#maybe one day i will write more about them

[ms-demeanor]

fucking client emailed in requesting a license last night at 10, called today before nine asking for the license and if I could hurry this along because it was urgent; being the person that I am I went to go find some more information and discovered that the customer wants to do an in-place upgrade on a nine-year-old free license to a recent server license which is.

A) not possible with the service pack they have installed B) probably not compatible with the two kinds of software they have talking to the database C) probably not compatible with their actual server, which blew up spectacularly in January.

(all of which is to say nothing about the wide variety of possible ways to purchase and install the license, but probably standard is what they want even if they're technically too big for it)

I talk to my team, most of whom do not have much experience with upgrades/migrations for this software and we all agree that more research into their environment is needed, including possibly calls with their other software vendors and also possibly maybe replacing their twelve year old server.

Call the client at 2pm and let him know that this project is going to be more rigorous than just ordering a license, let them know that this isn't being dropped or ignored, but we need more information and will be in contact when more of the team knows what's going on.

5:14 PM, my coworker messages me "hey, do we have a tenant for this client?"

I message my coworker: "fucking lol, this is about their license, isn't it?"

It is about their license. They have sent in an emergency after hours ticket describing the issue as urgent: they have purchased the license on their own from a consumer vendor unaware of the fact that they need admin access to a tenant to download the software.

I create a tenant for the client and document the information, then provide the tenant ID.

And then since it's urgent, it's an emergency, I begin gathering data and composing an email.

The license won't populate to the tenant for hours at least and probably not for a full day.

They didn't actually tell us what license they've got, but if they plan to use it with one flavor of software they've got they probably need a secondary license they were totally unaware of.

I have found no evidence whatsoever that this license is compatible with their other software.

I hop into an after hours meeting with one of our tier three consultants to get the exact version number of the software and confirm that there is not a straightforward upgrade path between the license they have and the license they want.

I send an email advising that if their developer wants to make an upgrade they MUST back up the database because we have emergency backups, not database backups, let them know in writing "per our conversation this afternoon, this is why we don't think this will work" and thank them cheerfully, letting them know to reach out if they have questions about licensing.

hit send at half past eight.

Combined after hours work on this "emergency" "critical" "urgent" ticket is now probably about half the hardware cost of a better server.

I get that emergencies happen, but buddy if I tell you "hey, I know you are in a rush with this but we have to take our time to do this correctly" and you ignore me and make me stay late to handle your "critical" ticket, you and I both are not going to have a good time.

[kashverse]

Nanami and yuuji? Or maybe jst Nanami..You can choose the prompt! I jst wanna see more of them

i live to write for papamin and yuuji <3 thanks for requesting

there were many things people didn’t know about nanami. for instance, his impressive ability to make five different kinds of soufflés, his uncanny knack for always finding the best parking spots, and, of course, his surprisingly adept skill with a guitar. whenever he strummed those strings, the rich, mellow notes would fill the room like warm honey, each chord carefully played, each song a testament to years of practice. and, of course, yuuji noticed.

"papa," yuuji announced one day, struggling to drag nanami’s acoustic guitar across the floor, the instrument’s body screeching horribly against the tiles. “i wanna be a moosician like you!” nanami, cringing at the sacrilegious sound of his beloved guitar being manhandled, managed a tight smile. "that’s great, yuuji. but maybe we should start with something… smaller."

and so, enter the ukulele. a tiny, four-stringed instrument that seemed perfectly sized for yuuji’s chubby little hands. yuuji took to it immediately, strumming with all the enthusiasm of a rockstar playing a sold-out concert at madison square garden. "TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAaaaRRRRR!" he belted out in a voice that could only be described as beautifully tone-deaf. "HOW I WONDER WHAT YOU AaaaREEEE!"

you tried to hide your smile behind your hand as yuuji’s fingers fumbled clumsily over the strings, creating a unique version of the song that could only be described as experimental jazz. nanami, sipping his coffee with the resignation of a man who knew he’d never experience silence again, watched as his son poured his entire soul into the performance.

"up above the world so high! like a diamond… in the… pie?" yuuji paused, face scrunching in confusion. "no… in the sky!"

nanami chuckled softly. "almost, yuuji."

but the grand finale was yet to come. as yuuji reached the dramatic end, he went for a flourish, fingers flying wildly over the strings—and the ukulele pick slipped from his fingers, disappearing into the sound hole with a soft thunk.

there was a moment of silence. yuuji blinked down at the instrument, poking a chubby finger inside. 

"papa… it ate my pick."

you snorted, trying to hold back a laugh, while nanami set down his coffee, hiding his grin behind his hand.

"papa, is it hungry? do i need to feed it more picks?"

nanami shook his head. "no, yuuji. we just have to get it out."

"okay!" yuuji turned the ukulele upside down, shaking it violently, tiny brows furrowed in concentration. "give it back, you bad ukey-lely!"

you finally let out a giggle, watching as nanami tried to calm yuuji down, showing him how to gently retrieve the pick instead of waterboarding the poor instrument. and later, when the ukulele was pick-free and yuuji was tucked in for the night, you glanced over at nanami, who was softly strumming his guitar in the dim light of the living room.

"i think he gets his musical talent from you," you murmured. nanami chuckled, plucking a gentle melody. “he certainly gets the enthusiasm.” 

you leaned into his side, a soft smile playing on your lips. "and the dramatics."

he hummed, fingers dancing over the strings. "we’ll work on the lyrics next."

from his room, yuuji’s voice called out, "papa, can i sing twinkle twinkle again tomorrow?"

nanami sighed, setting his guitar down. "of course, yuuji. every night if you want."

"yay!"

and though it meant endless nights of off-key lullabies and missing ukulele picks, nanami couldn’t help but think that, these were the moments he’d remember forever.

plus, he figured he could write a pretty great song about it one day.

[markleessodalite]

They Can Hear Us...: n.jm

content: bf!jaemin drags you to an event you don't really want to attend, so you try to devise an escape plan... but he's not one to be fooled.

warnings: fem!reader, lots and lots of kisses, maybe a tiny bit suggestive(?) but mostly just fluff, nothing else to warn about afaik

word count: 0.5k

a/n: i had a mini hoard of drabbles that i was saving to post later, but i've read over them so much to the point where now i hate every single one :/ but n e waiz i got some extra days off work this upcoming week and i'm hoping to do NOTHING but write the whole time :3 (also if you're one of the anons who sent in requests i promise i'm gonna get to those asap!!!)

“Jaemin! Stop. I mean it!” you half-heartedly scold your boyfriend, although your soft tone and light giggles clearly indicate a message that’s opposite to the words leaving your lips.

Jaemin plants another teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Hmm, are you sure?” He kisses the tip of your nose, then your cheek, making his way down your jaw and to your exposed shoulder as he laces his fingers with yours. “Seems like you kinda like it, huh? Love this dress, by the way.” His free hand rubs gentle lines along your back, with only just enough restraint to not mess up the delicate fabric of your one-shoulder gown.

You knew he loved this dress, particularly how you look in this dress, which is exactly why you wore it to this gala. You weren’t especially excited to be here, but Jaemin was over the moon eager to take you, show you off to everyone else there, his girlfriend who looks like an absolute princess under ballroom lights with her arm linked in his. Of course, you knew that after about 5 minutes of you in this dress, he wouldn’t be able to focus on whatever charity event is going on around you two– which is how you’ve found yourself hidden in an offshoot hallway, Jaemin cornering you against the wall, planting light and playful (but very obviously needy) kisses anywhere his lips can reach.

Hey, it got you out of sitting at that boring table with those boring people listening to that boring speaker, right? All part of your coy little plan.

The only sound filling your ears now is your own soft giggles against Jaemin’s low chuckles and whispers, with him now developing a game to entertain himself with: trying to find that one particular spot that will drive you crazy.

“Here?” He plants a kiss behind your ear.

“Nope.” You bite down on your lip to stifle any noise that could possibly slip through. You may be vaguely hidden, but you’re definitely still within earshot of the rest of the gala.

“Mmm. Then… here?” He hovers around the middle of your neck before leaving another kiss.

“No…” You can’t help the giggle that slips through your teeth.

“Okay… what about… here?” He leaves a kiss in the nook between the bottom of your neck and your collarbone, before biting down teasingly, drawing a squeal from you before you can catch it.

“Jaemin!” You can’t help but laugh, amused at Jaemin’s quick victory in his own game.

“Shh! Y/n, you know they can hear us…” Jaemin buries his face further in your neck, and you look over him to see the silhouettes of the other guests, turning their attention from the monotone speaker to figure out what direction the hushed giggles are coming from.

Here it is. Exactly the opportunity you need to convince him to go home.

“Then why don’t we go somewhere they can’t hear us, Jaem?”

He lifts his head from your shoulder to look in your eyes, and you know right away he sees through your little escape plan. And he’s not falling for it.

“No. I kinda like this little game. Round two? Let’s see if you can keep quiet, babe.” He smirks proudly at your shocked face before his lips crash into your neck again, and you realize he’ll play this game he’s made up for as long as this gala lasts. Can you handle Jaemin teasing you for several more hours without making a sound?

[blubunz]

JUST TONIGHT

— bodyguard! leon s. kennedy x f! model! reader

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: porn with plot, maybe slowburn? slight slowburn, pet names, fingering, masturbation.

A/N: a real sucker for this AU i just want myself a man like this tbh. anyways I write this when I can't sleep even though I clearly have to wake up early tomorrow. (Okay it's afternoon now um WHY IS THIS SO LONG😭 I DID NOT EXPECT IT TO BE LONG)

Throughout your career, you weren't in need for a strong, brooding figure to protect yourself, you weren't fond of having anyone watching over you — it made you feel like you're just a weak girl, a damsel in distress who always needs a knight by her side.

And you are, you need someone to be by your side and protecting you from harm. Sometimes you do reckless things, and not to mention those times where you made stupid decisions that almost cost you your life if not for Lady Luck. But Lady Luck can't stay with you forever, and you don't want to be living on edge so constantly. It makes you look like a madman and, most of all, losing sleep, bad schedule and then it escalated to affecting your career and hard work.

And that's why he's here.

You've heard of him before, not on the news, but through whispers and rumors. Of all the things you've heard from them, you're surprised how Leon isn't on the news as much, maybe he's laying low, or maybe he's working for the government, all private and redacted matters.

So then, how exactly did you manage to hire him?

For one, you're curious enough to search him up. His name isn't hard to find, and you admit he looks good, perfect for modeling. The problem is that he hardly uses social media. If he does, then maybe he goes by some other names, or he doesn't post a lot. You found out about Claire Redfield though, at first, she doesn't leave much impression to you, but the pictures she posted have that same familiar face, albeit Leon is looking like a grumpy uncle who would give bad advice to his nieces in each photo.

Once you've decided that it was enough to go stalking people's profiles, you go and make a call using your fame and broad connections in and out of your industry. You got his number in your contact within two days, and your hands are shaking as you try to call him.

It's not that you're scared of socializing, it's just that you're hesitant of making this decision, of finally have someone to protect your life, of admitting that you seek help and reassurance.

But, the possibilities of death and dark thoughts fill your mind quickly enough, and you convince yourself you need this, for your own sake.

“Hello?”

“Is this... Leon Kennedy?”

It's been a month since Leon's been here. Truth be told, he doesn't care much about how people are falling in love with you, mainly just your looks and charisma. He's heard of you many times, so many times, you keep appearing on magazines, billboards, the news, advertisements and more. God, there was this one prime time of your life where your face was practically everywhere! Not that you're no longer famous, but that was the time where your life was endangered the most by how crazy your fans were — another reason why Leon is here.

Upon interacting with you during your own time, Leon found out you're not like how the media portrays you to be. He isn't a stranger to it, seeing famous people and important figures always having to smile and maintain a certain persona for the sake of the community. Sure, you have that bit of yourself in it, but when he escorts you hone, it's when he sees your fatigue.

Your shoulders slump as you sigh, putting your bag on the coffee table as the TV is playing some shows for white noise, you're scared of the quietness — having thoughts that might hurt yourself. Leon closes the door and locks it safely, carrying your bag up to your room.

He doesn't need to do that, Leon's aware his job is to protect your life, not servicing you like a maid ir servant, but he keeps doing so, helping you with the small things like carrying your belonging, to making meals for you.

“You can't sleep now.” Leon sighs, seeing you lying on the couch, eyes closing. He doesn't want to startle you, so he picks you up and carries you into your bedroom, seating you by the make up table.

This is a change of pace for Leon, everything he does has to be careful for you. No longer picking up guns to shoot bio organism weapons or anything of the sort, instead he's now attending to a young model. Two different lives, and Leon finds himself hard to adjust, remembering the times you joke about him acting awkward sometimes when you tried to talk to him normally.

Your name comes out of his lips, sounding sweet and calm. And your eyes open, lazily rubbing off your make up while Leon prepares the bath for you.

“You don't have to do that.” You say once he steps out again, smelling a bit of the bath bomb he put in.

“I know. But, protecting your life is my job, and caring for your bare minimum needs is included.” He explains, and you just nod, not quite sure if they're connected in your mind.

Still, you let him undress you. Your cheeks flush at the way his fingers hook under your top to remove it, oh the slight contact when his hand brushes over your tits or ass. And sometimes you find it crazy how it's you that's the one being attracted to someone, and not Leon, who never advances himself on you, he doesn't even react when seeing your body, you find it weird, but intriguing too when your looks being the most important aspect of your industry, you've gotten used to the attention and the reactions.

In reality, Leon is still human, he admits your body is attractive, he wishes to lay his hands on your body with a more intimate intent, with more sensuality rather than just helping you with undressing or carrying you, his eyes linger on your skin, seeing that your body isn't that perfect as they claim to be, and he imagines himself kissing your flaws, to be the only one seeing your most intimate areas. But he's worked long enough not to let his feelings get involved, he can't bare it not after—

“You can... let me go.” Your voice cut through his thoughts, and Leon lets you go, he didn't even notice he was holding you still, zoning out and staring at the back of your neck.

“Right, sorry.” He clears his voice a little, sitting by your bed to wait for you to finish shower. He brushes a hand through his hair, finding himself longing for some alcohol to drown out this feeling. And that's also a problem. You've said you don't like the smell that lingers when he drinks, making excuses on how it affects your own scent, and people won't find you as attractive. He just stops drinking when he knows he'd have to see you later, not quitting for good, just pausing to prioritize his job — and in within case, his job means you.

