, a kind only Steve can emit.

Steve truly is one of a kind.

Junior Year - 1983

" Are you going to prom? " Steve asks out of the blue. He doesn't bother looking up from his text book.

I swallow harshly, heat climbing up my cheeks. I hate when people ask me this. " Nah. Prom's overrated. "

Steve's eyebrow quirks up. " So you're a dance hater? "

I shrug. " I just don't see what the big deal is. Blowing a ton of cash for one night? I'd rather buy new records. " I debate whether or not to tell him the next part. " Plus no one's asked me. " They never do. Why would they when they could ask someone like Carol or Chrissy?

Steve finally looks up at me, his gaze finally meeting mine. Shock is evident in his expression. " Really? You haven't been asked? "

I shake my head, heat crawling up my face again. " Why would I? In case you haven't noticed, I don't really have a ton of guy friends. And my friend pool isn't the largest. "

Steve sends me a sympathetic smile.

Instead of comforting me, it annoys me. He doesn't understand. He's had girls asking him out and asking him to dances from the moment he was allowed to go to dances.

" Anyone would be lucky to take you. You're a great person, Y/N. "

I roll my eyes, laughing slightly. " Yeah. Lucky. "

Steve's eyebrows furrow. " Why are you laughing? I'm serious. You're like the coolest person I know. "

" Then you have a very unique perspective of the word cool. " I glance up at the clock on the wall behind him. " Shit, I told my mom I'd run to the store and pick up some potatoes for dinner. I'm gonna be late. I gotta go. " I rush to gather my notebooks off of the library table.

" Do you want me to take you? " Steve asks, getting up after me.

I shake my head. " It's fine. It's just down the street. You keep studying. Lord knows you need to. Gotta pass that calc test in Jones' class tomorrow. " Truthfully, I just want to get out of this conversation and I'm worried that if Steve gives me a ride it'll just reignite the topic.

" Are you sure? I really don't mind taking you. I can always study at home. "

" I'm fine Steve. Plus, if you try to 'Study' at home, you're not going to get anything done. I know you. "

Steve rolls his eyes. " I love your confidence in me. With your reassuring words I can do anything. "

I let out a small laugh. " Shut up. "

Steve grins.

Fuck he's perfect.

I need to get out of here.

" I'll see ya later Steve. " I wave at him, pulling my bookbag over my shoulder.

" Later, Y/N. Walk safe. Call me in an hour or two so I know you weren't kidnapped or forced to join a circus. " Steve's joking but a part of his expression seems serious. Like he's actually worried about me.

I let out a sigh. " I'll be fine but I'll call you. "

I wish I was the type of person boys would ask out. The type that don't have to do anything for people to crush on them.

But I'm not.

++++++

" Y/N, Steve's here! " My mothers voice calls up to me.

What? Why's Steve here?

Confused, I head downstairs. As soon as I reach the bottom my eyes widen. Steve's still in the doorway, a small box in his hands. His hair is styled perfectly, like always. He's dressed in a fancy suit, something I've only seen him do for fall sport award nights or very special occasions.

" What the...? " I finally get to the bottom of the stairs. " Steve? What's going on? "

" You're going to Prom with me. " Steve holds out the box, his comment more of a statement then a question.

" I don't have an outfit! " I protest, confusion still fogging my mind.

" Just put on whatever you have. Come on, Y/N. It's prom. You need to experience it at least once. Why not with me? "

I feel my stomach begin to churn. Steve's taking me to prom? What fucking dream have I been blessed with?

I chew on my bottom lip. " I'll be back. " I turn to run back up the stairs.

I can't believe I'm going to prom with Steve.

I do my best to get dressed quickly. I manage to find a semi appropriate outfit for the dance and we head out.

" Dinner first. The dance is at 9. " Steve pulls into a familiar diner. It's the diner the whole team eats at after winning a game.

" Oh, you forgot to put on your corsage. " Steve opens the small box, gently taking out a beautiful corsage.

" Oh Steve, you really didn't have to do that. " I stare down at the beautiful flowers. " This is too much. "

Steve shakes his head. " I want you to have a prom to remember. You deserve it. "

I send him a smile. " Thank you. You...you're really the best. "

His smile widens, sending butterflies through my body. He gently puts the corsage onto my wrist. His fingers are cool. They leave tingly sensations on the skin he touches.

For a moment it's silent. I try to find a way to calm my nerves.

He's your friend. Just a friend.

" Actually, Y/N. I also wanted to talk to you about something. " Steve breaks the comfortable silence.

" Yeah? Go for it. " I take a sip of my water, my eyes staying on him.

For the first time he looks nervous. Like he has so much to say but he doesn't know how to.

" Are you okay? " I ask, slightly concerned. He's always so confident. He knows who he is and he's proud of it. It's something I've always admired.

Steve nods, pulling his eyes away from his water cup. " I'm just going to say it. Fuck. " He runs a hand through his hair.

My heart begins to pound faster. What's going on?

" Fuck, I hope this doesn't make things weird. That's the last thing I want. Look, I really like having you as a friend... " He starts.

What the fuck is he going to say? Now I'm nervous. Does he have another girlfriend? Someone who doesn't like him being friends with me?

"-But...fuck, look I like you. " He blurts out, a small blush crawling up his cheeks. " I've liked you for years and I really want to be more than friends. And...I don't know if this makes it weird. If you don't like me, I completely understand. We can just pretend this shit didn't happen and go to prom and never talk about it again. I really don't want to make you uncomfortable-" Steve rambles.

" Steve. " I try to interrupt.

" It's just been something I've struggled with for years and fuck, I don't want to keep it from you. Not when we could potentially be something more. I mean - "

" Steve. " I try a little more forcefully.

Steve's clearly stuck in his head because he doesn't seem to hear me.

"-I just don't want to have any regrets. Especially about you-"

" Fucking hell. Steve Harrington, I need you to shut the fuck up for a second. " I say louder, attracting the attention from an older couple nearby. " Sorry. "

Steve looks at me with wide eyes, clearly not expecting my reaction.

" Let me talk. Please. " I look into his eyes, excitement bubbling in my chest. " I like you to. Fuck, I never thought this would happen. "

Steve breaks into a wide grin. His shoulders relax and he seems less tense. " You do? "

I laugh slightly. " I mean, yeah. You're funny, you're talented, you're nice. You're the whole package. Steve, you're one of the kindest people I know. It's hard not to like you. "

" Oh my...thank god. I was so nervous you weren't going to feel the same. " Steve leans back into the booth seat he's in across from me.

" Me too. "

Today really has to be a dream.

" So...do you want to be my partner? " Steve asks, his gaze holding mine.

I smile. " I'd love to. "

Senior Year - 1984

" I'll see you after class? " Steve grins at me. He pushes away from the lockers he was leaning on.

" Of course. I'll meet you at your car. "

I watch as Steve walks away. He's immediately swallowed up by the crowd.

Thing's have been pretty good. Ever since we started going steady, things have been really nice. Of course, some people in the school don't really approve. It's hard to ignore sometimes but we try. Not everyone agrees that Steve should date someone like me.

It hurts.

But what's important is that we're still together. Despite the shit people say, we're trying.

Sometimes I can see it gets to Steve. He's lost a bit of respect. It's so fucking stupid. I don't understand why people think it's so important for him to date a certain type of person.

Sometimes I feel guilty for us dating. Sometimes his teammates can be dicks. They don't see what he sees in me.

It doesn't matter. As long as we're both happy, that's what's important.

++++++

" Look, we need to talk. "

Those are the first words I hear when I get into Steve's car. His jaw is tight. He avoids looking at me.

" Oh, yeah. What's up? " I ask, confused about what's going on. " Are you alright? You look tense. Did something happen in fifth period? "

" We need to break up. " Steve blurts out. He still avoids my gaze.

My eyes widen. " What? What's going on? Steve, look at me? "

" I'm done, Y/N. I need out of this relationship. "

What the fuck happened? We were fine literally an hour ago. What the fuck is going on?

" Why? Steve, what the fuck are you talking about? "

I feel my heart begin to break at his words.

Steve shakes his head. " I just-look, you're a nice girl, Y/N. But...I can't date you anymore. " His voice waivers slightly.

" Steve, what did I do? " My voice crackles. I feel tears prick at the back of my eyes. " What the fuck happened? "

" We don't look good together, Y/N. "

His excuse is fucking stupid.

" Since when have you cared about what other people think? Why now? "

Steve swallows harshly. " It's different now...I...you...we can't do this. You hear what they say about us, Y/N, don't you? What they say about you? "

Anger begins to bubble inside of me. This is what it's about. " It's me. You're embarrassed of me. " I'm silent for a second, trying not to let the tears come out. " Fuck you, Steve. "

Finally Steve looks up at me, hurt flashing over his face.

" You're an asshole, you know that? Since when have you given a fuck about someone elses' opinion? You're really doing this because of what other people have said? You're just like fucking Tommy, you know that? Like all of the other shallow assholes going to our school. " I open my door. " I hope you're happy. You'll finally get your spot as King of Hawkins back. I wish I'd never met you, Steve. "

" Y/N-" Steve begins, his arm reaching towards me. " I'm sorry- "

" Fuck you. " I slam his door, rushing away from his car. I hear a snicker as I walk past a few of the cars. Tommy and Carol whisper to each other, their harsh gazes glaring holes into my frame.

Steve's always had a bit of a reputation for being a dick to certain people. He's had a bit of a bullying streak. I thought that shit was over. I thought he'd grown out of it, I mean he was never mean to me.

I was wrong.

+++++++

Two days later he started dating Nancy Wheeler and I quit being a manager for the basketball team.

Fuck you Steve Harrington.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - In Which None of You Should be Surprised by a MAJOR Upset in the Standings

Sorry this is so late. I had a pretty epic series of delays landing me at NRT for like 18 hours or something ridiculous. To be fair there are much worse airports to be stranded at.

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

June 2024 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

The Rebound (Weds Gaga) ep 1 of 12 - Fuck all ya'all if you thought I had taste. MeenPing are topping this damn list because... have you any idea how LONG I have been waiting for a real sports centered BL starring at least one boy who actually played the flipping sport? My whole damn life. You ready for me to go into euphoric splooges all over your screens? I don't think you are. SUFFER! And now some splooging:

It’s off to a great start. Thank you, Rebound, for being exactly what I wanted. By which I mean Meen has his shirt off literally in the first two minutes of the show. Also it’s a bit of a childhood sweethearts reunion romance. There’s nothing wrong with this beginning. Fantastic. For a change, I even enjoy the intro music. Golf is directing MeenPing this time, so maybe something magical will happen. Frank is aging so pretty!!! How nice for all of us. Even the bb play is good. It’s a proper sports BL. I’m so damn happy right now. 

Wandee Goodday (Sat YT) ep 9 of 12 - I’m so tired of Ter, but everything else was lovely. Also they are SUCH boyfriends. 

Sunset X Vibes (Sat iQIYI) ep 3 of 12 - They are so cute in these roles. I don’t know why, I just like their vibe better here than in the previous show. (And I really enjoyed Big Dragon at the start.) This show is a lot more classic romance and kind of pat because of that. I do hope the ingénue character gets some kind of additional development and talent. But even if it stays mundane, these two have the chemistry to carry it. So I suspect I’ll keep enjoying it regardless. I am mildly intrigued by the spice of the PNR element, so I hope they run with that a bit more. I suspect they will have to, to extend the plot for 12 eps.

My Stand-In (Fri iQIYI) ep 10 of 12 - Ah Ming... famous last words. This one just makes me sigh a lot and whimper sadly. I don’t know where they’re going with this plot or how they’re gonna resolve it. Joe finally being the asshole Ming deserves is a lot of fun though (double entendre intended). I’m scared but it did make me cry... a lot. (That's fine, I'm a sap.)  

Imma say this because no one else has. Wardrobe is unilaterally terrible in this show. I mean Thailand is notoriously bad in general but this show, nash.

We Are Cute (Weds iQIYI) ep 13 of 16 - They are so fucking adorable. And so flirty! Also a crying kiss? My favorite! Chain’s little moment of "Cupid shoot thyself" was epic. ("Physician heal thyself" but for the BL world?) Honestly, I could watch a whole show about these two...

The Trainee (Sun YouTube) ep 1 of 12 - How does Gun still look like he’s just out of high school? Madness. Does the set for the print shop that he’s working in at the beginning remind anybody else of Mork’s dad’s place in ‘Cause He’s My Boy? I swear GMMTV has about 3 sets they rotate through.

To be brutally honest, I was not looking forward to the show at all. No idea why. OffGun aren’t my most favorite OG pair, but I respect them for their longevity, optics, acting shops, and enduring brand. Maybe I just needed more of a gap from Cooking Crush?

Whatever, I was absolutely riveted by this first episode. I’m enjoying The Trainee a lot. Like, a lot a lot.

My Love Mix-Up Th (Fri YT) ep 4 of 12 - This version did the "clear up of the inciting miscommunication" in such a sweet achey way. Frankly that "ache of first love" really plays to G4's strengths as a pair. This was a good ep and I’m now starting to enjoy this one for its own sake and get some distance from the JBL version. It's just there is A LOT of good stuff coming out of Thailand right now.

Love Sea (Sun iQIYI) ep 3 of 10 - I was inspired to write a Shakespearean style sonnet in this week's trash watch. Mame seems to believe that no character can have depth without suffering. And I found this episode both boring and rushed at the same time. Trash watch here. (This week's trash watch also VERY delayed.)

Knock Knock Boys (Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 12 - It’s eminently missable... so I missed it this week in order to get this weekly update out. Next week will be a two in one. 

Only Boo! (Sun YT) ep 12fin - Okay, that’s it, I guess?

Summary:

An idol romance about a sunshine boy who dances good and wants to be a star and a reserved food stand vendor. Other side of the tracks, grumpy/sunshine pair who fall in love but, of course, to be an idol baby boy can't date. It wasn’t particularly bad, it wasn’t particularly good either. 7/10

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

I Hear the Sunspot AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan Weds Gaga) Ep 1 of 10 - A new series adaptation of beloved yaoi I Hear the Sunspot (first adaptation was feature film Silhouette of Your Voice 2017).

I expected the soundscapes in this one to be fantastic, but I didn’t expect the filming to be something special too. But it really is. I’m not gonna lie, I'm nervous about this show because I love the manga and was disappointed by the film, but we were off to a really good start. First names already? So cute. I love them.

Takara's Treasure AKA Takara No Vidro (Japan Mon Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - Shy awkward Taishin goes to a Tokyo university in order to reunite with Takara, a stranger who consoled him over the loss of a parrot the year prior. He finally gets a chance to express his gratitude but is given the cold shoulder. (My thoughts this weekend's round up)

I can't believe Japan is holding it down for the non Thai BL. I mean to say.... JAPAN!!! What alt reality are we living in? It being Japan, I'm scared of the ending.

It's airing but...

Blue Boys is still going on and I'm still enjoying it (despite the cheating) but I don't know when it drops or where it's going, so I will report in at the end. When they tell me it's ended.

The Last Time (Thai Fri YT?) - Convoluted story of loss and possible reincarnation or something. Can't find it.

OMG Vampire (Thai Sun ???) 10 eps - I've put the search on hold for and y'all can let me know if it's worth tracking down once it ends?

In case you missed it

The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer released to Korean theaters 5/25. HoTae & DongHee, side couple from Unintentional Love Story are back! Same actors, same character names. I love them. Devastated this hasn't had international distribution. I demand you tell me the moment you find it!

Next Week Looks Like This:

NO IMG - we half way through this week already - sorry.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

July Releases to Come

7/5 This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans (Thai iQIYI) - trailer here, The PittBabe team behind a new restaurant set BL full of hidden agendas and starring my new favorites SailubPon. Delightful!

7/10 Century of Love (Thai Gaga) 10 eps - trailer here, DaouOffroad are back, this time as fated mates in a quasi historical paranormal moment. San has spent many lifetimes waiting for his lost beloved, to reincarnate from her death a century ago. But if he fails to find her within this century's time window, he will succumb to a tragic death. And this time she's a boy. Very much Director Who Buys Me Dinner meets First Love Again, hopefully better than both. I love this pair and think they can handle the premise, it's whether the storytelling is up to the challenge. I'm curious to see but I have reservations.

7/26 4 Minutes (Thai Netflix or iQIYI?) - Great is a university student from Faculty of Business and the son of a wealthy business owner. Out of the blue, he gains the supernatural power to see four minutes into the future.

7/29 Battle of the Writers (Thai ????) - trailer here, TutorYim return and while I adore them, I really hope this is better than Middleman's Love. Won't be hard. However: that premise! Ugh. Something something authors fighting - save me. Why don't writers understand that nothing is more boring than writers?

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Defining @heretherebedork 's favorite endearment of "tiny idiot."

I love him. I also love what a class act they both were about this turn down. Thailand shows Korea how to handle a love triangle by NOT HAVING ONE.

Both We Are.

We stand a lap sit on this blog, but I think this is my first lap spin! I adored it! (Sunset X Vibes)

It's fun to watch them follow the original narrative but with these cute little Thai twists. Sometimes these are shifted for language reasons, sometimes for cultural, and sometimes I think just to draw a clear distinction from the JBL. I'm not mad about any of it. (My Love Mix Up)

Not just for you, honey. Truer words were never spoken. Yak is the biggest green flag ever to walk BL's verdant earth.

Linguistic corner!

I love this way of putting the translation. Usually, in Thai, the phrase used means "he's my happiness" (sounds like: kwamsook). To use sabai is different. Sabai more ubiquitous (sabai is one of the most commonly used phrases in Thailand) but also so different from the usual phrase we hear in ThBL at this moment. Thus, this execution is special, particularly from a doctor. I'm not quite sure how to put it but sabai can also be translated as feeling well, as in, not ill. So there is a way of looking at Wandee saying Yak is both his peace of mind and good for his health and well being.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in it's infinite wisdom doesn't like too many tags.

There's these tricks, remember.

[chaoticharrington]

Chapter One: Professor Harrington and Mr. Munson

***THERE WILL BE LOTS SMUT 18+ CONTENT EVENTUALLY SO MINORS THIS IS NOT A SPACE FOR YOU, MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED,IF YOU DONT HAVE AN AGE IN YOUR BIO I WILL LIKELY ASSUME YOU'RE A MINOR AND BLOCK. DM FOR ANY QUESTIONS THANKS!<3***

Pairing: Professor! Steve Harrington x Best Friends Dad! Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not much...YET.. lots of smutty smutt smutt to come. Vague mention of depression/ bad childhood/anxiety , mention of drug use/ cigarette smoking, Eddie and Steve being hot, Reader is in their mid 20s and Eddie and Steve are early to mid 40s

Summary: Reader moves to the one and only Hawkins, Indiana and meets her sexy new sociology professor and realizes she might have a crush on her best friends dad..oops

Authors Note: Hi folks!!! this is so nerve wracking i've never really properly written for either of these characters before except in my head and reading lots and lots of smut! I really hope you guys like it, i'm really excited for what's to come for this series, I haven't thought of a name for it yet so i'm just going to go chapter by chapter but its gonna be a fucking wild ride so buckle your seat belts :) 4k words (Also older Eddie pic by the lovely @eddiemunsons-missingnipple )

**Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five**

(banners and headers by @cafekitsune)

Were you doing the right thing? Could you do this on your own? What if you failed?

Your head filled with doubt now that your dreams you’ve had since you graduated high school were now coming to fruition. You saved up all the money you could, working odd jobs for a few years after high school to have enough money to get out of your hometown and into a good college states away.

You shake away all the negative thoughts, no. This had to work you were going to make sure it worked. This is your new start, to create your own life. It had to be better than back home, where no one gave a shit about you and your own parents didn’t care enough to stick around after you graduated high school, not that they were the most involved parents to begin with anyways. Even the friends you had back home were just party related or friends of friends, you were always on the outside looking in, never properly fitting anywhere. The only reason you decided to move specifically to Hawkins was because your only real friend, Violet, that you’ve had since you were 12 had moved here 10 years ago and you’d made a pact long ago that if you ever got out of that town, you’d follow her here.

You pinch your fingers to the bridge of your nose, willing the thought of your parents and back home to go back into the little dark corner of your brain. You can’t breakdown now, not right before your first class, how pathetic would that be?

“Focus focus focus, come on you got this.” you muttered quietly to yourself over and over until the anxiety subsided. You take a deep breath, willing your lungs to fill with air to cool down your buzzing insides. You look in your car mirror to make sure your makeup still looked good and fidgeted with your clothes.

You were never one to obsess over your appearance by any means, but you really wanted to make a good first impression. You had your hair pulled up into a butterfly clip and had on your favorite dress a pair of black tights and your trusty Dr. Martens. With one final look in the mirror, you sigh and grab your bookbag and get out of your car. You look on your phone to triple check that you were in the right place, the last thing you needed was to be lost or even worse late to your first class.

You’d only moved into your apartment off campus the day before so you haven’t had time to look around the town or get used to your surroundings yet. You noted that your car didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Your car was a few years old and was always something of an insecurity for you. But most of the cars that filled the almost completely full parking lot were older or used cars, which put you at ease. You head into the Humanities and Social Sciences building and check for a fourth time, Sociology 101 room E142 Professor Harrington.

The room is much bigger than you thought, chairs and desks circling the podium at the front of the room. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the room was only half full of other stressed out looking students preparing for their day ahead. You decide to pick a seat towards the middle of the room to not look too eager.