Stepping in the shower, you can't help but fantasize about Leon, you can't believe that you fell for him first, and now you're imagining his hand cupping your mound, squeezing you and rubbing your clit. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed with clear displeasure on your face — your fingers aren't enough, you need a hand big like Leon's, to feel those rough pads of skin trailing down your body.

Grumbling in frustration, you go ahead and finish showering.

Leon finishes checking over the securities and ensuring that no one was lurking near your home, he get back to the living room only to see you in your robe, making some tea for yourself.

“Tea?” You ask, passing him the cup before he could say anything.

“Thanks.” He swallows, eyes flickering to your form hidden under the thin silk robe painted by your favorite color, somehow seeing your body like this is much more arousing than when you strip down naked, it teases his desire, and it leaves him chasing that tantalizing image. You catch his lingering gaze, and your eyes twinkle with a hopeful glea. Maybe he likes you too? Even if he's attracted to your looks, you can work your way with making him love you fully. After all, he's the only one who sees you in your most vulnerable moments. He's special, and you let him know of that privilege.

You head off to your room, with him following behind. Leon helps you with closing the curtains and removing your robe, palms firmly rubbing your shoulders. You shiver, letting the garment pool at your feet before seating on your bed in just your lingerie.

Leon tucks you in, and every time he does things like this, he gives you that flutter in your stomach, god, it's always the little things that get to you.

“Goodnight—”

“Leon, wait.” You reach up, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, and he looks at you with an unchanged expression.

“Yes?”

“Um...” You hesitate, will Leon find this weird? No, no, maybe you can make an excuse, saying that you're too paranoid. “Can you... stay in my room? Just tonight?”

Leon nods without hesitation or any questions. He sits by the chair near your makeup table and plans to just read something to pass the time.

“No, not there.” You say, your voice sounding abrupt as you try your best not to appear so needy. But you can't. You're just naturally so. “In my bed, please?”

Leon bites the inside of his cheeks to hold back his smile, you sound so cute with the little "please" as a cherry on top. He complies, sitting at the edge of your bed, a hand on your ankle.

“Is this good enough for you, princess?” He smirks, and you feel your cheeks flush. “Or do you want me to hold you close, hm? Protect you from the monsters, yeah?”

“That... That wouldn't be a bother.” You murmur, and Leon takes it to heart, taking off his jacket and crawling up to your side. Leon gets you on his lap, pushing your head against his shoulder.

“Better?” He asks, voice muffled from his lips pressed against your hair, smelling your shampoo.

You nod, hiding your flustered face in Leon's shoulder, that elicits a laugh from him and he brushes your hair. He rubs your back soothingly, feeling your body relaxes under his grip.

Leon traces his hand down to your lower back, kneeding your soft buttocks. You take a sharp inhale, subtly pushing up against his palm.

His eyebrow raises, smirking against your hair before rubbing your thighs, and you spread your legs open for him. Leon doesn't say anything and just watches your reaction. He can feel you breathing down his neck. Your heart picks up its pace in excitement.

“Do you like this?” He keeps the pace slow, rubbing up to the waistband of your panties.

“Mhm...” You nod.

“Want more?”

“Mhm.” You nod again.

He hooks his finger under the band, and pulls the garment down, enough to let his hand slide in, brushing just over the top near your aching clit.

The moment his middle finger presses against your bud, you moan, hips twitching against his palm.

“Have you been dreaming about this?” Leon asks, and you only whimper in response. His finger moves down, collecting your juices and pulling out, tasting your essence on his finger.

“Me too.” Leon admits, and he shoves his hand back to your cunt, pushing a finger through your entrance.

“I've been wanting this too. Even more, wanna feel this tight cunt around my dick instead.” He groans, the way your walls tighten around his finger is enough to make his cock leaking pre-cum. “Fuck— you're so tight already, hm? I bet you cum with just my fingers.”

You mewl, hips rutting against his palm, and Leon pushes another finger in, spreading your pussy open so that you can fit his cock.

“Oh, god, Leonnnnn!” Your eyes roll up as he pumps his fingers in and out of your cunt, juices drooling down his hand. “Mngh, f-fuck—”

“Good girl.” Leon whispers, kissing down your neck whilst your body trembles, shaking high in pleasure. “That's it.”

His thumb rubbing harshly against your clit, making your whines higher and higher, you sound so needy and desperate, an side of you that you don't want anyone to see — anyone but Leon.

Leon grunts, feeling your juices dampening his pants, right against his bulge. His cock throbbing in his pants, just aching to pound that tight pussy of yours. But he puts you first, making you cum and high in ecstasy.

“Mm, gonna cum, baby?” He coos, feeling your cunt clamping down his fingers. “Cum, baby, be a good girl and cum f' me.” He increases the pace and intensity of his thrusts, dreaming of them being his cock instead.

You moan loudly as you squirt against his palm, and your knees buckle, legs shaking and body trembling as you collapse on his body.

“Gooood girl.” Leon kisses your forehead, rubbing your back with a free hand while he sucks off your juices from his fingers. “Now, ready for the main event?”

You feel his cock twitches under you, and you can feel yourself heating up again. You gulp, wrapping your arms around his neck and grinding against his bulge.

“Yeah.”

[alluramiura]

hyunju nsfw alphabet <3

word count: 939 words

warnings: intended lowercase, afab reader

author’s note: hi tumblr :3 i’ll probably post a poll asking for which character to do next. i’m coming back to this app since i deleted tiktok like a dumbass. anywho. enjoy let me ride your face please hyunju

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

hyunju is incredibly gentle and sweet after sex. even if it wasn’t that rough (which it typically isn’t), she makes sure you’re okay. she would cuddle you for a little, running her fingers through your hair and whispering to you about how good you were for her, before getting up to run a bath, and maybe get you some snacks after.

B = Body part (favorite body part on themself and their partner)

her favorite body part on you is your eyes. she thinks they’re so beautiful, and she thinks there’s nothing more romantic and intimate than looking directly into your eyes while she fucks you. she wants to see all the expressions you make, because you’re gorgeous. she also wants to make sure she’s making you feel good.

her favorite feature on herself is her hands, working in the military she’s very good with her hands and she knows it, and she most definitely uses it to her advantage.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

i headcannon that after a while on hrt, she asks you if she can start cumming in you since hrt typically lowers fertility. if you say yes, it becomes her favorite thing to creampie you when she fucks you.

D = Dirty secret (dirty secret of theirs)

related to the last letter, she has a breeding kink. it’s not so much about the idea of getting you pregnant, more so the idea of filling you with her cum.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

i think she’s had sex a few times before you, but it was a while ago and she’s explored a lot about herself since then, so when you two started dating you both explored each others bodies, preferences and kinks together.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

missionary. it gives her the opportunity to hit your deepest spots, and also the eye contact. as i said before, there’s nothing more intimate to her than looking you in the eyes while she fucks you slow and deep.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous?)

she’s usually very gentle which naturally makes room for some playfulness and slight teasing.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes?)

i believe she is groomed and shaved clean since it’s necessary for tucking.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

she fucking looooovees intimate sex. sometimes after a rough day, she just needs lay you down on the bed gently, strip your clothes off, and give it to you deep and slow. not in a lustful way, she just loves the rawness and closeness, the warmth of your body and holding your hand, whispering how much she loves you. sex was never something she does with just anybody, especially after she started transitioning.

(picture you by chappell roan came on as i started writing this part, and i think that was so fitting lol)

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

she only does it when she really misses you. she’ll grab one of your shirts and inhale it’s scent while stroking her cock slowly and imagining it’s your hand jerking her off.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

praising (giving and receiving), body worship (giving most but also receiving when she really needs it), unnie kink, size difference, brat taming, overstimulation, edging.

L = Location (favorite place to have sex)

she doesn’t really like the idea of having sex with you anywhere other than in the comfort of your home. on that note, she’d be down to fuck you anywhere in your house. but she prefers the bedroom.

M = Motivation (what turns them on?)

nothingggg turns her on more than when you give her that look and call her unnie in that tone. that’s probably one of the few things that gets her a little rough with you. she can’t help how worked up it makes her.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

anything that contains hurting you physically. she wants to take care of you, not hurt you. the most she’d do is some very light degradation.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving)

she loves eating you out. her eyes would be glued on yours, watching how you react when she adds an extra finger or gives a particularly tantalizing lick to your clit.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

typically gentle as i said before, but if you decide to be a brat she’s more than alright with putting aside the soft dom in her and being rough. and when she’s rough, oh does she ruin you.

Q = Quickies (their opinions on quickies)

she doesn’t mind a quickie. if you wanted to do one she wouldn’t object, but she wouldn’t ask for one on her own. she prefers taking her time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks?)

as long as it doesn’t involve hurting you or humiliating you too much, she’s down to try mostly anything at least once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

she can last a long time, that military service built her stamina up good. she can go for about 5 or 6 rounds before getting tired, but she’s also okay with less if you can’t keep up with that.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

she doesn’t own any toys personally, but she has a few she bought for you and loves to see you use them on yourself as foreplay.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

she usually likes to give you want you want, but if you’ve been misbehaving she’ll tease you and deny you of your orgasms as many times as she needs to until she’s sure you’ve learned your lesson. she’ll tease you in this condescendingly sweet tone with a pout on her face.

“aww, do you want unnie to let you cum, baby?”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what kind of sounds they make)

she doesn’t typically get too loud, she usually lets out short moans that get breathier when she’s close. one in a while, when your wrapping around her just right, she’ll let out louder moans.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

she has a snack drawer next to her bed specifically for aftercare, right above the drawer that contains the sex toys, lube, etc. couldn’t get this out my mind for some reason.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A (maybe B) cup tits, and a cock that’s about 5 inches soft and around 6 ½ inches hard.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

her sex drive is pretty regular since when you two have sex it lasts a while, she’s good for at most 3 days after that.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

she can manage to stay awake until you sleep, wanting to make sure you’ve fallen asleep peacefully in her arms before going to sleep herself.

[ffsjustletmesleep]

Hi hi hi hi love ur work could u possibly write a fic in like after Alexandria era like season 11 where reader and Daryl are in an established relationship and reader has been really stressed out over something like maybe work or something for a while now and she comes home one day super stressed and Daryl who’s finally had enough of it tells her she needs to relax and blow off some steam, aka by gettin steamy 🤑🤑 I’d love to see Mr munch Daryl we all know he’s a pussy eater 🍽️

A/N: Thanks for the request :) so happy to do this for u, this is my first actual attempt at oral and writing s11 Daryl so I’m hoping this is good (and what you asked for) Enjoy! 🤍

Daryl Dixon x Reader

S11 in Alexandria

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Daryl finds a way to help you blow off some steam after a stressful day at work.

Warnings: Swearing, Oral Sex F!Recieving, mentions of blood. Minors Do Not Interact.

Living in Alexandria was a blessing in this world, being able to rest and shower, eat, and even have a family in the community without having to worry about walkers or other threats coming to harm your friends and family. You loved being there, most of the time. Work was a pain in the ass, sure you loved helping everyone, but today was miserable.

One of the groups had a run-in with a nasty group of people while they were on their way back from a supply trip. They managed to find a ton of supplies in a warehouse but ended up getting jumped. You ended up having to stitch up a kid's head and check the other for concussions.

The groan you let out as you stepped into the house made Daryl’s head perk up from the kitchen, almost mistaking you for a walker. He looked at you with a small chuckle. “What’s up with ya?” He asked as you came over to him and leaned against the counter.

Hanging your head forward, you pressed it against the cupboard with a sigh. “It was horrible, blood everywhere—literally!” You held your face and groaned once more.

Daryl let out a small snort and shook his head, putting his cup down in the sink and coming around behind you, putting his hands on your waist. “Sounds to me like ya’ need to blow off some steam, huh?” He hummed, his voice low and husky as his breath tickled your ear, pressing a kiss against your neck.

A shiver ran down your spine at the sound of his voice, biting your bottom lip at his touch. “I have to take a shower, babe… I’ve been medical all day…” you mumbled softly, leaning back into him and tilting your head, sighing as he littered your neck with light kisses.

He pulled you away from the counter and turned you around to look at you, taking in your tired, tense expression with a smile on his face. “Come on… lemme make it better...” he spoke quietly, picking you up with a soft grunt and carrying you upstairs to the bedroom.

Once he made his way upstairs, he opened the door, kicking it shut with his foot when he made it inside. He tossed you on the bed with a small ‘thump’ before climbing on top of you, pressing his lips against yours in a gentle kiss.

“Daryl…” you whined softly as you pulled away, looking up at him with a frown. “I have to shower... I’m all dirty from working,” you protested and couldn't help but giggle as he started to kiss your neck, his stubble tickling your skin slightly.

He let out a small chuckle and lifted your shirt up over your chest, kissing your sternum lightly as his hands ran over the bare skin of your waist. “Shh… don’t need no damn shower, just let me take care of ya...” he said, his lips trailing down to your stomach.

You felt the heat rushing to your face as you watched his head get lower and lower. Feeling as his hands skillfully unbuttoned your pants and pulled them down your legs, along with your underwear. Pushing your thighs apart and settling himself in between them.

“So good f’me..” He praised, rubbing your hip and kissing your thighs, sucking small marks on the skin as he made his way to your center. The way his hands caressed your skin made you feel hot, the rough pads of his skin against your soft.

The moment his lips met with your heat, you melted, laying your head back against the pillow, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging on it as you felt his tongue against you. He let out a soft groan as he tasted you on his tongue, pressing his face closer and lapping at your folds like he was starving.

Your hands grasped his hair tightly as you let out a soft whine, gasping out and moaning softly as his tongue traced circles around your clit before he sucked on it gently, making your back arch up off the bed slightly. “Oh—Daryl...!” You moaned, throwing your head back against the pillow.

His hands grasped your thighs tightly as he moaned against you, pressing his tongue into you and looking up at you through his hair, watching you squirm and moan as he moved his thumb over your clit, rubbing it in gentle circles.

The heat in your stomach began to build as your release grew closer, feeling your stomach tighten and your body tense at the way his tongue moved inside of you and his nose bumped against your clit as he rubbed it.

You felt your release wash over you and threw your head back, moaning out his name and tugging on his hair as your thighs squeezed his head. He slowed his thumb and let out a groan as you came on his tongue, lapping up your juices and helping you through your high before he slowly pulled away, licking his lips and hovering over you.

“Fuck, Daryl... didn’t even give me a minute to think...” you whined as you looked at him, panting softly. He smiled and pressed a kiss to your neck as he lay down next to you, pulling one of his dirty shirts from the basket by the bed and cleaning you up, before putting your underwear back on you.

“M’sorry sweetheart, I wanted to make you feel better...” he chuckled. You giggled and shook your head at him before wrapping your arms around him, laying your head on his arm. “It’s okay... It was amazing; I’m feeling a lot better after that…” you sighed, closing your eyes and pressing your face against him.

He wrapped his arms around you and lay on his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing your head with a soft sigh. “M’ glad I could help ya Sweetheart...” He whispered and reached over the nightstand, flicking off the light and lying back down.

(Im not great at ending fics— I had no idea what to write 😭 I apologize)

[honeyryewhiskey]

mirrored souls

or, dean dreams of what he believes he can never have. warnings ! angst, hurt/some comfort, dean's feelings are hurt, unexpected pregnancy, tough conversations, two ppl with the same fears j's note ! hey so let's not even talk about the fact that this is neither of the two fics i posted snippets of lol idk what possessed me to write 5k fucking words for this i'm sorry i just want to baby trap dean winchester erm idk enjoy? it's sad but maybe pls dont take my word for it i'll continue this and let them be happy also i stopped proof reading half way through bc it is my bed time <3 5k words

He’s had this dream every night for weeks. 

The sun is golden, thick with warmth, stretching over endless fields of green. It settles on his skin like an old friend, seeps into his bones, loosening the ever-present tension in his shoulders. The air is clean, carrying the scent of wildflowers and summer, and for the first time in his life, he feels safe. Like he could lie back in the grass, close his eyes, and let the world move on without him.

Then, he hears her.

A laugh—small and weightless, like wind chimes in a summer breeze—rings through the stillness. It stops him cold, strikes something deep in his chest that he doesn’t know how to name.

He turns, and she’s there.

She can’t be older than four, standing barefoot in the grass, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes—green as polished emeralds, too big for her little face. His eyes.

But everything else—her delicate nose, the slope of her cheekbones, the way her wild hair frames her face—that’s you.

She tilts her head, smiling in a way that makes something inside him shatter. Then she reaches for him, small fingers wrapping around his calloused hand like she’s always belonged there.

And just like that—like the break of a wave, like the snap of a thread—she’s gone.

Dean wakes with a sharp inhale, the remnants of warmth already fading, replaced by the cold press of reality. His chest aches, heavy with something deeper than longing. A quiet, creeping fear slithers in, curling around his ribs.

Because she has his eyes and your face—a combination that will never exist.

You left. And you haven’t come back in months.

It was always cat and mouse with you—years of fleeting moments, an unspoken desire for more that neither of you had the courage to face. You’d cross paths, use each other's bodies to release some tension, but never linger long enough to ignite anything real. 

Until about eight months ago, when everything changed. You stayed longer than just a weekend. Dean had you in his arms for four months—four months that felt like a lifetime of stolen moments, of finally letting down walls you both had built so high. But when it all started to feel too real, when the weight of it all settled between you like an unspoken truth, you pulled away. You told him it was too much, that you needed space, that you couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to breathe, to step back before it swallowed you whole. And with that, you walked away, leaving him to sift through the pieces of something that was never meant to last.

His heavy hand slams down on the bleating alarm clock beside his bed. The sharp noise cuts off, leaving only the ragged sound of his breathing in the dark. He drags a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his tired eyes, but it doesn’t do anything to clear the remnants of the dream—the sunlight, the laughter, the way she looked at him like he was her whole damn world.

Dean exhales sharply and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Another short night, another dream of something that doesn’t exist, of someone who will never be real. He tells himself it’s just a trick of the mind, a byproduct of too many years spent running on empty. But the truth—the one he won’t say out loud—is that the dreams never started until you left.

And maybe that’s what makes them feel more like a haunting than a fantasy.

He’s spent each day the past four months trying to shove it down, burying it under booze and hunts and half-hearted distractions. But it doesn’t matter how many times he tells himself he’s over it, that he saw it coming. Because he did. He knew you would run the second things got too real, the second you got too close, too comfortable, like maybe you wanted this life with him.

And then, just like his dream, you were gone.

You never said it outright, but he knew—deep down, you were always more like him than you wanted to admit. Built for the road, for the chase. Love wasn’t something you stayed for.

Except you never really left, not completely.

Every now and then, his phone would ring, and it’d be your voice on the other end—casual, distant, asking about a hunt, about a lead on something nasty you were tracking. Always avoiding the bigger conversation, never asking how he’s been, never giving him the chance to ask where you are.

And Dean let it happen. Let you keep him at arm’s length. Because at least this way, you were still something in his life.

But now, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, the dream still fresh in his mind, it pisses him off.

He stands, yanking on a t-shirt and running a hand through his hair before heading for the door. He just needs coffee—something to shake off the lingering ache sitting heavy in his chest.

But the second he steps into the hall, Sam is there, hovering with that anxious look that never means anything good.

“Hey,” Sam starts, lifting a hand like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Before you go in there, just—don’t freak out, okay?”

Dean’s stomach tightens, his muscles tensing. The look he cuts Sam with makes the younger brother’s eyes widen, searching for words to mediate and settle the storm brewing at either side of him. “Sam, what the hell are you—”

Before Sam can answer, Dean hears it.

The sound of pacing. Quick, uneven steps against the kitchen floor. His body goes still, his breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t need to see you to know.

You’re here.

Dean’s pulse pounds in his ears. His stubborn rage choking out the glimmer of childish hope that sets his nerves on fire. He stares at Sam, waiting for some kind of explanation, but Sam just shifts on his feet, uneasy.

That’s when another sound cuts through the silence—your voice.

Muffled, pacing, like you’re muttering to yourself between shallow breaths.

Dean swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he pushes past Sam. His mind is already racing, his thoughts a tangled mess of you, his dreams, his heartache and the damn voice in his head telling him to grip you tight enough so that you can’t leave him again. Whatever this is, whatever brought you back, he’s not in the mood for it. Not today. Not after all this time.

But when he steps into the kitchen, the world tilts on its axis.

You freeze mid-step, eyes wide, hands curled tightly around the edge of the counter as if you’re holding yourself together, bracing for something. For him, maybe. Your posture is rigid, your whole body taut with tension. You look… different. There’s an unreadable heaviness in the way you stand, the nervous bite of your lip as you chew it—like you’re preparing for a blow, for him to lash out, to reject you. 

A heavy silence falls over the room, thick and suffocating. His heart hammers in his chest, but there’s no anger now, no easy target to aim it at. Just this painful, aching pull between what he wants and what he’s afraid to hope for.

“You…” He’s barely able to get the word out. His throat feels tight, words caught somewhere between anger and something much softer, something more dangerous. He’s not sure which one is scarier.

You glance at him, then quickly look away, the uncertainty in your eyes like a crack in a mirror he never thought he’d see. Dean feels something in his chest twist—familiar, painful, like it’s been waiting for you to come back and break him open all over again.

His mind is a whirlwind. He wants to be angry—hell, he’s had four months of anger built up over your disappearing act. But standing here, with you so close, he realizes just how torn he is inside.

He wants to scream at you, demand to know why you didn’t come back sooner, why you couldn’t have just stayed. But that’s not the real question, is it? Because deep down, a part of him knows it wasn’t just you who ran. It was him, too. He shut off long ago, convincing himself it was easier that way. He was easier that way.

But you? You always seemed to slip through his defenses.

Dean stares at you, struggling to find his voice, his hands suddenly feeling useless at his sides. The walls he’s built up for his entire life—years of anger, bitterness, and pain—are cracking, piece by piece, and he has no idea how to stop it.

Dean crosses his arms, trying to shove down the storm already brewing inside him. “Well,” his voice is rough with sleep and something dangerously close to hurt. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Your spine straightens, and just like that, the tension shifts. Whatever nerves had you pacing seconds ago are buried under the sharp edge of your own attitude. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on it either.”

Dean scoffs, a bitter chuckle, the undertone to the eye roll he throws you. “Oh, great. That makes me feel real special.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers digging into the edge of the counter before you let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Dean. I don’t know if this is the right thing, or if I’m just—” you stop yourself, biting your lip again. You were never as good as he was at hiding your pain. It’s evident now, in the vulnerability in your eyes that cuts through him, raw and unguarded, and it makes everything inside him spin faster.

Sam clears his throat. “Why don’t I give you guys some space?” He glances between the two of you, clearly ready to escape the tension.

Dean doesn’t look at him, just stares at you as you stand firm, the scowl on your face trying desperately to cover the sadness in your eyes. The fact that you’re asking for anything at all should piss him off. After months of the half-hearted check-ins that only ever came when you needed something, after the way you left—why should he give you the time of day?

But he can’t say no.

And that scares him more than anything.

Sam nods to himself when neither of you protest and slips out of the kitchen, leaving you and Dean in thick, suffocating silence.

“Why are you here?” His voice comes out quieter than he intended, but the question hangs in the air, laced with something deeper, something that sounds too much like hope. A falsehood he’s terrified to acknowledge.

You take a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping just slightly, as if the weight of being in the same room as him is too much to carry alone.

Dean takes a step toward you, his feet heavy on the floor, his chest aching. His instincts shout at him to pull away, to protect himself from the inevitable hurt, but something else—something buried deep inside him—begs him to go closer.

The words come out before he can stop them, quieter now, barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this again, are we gonna keep pretending we have nothing to talk about?”

You wince, a flicker of pain crossing your face, and it rips through him. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, but he can’t stop the words. He can’t stop the fear, the resentment, that’s built up over all this time.

"I don't know if I can just act like nothing ever happened between us. Like you didn't leave me. Like..." His voice breaks off, his throat thick with emotion he’s been swallowing for far too long. He’s not even sure who he’s trying to convince anymore, you or himself.

His hands are trembling now, and he clenches them into fists, fighting to keep the storm inside him contained. But every time he looks at you, sees the way you’re standing before him, so tired and lacking the fire that he always adored. That you’re here now when he never thought he’d see you again, it pulls him under a wave of emotion he can’t quite place.

“I don’t know how to do this, not after everything,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “You can’t just waltz back in here and expect me to be okay with it.”

Your eyes fill with regret, but there's something else too—a quiet understanding. You know what you’ve done. You know what this looks like, but still, you're standing here. And that small, painful spark of hope flickers in the pit of his stomach.

“Can we just sit and talk, please?” Your voice is soft, pleading. And this time, you don’t look away.

Dean stands there, his whole body tense, his mind screaming conflicting words in the crosshairs—walk away, stay. But something in your gaze, in your quiet desperation, tugs at him. For a moment, he’s paralyzed—conflicted in the most unfamiliar way.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nods. “Fine. But we talk,” he jabs a finger at you, his brows set with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat, “really talk. No more running.”

You nod, your shoulders relaxing, just slightly, and Dean wonders, not for the first time, if maybe—just maybe—he’s still capable of believing in the possibility of this. Of you.

His eyes narrow, the weight of years of unresolved anger and hurt pressing down on him. But despite it all, despite everything you put him through, he can’t seem to dig his heels into this anger. Not when you’re standing here, so close, with those big, pleading eyes that always seemed to strip him bare.

The years of touch and go, the broken promises, the words left unsaid—they all float between you, a suffocating fog that neither of you knows how to break. But Dean’s tired. Tired of fighting this pull, this pull toward you he can’t seem to ignore, no matter how many times you leave.

With a frustrated sigh, he crosses the kitchen, the hard floor beneath his boots clacking louder than it should. He grabs two chairs from the worn wooden table, scraping them across the linoleum as he sets them down. Wordlessly, he nods toward the seat beside him.

“Sit,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You stand there for a moment, the air between you thick with things left unsaid. And then, quietly, you take the seat next to him.

Dean can feel the weight of the moment in every fiber of his being. He doesn’t want to look at you. Not yet. Not until he’s ready to hear whatever it is you came to say.

The silence stretches on, thick and uncomfortable, as you sit side by side, neither of you knowing how to begin.

Finally, you clear your throat, a small sound, but it’s enough to break through the tension. “Look, I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything. But… can we just talk, like we used to? No games. No running away this time, okay?”

Dean stares at the table in front of him, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge. Your words hit harder than he expected, and for a second, his chest tightens with something raw and unfamiliar.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore, you know?” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Every time you leave… it’s like you take a piece of me with you. And I’m just left here picking up the pieces, wondering if you’ll ever come back.”

You wince at the admission, and it hits him harder than he wants to admit. He doesn’t know why he said it—maybe because this is the first time in years that you’re actually sitting here, facing him. Maybe because it’s the first time in years that he feels like you might actually be willing to stay.

You reach out, placing a tentative hand on his, stilling the tapping. And for a brief moment, his breath catches.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dean,” you say softly. “I never wanted to be another person who hurts you.”

to forget the months of silence, the aching space you left behind. He wants to pull you close, bury his face in your neck, and pretend none of it ever happened—that you never walked away, that he never let you.

But reality crashes down just as fast.

He can’t let himself go there, can’t let himself believe this is something he can have without it slipping through his fingers. So instead, he exhales sharply, shoving that fragile part of himself deep down where it belongs. His jaw tightens, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough, edged with his angry armor.

“Then why did you leave?” he grits out, his voice quiet but commanding. He needs to know. Needs to understand why the person he thought he might finally let himself love disappeared without a trace.

You pull your hand back, lips pressed tight. “I—”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, like the weight of months spent apart. Dean’s still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening, why you’re here, why you’re sitting beside him, but something shifts in your expression.

You take a deep breath, eyes falling to your lap before lifting to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words soft but full of weight. “I’m sorry for always running off. For disappearing when things got too real. I know it’s not fair.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t know what to say, what to feel.

“I was scared,” you continue, voice breaking just a little. “I still am. I…” Your words falter, but then you press on, searching his eyes for understanding. “I was consumed with this fear of losing it all. That I’d attach myself to you and this life would rip you away.”

The quiet admission sits heavy in the air. Dean feels his heart thudding faster beneath his rib cage. A pang of regret washes over him, for never admitting he shared that fear. That he thought he would be the thing that rips you apart. And maybe if he had, you wouldn’t have felt alone in those thoughts. 

You run a hand through your hair, a nervous gesture, and he watches the movement, the tension in your body. “I didn’t think I could do this. I didn’t think we could do this. I don’t see a world where something like that survives,” you shake your head, lost in the thoughts that shuffle through as you try to find your words, “Where… where we get a happy ending.”

Dean feels his chest tighten, his pulse speeding up as he takes in what you’re saying. The words hang between you, both of you holding your breath. And for a long, painful moment, the only sound in the room is the distant hum of the refrigerator, a constant reminder that time is still moving, even when it feels like everything’s frozen in place.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want it, Dean,” you add quickly, your voice cracking. “I just—I don’t know how to believe it’s possible. But I didn’t come here to ask for you to take me back.”