As you’re getting your laptop and books out of your bookbag you hear footsteps walking into the room and the girls behind you immediately start giggling and whispering to each other. You look to see where they’re looking hoping they aren’t making fun of you, you see them biting their lips and looking at the front of the class. You follow their eyeline and your breath hitches.

Where your sociology professor should be standing is an Adonis, he has thick honey brown hair, peppered with grey, that frame his handsome face. His skin impossibly sun kissed like he’d just come back from a tropical island and not living in Hawkins, Indiana. He smiles nervously at the class; his smile is warmer than the sun despite his nervousness, warming you from the inside out. He’s wearing a white button down covered by a navy blue sweater, a pair of grey slacks and black high top converse.

“Ahoy folks! Are you guys ready to set sail on this vast ocean called Sociology with me? I’ll be your Captain Professor Harrington!” he claps his hands, his eyes waiting and hoping for a response.

The girls behind you giggle and a few other students around the room follow suit, he sighs contently. He goes onto explaining the syllabus and assignments for this semester. The class flies by, he’s easy to listen and pay attention to, sure his looks help but he seems genuinely interested in what he’s teaching. Which is a breath of fresh air, you diligently take notes, making sure not to miss anything. Before you know it, class is over and people start packing up their things.

“Oh class before I forget, if any of you are commuters, come get a parking pass from me unless you want a ticket.” he announces to the class, most of the class you assume living in the dorms hurry out of the room.

“Because not only are we charging students tuition we are also charging students just to park on campus, capitalism at its finest folks,” he snorts, shakes his head, and walks to his desk leaning against it.

After finally putting all your things away and checking where your next class is you head up to him. Just being near him makes your heart beat a million miles a minute, like your unworthy of being in his presence let alone so close to him.

He smiles warmer and wider as you stand in front of him, “Hey what can I do ya for?” he asks brightly.

“Oh, uh, I just need a parking pass if that’s okay,” you say quietly.

“More than okay my dear!” he declared. You blush at his words while he picks around in his desk drawer for a parking pass. His nose scrunches up in frustration as the digging becomes hastier and more urgent.

“I coulda swore I put em in here… or did I leave them in my office?... shit,” he breathes.

You giggle at his disorganization, and he looks up at you embarrassed, you wondered how a man who looks like how he does could ever be embarrassed about anything. The girls who sit behind you would agree.

“I promise I’m not usually this discombobulated.. just uh first days always come sooner than I think.” he chuckles

You nod knowingly at him “No worries I can always get it tomorrow or something.” you say waving his worries off.

He looks up at you through his glasses relieved “Really? That- that would be amazing. I would go grab them from my office, but I don’t think I have enough time to before my next class.” He studies you for a second like he’s actually looking at you for the first time.

“What’s your name again hun?” he says casually, as he opens his computer and types on his keyboard.

Your heart flutters at the continued use of nicknames, you take a second to study him again before you respond. He’s hunched over his desk, typing and clicking away on his computer like he’s searching for something. His eyes crinkled at the edges with age, memories of many days smiling and being in the sun. You notice his freckles that adorn his face and neck that you couldn’t see during class. If you had it your way, you’d take your time to count them all to try and make sense of his godly beauty. And his hands.. his hands look so strong effortlessly gliding across his keyboard.

You must have taken too long to answer because he looks up at you expectantly and raises his eyebrow and smirks. You shake your head slightly trying to regain your composure.

“S-sorry first day jitters, my heads a bit scrambled,” you confess to him. You tell him your name quickly, you hoped that your cheeks didn’t look as red as they felt.

His eyes softened a bit and nodded and continued to type on his computer for a couple more seconds before turning to you again.

“I emailed campus security to let them know that it’s my fault you don’t have a pass and if they do give you a ticket just bring it to me and I’ll sort it out for you, okay?” he states and steps away from his computer to face you again.

“Oh wow thank you so much Mr. Harrington, I really appreciate it!” you chirp

His face scrunches up at the name, and chuckles, some of his honey brown hair falling in front of his face, his hand ready to catch them and put the strands back in place. You were mesmerized.

“Uh Mr. Harrington is my father, call me Steve er Professor Harrington works to if you don’t want to be on a first name basis.” He says kindly

“Oh well thank you regardless…Steve.” his name sounds foreign but good on your tongue. You stare at your shoes and then realize that you’ve been in here looking at your professor for far too long.

What the fuck were you thinking? He probably thinks you’re insane but is too nice to say so.

“Ya of course,” he dismisses you easily.

“Anyways I don’t wanna keep you, have a good day,” you apologize.

"You too Y/N,” he calls, as you head out the door, glad that your back is to him so he can’t see you blush again just because he said your first name.

“Get it the fuck together.” you mutter to yourself as you walk aimlessly out of his classroom.

The rest of the day goes without a hitch, you find yourself actually excited for the upcoming topics in your classes. You’ve never given yourself the opportunity to properly nerd out about the things you’re interested in.

You finally get back to your car after all your classes and groan at the sight of a ticket stuck onto your windshield.

“Fuck…” you whine

Too tired to get it taken care of today you drive home and plop on your bed. Even though your classes were super interesting, it was very mentally draining. Extra draining because you’ve tried to force your brain to focus on classes and not think about your sexy sociology professor.

Was he this nice to all his students? Did you catch him eyeing you up while you were talking or were your eyes playing tricks on you? You keep trying to reassure yourself he is just really nice. But his hands… his smile…

You groan and rub your hands against your face trying to shake all the whirling thoughts out of your head. You force yourself to think about literally anything else, then your tummy rumbles. You haven’t had time to grocery shop considering you had just moved in yesterday and your fridge was completely empty except for some bottles of water and condiments.

Your phone buzzes next to you on your bed, you open it and smile.

“BITCHHHH I MISS U COME OVER! You’ve been in Hawkins over 24 hours & ive gotten radio silence from u! ur presence is being requested in the munson household immediately!

P.S Bring food my dad is starving me over here”

“At your service m’lady, cheeseburgers good?” you respond quickly

“ur a life saver babe<3”

Your mind drifts away from your professor and the ticket that is burning a hole in your bookbag. This place already feels more like home than any time you’ve ever spent where you were born. You missed your best friend so much. Violet Munson has been your ride or die best friend for as long as you can remember. You two became friends when you were sitting alone in the lunch room one day and she came and sat right down next to you and you two have been inseparable ever since… that is until her dad decided to move her back to Hawkins to be closer to family after the divorce right before freshman year. You had been crushed getting your best friend ripped away from you like that, but then you guys made the pack to get out of dodge when you could, and now you’re here… in Hawkins,Indiana.

You change into comfy clothes and grab some cheeseburgers, fries, and onion rings from the only burger joint in town and headed over to the Munson residence. You’ve never actually been to her house before because your parents never allowed you to visit after she moved away, so you two mostly kept in contact over constant texts and lots of facetiming.

Pulling up to her house you were more nervous than you thought, you hadn’t seen her in so long and hoped things wouldn’t be awkward. You turned off the ignition, grabbed the food, and went to open your door when you heard a scream come from the front of the house. You lift your eyes to see your best friend jumping up and down on the front porch in her pajamas. Violet had long bright purple hair and thick black eyeliner, kind eyes, a wide smile, and an infectious laugh.

“YOU’RE HERE YOU’RE REALLY FUCKING HERE HOLY SHIT!”

You laughed and dropped all the food in the front seat of your car and ran to meet her in the middle of her lawn and tackled her to the ground. You hugged her tight, squeezing your eyes together wishing the tears at the corner of your eyes to go away.

“Vi I missed you so fucking much.” you whisper

“Awe babe I missed you too.” she shares

You both get up off the grass and you grab the food and head inside. You set the food down in front of the tv like you used to do when she lived closer to you. You sit down on the couch and while she grabs plates. You sigh deeper into the couch, everything was just picking up exactly where you two had left off, you were gonna be okay. You smile quietly to yourself and then head to the kitchen to help her bring everything into the living room. You decide to watch a new horror movie that just came out, the two of you always bonding over everything creepy and spooky. You let Violet tell you about her partner Quinn, who she met a few years ago and was head over heels in love with.

Then the front doorknob jingled, and you heard the familiar thud of heavy boots.

“Ho- holy shit is that Y/N?!”

You turn to face the familiar voice at the door. “Hey Mr. Munson, long time no see!” you breathe.

Fuckk… when did Vi’s dad get so... hot?... what the hell is wrong with you today? First your sociology professor and now your best friends DAD?!

He grins widely at you just like his daughter, he shrugs out of his boots and walks into the living room.

“I got you a cheeseburger on my way over, still like double meat and cheese on your burger?” you question.

Mr. Munson puts a hand over his heart and falls into the love seat next to the tv.

“You remembered, I’m touched sweetheart.” he beamed.

“oh yeah no problem at all!” you blush.

“Well I’ll let you guys catchup, don’t need me harshing the vibes, Vi’s been nonstop talking about you coming to Hawkins  a month!” he chattered

Out of the corner of your eye you see Violet roll her eyes at her father.

“Dad no one fucking says “harshing the vibes” anymore or at all, you’re aging yourself old man,” she chortles

Mr. Munson chuckles and puts his hands up in the air in surrender “Alright alright I’m leaving, if you guys need anything I’ll be in the garage. Thanks again for the burger Y/N!” he says kindly holding up the burger in one of his large tattooed hands.

You beam up at him happy to help, and this time you get a good look at your best friends dad. He’s aged so much better than you could ever imagine a man with Mr. Munsons lifestyle to ever age, the expression aged like fine wine captures it perfectly.

His brown hair still wild and curly as its always been but tied up into a low bun at the base of his neck. Only difference is the now visible little grey streaks that run through random curls. He has more laugh lines at the side of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. Still wearing his normal garb, black jeans with loads of rips, a band tee with a leather jacket. His chocolate brown eyes still full of mischief and debauchery. His nose ring ever present but you spy a few more additions to his tattoo collection, specifically a new neck tattoo and a few more on his hands.

Fuck his hands… wait you have to answer him. Answer him before it’s weird that you’ve been staring at him so long.. you’re really on a fucking roll today.

“It was my pleasure Mr. Munson really,” you gush.

He gives you a wink that goes straight to your core and vibrates in your bones and heads to the garage.

Violet didn’t seem to notice how flushed you were, eyes still on the screen, interjecting at random times when a scene looks to fake or when the blood splattering doesn’t look real enough.

After the movie the two of you head upstairs to Vi’s room, she wanted to show you her new additions to her every growing crystal collection and a few polaroid pictures of her and her partner.

“They literally make me feel like a princess I feel so lucky, for our 3 year anniversary they gave me these black tourmaline pentagram earrings, aren’t they so cute?!”

Your heart fills with warmth, Violet has always been loud and unique, you are so happy for her that she found someone who accepts her for who she is and loves her for it.

“That’s really sweet Vi, i'm so happy you have them, and that they treat you so well,” you grin.