Dean stares at you, his pulse hammering against his ribs. There it is—that damn crack in your voice, the one that always cuts through him like a blade. He wants to be angry, to hold onto the bitterness that’s been festering since you left, but it slips through his fingers the second he sees the way you’re looking at him. Like you’re scared. Like you don’t expect him to want this.

Like you don’t expect him to want you.

His throat tightens, his fists clenching at his sides as he fights the urge to reach for you. “Then what do you want?” His voice is quieter now, rougher. “If you’re not here to ask me for anything, then why come back?”

You open your mouth, then close it, searching for words. Your fingers twist in the hem of your jacket, your shoulders curling inward, like you’re bracing for him to tear you apart. And damn it, that does something to him, because he’s never wanted to be the reason you look like that.

Dean drags a hand down his face, trying to ground himself. His mind is a battlefield, waging war between the fear clawing at his insides and the need to fix this—fix you. But how the hell is he supposed to do that when he’s still not sure how to fix himself?

“You don’t know how to believe it’s possible?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, join the damn club.” His chest feels too tight, his voice breaking under the weight of it. “You think I had some fairytale idea of us, sweetheart? That I thought this would be easy?” He lets out a breath that’s more of a laugh, humorless and hollow. “Hell, I don’t even know if I’d be any good at this. But you didn’t give me the chance to figure it out, did you?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, a tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. And God, he hates that. He hates seeing you cry. Hates even more that he’s the reason for it.

“I was scared,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like shattered glass. “I am scared.”

Dean swallows hard, his anger flickering, giving way to something deeper, something more painful. He’s scared too. He’s scared as hell. Of not being enough. Of screwing this up. Of losing you all over again.

But when he looks at you—when he sees the way you’re trembling, barely holding yourself together—it hits him. He’s not the only one drowning in this.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair before finally, finally stepping forward. His hands hover for a second before settling on your arms, grounding you. Grounding himself.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, softer now, “I guess we can be scared together.”

You drag the backs of your hands across your cheeks, trying to contain the tears that just won’t stop flowing. “No, Dean, you don’t get it—” you cut yourself off with a groan. Your breathing is coming out uneven as anxiety pulls at your every nerve, and suddenly you can’t sit still. You can’t do this. 

You’re up on your feet again, pacing slightly as you try to steady your breathing. 

Dean watches you, his stomach twisting as you distance yourself. There’s a wild, frantic energy in the way you move, your arms wrapping around yourself like you’re trying to hold yourself together. Your breath is uneven, shaky, and those damn tears keep slipping past your lashes no matter how hard you try to blink them away.

His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach for you again, to do something—anything—to stop that panicked look from overtaking your face. It melts his resolve, steadies his rising temper.

His voice comes quieter this time, hesitant. “Hey—what’s going on?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, shaking your head as if you can will away whatever storm is raging inside you.

Dean’s chest tightens. His mind is running through every possibility, each one worse than the last. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, the pet name easing off his tongue as if no time had passed since he last called you that, “talk to me.”

"I... I didn't catch it in time, I'm sorry." You start, your voice barely more than a whisper, the words thick with something he can't quite name. Your eyes squeeze shut as if the simple act of speaking is too much.

Dean’s chest tightens, a knot of confusion twisting in his stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?” His tone is gentle now, trying to coax it out of you, but the moment you raise your eyes, he sees it—the fear, raw and trembling beneath the surface.

He’s on his feet again, closing in on you like you’re a scared animal that’ll take flight from any sudden movement. 

“I just thought it was stress making me miss my period again, but…” You choke, your voice cracking as if admitting it out loud is tearing something inside you apart.

Dean’s breath hitches, and his heart races, but he doesn’t dare interrupt you, his own confusion giving way to a growing sense of dread. He takes another step toward you, but you flinch, eyes shimmering with tears that slip through your heavy breathing.

You finally break, the tears turning into sobs that shake your shoulders. You shake your head, wiping at your face again, as if trying to push it all away. But it’s too late now.

“I’m scared, D.” You gasp the words out, the weight of them crushing you. “I’m so scared.”

Dean’s chest tightens, a cold sensation creeping down his spine, even as his heart lurches in his chest. He can feel the tremor in your voice, the rawness in every syllable, but he can’t make sense of it. The world seems to slow, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place—but not quickly enough for his mind to catch up.

“What… What are you saying?” He asks, his voice quiet, strained with confusion and something that feels dangerously close to panic.

You glance up at him, eyes wide and glassy with tears. You open your mouth, but the words seem stuck, lodged in your throat. The silence between you is deafening.

Finally, you take a deep breath, almost like you’re gathering the strength to face something unbearable. “I’m pregnant, Dean.” The words fall from your lips in a broken whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Dean freezes. His entire body goes still, as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. The weight of your words hits him like a freight train, and for a moment, everything goes silent except for the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

Pregnant.

His mouth goes dry, his thoughts scrambling, trying to make sense of it all. The pieces click into place—the missed periods, the way you looked at him when you walked in, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes.

His dreams.

 He takes a half-step back, his mind too far behind, too rattled by the weight of what you just said.

And then, slowly, it hits him—this isn’t just a shock; it’s a bombshell. One that could tear everything apart, and yet, at the same time, it pulls something from him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The edges of his world begin to blur. He’s scared. He’s terrified.

“Are you… are you sure?” His voice comes out rough, almost panicked, like he’s waiting for you to tell him this is some sick joke, but he knows it’s not.

You nod, sniffling. "I took a test, I went to the doctor and they told me I was already four months along." you whisper, choking back a sob. "I didn’t know what to do."

Dean steps closer, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you. But you flinch again, the space between you thick with everything you’ve never said to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you. I could have just called, I should have—” Your voice cracks, and you finally meet his gaze, eyes full of everything—regret, fear, and a raw, aching vulnerability that threatens to break him.

Dean's heart races, the panic starting to crawl up his throat. He wants to scream, to tell you that he’s terrified—that he doesn’t know how to be a father, that he’s too broken, too fucked up to raise a kid. The thought of something happening to you, to your child, terrifies him in ways he can’t even put into words. But you’re standing there, so small, so vulnerable, looking at him like he’s the only one who can fix this. And damn it, he has to be strong.

He closes the distance between and pulls you into his arms before either of you can second guess it. His hands are warm and steady on your back, but inside, his mind is a storm. His pulse is erratic, his breath shallow, but he holds you close, trying to give you the comfort he doesn’t know how to find for himself.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice like a lighthouse to steer your sinking ship. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone in this.”

You shake your head against his chest, a shaky breath escaping. “I’m so scared, Dean. I don’t know what to do.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression soft but full of intensity. His thumbs pushes away your tears, warm and rough against your skin. “You don’t have to know right now,” he assures you, trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time. I’m here, okay? We’ll get through this.”

Inside, though, his mind is spinning out of control. He doesn’t know how to be the man you need. He doesn’t know if he can even be the father this child deserves. But in this moment, he’s all you have. And somehow, he knows that no matter how badly he’s freaking out, no matter how scared he is, he’ll find a way to make this work—for you, for the little life growing inside of you.

He gently strokes your hair, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, grounding himself in the act. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispers again, his voice thick with the promise of something more than just words.

But inside, the panic churns, a rising tide he can’t escape. He holds you tighter, pretending for your sake that everything will be fine, even as the weight of the world presses down on him.

edit to add tags why do i always forget tags @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @ultravi0lence14

[paperstorm]

The final chapter is up! We had so much fun writing this all season and thank you every single person who commented or kudos'd or just read this fic. Here's a tease from the last chapter. If you're looking for both morning sexy times and the happiest of endings for this little family, we got you covered 😉

Jonah flops against him and Carlos moves in closer on his other side, the two of them bracketing him like protective bookends.

“How’d you sleep?” Carlos asks him.

It might be too complex a question for a three year old, but Jonah grins up at him and brightly answers, “I have a race car bed!”

“You sure do!” Carlos agrees, reaching down and smoothing stray hairs out of Jonah’s eyes.

Jonah looks to TK and asks, “When is Daddy coming home?”

For a moment, the question twists like a GI infection in TK’s gut. He exchanges a sorrowful glance with Carlos, who sadly shrugs a shoulder. They have so much to learn, so many things to figure out on this new adventure together, and how to talk to someone this young is something TK knows he hasn't mastered just yet.

Carefully, he answers, “I don’t know. It might not be for a long time.”

“Oh.”

“But,” TK continues, slouching further down onto the pillows and snuggling in closer, “you’re gonna live here, now, with me and Carlos. And we love you so much. And everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Okay,” Jonah answers, easily accepting his answer, at least for now.

TK breathes a sigh of relief. TK knows it isn’t the end of the conversation. Jonah’s so little, he has to be so confused, and that makes TK’s heart hurt. But it’s a conversation they don’t need to have this morning. He looks at Carlos again over the top of Jonah’s head. Carlos nods at him reassuringly, moving in closer from the other side so they can cuddle Jonah together.

“Can I have breakfast?”

“Of course you can. What do you want to eat?”

“Pancakes!” Jonah decides.

“Pancakes it is,” Carlos replies. “You two hang out for a bit, I’ll get them started.”

“Stay?” TK asks Carlos quietly, circling his wrist with his fingers over Jonah’s body. “For a few more minutes.” 

Carlos pauses and looks between the two boys in his bed. He must be feeling what TK is feeling, the overwhelming emotion that comes with experiencing their first morning together as a family of three, instead of two. Carlos nods quietly and settles back against the headboard. He lets his arm drape over the pillows that have flattened during the night until TK is curled under it and Jonah is snug between them again.

“I’ll get started on breakfast soon, okay? Unless you’re so hungry now that your stomach is turning into a monster.”

Carlos tickles Jonah’s belly and he giggles. “No,” he says confidently, like a monster could never hurt him. 

TK observes quietly, feeling like he’s in a dream. He knows nights of crying and fear are around the corner, where Jonah wakes up confused and scared and missing his dad. TK knows that it’s not all smooth sailing from here, but right now he looks at Jonah’s resilience in wonder, and Carlos’ natural ability to bond with him, and he feels like the luckiest man in the world.

“Good,” Carlos tells him. “Because you know what the best part about today is?” 

Jonah looks up at Carlos in wonder, four big brown eyes staring at each other. TK is in so much trouble with these two. He could let them get away with anything. 

“What?” Jonah asks, hanging onto every word Carlos says like Carlos is already his hero. TK knows the feeling. 

“We don’t have any plans. Which means we get to sleep in and then do whatever you want.”

Jonah’s eyes grow even wider and his head whips over to TK as if to confirm Carlos’ words. “Whatever I want?” 

TK smiles, squeezing Jonah’s arm. “Whatever you want,” TK confirms. Maybe he and Carlos can be the fun brothers for one more day and spoil this boy beyond belief. He deserves it. Tomorrow, they’ll begin to figure out how to be parents that say no and set limitations, but today, Jonah can get whatever he wants. 

“I want ice cream!” Jonah cries out, and both TK and Carlos laugh. 

Carlos meets his gaze over the top of Jonah’s head, and TK nods. 

“We can do ice cream,” Carlos agrees. “But maybe this afternoon, huh? It’s supposed to be hot.”

“Hot!” Jonah repeats. 

TK chuckles. “Yeah, you’re not used to this, bud. It gets way hotter here than it does in New York.” 

“It does?” 

“Mhm. Think summer all the time.”

Jonah’s grin goes wide. “Yay,” he cheers. “Can we bring Lou-Two with us?”

TK laughs again. “To get ice cream? Probably not, he likes staying here. But you can help me feed him some red peppers later.”

“Okay!”

They fall into silence for a few blessed moments and TK’s gaze naturally drifts to Carlos again. Carlos is already looking back, and his fingers dance along TK’s neck. 

‘Love you,’ Carlos mouths, and TK smiles. 

‘Love you too,’ TK mouths back, and then puckers his lips to ask for a kiss. 

brighter in the morning

co-written with the lovely @paperstorm <3

Sometimes nights together are hard to come by, but TK and Carlos find ways to connect as husbands in the morning. A series of 12 mornings together for each of the 12 episodes in season 5 (plot permitting …)

Chapter One: 5x01 - 7.0k

Chapter Two: 5x02 - 3.8k

Chapter Three: 5x03 - 3.9k

Chapter Four: 5x04 - 2.4k

Chapter Five: 5x05 - 4.2k

Chapter Six: 5x06 - 6.6k

Chapter Seven: 5x07 - 5.7k

Chapter Eight: 5x08 - 2.8k

Chapter Nine: 5x09 - 3.2k

Chapter Ten: 5x10 - 5.3k

Chapter Eleven: 5x11 - 4.6k

Chapter Twelve: 5x12 - 5.4k

[pupyuj]

[cw: dom ive unnie line x sub wony, like deadass in-the-depths-of-subspace wony, g!p rei bcs idgaf, rei has a BIGGG unnie kink.]

genuinely tried to not make this drag on but the ideas just kinda kept coming 😭 i thought the annyeongz fic i'm working on rn would be the first and only idol x idol thing from me but ah... wonyoung ships are just too good for me to not write anything about them 🥰💞

wonyoung is never EVER beating the unnie’s girl allegations it’s actually so bad for her 😔 she just can’t help it okay!? whenever the unnies speak, something in her brain just rewires itself into making her a perfect, obedient little doll for them and them only 🫠 and she knows the unnies in question love her undivided attention anyway! 🤭 yujin, who is the leader and does expect said attention. gaeul, who is not the leader but is the oldest so any authority that she has on someone, even if it’s small, she will devour. and rei, who is barely considered an unnie but very much wants to be bcs she wants to feel that respect yujin and gaeul feed their ego with 😵‍💫😵‍💫

wony knowing yujin the longest… meaning she would a different level of whipped for her 😍 eyes never leaving yujin while the leader talks, always nodding and agreeing to whatever she is saying, doing whatever the leader wants done from her… most specifically when yujin gets wonyoung alone in some room to talk about how the latter sometimes spaces out during performance discussions and briefings 🫣 wony having to apologize for having a wild, naughty imagination… for thinking about having her hands all over yujin’s perfect body… for wanting to be on her leader’s lap getting pampered and pleasured like the little princess she is 🥺🥺 ofc more often than not, yujinnie would entertain this and give wonyoung the sex she has probably been wanting all day… but sometimes she has to put her leader cap on and punish bad behavior! 😤

and naturally, wonyoung just so happened to love the most common way of punishing disobedient subs—spanking! 💕 being bent over a table with the side of face pressed down and her hair gripped tightly by her yujin-unnie… her skirt on the floor and her panties brought down only to her thighs bcs yujinnie was so hasty and didn’t waste any more time before she started hitting wony’s ass 😮‍💨😮‍💨 wony having to bite back her cute whines and moans bcs yujin just so happened to drag her inside a room that did not have soundproofed walls… and it gets even better when wony arches her back for more, giving yujin a view of her wet pussy… so desperate to be filled up, but yujin was not giving into her own desire this time 🤭

spanking wony until her butt was red and her legs were twitching… and believe it or not, wonyoung came from all of that alone! and ofc yujin wasn’t too mean to her poor pretty girl—she made sure to give wonyoung’s perfect ass a good eating before they both left that room happier than ever 🥰

oh gaeul… the unnie wony adores the most 🥺 follows her around like a lovesick bunny, always hugging her from behind bcs gaeul is just so snug in wonyoung’s arms 😔💕 wony doesn’t know what it is about gaeul that just made her impossible to act… normal around her 😭 maybe it’s the endearingly lazy way that gaeul talked, maybe it’s gaeul’s pretty eyes that was always on wonyoung’s body, maybe it’s the rare moments where gaeul would take charge and boss everyone around… that last one gets wonyoung squirming in her seat every time she thinks about it 🤭 she does a lot of things on purpose to poke the bear that is gaeul’s inner strictness! giving the older girl bedroom eyes from across the table during meetings and if they’re sitting right next to each other, wony would tease her by caressing gaeul’s leg with her foot under the table 🫣 also wearing risqué outfits for gaeul to be the only one to notice that it’s inappropriate, intentionally making mistakes during dance practices so gaeul would be the one to correct her… the more the eldest gets visibly upset, the more wony considers her actions a great success! 🤭

all of that makes gaeul’s nightly visits to wonyoung’s room a lot more fun! but see, gaeul makes no mention of wonyoung’s actions bcs she knew that would only make wonyoung do them more… so the older girl settles with keeping her princess up ‘till dawn using her mouth 😋 seriously, gaeul will join wonyoung in her bed dead in the night, feel her up enough to get her soaked before finally burying her head in between her thighs… and it gets even better when gaeul makes wony work for her climax! slowing down on purpose to the point it frustrates the little princess and she flips the older girl over to ride her face 🫠🫠 in direct contrast to yujin who loves punishing wonyoung on the spot and jumping at every opportunity to do so, gaeul is smart and knows that it’s just what wonyoung wants so instead of giving her that, gaeul makes her beg.

but that’s okay, wony would do anything her gaeul-unnie wants! 🥺 ride her face until dawn? beg and beg for release? scream her name so loud that wonyoung would have to bite on a pillow? everything would be done, and done well.

and rei, the wannabe unnie of 04z 🤭💕 it’s cute when the members tease her about wanting to take care of the girls of the same age as her but it’s a very real desire, okay!? 😤 she wants to be seen as this mature and responsible member who can be just as reliable as gaeul and yujin… especially by wonyoung, who is a few years her senior when it comes to being an idol and being the picture of elegance and class 🤭 it’s so obvious rei wants to be fawned over as an unnie and wonyoung has a hell of a time entertaining her! 😋 during practices, when rei does something as simple as handing wonyoung a bottle of water during a break or being the one to wipe her sweat away with a towel, wonyoung always makes sure to say “thank you, unnie” very, very quietly before scurrying away with a smirk knowing she has just flipped a switch inside rei’s brain 😵‍💫

but oh, rei knows wonyoung can be a big tease sometimes... and once the princess is having fun, it's quite difficult to put her down so, rei likes to get a jump on things! 😋 forcing wonyoung down on her knees in the dirty bathroom floors, even binding her hands behind her back with a silk necktie rei just so happened to be bringing around during dance practice days, and making the pretty princess suck her cock with great difficulty bcs wonyoung always needed to take it slow or else she doesn't do well :( but she always wants to please her unnies... so she forces herself to do her best bcs if rei isn't feeling good then that would just hurt her pride! looking up at rei with tears of pleasure, taking up all of her length down her throat even though she was gagging... all of that just to hear rei's sweet voice call her a very good girl and tell her how much she was making her feel so good 🤭

rei having to cum all over wony's face bcs she looks the prettiest that way :(( and wony hates it when her makeup gets ruined but if letting rei do that means getting filled up her cock immediately after... well then, whatever 'unnie' wants, 'unnie' gets! 💓💓

[imliterallyf7ckin9crazy]

“ℑ’𝔩𝔩 𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔶𝔢𝔱, ℑ’𝔳𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢”

Squid game season 2

In-ho x f!reader

Warnings: in ho is obsessive, stalking, poverty, cannon violence, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, loss of sanity, reader is an absurdist, childhood abuse, obsession, sad stuff.

NOT PROOF READ OR EDITED. This will also be a THREE PART SERIES bc quite honestly I can’t write much at one time smh. Also do not take reader too seriously she crazy as hell.

Also sorry reader and in-ho barely interact this chapter bc I needed to set the scene so you know what I’m talking abt. Pls read still tho bc I think it’s cool :3 you’ll need it for part two and part three.

TLDR: this is gonna be long af. So basically the reader is previous winner like gi hun only she went kinda crazy after her first game. So she gets like mentally locked in the games so to speak and so after she wins she doesn’t pay any of her debts and actually tried to accumulate more so she can be recruited again. She gets her card and when she talks to in ho he is like “why would u do this” and she’s like “bro bc i think I understand you and shi” and he’s like “if you can win again we can talk lol” and she is like bet. Only he tries to rig it against her. But she is dead set on winning.

A/N: am I projecting? Maybe. Also this shit is LONG sorry it took so long

————

Sometimes, when you find yourself winding through random back alleys or when you lie your head to rest at night, you can still hear the screams..

You can still feel the reverberation of each gunshot fired into the innocent flesh of desperate people. The wetness of the blood that splatters your face as others die before your eyes and you can’t quite tell if the screaming your were hearing was theirs or yours.

And sometimes you can still make out all the promises that were made in the dormitory. The faint memories of the voices of friends you made. The exact sound of their voices lost to time, but the faces of their lifeless bodies remained unchanged in your mind. Some of them were at the hands of players and some of pink soldiers.

And one at your hands.

Life had been cruel to you long before being convinced to risk it all. To say your early life was messy would be an understatement. Years of falling to sleep bloody and bruised, countless hours of begging for basic needs, and endless attempts to run away and make it better. Trying anything to make you feel whole. Like nothing ever happened at all. Once you got a job your parents kicked you out and left you to fend for yourself. At first it was great, you didn’t feel like you were being suffocated anymore. Until you got fired.

The place you worked at was shut down due to the owner embezzling the money and getting caught. The business soon went down at for lack of funds. And the reality of life became clear to you once again. Over time the hope you had to escape your parents and live the life you dreamed of as a young girl was drained from your soul. Ever since then you’ve been doing this. Wandering the streets aimlessly, almost as if you had never been in your home city a day in your life. You can’t even see the faces of those around you. Every face is replaced by one of four faces… ever since then that is.

The first face is younger you, battered and bruised to all hell. You see her face on usually younger people. No matter what they’re saying or doing the expression she gives is always the same. Glosses over eyes and facial features set in a way that screams both “why would this happen to me” and “what the hell became of us”. You cant even begin to answer those questions.

The second is the face of your father. Almost every man looks like him now. Though you haven’t seen him in years, since the game he’s come back to haunt you. To remind you there’s more wrong with you than what happened in those couple days. That there’s more broken about you. His expression stays angry. Tense like he’s going to hit you. For this you almost never interact with men and if you do it always end poorly.

The third is the one drives you insane most.

There was this beautiful, kind girl you once knew. Growing up she was the only thing that made living worth it. You were picked on quite a bit at school, be it because you never really spoke or because you had to be such a goodie two shoes to stay out of trouble at home. But she always stepped in at just the right time to save you. Even though her own home situation was much less than desirable she still found time to comfort you when you were in shambles or got into trouble to defend you. You both told each other everything, both pillars in the other’s lives. But after being kicked out you were forced to lose contact, solely because you couldn’t contact her or get to her part of town. That was until you joined the games at your lowest possible time to try and get some money to keep your loaners from finding you and gutting you for profit. Guess who you saw.

The girl that meant everything to you was suddenly standing before you. Deep You both scolded each other for getting into so much debt you had to meet here. Giving each other shit, like you used to. Looking back you almost chuckle at that for the nativity you both had. You watched people die together. Sprayed and stained with so much blood you didn’t now who’s it was. She kept you alive in there, with out her keeping you calm you probably would have died or quite frankly killed yourself. Against all odds you made it to the final three together against a man who needed the money for his family. She told you it was “okay “to take his life in his sleep after the final dinner because he would have done the same if either of you if you had fallen asleep. That morals in this situation would only get you both stuffed into a gift box. And so you both took his life for the sake of yours. You can still feel your stomach dropping as he pleaded for his life while you and your friend stared down at him cruelly, begging falling on deaf ears as you tore him to shreds with dirty steak knives.

Of course after that it was final two. When the last game was revealed, squid game, you remembered only one could leave. Actually, the both of you used to play squid game in school. Even if it’s typically a “boys game”, she was great defense and you were quick enough for easy offense. Genuinely, those were one of your fondest memories. Of course you’d be pinned against each other for the last time. Though you didn’t know it, the VIPs plans were to be able to watch an animalistic death match. However, you and your friend came to an agreement. No weapons, no fist fights to the death. You both knew you couldn’t kill each other, so you decided to simply play the game for the last time. The loser would take their lives themselves, with honor. And so you did. It became your last good memory. You were laughing for the last time, giggling like you were back to being school girls beating the popular boys at their favorite game. You still roughed each other up, nearing the end you both couldn’t ignore you were fighting for the death. That one of your lives hinged on this moment.

At the end, it was you who had won. You told her that you could both just back down and go home. You tried to convince her but she was set on this being the end, regardless how much you cry. You still remember what she told you before she slit her own throat clean open with her steak knife right before you, blood mixing with the mud and rain of the arena.

She said “I can’t go back there. Not without that money. I’ve had more fun here with you than I ever did my whole life. I got to be a little girl again with you. I can’t go back. This is the way I want to go, y/n.” And gave you a smile with tears turned invisible because of the rain. But you knew she was crying. “I love you”

then she was gone. As you rushed to her side, screaming her name until your throat was raw and starting to bleed you noticed her face. This look of bliss on her face, this twisted look of satisfaction graced her features as she bled from her self inflicted wound and stained your clothes and soul forever. You see that face on almost every woman. Eyes wide in ecstasy, faint smile and whole face covered in bright red blood. How badly you wished it was you instead of her, how badly you wanted to feel the contentment in life she had in those final not. That day you decided when you died it would be like her on that day.

Lastly, the fourth one you weren’t sure if it really counted as a face. It was the black geometric mask of the man who supposedly put you there. After you won you got to speak with him on the way home. Blindfold sure, but you found a tiny sliver where you were able to make out what he looked like. It was less soulless than the pink guards you had seen. It actually looked like a face, only it was made of many shapes. No one ever has his face, but you see him everywhere, more than any of the others. He’s always in the corner of your eye, you can make out his mask in the shadows of buildings, swearing you can see him watching you through your house window at night. No matter where you are you feel him watching.

For those reasons you almost never go out during the day, preferring to slink around and waste your hard earned murder money on stupid shit or alcohol. After all, why not? It goes without saying you were never the same after the games. It became all you thought about, every waking hour became ‘how was that possible? Who was really behind it? Why would they do this?’ So many questions swirled in your mind. You had theories for each of those questions already sure, but physically no way to know for certain. That not knowing sunk so deeply into your blood and poisoned your mind you came up with a new question to silence the voices that screamed at you and the faces you saw.

‘How do I get back?’

You became obsessed with many insane schemes and ploys to get yourself back in. Countless hours poured into the optimum plan to weasel a way inside the game again and truly figure this shit out. So you went back to the basics

Question: how where the games possible? Answer: clearly it was a high budget operation, meaning the money was coming from somewhere. But I mean come on-that’s too much money for just one person not even including the cash prize! So it has to be multiple people funding the whole thing. Thats theory #1

Question: who is really behind it? Answer: Ties into previous theory. If it’s multiple people, then who? Who’s setting it up and then who’s paying? Clearly that masked man is the leader or else he wouldn’t be so reclusive… but who is he throwing these games for? He said it’s just to give people a second chance but that just can’t be true but it can’t be just for him. There has to be people watching, that’s theory #2.

Question: why would they do this? Answer: clearly it’s not just for helping the poor- that much is obvious. Now here’s the theory you have that will be impossible to prove without going back. You were thinking about the games…. Kids games and team games. Like ones you would see on tv. Then you remembered how many cameras were everywhere. LITERALLY everywhere. Could just be security but it feels like more. Then the amount of cash and not everyone has that much money. What if there was a couple people paying to watch? Honestly you couldn’t tell if you were onto something or on something but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched by something bigger. Theory #3

And lastly and the most important question.

“How are you getting back?”

Why did they pick everyone? Because you had crazy amounts of debt. How did they get you there? Played games in train stations, then got picked up in a car and gassed out.

After months of speculation and planing this was what you could come up with. You had already paid off all of your debt and had so much left over money. You started spending recklessly, at one point just handing out money. People looked at you crazy but you didn’t even know it. You were in your own world let alone had the courage to look at their faces…

You began taking out extremely large loans with no intentions of paying anything. You were going out of your way to accumulate as much debt as possible. Consciously double crossing dangerous people. You kinda hoped sometimes that all these people would be able to find you and put you out of your misery but you were just too good at playing life threatening games. As the year went on you continued to pour so much money into the drain in hopes to be put back on the list for the games. Until that fated time of year came, when you remember being kidnapped.

You eventually realized no matter what you did you’d probably never run out of cash. One very late night after a particularly rough day you decided to gather all your money and dump it into your fire pit and set it all on fire. The tears running down your face contrasting with the wide smile on your face. It was a very bittersweet feeling to watch all the money you killed and almost died for burn in front of your eyes. The money 455 people fought and were slaughtered like animals for being reduced to ashes. But it also felt so good to lose it all and return to at least one about your old life. The time of recruitment was drawing near. You kept wasting money and hiding for your life until you gained even more debt than you had the first time. Honestly you were kind of impressed with yourself- think about it! You were able to accrue more debt in one year than you did your whole life up to this point.