“Thanks… what about you though? You’ve always been very singular… looking to change that any time soon? You deserve to be happy babe, even if it just means getting laid you deserve to get some. You’re a fucking catch dude” ,she compliments

“I mean you know I had a thing with Dylan for awhile before he got back with his girlfriend...” you murmur

“Oh COME ON, you know that’s not what I mean, not some assholes rebound!” she insists

“Vi I don’t have a line down the block like you used to have, you’ve got that whole hot sexy goth girl shit going on, I’m just me.” you babble and point to your gorgeous best friend

“What about Tom? You were with Tom for a long time what happened with him?” she asks obliviously.

“Fuckin cheated on me,” you sigh. Re-living your lack of romantic endeavors to your very not single best friend being up there in the top 10 most pathetic things to date.

“Oh fuck that guy, how fucking dare he!” she sneers while she tries to light the perfectly wrapped blunt in her hand.

“Shit I think my lighters dead, can you go ask my dad if he has an extra?”

You nod and head downstairs and search for the door that leads to the garage, finally you find the door you’re looking for and the image in front of you almost makes you audibly gasp.

Mr. Munson has a cigarette between his lips hes strumming along to some metal song that he’s humming the tune to, occasionally sucking in smoke and blowing out the side of his mouth. His head bobbing to the tune of the song completely in his own world. He’s beautiful.

You look at the way his fingers move to the beat and strum the strings on his guitar, mesmerized by how pretty they are. You can see all the calloses on his hands from all of the years of playing.

Your hand moves without thinking and knocks on the side of the garage door, getting Mr. Munsons attention.

“Oh shit, hey honey, ya need something?" He questions

“oh yeah sorry, Vi’s lighter ran out, and we were trying to light a blunt, you got an extra?” You ask.

Growing up, Mr. Munson had always been the more laid back between Violets two parents, letting her test the waters herself allowing more than the normal parent would. But as long as she was being safe and not doing any hard drugs he was mostly lenient with her. Not that it mattered much now that she’s grown.

“Uh yeah I probably got one around here somewhere, come pop a squat while I look.” he gestures to the chair beside him.

Your legs wobble while you move into the garage, it smelled so uniquely of him. His leather jacket draped over the back of his chair, smoke in the air, and metal music playing lowly in the background.

His space made you feel at home, the garage door was open so you could see the sun setting in the sky, and the metal music is weirdly comforting. You find yourself tapping your feet to the beat.

Eddie went to his truck looking for an extra lighter and your eyes wander to his guitar. You can tell he really cares about it, its clean, the strings look freshly changed, and recently polished.

“Oh yeah she’s a beaut isn’t she?" He observes proudly, leaning against his car with a new found lighter in hand.

“Yeah really pretty Mr. Munson,” you remark.

He smiles at you, “Here ya go, I don’t know how much juice is left in it.” He hands you the lighter, for the few seconds your hands connect you see how much bigger his hands are than yours, it almost makes you topple over in your chair.

“Thanks,” you reply. You grab the lighter with your hand and put it in your pocket and push out of the chair headed back into the house.

“Were you always this shy?” he asks inquisitively.

You turn around to face him confused by his question, you never really considered yourself shy, it just takes some time for you to come out of your shell.

“Shy?” you reply. fidgeting with a loose string on your sweatpants, your lips in a fine line.

“Yeah..you just seem.. shy or sad maybe, you doin okay?” he presses

You sigh hard trying to find the right words to explain the last few years and what would be appropriate to share with your best friends dad. “I’m fine really, just a long few days.” you share and smile to try and make it convincing.

He clicks his tongue and you know that he doesn’t believe you, your heart sinks. You never want to put your sadness or hurt onto anyone else, you’re a big girl and you can handle it on your own. You change the subject to the empty beer glass on the table in front of him, “Need another beer?” you ask

“Read my mind darlin, thanks,” he replies.

You head to the kitchen to grab him his beer and head back to the garage to bring it to him. When you get back he’s back at it strumming on his guitar in his own world, you wish for a second maybe you could just sit in his little world with him, it’s quiet and peaceful, no thinking required. You set the beer on the table and turn to head back upstairs.

“Hey Y/N, if you need anything or even just to talk I’m around, I know I’m not Violet, but if you need another friendly face, I’m here.” he smiles warmly at you.

Your heart melts, of course he’s the sweetest man in the whole world. “Thank you Mr. Munson that really means a lot,” you blush. Thankful to have one more person in this town on your side.

You close the door behind you and rush back upstairs hoping Violet doesn’t notice how long you’ve been gone. You hear voices and giggling on the other side of the door,

She’s on the phone with Quinn.

“She’s returned! Come here I want you to meet Quinn!” she exclaims. You breathe out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, no excuse necessary. Your friendship with Violet has always easier than breathing. You spend the rest of the night smoking weed and talking on the phone with her partner, glad to have the distraction from your recent interaction with her dad.

Did he really mean what he said? Or was he also just being nice? I guess he kind of has to be nice to me, being his daughters best friend. Plus he’s so out of my league, a man like him would never go for a girl like me, right?

Only time will tell.

No Pressure Tags!: (Just tagging some mutuals I thought might enjoy!) ** If you wanna be tagged in the next fic lemme know**

@untitled74745 @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @munsonology @lesservillain @tlclick73 @dukesmebby @cozyquinn @rowanswriting @succubusmunson @teddyeyeseddie @lofaewrites @chaoticmunsons @ryan-waddell11

[hwaslayer]

project: make you love me (jyh) | nineteen. (final)

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 5.5k

—chapter content/warnings:  cussing/mature language, some alcohol consumption, seonghwa (lmao im jk just had to do it one time for the one time - hes not really a warning but he does pop in for a second), oral (f. receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, praising, lots and lots of kisses 

—on rotation: universe - thuy ・complicated - nivea

—a/n: & we've come to the end 😭 sobbing!! tysm for all your love on this one, i truly appreciate every single one of you that cried, loved and supported this couple from day one!! <33 it truly meant a lot to me. i hope to see you alongside of me on the next journey hehe 💕 find my upcoming works here & lmk if you wanna be on the taglists! if you need something more sad & angsty, here is home. ILYYYY!!

"Baby! Yeo!" You squeal when you see Yunho lined up with Yeosang amongst the crowd of graduates waiting to pile their way in to the field where the ceremony would be taking place. He waves, tall and proud in his cap and gown, blushing from ear to ear when you rush over for a quick hug.

"Pretty girl." He mumbles against your head before kissing you on the temple. "Go get your seat before it fills up." His hands are on your waist as he looks down at you, brushing the hair away from your face.

"I know, but I just had to see you really quickly." You point to your friends behind you, all holding up cardboard cut outs of Yunho and Yeosang's faces. "Look! We came prepared!" They laugh.

"I'm glad you picked a nice photo of me at least." 

"Oh, we have both cute and funny faces, don't worry." Yeosang rolls his eyes before giving off another chuckle. You slip a water bottle filled halfway with tequila in Yunho's hand, making Yeosang give off a loud laugh when he realizes what you're giving them.

"Babe." Yunho says almost in a scolding manner that makes you giggle.

"You've got a whole 3-4 hours or so of a graduation ceremony, love! What else are you gonna do?!"

"She's right, what are we gonna do?"

"Oh my— go, babe. We're gonna head in soon." You laugh and give him a quick peck on the lips before squeezing his hand.

"Okay, okay. I love you. Enjoy!"

"I love you, too." You wave once more before running off to your friends and heading out onto the lawn. It's a beautiful day out, and the sun is already shining even though it's still early in the morning. You, your friends, your mom and sister, and Yunho's mom and aunt eventually find ways to each other and take place in some seats right by the stage and underneath the shade.

As expected, the ceremony kicks off and it's a long one. The President of the school speaks before other distinguished professors and a special guest speaker take over the mic. Yunho and Yeosang surprisingly do take a few swigs from the water bottle mid-speech, catching other graduates doing the same to keep themselves alive and on the same high they started with this morning. Once they start handing out diplomas to the graduates by school/department, it tacks on another hour or so before they're finally reaching the Computer Science department.

"Oh shit, finally!" Soobin says, fixing his position in his seat and getting his phone ready.

"Are they even going in alphabetical order?" Seungmin stands, stepping aside to make sure he isn't blocking the view.

"Nope. They're going by row, I think." Chaery stands before pointing and grabbing you by the arm. "Wait, wait! Yunho and Yeo are standing now!" You stand and let your family and his family know that it might be time to head closer towards the stage. The entire group makes their way towards the side of the stage that is blocked off solely for family and loved ones to snap photos of their graduates. You sneak your way past a few people, bringing everyone closer in an area where Yunho and Yeosang could see the group clearly as they walk across the stage and off.

The first to walk across the stage is Yeosang; his family roars next to you while you all hold up his boards. You snap a few photos of him just as he walks off and quickly flashes his diploma before waving one last goodbye to get to his seat. At this point, Yunho takes a step onto the stage, waiting for his name to be called. You feel the tears welling in your eyes when you find that Yunho isn't looking at anyone but you. 

"I love you." He mouths out and subtly taps his chest just as they call his name.

"I love you, too." You mouth back before snapping his photos— catching that sparkle in his eye, that beautiful smile on his face. That's your man and you love him so, so much.

"Jeong Yunho!" Chaery yells as you all put up the blown up boards of his face. You all cheer and scream for him as he finally crosses the stage and grabs his diploma, doing a little celebratory dance as he steps down and passes everyone for final photos. Yunho quickly grabs your hand and presses a light kiss to the surface before running off to his seat. "I swear to God, you two are the sweetest." Chaery pokes out her bottom lip before throwing her arm around your shoulder. "That man loves you and adores you to bits, Y/N."

"And I do, too." She squeezes you as you all make your way back to your seats to endure the rest of the graduates getting their diplomas.

"Do you guys have any plans for Yunho and Yeosang tonight?" Your mom leans over to ask and you shake your head.

"No, they didn't wanna do anything besides the lunch thingy we're all going to."

"Oh, really? Not even a party?" You shake your head.

"Nope. I promise you, we tried." Your mom chuckles and nods.

As the rest of the ceremony finally comes to an end, caps are being tossed in the air from all directions while the graduates celebrate in unison one last time. You hurriedly run to the nearest bathroom because your body decides this would be the best time to do so. Luckily, there isn't much of a line or anything so you're able to slip in and out after relieving yourself. But once you head back to the lawn, you find yourself completely lost in a sea full of graduates, their families and loved ones. When you tippy-toe to try and find Yunho, you surprisingly can't find a glimpse of him and it makes you a bit anxious.

"Oops, sorry—"

"Sorry—" You look up. "Seonghwa." You bump into him as you continue to try and navigate your way through the crowd to find Yunho and Yeosang, with Seonghwa also trying to find his family in the sea of people.

"Oh, hey." He looks down at you.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you." He says with a small smile.

"I really do wish you the best." He looks at you before looking down at his feet and nodding.

"I appreciate that, Y/N. I hope senior year treats you well." You give him a toothless smile before you finally spot Yunho over his shoulder. Seonghwa watches as your smile grows, hearing the small squeals leave your lips when you finally spot Yunho with your friends and family.

"Thanks. Good luck!" You bid Seonghwa farewell once and for all before running over to your boyfriend. Of course, Seonghwa keeps his eyes trained on you two for a bit while you swing your arms around Yunho's neck and kiss him so sweetly, so lovingly. Yunho looks down at you like the entire world is handed to him on a gold platter, like you hold the galaxies in your eyes, like every inch of you has been crafted by the stars. 

You are everything to him, and it's clear even for someone like Seonghwa— who isn't sure how to give love, yet is very open to receiving it.  He could've had that, if he wasn't so dumb. You really did believe in him at one point, but he didn't do anything with it. He didn't choose you.

But truthfully, in the end, he's happy you're happy. Even though it took him awhile to fully understand that. He knew he couldn't fully give you what you wanted, and he knows Yunho is way better than he'll ever be. You deserve that, and Seonghwa knows he should've tried harder when he had you. Not after.

Life's a bunch of learning lessons, and he truly gets that now.

"Congrats, baby!" You giggle when Yunho presses repeated kisses against your face, holding you against him.

"Hey! Turn to the camera!" Your mom yells from behind you. "Let me snap some photos of you and the handsome graduate! Hurry! Food's waiting!" Your mom playfully scolds you before snapping a bunch of photos. Everyone is taking their time snapping photos of you and Yunho, you and your friends with Yunho and Yeosang, and it takes a good bit before everyone is satisfied enough to leave. 

Yeosang's family joins everyone for a celebratory meal at the bbq restaurant in the city. It's a late celebratory lunch being that it's a bit past noon, but everyone is happy and still in good spirits despite the long ceremony and warmer weather. It's nice to see everyone you love under one roof, with Yunho and Yeosang rightfully being celebrated for all their hardwork. While your mom and sister sit alongside of Yunho's mom and aunt, your dad calls mid-dinner to congratulate Yunho over Facetime and apologizes for missing the ceremony due to a business trip. Yunho eventually ends up agreeing to a random fishing date with your dad in the coming weeks, making you laugh how cutely [and quickly] he agreed.

"Babe." You look up at him sweetly as everyone exits the restaurant, your hand loosely intertwined with his.

"When you say my name like that, you're always up to no good." You playfully smack him with a gasp.

"Oh my god, not even!" You giggle. "I just wanted to know if you're happy."

"Of course I am."

"Do you wanna do anything else to celebrate?"

"Nah." He shakes his head and boops your nose. "Just wanna spend time with you. Besides, I told you I'd take you somewhere this summer, remember? That'll be a way to celebrate."

"I feel like I wanna do more for you."

"You do a lot for me already. I promise." He squeezes your hand.

"I'm gonna be honest, and it's probably gonna sound lame, but a nap sounds really nice right now." Yeosang says. "We got up way too early for graduation." You laugh.

"Why don't we nap and head to the beach tonight for a chill bonfire?" Soobin suggests with a shrug. "So we can celebrate but also not do too much?"

"That actually sounds amazing." Chaery looks at with a surprised expression. "Way to go, Choi!" She punches him on the arm, earning a small groan in response.

"Yeah, I'm down for that."

"I'll drive us and see if the others wanna come along?" Yeosang and Yunho nod.

"Yay!" You clap before bidding farewell to your mom, sister, Yunho's mom and his aunt. 

As expected, everyone heads their separate ways and gets ready to relax for the early afternoon. Chaery and Seungmin head off to the grocery store to grab a few drinks and snacks for tonight, and some ice for the cooler. After taking a quick shower, you head back to Yunho's— already finding Yeosang's door shut close, while Yunho is also in bed with an arm lazily draped over his face. As you quietly shut the door behind you and walk towards his bed, you hear Yunho's small snores a little clearer. You giggle to yourself as you carefully climb over and take your place on the empty side of the bed, but Yunho is quick to shift in his own position and throw an arm around you as soon as he feels the bed dip. His hand gently squeezes at your side just as he presses up against your back, letting out a soft sigh against the back of your head.

"Sorry baby." He sleepily says. "Tried waiting but I got sleepy."

"That's okay, Yuyu. Go back to sleep." He presses a light kiss to your head before snuggling closer to you. Within a few minutes, you feel your lids getting heavier, breathing more regulated. It's not long before you fall into a deep sleep with Yunho cuddled behind you; also meeting you in your dreams.

Eventually, your slumber comes to an end when you feel Yunho pressing light kisses to your jaw, cheek, neck and head. You giggle as your eyes flutter open, giving your body a tiny, but good stretch in Yunho's arms.

"Awake already?"

"Mm, we slept for like 3 hours." He laughs. "We should eat before we head to the beach."

"What do you wanna eat? I'm too content here." You chuckle.

"I could name a few things." Yunho smirks before gently nibbling on your earlobe and giving your thigh a squeeze.

"You go to sleep for 3 hours and wake up like this?!" You snort.

"Baby." He whines, so you turn to look at him. 

"And here I thought you really wanted to eat."

"I do! I'm just in the mood for a variety of things." 

"Oh?" You let out a loud squeal when Yunho comes for your neck and starts attacking you with more kisses.

"Oy! I can hear you two from out here!" Chaery says from outside the door, causing the both of you to pause and look towards the door.

"When did she get here?" You ask. Yunho snorts as he continues to play around, hand teasing at the edge of your panties. "Yunho!"

"What?" He nips at your neck.

"You lovebirds awake or what? We brought some food over." Seungmin asks right by the door. You can hear both him and Chaery mumbling from behind— something along the lines of:

Should we just knock?

Should we go in?

You think they're still sleeping after hearing her earlier?

What if they're indecent and in compromised positions?

Dude, just tell them the food is outside, they'll come when they're ready.

You laugh to yourself amidst Yunho's kisses, internally shaking your head at your roommates for almost acting on their thoughts. You return your attention back to your boyfriend, who is looking at you adoringly even as his fingers continue to trace the material of your panties.

"Food is outside when you two are done!" Seungmin says, followed by an 'ow' afterwards.

"Yunho, what are you up to?"

"I'll be quick." He laughs. "Just wanna please you."

"Everyone is outside!"

"You can be quiet though, right?" He lowers himself under the blankets, taking his position in between your thighs. You bite onto your bottom lip, feeling Yunho tug your panties down before slipping in two digits. You let out a quiet, breathy moan, twitching when you suddenly feel him latch onto your clit— tongue working magic around your core. 

"Oh shit—" Your moan gets louder and Yunho gives your thigh a squeeze to warn you. You feel the pleasure quickly building in your gut, slowly working your hips against his mouth; hands gripping his hair with good pressure. You feel him pick up the pace, pumping into you faster before he focuses on your clit alone, letting you grind your hips against him. He groans against you, pressing his hips deeper into the mattress to feel some kind of friction, to relieve himself in any way possible.  "Yunho, fuck—" Sooner or later, your orgasm washes over you and completely takes over your senses. You tremble against him, back arching off of the mattress as the aftershocks trickle through you. "Jesus, babe."

"Mhm, but you feel good, don't you?" He pokes out of the covers, laughing with rose-tinted cheeks.

"What about you?"

"I'm good." He leans in to kiss you. "That's all I needed."

"You're crazy."

"I love you, too." He kisses you again. "Ready to actually eat?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" You laugh, letting Yunho get up and fix himself first. You throw on some sweats, also following suit to make sure you look decent enough for your friends. 

"Wow, finally." Chaery says when she sees Yunho ski-daddle to the bathroom with a quick wave, you plopping yourself down onto the living room floor next to her. "You good?" She teases, nudging you in the arm.

"Mm, thanks for bring the food."

"Course."

"Who else is tagging along?"

"Hyunjin. Yeonjun. Jongho. Minnie. Someone else, I forgot though." Soobin says. "They're riding with Jongho."

"I'm surprised they're still around. Usually, they're all quick to dip as soon as finals are over." Chaery adds. "Eat up, replenish your stamina." She hands Yunho a plate when he plops onto the floor next to you.

"Thank you." He flashes her a bright, playful smile. "Did you guys get everything for tonight?"

"Mhm!" 

"You should've told us. We could've chipped in." Yeosang nods in agreement.

"Um, this is for you guys. Why on earth would I do that?" She laughs. "No, absolutely not. I just want you guys to have fun and enjoy tonight."

"Thank you." Yeosang repeats with a small smile. Everyone finishes up eating in the living room before Yeosang and Soobin are hauling the cooler into his car for tonight's festivities. As soon as the sun sets, the group piles into the car, squeezing into the back to fit [as safely as possible]. The beach Soobin picks isn't the usual, popular beach that everyone tends to go to. He decides it's best to go to the smaller one that's tucked off to the side so it isn't bombarded with people on a beautiful night like tonight. It takes a quick 10-min drive down the highway, along with tackling a curvy, winding road before Soobin is driving down a small, quiet residential area and pulling up at a dead-end. 

"Jongho and them are here already." He says, pulling up behind their car along the side of the street near the dead-end sign. Everyone hops out and grabs what they can to haul it over to the beach, having to walk down the path in order to reach the sand. Jongho and the rest of the group already have a huge fire going, chairs situated around the fire with a few snacks and the bluetooth speakers softly playing music laying around.

"Finally!" Jongho says with his arms wide open. "Congrats Yunho and Yeo!"

"Thanks, my guy!" Yunho responds with a laugh, greeting your friends with a hug and thanking them for hanging out to celebrate. Everyone gets started with rounds of shots before dancing around in the sand and splashing in the water. Yunho's happily singing along to the songs even as you two walk into the water and try to playfully splash each other. At once, he carries you and attempts to throw you into the water, laughing away as you chase him and scold him for even trying.

When you finally settle back onto the chair and start roasting some marshmallows for smores, Yunho plops onto the chair next to you— gently nudging you on the arm before kissing you on the cheek.

"Making some smores?" You giggle and nod.

"Want one?"

"Sure." You throw a marshmallow onto another stick, keeping it near the fire. While waiting for it to be perfectly roasted, you look up and admire the stars strung across the velvety sky.

The moon.

"Yunho."

"Yeah?"

"It's a full moon." He looks at you with a small smile before kissing you on the temple, helping you arrange his smores on a plate.

"It is, and I want you to remember this one and the next ones to come."

"Why?"

"Just cause." He gives you a small smile, happy to have made the moon something you two could share, something that will always serve as a reminder of the love you two hold for each other. "It's our thing, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is our thing." You giggle, resting your head on his shoulders while you continue to watch your friends fool around on the sand and enjoy themselves under the clear, night sky. "I'm proud of you, you know that right? Incredibly proud of you."

"I know."

"I'll be the support you every step of the way."

"Thank you, love. And I'll be here, too. I'm here."