It did briefly cross your mind that if this doesn’t work you literally burned all your money and multiple gangs and organizations wanting to harvest your organs for a quick paycheck. If you don’t get back in this year the chances of you trying again next year before one of many catch and kill you are extremely low. Oddly enough you didn’t mind living on the edge anymore, living within an inch of losing your life daily became so normal to you it almost felt fun. You started to see the world much differently the closer it came to hunt for that elusive recruiter. You think you’re starting understand the whole point of the games themselves.

The more you lived the way you did the more of humanity you saw. The lows of the human experience and the ugliness that controlled the heart of every person alive. And you noticed that the grand majority of these horrors revolved around money. Now that money had lost all value to you it became silly to see all these people just like you were so desperate for just enough money to save them to come along. To be fair it gets to a point where all you can do is pray it will work itself out.

But you watched people run themselves in circles for cash. Kill and be killed for cash. Lie, cheat, betray all for money. You see that no amount of money can take away the wrongs you did for it. All it really is is paper with no actual value. That money doesn’t really mean anything, it’s all an imaginary system people made themselves. All people do to become rich means nothing but they are greedy enough to put money before life. The money means nothing, the actions mean everything.

So then what’s the point of living? If it’s all based off a make believe value system built to extort and corrupt. If everything is rendered meaningless because people put values in the wrong things. If humanity is rotten to the core and unable to see what really matters then what the fuck is the reason to exist?

There is none. Isn’t that beautiful? All that you strive to do in life will not matter once you die. At death a successful man is as poor as a homeless man. In 100 years whatever you did in your small, insignificant life will be forgotten. There’s no point!! You could go and burn all your money, kill someone, lie and cheat and you’d STILL be on the same level as the richest person in the world. That revelation changed your whole view of the world and yourself.

Then the same day came again. The same exact day a year ago when you were suddenly approached by a man with a suitcase full of money and two pieces of paper. You went to the same train station at around the same time as you did before. Your mind was completely fogged with anticipation as your heart raced. You could barely walk straight or hear anything. You had to actually look at people to see if you could see that man, and every face was one you always tried to run from.

You breathed heavily and tears started to prick your eyes as they darted from person to person. You, your dad, your friend. You, your dad, your friend. They were everywhere. You felt as though you were going faint or throw up or both? You knew the people in the station had to be judging you even if you couldn’t quite see them. You felt like a fish In the ocean wandering without a reason. Eventually after you didn’t even know how long you chose to sit down on a bench and you just started to cry into your hands. You heard people mumble about if they should help you or not. Unsurprisingly no one did.

This wasn’t working and you were so fucked. But even as you cried you still believed this suffering was just a drop in the bucket. It didn’t really matter. Not anymore

Just as you were about to call it quits and go back home and hide until you couldn’t anymore you heard a voice so familiar it sent a shock through your whole body. Your head snapped up and a gasp was ripped from your throat

“Ms.(last name). I hoped we’d never have to meet here again”

Your eyes widened as you saw his face. It was the same man who came to you a year ago. You could actually see his face, the first real face you’ve seen on a person since you’ve gotten back since the game. All you could do is look up at him from your spot on the bench with wide delusional looking eyes.

“May I sit here?” He asks politely, to which you responded with a fast nod. He looked at you with this look of… pity? You figured you must look pretty pathetic nowadays. You have maybe 3 outfits total and you really haven’t been eating well. He smiled. before speaking again.

“Your debt has increased since the last time we met, but you knew that correct?” He asks. You nod again. You planned everything but what to say. “Why haven’t you payed it off?”

“Well I uh… kinda did? Most of it now is all new” you said with a shaky voice. He raised his eyebrows and chuckled a bit, finding it at least amusing. You knew it was an impressive feat. “I also set all my money on fire maybe a month or two ago? I’m actually not sure when…” you trailed off, trying to pinpoint the time when it dawned on you that you actually have had no true concept of time. You just know it’s been a year since you returned home. You can only really remember events but the time not so much.

“Ah, grown bored have we?” He mused. You knew that wasn’t quite it but seeing as you didn’t really know what’s made you do everything you have so far, only you knew you had to do it. You gave him another nod. He kept the same customer service type smile as he reached over and opened his case. It was set just as you remembered with the money and the ddakji. You sighed a bit before speaking “do I have to play again? I already know what happens and I don’t really want to be hit right now” you said, not really thinking. You didn’t know if you were in a place to be making requests but here you are.

You got another laugh from him, you didn’t know you were just so passively comical. “You dont have to, no. But maybe it will bring you back to your senses and you’ll live life how you were supposed to”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. ‘Live life like I was supposed to’. Is there any way someone is supposed to live? You didn’t think that way. You weren’t supposed to live any type of way, you should have died in that arena and-

“Are you sure this is what you want to do. What are you trying to gain?” His voice sounded pressed now, clearly trying to guide you into walking away. But if that was going to work you would have kept your money and moved far far away. You didn’t like being talked to like you didn’t know what’s made you were doing. You knew better than anyone you had lost your mind. You knew the things you were thinking, feeling, and thinking were most likely wrong. But you had no other option. No treatment for whatever illness is controlling your life.

“Im not trying to gain anything. I lost what I lost and I want it to stay gone…Please, just give me the card” your eyes were looking dead into his, voice wobbly with both terror and excitement. You held your hand out and you couldn’t even tell it was shaking. You couldn’t tell anything from anything. He lightly shook his head before reaching into his suits breast pocket and pulls out a brown business card. Upon seeing it you almost felt as if you were going to throw up right there. Your throat itched to scream and your legs twitched as if you were about to run away.

However when he placed the card into your hand all you did was close your fingers around it. Whole body shaking as you thanked him for the opportunity, just as you did when he gave it to you the first time. You both stood up and got ready to part ways for the second time. Right as you were about to bow your head he stopped you.

“Don’t become too full of yourself. Just because you won before means nothing the second time. I’ve seen many winners over the years, you will be no different than the other pieces of trash when you die in there. Is that really what you want?”

You opened your mouth to retaliate when he lifted his hand to stop you. “Have a great life, young miss. I hope you make the right decision” he says with his signature smirk and bow he walked in the direction opposite of the way you had to go. Presumably off to recruit more clueless individuals down on their luck. You had to hurry home now, you’d been out far too long and you knew people had people looking out for you. Waiting to catch you and make you pay. You quickly got out of the train station and started on your way back to the shitty, cheap hotel you’ve been hiding in. You’d been in that danm station for so long the sun had began to rise. The sky looked more pigmented, the air felt cleaner and you could actually think without hearing stray gunshots or phantom screams. You looked down at the small card in your clutches and flipped it over, revealing the number you had to call.

For the first time you hesitated in your plan. You were really about to go back to the place that ruined you. You missed the old version of you, when your real personality existed and you had a life. All you do all day is cry and shake and bang your head until you can form a thought. You were nothing like you remember being.

Maybe that’s what pulled you back there. The old you bringing you back to the last place she existed. A part of you actually did die in there, the part that still believed in people. She died right there with your friend, you left your soul in that dirt plot. And maybe you could find her again.

Once you got to the door of your room and got yourself inside you dialed up the number on your card and hit call. It rung a few times and when it picked up the automated voice command the same statement as before.

“If you wish to participate please state your full name and date of birth”

The words got stuck in your throat as you held the phone up to your mouth. This was your last chance to find something within you to back away.

“Y/n, D/O/B” you barely got it out fully as your stomach sank. This is what you wanted. This is what you asked for. Nothing matters. Nothing matters. Nothing-

“Player 444.” That’s him. That man with the black mask, that’s his voice. Hearing your number made you hold your breath and lose your balance. It’s been so long since you’ve been called that name. You knew it was him because his voice changer was a slightly different pitch than the other workers. “What is the point of this?” He asked with a serious voice, bordering threatening. You had an answer for this. “There is none. Get it? If there’s no reason to do it there’s no reason not to.”

He only hummed in response. Seemingly understanding at least a bit of what you said. “I have questions for you” you continued. This is what you’ve been waiting for. This was the point. You just needed to know

“questions?” He repeated. You guess he’s never been pressed by someone before. Small amounts of amusement was in his voice as if shocked anyone would speak to him like that

“Yes questions that’s what I said. Who are you and how are you able to get our information. Where did you take me. What is the point of-“

“I’ll tell you what” he cut you off in the middle of your frantic questioning. It’s probably for the best of you would never had stopped talking for him to even answer. You waited on bated breath, hanging on his words as you kept the phone pressed flush against your skin. Compartmentalizing his voice and how he talks into a file in your mind. “You want to play again because you want to know if your right, is that correct”

what he said caught you so off guard you didn’t even reply when he gave you a chance to respond. Every word got stuck in your throat to the point all that came out was strangled starts of a sentence. “You must have many theories in that little mind of yours. You’re coming because you think you’re smart enough to figure everything out, don’t you?”

Well… like kinda yeah that is what you think. You didn’t really know what to say, he hit it right on the head. You did think you could figure it out, actually you think you already have most of it. Not even his taunting could pull you out of that.

“Let’s play a game. If you can win again we can have a talk and I’ll tell you all you need to know. Only if you’re the last one standing.”

You knew it could never be that easy. With an operation of this scale and price you knew you would never get an offer so open. ‘If you can win again I’ll tell you anything’ they must believe you lost your brains when you lost your mind. Suddenly you did feel like you really didn’t know what you were getting into. It feels like a trap has already been set for you, it feels like they knew you were going to return all along. You struggled to breathe until you manged to force out a “okay”.

There was a muffled chuckle you could barely hear. There was something different now. You weren’t so sure about your plan anymore. He hadn’t said anything out right threatening or scary yet you knew he had something in store for you or else he never would put so much on the line. You just made a deal with the devil.

The original phone opera voice came back to tell you where to be picked up and that it would be this night. The phone hung up after that. All that remained was a deafening silence. It was done. You got what you had so badly wanted. But why doesn’t it feel as good as you wanted. Why don’t you feel fixed? Why hasn’t the old you come back to fix everything? That sinking feeling started bubbling over as you stood there with your phone in your hand. Beginning to hyperventilate you make your way to the crumby hotel bathroom and splash water in your face. You keep from looking in the mirror because you know what you’ll see. It will either be your friend or younger you. It used to be a huge problem when you first got out. Every time you’d forget and see them staring back at you you’d have another break down. Now it just puts you on edge, but it would be best if you just refrained from looking. You keep telling yourself that you can figure it out, you keep telling yourself it doesn’t matter if you live or die in there, you keep believing there’s no point in running from what would free you of your pain. Something deep inside tells you that you are close to seeing what the people who run this game do. That the epiphany they had to come up with this would make it all worth it. All you wanted was to see the bigger picture.

You could die happy and content dying just like your dear friend if it meant you could understand what it was all for. It’s on the tip of your tongue waiting to said and recognized.

You spend hours mulling over thoughts similar to these ones while you counted down the time before being relocated to what might as well be hell. You knew at this point you were walking into a death trap made just for you. You were going to either be granted the privilege of seeing the greater purpose of your suffering. You believed there had to be a reason, someone had to have figured out something huge to make them come to this.

Finally the fateful time reared its ugly head and you tugged on your coat. You looked at your room for the last time. You stood in the door way as your eyes brushed over all you had been. Papers scattered about, bottles of alcohol strewn about and random belongings resting in odd spots. It was time to say good bye once again. You are willing to leave it all behind and relive everything if it meant finding a purpose.

Eventually you arrived to you meet spot, an extremely expensive looking limousine was parked and waiting for you exactly where the phone operator said it would be. It was shiny and black with completely tinted windows. The anxiety you felt caused you to raggedly pant as you approached the car with unsteady steps. You gently opened the car door and stepped inside. The interior was white and luxurious and in front of your seat laid a golden pig. You sighed and closed your eyes waiting for the gas to kick in and claim your consciousness. Tears rolled slowly down your face as every even that happened in the games flash before your eyes. The blood, the screaming, the bits of brains and guts dried onto your clothes, and most of all the severed neck of the only friend you ever had. And to even your surprise you began to smile and giggle as you saw what happened to you play out like a movie in your minds eye. The gas started to be deployed into your enclosed car as your giggles became louder and more deranged. Sobs and laughter being mixed together as everything became hazy and burred.

Right before you black out you hear the masked man’s voice come from the little pigs speaker, loud and clear

“Welcome back, player 444. I hope you are happy with your decision”

_______

Sorry the friend is gonna remain nameless so you can imagine whoever. But next chapter when you get in the games there will be named characters. Again sorry you and in ho barely talked I just needed to get the exposition out before writing the main bits. Thank you sm gang and the next part will be out soon.

Also sorry end is kinda rushed I’m tired

[laiahernandeeezzz]

I DON'T THINK I COULD LOVE YOU MORE

******

Pairing: Billie Eilish x fem!reader

Words: 1.9K

****** [So after everything that happened, I really wanted to write something cute and happy for the Grammys, I've been obssessed with Billie these last days, so I hope you like it!!!]

The alarm went off earlier than usual on the morning of the Grammys. Y/n stirred beneath the covers, stretching an arm out to find her girlfriend—only to be met with an empty, cold spot. She frowned. If there was one thing she knew about Billie, it was how much she despised getting out of bed without spending a few minutes tangled together, exchanging sleepy kisses.

With a sigh, Y/n lazily pulled her hair into a messy bun and grabbed one of Billie’s oversized sweatshirts. If they were already huge on the singer, Y/n practically drowned in them, despite being taller than her girlfriend. But that’s exactly what made them so cozy.

She padded toward the kitchen, where she found Billie perched on a stool, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. Y/n approached her from behind, wrapping an arm around her waist and resting her chin on her girlfriend’s shoulder. It was only then that she noticed how tense Billie was.

“Good morning, my love,” Y/n murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. But instead of the usual warm response, Billie only managed a small, tight-lipped smile—more a grimace than anything.

Y/n’s brows furrowed. Something’s up.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” she asked, concern evident in her voice.

Billie let out a heavy sigh, finally turning in Y/n’s embrace to face her. “Sorry, baby. It’s just… I’m a bit stressed about tonight.” She hesitated, then ran a hand through her hair. “Claudia called me before the alarm went off. Turns out Finneas woke up feeling sick… and he lost his voice. Like, he literally can’t sing, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry,” Y/n said sincerely. “But I know you’ll figure something out. Have you talked to your team?” As she spoke, she absentmindedly ran her fingers through Billie’s hair, knowing it always helped calm her—even just a little.

“I called my mom, and she said I have two options: find someone to do the harmonies while Finneas plays guitar, or sing without them and just have him play.”