♣︎ SUMMER

You splashed in the clearest, bluest waters you've ever seen, Yunho coming behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. You give off a tiny scream when he surprises you from behind, lifting you and dropping you back into the water.

"Jeong Yunho!" You laugh mid-scold, wiping the water from your face.

"I like it when you say my name." He smirks, followed by a deep laugh. "Sorry, baby. I had to."

"You're lucky I like you." He smiles, hands resting on your waist to pull you close.

"That's a shame, I thought you loved me, too." He teases while you wrap your arms around his neck.

"You're lucky I love you."

"Ah, that's better." He licks his lips, water droplets slowly falling down his face from his wet hair. "Mind if I kiss you, pretty girl?"

"Not at all." You bite onto your bottom lip before Yunho leans forward for a kiss, holding it for as long as he possibly can before he's pulling back. He presses one, two, three repeated kisses before giving your hips a squeeze.

"Wanna head back to the room?"

"Yeah, actually. I'm kinda pooped from splashing in the water all day."

"Same." He laces his fingers with yours as you both walk out of the water and back towards the resort. 

"What do you want for dinner tonight?"

"Um, I don't know. Let me figure that out. You just relax." He gives you a small smile. The sand feels warm but soft beneath your feet, and the sun is still shining even though it's getting ready to set soon. Thankfully, it isn't nearly as bright and hot as it was earlier in the day anymore. You grab your things from the beach chair, washing off your feet under the water spout before slipping back into your slippers and following the trail back into the resort. 

When you step back into the room, Yunho is quick to start a hot shower for you, claiming he'll take care of dinner. So, you hop in and take your time underneath the hot water; letting it ease the slight soreness that came from swimming and playing in the water most of the day. Yunho makes a quick trip down the street to pick up some food, laying everything out on the balcony table so that you two could enjoy it during a peaceful night.

"Aw, babe! When did you go out and grab this?" You say as you walk out to the balcony in your cute grey shorts and matching hoodie. 

"When you were swimming in the shower." You laugh and playfully punch him on the bicep.

"I did not take that long. But, thank you." You tippytoe to give him a peck.

"Let me take a quick shower. I'll be out soon." He tips your chin upwards before smiling down at you.

"Okay." You settle onto the balcony chair and scroll through your phone, texting your friends while you patiently wait for Yunho to shower and get comfy for dinner. You look out at the view, admiring the way the moonlight shines down onto the surface of the water, illuminating everything near its path. It's quiet with the occasional sound of waves crashing against the sand, the occasional chatter of other families passing by to get to their rooms. It's peaceful, but it feels extra special being away from home with Yunho.

When it hits close to 20 minutes, Yunho's finally joining you in the balcony, running a hand through his damp hair as he sits in the chair next to you. The both of you begin to dig in and talk about your day, planning what else you should do tomorrow and the following day before you're having to leave and head back home. Of course, in typical Yunho fashion, he jokes around and plays around mid-meal, just wanting to hear you laugh and giggle next to him. When you both feel satisfied, he sits back and takes his turn to admire the view, his hand laced with yours as he presses kisses onto the surface.

"Baby." He says softly, his thumb caressing the surface of your hand.

"Hm?"

"Do you see the full moon?" He points upwards.

"I do." You smile at him, remembering the days when you used to walk with Yunho and look at the moon.

"Can you do me a favor then?"

"Of course."

"Keep your eyes on it for me, please?"

"What're you up to, Jeong Yunho?" You giggle, doing as asked by keeping your gaze on the full moon ahead. You don't even see Yunho move, nor do you hear him fiddle around, but you are stuck on the moon nonetheless. It's beautiful, it's bright, it's dreamy.

"Nothing." He laughs. "Tell me what you see, love."

"Yunho, I—" You turn to look at him, but before you can even say, do, anything, your eyes immediately shift to the center of the table, causing you to pause mid-sentence.

On the table is an opened small, black box with a ring inside. A simple, but beautifully chic rose gold ring that blended seamlessly into an infinity-shape near the center, a small heart-shaped diamond sitting in the middle cushioned in between smaller diamonds. It's beautiful, it's bright, it's dreamy.

"Y-Yunho." You say his name softly. Your heart is beating out of your chest because although you'd love to do this with Yunho, you aren't sure if you're entirely ready. But luckily for you, Yunho knows you well.

Very well.

And he understands. He knows the feeling all too well, too.

"I— it's a promise ring. Because as much as I want to say fuck it right now, I know we're both waiting until we're absolutely ready to build a life together. I just want you to know that I'm yours. No matter what. I'm yours and nothing's gonna change that. I'm here."

"Babe." The tears well up in your eyes as you admire the ring sitting in the box before looking back up at him. He's right, and it's what you love the most about him. He's never one to rush or pressure you into anything, he's the one who thinks logically and rationally. But, he never fails to show you just how much you mean to him, how much this relationship means to him. There was always this cloud above the both of you after that night you two talked about building a life together and doing the crazy shit grownups do. Because even though you truly love Yunho and you know he's the one you wanna be with, you still have a whole year of school ahead of you, more dance competitions ahead of you; plus, whatever else post-grad will bring for you. Yunho is still navigating his own life after graduation and even though he might be in a slightly better place than you right now, you know he's also trying to be there for his mom and aunt more. Things are still unsettled and it wouldn't be the time for you two to think about engagements, marriages, what kind of home you want, kids— even if that's the end goal.

Whatever the combination looked like.

But having Yunho do this, to give you a promise ring that shows you the want, the need, the dedication he has to be there for you every step of the way and vice versa. It means more than anything, and it's all you could've ever asked for. You're happy to know he is yours, just as you are his.

"I love it. Thank you."

"Can I?" He licks his lips, taking the ring from the box in order to slip it on your finger. You simply nod as the tears stream down your cheeks, fingers slightly shaking at the overflowing love and happiness you feel being here, being with Yunho. "Baby, why are you crying?" He chuckles a bit, leaning over to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

"I just.. I don't know. I just love you. Sometimes, it still feels so unreal." He subtly bites onto his bottom lip to prevent himself from smiling even more. But, he thinks you're so cute right now. So pretty, so beautiful. So.. his.

"Come here, love." He gestures to his lap. You silently walk over and straddle his lap, arms lazily wrapped around his neck. He leans in for a kiss, large hands resting on your hips while he indulges in the sweetness of your lips, the way you feel resting on him, your scent.

Everything.

The kiss intensifies quick, and you find yourself slowly grinding on Yunho— feeling how hard he is beneath you. It's a slow grind, one where you drag your clothed core over his length ever so nicely, just to feel every bit of him against you. 

"Fuck." He hisses.

"Let's go inside, babe."

"Or.. I can take you right here, right now. Let everyone see what you do to me." He presses a kiss to your jaw. "How you make me feel." He looks up at you just as he presses another kiss to your chin. "Hm, baby? Should I just selfishly keep you to myself?" He hums, hands squeezing your hips a little harder as you continue to slowly rock against him. You let out a soft, whiny moan and it shoots straight down to Yunho's dick. After his 'lil bits of teasing, he knows at the end of the day, he just wants you to himself. No one else.

No one, nothing, in between.

So, he swiftly carries you in one motion, hurrying into the room before slamming the balcony door shut. He drops you onto the bed, immediately latching his lips onto yours in a hungry, heated kiss. He crawls in between your lap as you lay back, Yunho's hands immediately squeezing your inner thighs. He lowers himself just enough to tease your core with his clothed, hardened member. That contact alone sends tingles down your spine, enough for a moan to slip from your lips in between kisses. Yunho doesn't waste any time shedding off your clothes, admiring every inch of your body with trails of kisses, gentle touches. 

"Need you." He says in your ear. "Can I have you?" You nod hastily, helping Yunho out of his shirt. 

"You have me, Yunho." He pauses and looks at you for a moment, and for the first time ever, you aren't sure what it means. You aren't sure what he's feeling. But, his expression softens, his eyes are holding onto the stars, the moon, the sun, that he sees in your own. Because he has you. 

He has you.

He doesn't say anything before locking his lips with yours, the need, want, desire, so evident in every move he makes. He takes a few moments to slip in two digits, just to get a feel for how wet you are. He groans against you when you arch your back upwards, too hungry, too eager, to feel you wrapped around him. He starts to pump himself a few times, spreading your wetness across his length before lining himself up at your entrance. 

"Ready for me?" You nod, gasping at him pushing into you until he bottoms out to the hilt. The both of you adjust to the feeling before he begins to work you at a steady pace. But, Yunho keeps himself close to you— skin to skin, hand tightly locked with yours. It's slow and steady, intimate.

Tonight feels so much more different. So much more intense. 

So much more special.

Yunho continues to whisper praises against your skin, slightly picking up his pace and making you whimper in response. He finds that he wants to feel more of you, so he sits back onto his knees and holds you flush against him while he gives you control. You start to roll your hips, hands tugging at the ends of his hair when you pick up your pace. The position has you feeling every inch of him inside of you, only wanting more— to be closer, if ever possible.

"Oh, babe—" You mewl and tilt your head back in pleasure. He takes the opportunity to nibble at your neck, tongue swiping across the surface.

"Oh shit, baby." He moans breathily. "Just like that. You're so good to me." He repeats. "So good to me." The grip on your hips gets a little stronger while Yunho guides you. He pushes you to ride him faster, clit rubbing against him so deliciously it pushes you to the edge— right where he needs you to be.

"Oh god— god Yunho." You moan loudly. "I'm gonna cum—"

"That's it. That's my good girl." He coos, holding you against him tightly. "Let me feel you." He feels your walls pulsing against him, squeezing his length tightly in all the right places. He lets out another moan as he adjusts his position and fucks up into you to chase his own high. You wrap your arms around him, whining from the sensitivity until you hear him mumble curses against your neck; groaning when he releases and fills you up. The both of you don't move from your positions for awhile, only indulging in more slow, sweet kisses despite being a sweaty mess.

"I love you so much, Y/N. You literally have no idea how much I adore you." Yunho brushes the hair away from your face. "I can't wait to see what the future holds for the both of us. Cause I'm here. I don't wanna go anywhere if it's not with you." He repeats, kissing you gently.

"I love you too, Yunho. I'm yours." You caress his cheek, taking him in; everything about him. He smiles sweetly at you, carrying you and holding you close while making his way to the bathroom.

"Time for another shower?" You laugh loudly, letting Yunho take care of you for the rest of the night in many ways.

In the end, those literature assignments would always mean something to you two. Those nights when he found you in the parking lot. The random McDonalds trips. The walks underneath the full moon. The single rose. The fight over Seonghwa and those bumps in the road.

Those will always mean something to you two because in the end, no matter the chaos, the background noise, the extra baggage, it all brought you closer together. 

In the end, it blessed you with Yunho.

In the end, it blessed you with the greatest love you've ever known.

In the end, it will always be you and Yunho against the world.