Y/n nodded, considering it. “What do you want to do?” she asked, pulling away briefly to make herself a cup of coffee. She missed the way Billie immediately pouted at the loss of her touch. Once her drink was ready, Y/n returned to her girlfriend’s side, taking Billie’s hand in hers and tracing slow, soothing circles on her knuckles.

“Finneas says he’ll still be okay to play, so that’s not the issue,” Billie admitted. “But I would really like someone to sing with me. It gives the song more depth, y’know? Makes it feel… fuller.”

Y/n took a thoughtful sip of her coffee. “That makes sense. Is there anyone you can call? I mean, you still have one more rehearsal—you could try it out with someone and see how it feels.”

Billie fell silent, deep in thought. A few moments later, a small smile tugged at her lips as she turned to face Y/n again.

“Baby,” she started sweetly. “You know I love you, right?”

Y/n narrowed her eyes, immediately suspicious. “Of course I know… Why?”

Billie hesitated, her blue eyes wide and pleading. “Well… You obviously know the lyrics to the song…”

Y/n’s stomach dropped. “…Yeah?”

“You’ve been to every rehearsal, so you know exactly where Finneas comes in…”

“Billie…”

“And even if you don’t believe it, you do have an amazing voice…”

Y/n’s eyes widened. “I do not like where this is going.”

Billie pressed her lips together before finally blurting it out. “Sooo… Maybe… Remember that I love you so, so much… but maybe you could—I don’t know—sing with me tonight?” She whispered the last part, voice pitching higher as she looked at Y/n with the most hopeful expression imaginable.

Y/n stared at her. “Babe. That is crazy.” She set her coffee down, heart rate already spiking. “I have never sung in front of anyone—barely anyone. And you want me to do it at the Grammys? In front of actual singers? I cannot do that. I’m not prepared. We’ve never even sung your song together—it might not even work!”

Panic was creeping into her voice now, but she also refused to meet Billie’s gaze. She knew that if she looked into those big, ocean-blue eyes, she’d be done for.

Billie took both of Y/n’s hands in hers. “Love, I trust you. I know you can do it. And, like you said, we still have one more rehearsal. Just try it—for me? Please?”

Y/n groaned, running a hand down her face. She was losing this battle fast.

“I don’t know… Are you completely sure you wouldn’t be better off on your own?” she tried one last time.

Billie shook her head, voice unwavering. “I’ll never be better than when I’m with you.”

Y/n exhaled sharply, already knowing she’d caved. Billie could ask her for the moon, and she’d find a way to bring it to her.

“I hate that I love you so much,” she grumbled. “You better make it up to me later.”

Billie smirked, immediately tugging Y/n closer by the hem of the sweatshirt, pulling her between her legs. One hand found its way to Y/n’s waist, the other tilting her chin up until their lips were just inches apart.

“Oh, you bet I will,” Billie murmured before capturing Y/n’s lips in a slow, deep kiss—soft, yet full of passion.

—

Much to Y/n’s dismay, the rehearsal went way too smoothly. Her voice blended perfectly with Billie’s, something she had no choice but to admit. And despite the nerves that had plagued her all morning, she found herself feeling… a little more confident, comforted by the presence of the siblings—Finneas strumming the guitar beside her, Billie performing so effortlessly that it almost felt natural to join in. Her girlfriend hadn’t stopped showering her with compliments, making sure she knew just how amazing she was.

Now, as they got ready for the night, their hotel room was packed with stylists, makeup artists, and assistants bustling around to make sure they looked their best. Clothes were everywhere—red carpet looks, performance outfits, even afterparty choices. It was overwhelming, but Y/n took it all in stride. She’d do anything for Billie, and she’d do it a hundred times over.

“Baby?”

Y/n snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of Billie’s voice. She hummed in acknowledgment, letting her know she was listening.

“I was thinking… Since you’ll be on stage with me tonight, maybe you could also join me on the red carpet?” Billie hesitated before continuing, her voice softer. “I know we weren’t planning to confirm our relationship, but I kinda want to… I want to hold your hand and kiss you without worrying about the cameras.”

Y/n smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. “I think today’s perfect,” she agreed. “Besides, bringing me as your plus one would’ve already been suspicious. Not that we’re very discreet anyway. People really don’t believe our ‘we’re just friends’ speech anymore.”

They both laughed, knowing she was right. They had never officially confirmed anything, but they had never exactly hidden it either. They were private—but that didn’t mean they had to pretend.

—

Y/n had no idea how Billie remained so composed throughout the entire evening. Just walking the red carpet had her stressing, but she thought she’d done pretty well—posing for pictures, both together and separately, sneaking fond glances at Billie when the singer wasn’t looking.

She had met so many artists she admired, with Billie proudly introducing her to people like Sabrina Carpenter and Chappell Roan, all while Y/n tried very hard not to freak out. But no matter how nerve-wracking it was, the steady presence of Billie’s hand on her back kept her grounded. The singer made sure she was okay at all times—whether by asking directly, squeezing her hand, or simply locking eyes from across the room.

But now, as they stood backstage, changed into their performance outfits, Y/n’s nerves returned—stronger than ever.

She tried to hide it, not wanting to add to Billie’s stress, but of course her girlfriend saw right through her.

A few minutes before stepping on stage, Billie pulled her into a hug, making her look at her.

“You’re going to do great, baby. I know it. Just like in rehearsals.”

“Yeah… except this time, real singers will be watching.”

Billie smirked. “And? I’ll be there. Finneas will be there. If it gets too overwhelming, just look at me, alright?”

Y/n exhaled shakily but nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

They shared a soft kiss before someone from production signaled that it was time.

Taking a deep breath, Y/n stepped behind the microphone. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her chest, but then—Finneas placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. They exchanged a small smile, just as the lights dimmed.

Only for Billie to start… talking?

“Hi, guys!” Her voice echoed through the venue, casual and warm. “Normally, we don’t introduce our songs because we’re short on time, but luckily, they gave me a pass tonight.” She chuckled, the crowd responding with cheers. “This morning, we woke up to some sad news—my brother lost his voice. And, as you know, his harmonies are super important to this song. So, we had to find a solution.”

She turned slightly, glancing at Y/n with a teasing sparkle in her eyes.

“Finneas is still going to play, obviously, but tonight, someone very special to me will be singing his part.” She paused before adding, “She’s a little nervous, so if you know the song—please, help us sing. Here’s ‘Birds of a Feather’ with Finneas and Y/n!”

And just like that—it began.

At first, Y/n could barely hear herself over the sound of her own heartbeat, but as the song progressed, she found herself feeling it. The music, the moment, the presence of Billie right next to her. Every now and then, Billie would glance over, locking eyes and smiling, silently reminding her that she was right where she needed to be.

Before she knew it, it was over.

As the final note rang through the venue and the applause roared around them, Y/n barely had time to process it before Billie wrapped her in a tight hug.

“I knew you could do it! You were amazing, baby!” Billie gushed, cupping Y/n’s face and pressing quick kisses all over it.

“Says you!” Y/n laughed breathlessly. “You were born for this, my love. Thank you for trusting me.”

“I always will,” Billie murmured. “I love you so much, Y/n.”

“I love you too.”

They kissed like there was no one else around them—before finally heading back to their seats. But not before Y/n insisted on changing back into her dress, claiming she didn’t want to spend the rest of the night in a t-shirt.

Of course, Billie mocked her for it. “Nothing’s better than a t-shirt, babe.”

They continued watching the show, Billie leaning over at one point as the stage was being set for Sabrina Carpenter’s performance.

With a mischievous smirk, she whispered into Y/n’s ear, “You do know the next step is for you to sing with me on tour, right? And not just the harmonies.”

Y/n turned to her, eyes wide. “You’re kidding.”

Billie just grinned, bursting into laughter at her reaction. And, despite herself, Y/n couldn’t help but laugh too.

She shook her head, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Billie’s lips. “I was going to refuse, but… you do know all you have to do is ask.”

[dearlyd3parted]

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖: 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 | 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

🕸️syp: Mark Lee is many things; A 2nd year college student, A stressed Stark Industries intern, Your friendly neighborhood Spiderman, and also your childhood friend. He's also a secret fifth thing, a loser hopeless romantic who's been in love with you for years. Due to his inexperience, it takes him two failed attempts at a confession until the third is finally a charm. 🕸️mark lee x fem!reader - (127 centered) biggest idiots in love u will ever read 🕸️feat: a bit of nct dream, xiaojun from wayv, and yunjin from lsrfm cause mother 🕸️word count: total 26.2k 🕸️warnings: some profanity (mark is very stressed ok), descriptions of injuries (blood, cuts, bruises), light angst, mostly just misunderstandings and such, brief mention of smoking, eventual smut 🕸️authors note: ok i genuinely had so much fun writing this one i love mark so much and i live to push the spidermark agenda. i don't follow any exact mcu plot. just inspired more heavily by tom holland cinmenatic universe! also he has glasses in this fic, i know canonically spiderman has perfect vision but idc i have a nerd agenda to push ;p i've only proofread once, so pls bear with any typos. to my current followers who were waiting on me to post, i spent a lot of time on this one so that is why content is delayed, but i hope it makes up for it! im doing more piwon next! i really like this one and hope u do too. pls reblog and like and follow for more ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ 🕸️chapter index: chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 tags🏷:

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷: 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚢 - wc: 8.3k

Mark Lee has always been sure of his identity.

It seems that since birth he has had a very firm grasp on himself, what his personality is like, what he wanted in his future, what he wanted in the very moment. Mark has never been a mystery to him.

When he was in the 6th grade, he knew he was a buzzing personality. He knew he was a jokester, always smiling, always laughing, even when the moment didn't call for it. He knew that he loved to talk about anything, really. He could spend hours talking an unsuspecting classmate's ear off about his favorite subjects (math and english, never science), the video game he just played, or some cool new thing one of his favorite superheroes did.

However, because of his...as one would put it in kind terms, passion for life and anything that excited him slightly, he had a hard time making friends. Sure, he had some, the same handful of guys who had been perpetually stuck with each other since elementary school, but making new ones was the problem.

It was at that point that Mark realized he is also a people pleaser from time to time. Especially at 12 years old when everyone is dying to fit in. So, in order to get some of his peers to find him...not annoying, he tried to mimic their personalities.

Mark amped up the snarky-ness and the sassiness, changed his look to what could best replicate what was popular at the time, and started talking about Tony Stark maybe 30% less (That really was the best he could do).

And surprisingly....it worked. For a bit there, he was thinking he might slowly climb his way up from whimsical nerd to just some dude. God, he wanted to be just some dude so badly.

Then one day he saw you.

You sat alone on the end of a lunch table, a pizza lunchable in front of you as you clicked away on your DSI, seemingly playing...Pokémon? Of course, adorned with a Star Wars backpack sat right next to you. He shuddered a bit at the sight, but not negatively. He just really wished that was him instead of what he was currently doing, trailing behind the kids who play basketball after school with an immense 'cool kid' vibe to them.

Mark took immediate note at how they snickered at you, the word nerd being thrown around being most obviously about you. As he gripped onto his tray, a sly smile masking an internal panic on his face, he figured it was a perfect time to prove himself as he followed his pack leaders.

Mark cleared his throat as he approached you, ready to strike. "Nice backpack, Young Jedi." He snickered, his voice as condescending as he could make it out to be when addressing a really cool backpack.

You paused your game with a swiftness, swiveling around to look at him, not an ounce of offense on your face. Without a beat, your deadbeat expression bounced back.

"Nice bowl cut, loser.”

Needless to say, Mark didn’t make the cut for just some dude. He would be staying a talkative and giggly nerd for a while, he was sure of that fact about himself. He knew that was him. It was okay, though, because he didn’t want friends who he couldn't be himself around. After that whole facade, he knew he wasn’t the nonchalant cool guy he tried to resonate with.

He also knew that after a thorough and heavy apology his friend Taeyong had made him give you, he had just met someone who he resonated with a lot more.

He knew he was your new friend.

(To which you only agreed because of his Captain America themed backpack. Besides, your jab at his bowl cut that truly was awful made it even.)

A year later, he was certain that you were his best friend. Maybe it was a bit selfish that he had so many best friends, you including his flock of seven other boys who had just become stuck to each other.

But…there was something different about you. Like you were his ultra best friend, if thats a thing. After the initial awkwardness of your first meeting, the friendship only soared. Helping each other with homework, rewatching ‘Star Wars: Revenge of The Sith’ for the 30th time, fangirling over Tony Stark and the avengers. He never thought he would meet a girl that understood him so well, and in turn who he understood, too.

Until the 7th grade, he couldn’t quite place what it was that was so different. You were integrated into his group of friends, he didn’t treat you any differently and you didn’t with him. Yet, for some reason, he was happier when you were around, and even happier when it was only the two of you.

His heart was a mixture of things every time he made a joke and you laughed because of him. It had also dawned on him that even if you and him had your many similarities, you were still more reserved and cautious when it came to other people. Despite that, you seemed comfortable around him, enough to confide in him and share whatever you wanted to.

So, when you confided in him tearfully that the boy you had wanted to attend the spring formal with was going with another girl, as your best friend he decided to step in and take you himself to cheer you up.

Seeing you a bit happier at the outcome of that night, wearing a navy blue dress he remembers oh so vividly as the colorful lights seemed to be illuminating your smile, his heart sank to his stomach. That was when it had hit him what had been so different about you.

Mark knew that he liked you. He liked you terribly.

He knew he liked you as he danced with you, his hands tenaciously at your shoulders as you thanked him with a smile for not letting you come alone. He knew he liked ever since you started to feel ‘different’ in the best way possible, and he knew he would keep liking you for a long, long time.

And that is exactly what he did.

Middle school passed by in a flash, and he never liked you any less. In fact it was impossible to not like you more. You, who was always on his side through all his phases, who brought an extra sandwich from home to share with him at lunch, who gifted him the missing star wars comic in his collection for his birthday, who defended him against all the snickers and teases of the rest of the friend group, who was the cutest girl he would ever be blessed to see, who joined the academic decathlon in highschool so he wouldn’t be alone. How could he not crush on you harder?

Just because he liked you so much, didn’t mean that he rushed to act on it. Quite honestly, when he first realized all these feelings were heavy to hold and the only way to let go of them was to confess, he had a nervous breakdown. What would he even say? What would you say? How would he even explain this to you? You were always so headstrong and focused, would a measly schoolboy crush even appeal to you? Was this the end of the world?

Once he calmed down, however, he realized that there was no rush to explain the feelings he himself couldn’t even muster to say aloud. All that mattered is that you were in his life, and he was in yours. And he was pretty damn content with that. Maybe in the future, if he still felt so much and he had gotten much more confident, he’ll be able to tell you. At the moment, 15-year-old and sophomore in highschool Mark had no rush at all.