♣︎ taglist: @s-nsanshine @soupbinlily @tyongff-ff @jiminiscricket @g1g1l @staytinyinmybpack @woomyteez @gfksz @bitchwhytho @savluvsmingi @thisisntmyrightera @hyukssunflower @miriamxsworld @tmtxtf @kuromibabe04 @lmnhead @carrietwrites @tournesol155 @persphonesorchid @txt-yaomi @mxnsxngie @h-nji @mundayoonimnida @jalapeno-princess @nakiiko @asjkdk @kunikku @idkwgoh @kyeos4ng @agust-d2 @araknoid @bintificreads @primoppang @aurorasjoongie @wineyoungie @yunhotteokkk @yungigiggles @jaerisdiction @ignoretheskies @luminouskalopsia @naeviscall @vixensss @choisansplushie @arya9111 @my-lightspirit @dazednconfusion @astro-doll-the-star @faesmingi @idfkeddieishot @startinystay @emily505 @mgdixon @yusalterego @cheynalexilaiho @svintsandghosts @mismatchfluffysocks @meeitany @au-ghosttype

[glossyfall]

When you prank them in front of close friends with being submissive to them (mini fic series)

Alright English is not my first language. I hope this is at least understable. Because is also not revised!!! no edited no nothing just vibes I saw a tiktok and immediately thought about zayne and then the boys. Cw??? This is a joke I don't think is appropriate irl but this is a mini fic lmao 

Pt. 1 ZAYNE.

Zayne and you were with his parents in a cottage you rented for a little vacation, it was one of those rare occasions where all the family had the opportunity for a gathering together… and after a while, you finally were comfortable enough to mess with them a little. Zayne was surprisingly almost just like your father in law, so this prank you were planning to pull was making you wonder how it would end. You were relying completely on the love their parents had for you for this not being a mess. 

So, when the four of you were in the living room chilling by the fireplace, and you were coming back from the kitchen with a plate of his favorite macarons, you slowly walked with your head slightly down and offered him the plate just right after kneeling in front of him, mumbling lovingly, “here, love”

Zayne´s parents looked at you in silence, then at each other, and finally, with such obvious interrogant on their faces, at his son, probably thinking it was a lovely gesture with a purpose and well, you did have a purpose in mind. 

And Zayne, who was before lying down on the couch completely relaxed, immediately seated still, frowning. “What is it?” he asks very quietly. For some reason, the first thing he can think of is something happened to you. He takes the plate, placing it down on the coffee table. And of course, your heart melts a bit on the inside, you almost stop the prank but you were really curious about their reactions so you kept going. 

“What do you mean? i'm handing you the food you asked me”

He nods. “Yeah, I can see that. But why did you kneel?” 

“Babe, you always ask me to do that when I feed you” and so he immediately freezes, looking at his parents that were watching the exchange in complete silence until then. Her mothers gaze was so obviously taken aback from your statement. She was flabbergasted. 

“... what? no” Zayne clears his throat. “I don't ask her to do that” He says, a bit high-pitched. 

His father muted the tv, also frowning, concerned by your words. He looked at you, and then at his son. 

“what on…?” Her mother sits on the edge of the couch, at the same time you -pretending to be unfazed- responds, “yes you do”

At this point, Zayne went pale.  “Honey, what are you talking about” he mumbles not very coherently, holding you softly by your arms to help you get up. 

“Why don't you eat the macarons? Are you angry at me?” You pretend to pout, just because you almost can't hold back your laughter. Then, your mother in law finally gets up and steps in. “Zayne, what the actual fuck” and you literally never have ever heard her curse. She grabs you and you let her help you to get up and take a few steps back. Your calmness only worries her more, and you grab her hands, about to cut the act off. But Zayne tries to reach you and she doesn't let him. “Stay back alright. Sweetie, what's this?” she softly asks. 

Zayne is stressed “Honey cut it out, please?” 

“It's alright, mom” You say, soothing her. Thank god they are perfectly healthy because she looked as if her pressure could have shut down at any minute. “It's just how it is since we live together, because he works hard… he gets home very tired you know” Zayne rubs his hands on his face, huffing. 

“Mom, it's obviously a prank” Zayne softly growls. That man is stressed while his mom gasps with your words. Then she grabs your hand and pulls you out of the living room. And that's all you can torment that poor family, so you stay in place and rub her hands lovingly. 

“That's true, it's a prank mom, please calm down… don't be mad” You softly laugh, pulling her into your embrace rubbing her back softly while she's still not sure of what to do, but she hugs you back anyway. You can also see your boyfriend and his father looking silently at each other at ease. “thank you so much, you're so supportive”

“I can't believe this”, your father in law says, passing his hand over his hair. 

You laugh when you see them calming down, guiding Zayne's mom back to the couch. 

“I'm so sorry, I just thought of this while in the kitchen and I had to do it” you mumble, hugging Zayne with a bit of hesitation, but he willingly wraps his arm around you, sighing as you place your face on his shoulder. “I swear it's a joke, he would never ask me to do that and if he did, I would be here” you reassure, softly pulling your boyfriend on the couch again, offering him the macarons that this time, he turns down due pure trauma. (He will probably stop consuming those for a bit.) while your father in law takes one, softly reprimanding you. They end up also joking about how much they got scared by the whole situation, even saying how his father started thinking of taking him on a trip straight to the police station and you swear it's a joke you're never ever pulling again. 

And Zayne kept being completely quiet, until you both got back to your room and you make it up to him. 

Bonus; you make it up to him. 

You quite literally jump on him to attack his face with lots of pecks, laughing while she holds you by your waist. He's still resented, of course… but he can't let you fall down. And secretly he thinks he deserves the attention after the difficult position you put him in. 

“Are you still mad? uh?” you say into kisses, until he finally grabs you, carrying you in bridal style to the small balcony of your room. He sits you in the large balustrade while you wrap your arms around his neck and hiss from the cold surface he placed you in. His arms are now around you to secure you, and he's staring at you with his usual cold look. He leans closer, your lips almost touching, but instead of finally kissing you, he grunts softly. “I should be” 

“but you aren't” 

“Indeed,” he growls, kissing softly and quickly your lips, his thumb rubbing your lower back inside your shirt. “that was the worst prank you have ever pulled on me, my mom was probably considering disowning me”

“that's actually really great, you probably don't see it like that but it makes me feel safe somehow” you pause, finally being serious when your smile drops as you look into his eyes “but despise it, I am really sorry, Zayne, I know it was not a good prank and i meant it when i saw i'm never doing that again”

“I believe you” He gives you a little smile, kissing your head once and you close your eyes, soothing your worries “this is in a way an entrance, even if it wasn't the most adequate, to address some matters I want us to discuss. And in that order, i'm glad you feel safe with my parents”

You look at him raising an eyebrow, feeling a sudden shift on his approach. And he knows you noticed it. After his next words, you can feel your heartbeat racing.

“There is a reason for this trip that I thought you already suspected but it's clear that you didn't even think about it.” He complains teasingly, helping you get to the floor. “I know you consider my parents your family just like they consider you part of ours, so I really wanted to make this as domestic as I could” he says, kneeling and pulling off a little blue box from his pocket. His hands are unsurprisingly steady as expected from a surgeon, but you know by his face how nervous he really is, but you're too shocked to do anything to reassure him. You really, really didn't expect that. “But after that little prank of yours I think it is better just the two of us” he even jokes. 

Next morning, both of you get to the kitchen and a brilliant diamond is on your ring finger, and Zayne's mom is the first to notice, saying something like “you better be doing this under your own will” before winking at you and your now fiance.

[khaylin27]

Down Bad

pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader

series: the tortured poets department

synopsis: daniel's childhood best friend, y/n l/n, has always been by his side no matter what. over time she started developing feelings for the driver but it was one sided love.

warnings: one sided love, mentions of depression and suicide

author's note: i knew this song was for daniel because of the tiktok edits of this song with him 😭 hope y'all enjoy!

Did you really beam me up? In a cloud of sparkling dust Just to do experiments on Tell me I was the chosen one

You and Daniel grew up living next to each other in Perth, Australia. Your parents were close with Daniel's so it was obvious you two would be close. Your family would spend weekends supporting Daniel in his karting and Formula 3 days.

Once Daniel got into Formula 1, he would invite you to races. You would always say yes because he was your best friend and you had feelings for him. Of course he didn't know because you didn't want to distract him from getting a World Champion title.

Every time you were invited to a race, Daniel would take you to F1 events. He would beam you up as his girl friend. Not the girl he was dating but a girl that he's been childhood friends with.

It hurt you so much when he would tell people you were just friends. You wanted to be more but you didn't want to distract him from getting a World Champion title. You were in a cloud of sparkling dust as you ignored the questions people asked about you two.

"Hey Y/N," Daniel calls your name. You were currently watching the mechanics fix Daniel's car. "Do you mind if I hold you like this?" Daniel puts your back on his chest as he wraps his arms around your waist.

You blush by this interaction. Daniel has never been this close to you before. "What are you doing Daniel?" You giggle to hide your blushed cheeks.

"Just doing an experiment on you." He smiles at you while the cameras are on you. Daniel then kisses you on the cheek. "You're the chosen one." He whispers in your ear so the media couldn't hear what he was saying. You laugh at his whisper while he continues holding you like this.

Show me that this world is bigger than us Then sent me back where I came from For a moment I knew cosmic love

Later that day, Daniel won the Monaco Grand Prix. He was so happy about winning that he ran up to you and kissed you before going on the podium. You were happy at the moment because your best friend had won and kissed you. That high of happiest ended when Daniel did his post-race interviews.

"So Daniel, we saw that you kissed your best friend before going onto the podium. Are you and Y/N finally dating?" The interviewer asks Daniel.

Daniel smiles before he answers back to the interview. "Great question," He laughs and continues. "No we're not. It just felt right in the moment. She's my best friend and will always be that. She's always supported me through my F1 career and my passion to win a World Championship."

At the moment your whole world came crumbling down. It showed you that F1 and him winning a World Championship was bigger than your relationship with Daniel.

After the post-race interviews were over, Daniel went to his driver room to change into normal clothes. He then sees that you're crying. "Why are you crying Y/N?"

"You know you're a big jerk Daniel." More tears start falling as you continue to explain. "This whole weekend you've been playing with my feelings and I was thought you were trying to imply that you have the same feelings I do. But then you embarrass me to the whole world saying we're just friends."

Daniel watches you as tears continue to fall down your face. He didn't apologize or even comfort you. Instead he changes and leaves the room to head to his Monaco apartment. That night you decided to fly back home not wanting to celebrate with Daniel after his Monaco win.

For a moment you knew cosmic love, but it ended you being sent back to where you came from.

Now I'm down bad crying at the gym Everything comes out teenage petulance "What if I can't have him" "I might just die, it would make no difference."

ynfan @/yourusername posted an instagram story earlier today at the gym with taylor swift lyrics as the caption. she hasn't posted since daniel publicly embarrassed her by kissing her before stating in an interview that y/n was "just a friend."

user1 the taylor swift lyrics 💔

user2 SHE WAS SO DOWN BAD FOR DANIEL 😭

user3 is teenage petulance shading daniel for his insolent behavior during the monaco gp weekend?

user4 i think she did. daniel was publicly being affectionate to her this weekend to then saying she was "just a friend." friends don't do that to each other.

****

After the Monaco Grand Prix weekend, you've been hitting the gym nonstop. You would listen to Taylor Swift songs and cry while running on the treadmill. Once you got home to your Melbourne apartment, your mom called you to see how you were feeling.

"How are you feeling Y/N?" she asks while you were cooking lunch for yourself.

"I feel like I'm dying," You tell your mom with all honesty. "I've always supported Daniel even when I started developing feelings for him. I hoped that maybe he would feel that same way one day. But not having him in my life makes me want to die. It would make no difference." You start crying as you express your feelings to your mom.

"I wish I could hug you right now Y/N." The flight from Perth to Melbourne was 3 1/2 hours. "Your father and I hate seeing you get hurt by Daniel. We all thought you two would fall in love."

Down bad, waking up in blood Staring at the sky, come back and pick me up What if I can't have us. I might just not get up, I might stay

A couple hours later, you woke up from a nap to a nasty blood bath in the media.

f1news DANIEL RICCIARDO CONFIRMS HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH CHILDHOOD FRIEND Y/N: During the Canadian GP weekend, the Australian driver was asked about Y/N. Her absence in the paddock has been noticed since the driver wasn't happy throughout the weekend. Ricciardo says "Y/N and I are not on speaking terms at the moment. I guess what I did really hurt her." The driver says with no remorse.

user1 who wouldn't be hurt if their childhood friend/crush just friend zones you while playing with your feelings?

user2 daniel please fix this 😭 i need you and y/n to be together again 🙏

user3 was monaco gp the last we'll ever see y/niel 😢 it didn't seem like he wanted to fix what he did.

user4 what if we don't get y/niel ever again 💔

****

After seeing that instagram post, you didn't feel like getting up. Daniel had no remorse for what he said to the press. You stayed on your bed the rest of the night crying over Daniel.

Did you take all my old clothes? Just to leave me here naked and alone In a field in my same old town That somehow seems so hollow now

Since your weekends were already reserved for when Daniel had races, you decided to fly back and forth to Perth to visit family. Every time you land in Perth it gelt like Daniel had taken your clothes. The old you. You felt naked and alone because you and Daniel would always come home together.

As you walk around the fields your parents owned. It felt so hollow without Daniel. You two would always walk around your parents' fields talking about the future. Daniel would talk about him winning multiple World Championships while you talked about starting a family with a certain man. He didn't know but that certain man was Daniel.

I loved your hostile takeovers Encounters closer and closer All your indecent exposures How dare you say that it's -

Coming back to Perth overtime became easy for you. It didn't bring you sorrow anymore instead it brought you happiness from all the memories you made with Daniel.

Every time you would go swimming in the ocean, it would bring you closer and closer to the memories you had with Daniel. All the times Daniel had some accidental indecent exposures. You two would laugh when someone saw Daniel being 'indecent.'

It felt wrong to say that it's over. But you were finally healing from the one sided love you had for Daniel.

I'll build you a fort on some planet Where they can all understand it How dare you think it's romantic Leaving me safe and stranded

yourusername I'll build you a fort on some planet Where they can all understand it 🇦🇺🌊🦘

user1 MOTHER WHAT DOES THIS MEAN!?

yourfriend are you in perth? since when!?

yourusername yes i am ☺️ i reserved weekends a while back for other things but i ended up back home! yourfriend we need to hang out soon! we have lots of tea to catch up on. yourusername of course 💗

danielricciardo you look so romantic 😍

user2 how the hell do you think it's romantic leaving y/n stranded for months!? you haven't publicly apologized for your behavior to y/n. user3 and he seems like the person who wouldn't apologize privately as well.

Down bad (Like I lost my twin)

What if I can't have him (I'm done bad)

yourusername down bad like i lost my twin

taylorswift you're better off without him now

yourusername that's right @/taylorswift 😌🩶

user1 MOTHER CHOSE VIOLENCE TODAY

user2 they were my endgame 😓

user3 it's truly over when mother agrees with mother tay 😭

Down bad (Waving at the ship) What if I can't have him

danielricciardo down bad, waving at the ship - archives venice 2022

user1 DANIEL CHOSE VIOLENCE AS WELL

user2 we all know this archives post was an excuse to post y/n

user3 HOW CAN YOU POST Y/N BUT NOT EVEN APOLOGIZE TO HER!?!?

user4 god i hate men 🙄

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @splaterparty0-0 @2pagenumb @c-losur3

[yumeka-sxf]

Even though today's new chapter was pretty funny, it also reinforces how Damian's need to act indifferent and even hostile towards Anya stems from emotional baggage from his family - whether it's brainwashing, strict discipline, or something else, we see how he's so afraid to show even a minute trace of feelings towards a "commoner" that he has to go through hoops just to ensure no one else sees him give Anya a gift.

What could the Desmond family have instilled in him that gives him such aversion to anyone of a lower social standing? I hope we find out someday. But at the same time, this chapter also gave me the impression that Damian doesn't like having to put on this jerk act in front of everyone. He seemed annoyed and exhausted that he had to do all this just to repay a debt, a debt which no one was demanding of him. Despite all the insults he hurls, the kid has morals and dignity. So it's a shame he feels such a strong need to supress that (he and Twilight have a lot in common in that regard. Twilight is simply better at hiding his real feelings since he's an adult and has been doing it much longer).

However, Damian seems okay with showing only Anya his softer side (when no one else is looking of course). Probably because, unlike all the other Eden kids, she's not from a high-class family with whom the Desmonds have to put on airs with.

While I'm not nearly as into Damianya as Twiyor, I can appreciate them as a cute future couple when they're older, with the seeds of that future relationship slowly sprouting in the series (though nothing romantic now of course as they are only 1st graders). Endo brought back Damian's "shojo filter" in this chapter, which was at maximum strength! (Is Damian secretly a CLAMP fan? 😂)

It's only at the end of the chapter, when the debt is repaid and Damian can finally relax, that he's able to see Anya's natural cuteness, without the shojo filter (his expression here looks like one of Twilight's...they really do have a lot in common!)

What's also interesting is that, compared to some of their early confrontations, Anya never returned Damian's insults until recently, maybe around the end of the bus hijacking arc. In the beginning of the series, she seemed to not know how to act when faced with bullying and was just focused on getting Damian to be friends with her. Now she openly returns his jabs with her own.

This could be because she's confident that they're friends now, so she doesn't have to hold back and can match his insults without worry. Or maybe she's just learning how to better deal with hostility her own way? Or she's just copying his bad manners...hard to say 😅

I like how Endo brought back Damian's promise to repay Anya for the handkerchief incident. From what I've gathered reading the manga fanbook, he tries hard not to leave plot points unaddressed. Which brings me to another highlight of this chapter - mention of Melinda again!

I knew Endo wouldn't forget about her, but I've also been wondering when she would return as a prominent figure in the plot. This chapter raises the question of why she's so intent on Damian and Anya becoming friends...is it simply because Yor would like that, and she wants to be good friends with Yor? Or is there some ulterior motive behind the scenes?

Even though stories focused on the Eden kids aren't typically my favorites, I actually really enjoyed this chapter! It had the great SxF comedy I love of misunderstandings between the characters leading to hilarious moments - Emile and Ewen think Damian wants to duel Anya, Becky thinks Anya wants to spend alone time with him because she's in love, Damian just wants to give Anya the gift to clear his conscience, and Anya just wants to eat the cakes!

(I love how Endo made Anya's mouth slightly watering throughout the chapter whenever she's thinking of the cakes!)

It's hard to tell if this was just a stand-alone chapter or if it will lead to a continuation of the "plan C" thing brought up a while back. I hope it does if it means we get to learn more about Melinda and the Desmond family overall!

[mimisempai]

Just a little longer

Summary

For once, it's Aziraphale who wants to stay in bed longer. The problem is that they're expecting visitors, and Crowley has to use a lot of persuasion to get the angel to get up.

Notes

I love a needy angel (and Crowley too)

On Ao3

Rating G -  524 words

"Angel... we really need to get up..."

Crowley tried unsuccessfully to free himself from the grip of Aziraphale's arms around his waist and chuckled before saying, "I can't believe I'm the one telling you this."

Aziraphale grunted and buried his face further into Crowley's neck.

The demon chuckled again.

"If I wasn't sure I was in my own body, I'd think we'd swapped bodies again."

He felt the angel's lips quiver against his skin as the angel smiled.

Crowley almost felt bad for being the voice of reason when Aziraphale, for once, indulged in a lie-in and enjoyed the moment.

Still, he tried to pull away from the angel's embrace, but Aziraphale held on even tighter.

"Angel, you're going to break my ribs!"

The angel grumbled against him, "I don't want you to get up."

"But we both have to get up, since half of Whickber Street is coming to visit."

"Maggie, Nina and Muriel aren't half the street."

"Considering the number of words they speak per minute, they might as well be."

Aziraphale finally loosened his embrace and, pulling back a little, replied sulkily, "I'll only agree to get up if you give me a kiss to cheer me on."

A needy angel was, of course, something Crowley could not resist, so he replied softly, "How could I refuse such a prayer?"

He took the angel's face between his hands and pressed his lips to his own, letting the kiss linger a bit before withdrawing gently. That didn't stop Aziraphale from whimpering as Crowley moved away.

Crowley coaxed him gently, "Come on, Angel, knowing you, you'll want everything to be perfect for their arrival, so it's best to have time to get everything ready.

He gently released Aziraphale's hands from around his waist, but then the angel wrapped them around his neck before pulling him closer and stealing a kiss faster than the demon could react.

Aziraphale took his time, and only when they were both out of breath did he agree to let Crowley pull away. Between gasps, he said, licking his lips, "Now we can get up."

Crowley shook his head in amusement, leaned forward and planted a light kiss on Aziraphale's forehead, then, letting his hand linger on the angel's cheek, said softly, "Stay a little while as I prepare breakfast."

He planted one last light kiss on Aziraphale's lips and rose before the angel could protest.

The last vision Crowley had before closing the door was of Aziraphale gently touching the lips he had just kissed, cheeks slightly flushed and eyes shining.

As for Aziraphale, he watched Crowley leave and sighed as the bedroom door closed behind him.

The sun was already high in the sky.

He knew Crowley was right and he needed to get up, but he let himself fall back onto his pillow before coming around and pulling the demon's pillow towards him, burying his face in it with pleasure. 

After all, Crowley had told him he still had some time.

Inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of the demon in the pillow, the angel giggled slightly.

At worst, there was nothing a little miracle couldn't fix.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

South Downs cottage series : here

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here