And then, he was bit by a spider.

Of course, it wasn’t a normal spider. Because god forbid anything ever be normal in Mark’s life. One morning, he woke up with body muscle his lanky limbs did not have when he went to sleep and a strength that broke his desk bunk bed in half. If it wasn’t obvious something was off, his glasses stuck on his hand for the better part of an hour sure confirmed it.

Yup, Mark knew it. He had turned into some sort of a Spiderman.

At least, that’s what he called it. It’s what he decided to go by when a very confused passerby asked him who he was as Mark saved his bike from a thief. A quick sew of some blue and red fabric with a poorly stitched on symbol, and he was putting these powers to test.

He had a good run making a name for himself on Youtube under this ‘Spiderman’ pseudonym. It was a blissful first few months, figuring out the basics of his powers, slamming into the wall maybe only a handful of times, fighting neighborhood crime in a heroic way that he used to only be able to gawk at the avengers doing.

However, ignorance is bliss. Mark couldn’t possibly be ignorant to the way that he was making enemies who didn’t like the interference with their crimes all over queens, and fast. He especially couldn’t ignore it when a particular petty group of criminals had hit rookie Spiderman with everything they had, and the bliss ended as he limped away his first gruesome fight he had managed to win with his life.

As he dragged his way across the city, whimpering and crying as the universe decided to make his first terrible day on the job even worse with rain, he was aware of how roughed up he was, he needed help.

He couldn’t just go to his Aunt and tell her her 15 year old nephew had been putting his life in danger for the last few months. He couldn’t go to the hospital and risk exposing the identity he tried so hard to protect. He certainly couldn’t let his rowdy friends know by showing up to Taeyong’s apartment.

So he found himself barely making it up to your fire escape, knocking with the last bit of strength he had to get your attention from your Calculus homework to his figure in the window. He was limp and a mess of “i’m sorry”’s and “i don’t know where to go”’s as you pulled him in, speechless at the sight in front of you.

You didn’t get angry, you weren’t annoyed, you didn’t ask him a million questions. You only bandaged his wounds, and offered open arms as he cried and cried until he couldn’t anymore.

As Spiderman Mark gripped your hoodie, his tears staining it with salt, he knew he felt safe. God, he always did with you.

He knew that he loved you. Because honestly, wasn’t it impossible not to?

The revelation that he was in love with you didn’t come with much shock, if he asked 6th grade Mark if he knew this day would come, the answer would without any doubt be a yes.

It did come at a turning point in his life, however. He met Tony Stark, got suited up with Stark Industry gear that made every nerd crevice in his mind vibrate, fought with the avengers, nearly joined the avengers, accidentally revealed himself to his aunt, and then his other 7 friends, fought against avenger-level-threat villains, and quickly rose as one of the most famous heroes around.

Throughout everything, he never loved you any less. And even through his trials and tribulations as he settled in this neighborhood Spiderman identity, you never strayed from being his best friend. He didn’t need anything else to feel like the luckiest man in the world.

Except, maybe an answer to the dying question he wanted to know for years and years. Was he just your best friend? Or has he always been something more? On the few times you’ve told him something along the lines of, ‘I will never care about anyone like I do about you, Mark’, (And no, he actually didn’t memorize that one word for word) Did it also mean what he has always meant, or was he just dear to you in the friendliest way possible?

Although Mark was older, 18 years old and graduating from highschool, he still had that same mindset he had as an angsty new teenager. His feelings for you only weighed more and more in tons and tons over the years, especially since he was able to name it as love. Yet, he found it hard to explain why he still hadn’t felt any rush to act on them.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, even if anyone who would hear his logic might think it was. As he watched you say goodbye to peers and friends at graduation from a distance, happiest as ever in your cap and gown as you were set to attend MIT with him in the fall, he knew it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. He dreamt of it some nights, actually. He hadn’t known you his whole life, but for some reason, it felt like you were always there. When he had that stupid bowl cut, when he tried out for the soccer team and made a fool of himself, when he got his first B on an english paper, when he got bit by that spider and bit off more than he could chew, when he was applying for college and decided to major in computer science and engineering, you were there.

As you pranced back to him as you finished saying your farewells, he couldn’t help but think it would always be this way. You had him, and he had you. The night you both graduated, you both sat on a rooftop, staring at queens under you as you shared a pizza. Naturally, it felt like you would always be there. You were just natural.

Despite that, It had been nearly seven years since he first met you. Nearly seven years since he told himself he would confess when the time was right, when he was more confident and hopefully a little bigger.

He was definitely taller, and involuntarily grew some muscle. Luckily, his hair hadn’t seen the after effects of a bowl cut in years. His voice didn’t squeak when he talked to you or any girl for that matter, and he liked to think he was 10% less of a nerd. At least, enough to be charming when it counted.

So as you both left highschool for your first year at NYU, he decided he checked a sufficient amount of boxes to go for it. However, it was clearly going to be harder said than done. Just seeing you the night after he made up his mind that the time has finally come, his forehead was slick with nervous sweat and somehow he walked right into a pole. Your questioning about why his ‘Mark tingle’ hadn’t worked–which is what you had named his 6th spider-sense–didn’t help not one bit.

Truth is, it was terrifying. He didn’t know why. He had fought against intergalactic villains and catched runaway trains with his bare hands. Yet a simple ‘I’m madly in love with you’ was too much for him to handle.

Mark composed himself, running it through his mind during every late night patrol. He was going to do it, and soon. First, he had to get over the initial fear. After that, love sparks would fly.

Soon turned into weeks later, then months, and then an entire year. Before Mark could blink, it was the 2nd year of university and the ‘initial’ fear seemed to be a perpetual one.

In his defense, the first year of college was very busy. The both of you were buried in the books, biochemical and computer science engineering not being easy majors, and of course trying to maintain extracurriculars. Mark with his Stark Industries internship, that both was still a pseudonym for Spiderman duties, and this time around an actual internship he had begged Mr. Stark for. You, with the school's Debate team and interning wherever it counted and wherever paid.

Mark would be a liar if he said there was absolutely no time, though. A plus to the both of you being the unassuming and socially awkward nerds all throughout the years meant that you didn’t peak in highschool. University could be a time to blossom, be more social, enjoy the journey a little more, maybe attend a party or two.

Watching you in this beaming light as you entered a new chapter of your life, an enigma shining more than ever, it only intimidated Mark even more. Which is why his after-graduation-confession plans had stretched out a whole year later.

Mark never felt like he was losing you, though. Losing his mind? Most definitely, but not you. You were closer than ever, Mark was content.

Telling himself that he had you on his side through everything, and he would continue to have just that is what helped him sleep at night. He would stop being a coward eventually, and just like the movies, the sun would shine a halo around you, his eyes would meet yours, and he could finally confess. Time, there was lots of it, right?

Wrong. Again, it seemed like Mark’s reality was always perpetually shifting or going the opposite direction that he was aiming for.

Today, he found himself standing outside of one of the many NYU buildings, waiting for your cell biology class to be done with. It had become a habit to him to make sure you got back to your apartment safely after classes that ran into the evening, claiming that as the resident neighborhood spiderman, it was his duty to escort you. Even though in reality, you were capable of getting around just fine, and this was just another excuse for Mark to spend even more time with you.

He was wiping down his glasses when he heard the door open and you walked out, tired out from a full day of classes. He wasted no time putting on his glasses back on, making sure he caught every bit of you. Mark always thought you looked best like this, hair down and tousled in comfy clothes, today a cardigan and some baggy jeans, the night making your features even softer.

You smiled despite your weariness, waving at him, and Mark smiled right back. “Hi, Mark.” you said, walking up to him as you clutched onto your bag.

Mark reached for it, slinging it over his shoulders, the heaviness of textbooks and all your other supplies being nothing to him. “Y/n! How was your day?” He asked enthusiastically.

You stared at him with those eyes you get, sighing as you looked down. “It was alright…I got assigned two group projects, though. I mean, two, seriously? In the first month of school?” You complained and talked with your hands like you always did when you were angry, as you both started walking, Mark listening to every word.

Mark inhaled sharply, making a face at the thought. “Yikes. Two on the same day is some luck. My operating systems professor said we would have a group project soon as well, but at least we get to choose our partners.”

You pouted up at him, finding your situation unfair. “We can’t even have that luxury. I don’t know any of the people I was assigned with.” You complained with a frustrated sigh.

Mark sympathized with you, knowing how unfortunate that must be, but when you looked so expressive and adorable as you complained, it was hard for his heart to stay still in its cage. “That really does sound like it sucks. I hope they aren’t rude or some slackers.”

You shook your head looking off at the city in front of you, when all Mark could do was look at you. “I don’t think they will be too bad. The group project for cell bio, I got this one guy…Xiaojun, I think, for a partner. He seems like he’ll be a big help.”

Mark’s head tilted, his glasses tilting in the process. “Mm, really? How so?”

You looked at Mark with a pursed smile, shrugging at the recollection. “He’s very receptive, first to offer to help with research. Gave me his number so I could call him ‘if anything’, so I gave him mine as well. He’s nice, a little too nice maybe, but nice.”

Mark felt an uncomfortable lump in his throat, he hadn’t heard of you and any other guy in ages. He didn’t want to. As he took in what you had said, recognizing the name of a pretty well-known school heartthrob, exchanging numbers with him, and even the whispered fact of him being too nice, he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Surely it couldn’t be that this Xiaojun was…taking an interest in you?

Mark had to make sure as he forced down the lump that prevented him from speaking. “Ah…so sounds like…he’s flirting with you.”

You both came to a stop at an intersection. You pondered your words as Mark stared at you, reading your every visible thought. “It seems like it. He’s a nice guy but I'm not interested if that is the case…because…” You said, your words trailing off as you looked at Mark with a distant look in your eye and shrugged after a moment. “I guess, I don’t have a reason to not be interested. Should at least hear the guy out, I suppose.”

Mark’s heart sank to the floor in record speeds. And he’s jumped off of buildings. As the light turned from the orange hand to the walking man, he stalled a few seconds, shaking off this new dread as he jogged a little to match your pace. “H-hear him out? So you…you like him?”

You giggled a bit, shaking your head with a smile. “I didn’t say that. I just met the guy. All I’m saying is I’ve always said no, no, no, and no. Maybe it’s time to move…Uh, I mean, to stop saying no so quickly.���

All Mark could process in that sentence is that there were others that you had to say no to. As he looked down at the sidewalk he was strolling on, his world view seemed to crack a bit. He had always known how amazing you were. Your eyes an ocean he wanted to sail. Your hair framing you in the most flattering way. Your sarcasm and humor that brightens his day. Your drive. Your kindness. Your intelligence. Your generosity. Should he keep going? He could, he could spend days listing everything that was right in you. It had just never dawned on him that other hormonal and sappy guys like him could do the same and act on it. Worse, that you could entertain it.

“As in…look for someone?” Mark asked, his voice sounding pathetic beyond his control.

You sighed, staring off at the distance, not wanting to look at him. “I don’t know…it’s just…something I've been thinking about. It feels like I'm overdue to try my hand at this whole love thing…”

Overdue. Overdue. Is that really how you felt? Mark supposes you have both gone your whole lives without dating someone. At this point in your lives, that can be considered a while. Mark had never felt like he was lacking in that category, love, because he had so much of it for you. You didn’t know that, though, and now you felt overdue.

Mark’s palms were sweaty as he gripped the straps of both of your bags. “There’s…no rush, though, right...?” He questioned, trying to preach his own stupid, stupid anthem.

You nodded, a bit solemnly if he had to add, looking up at him with a strange mix of a smile and pout. “You’re right. No rush.”

Mark sighed a breath of relief. A relief that didn’t last long as you spoke up again. “But there’s also no reason to push it away anymore.”

Mark had so many questions, such as why were you set on ‘pushing it away’ until now, where the hell did this Xiaojun come from, how it can be possible that a certainty he awoke with this morning can crumble a mere few hours later, and how he could possible be so stupid, stupid, stupid, cowardly, and naive?

Mark inhaled a sharp breath, trying to stabilize himself. He wanted to freak out, he wanted so badly to bring the both of you to a halt and grab your hands, begging for you to not even think about this. However, that would also be stupid, and if he showed that he was anything short of understanding during this conversation, you would never share anything like this with him again. Then, he would be completely in the dark about your apparently beginning love life.

“If…that’s what you want.”

Stupid. Idiot. Buffon.

There it was again, that forced smile that Mark was too busy internally panicking to notice himself. “He hasn’t even said anything that confirms the suspicion. But…I’ll see. I’ll figure out what it is that I want.”

Mark nodded, trying to play it cool as his fingernails dug into his palm. He didn’t even notice that you had arrived at the train station, standing in front of the train that took you home.

You looked up at him, smiling softly as you reached up to flick hair out of his face. It didn’t help the melting pot that was his current emotions. “You texted early that you wanted to get an early patrol. You should go get ready. I’ll be okay from here.”

Mark normally would have shaken his head no immediately, insisting that he take you all the way to your front door. Today however, he felt as if the longer he spent around you, the closer he was to losing it. “You sure? I really don’t mind-” is all he managed to say as you cut him off.

“Positive. I can join you on comms later tonight. Gotta get some homework done first.” You said, looking back as the train started to pull into a stop. “You go get ready. And eat something or you’ll be off your game. Last time you went out hungry you nearly crashed in an office window.”

Mark chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck, thinking to himself that of course only you could make him laugh and make him want to yell in such a short span. “Aye-aye captain, I’ll do that. You better go before the train leaves.”

You nodded, taking back your bag from him and waving. “I’ll come to yours tomorrow. We have o-chem in the morning. We can swing there?”

Mark smiled, as best as he could by this point, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll swing there. Text me when you’re home.”

You shot a thumbs up as the train doors opened and you rushed to get in. “I will, bye Mark! Careful!”

His heart warmed, you had always told him to be careful, no matter the hundreds and hundreds of times he must have gone out now. It wasn’t enough to make him unball his fists though. “Bye, Y/n.” He said back, missing its added sense of joy.

He watched as you walked in, taking a seat and looking back at him once. He didn’t even have the guts to stand there and watch you leave, looking back twice before he was sprinting up the subway stairs and running down the street.

The slight chill in the night felt even colder as he ran, wind blowing smack in his face, but he kept running until he found an alleyway, running deep into it until he was out of sight, away from any pedestrian eyes. The cuff Mr. Stark had given him came in handy at times like these, when all he wanted to do was be suited up as soon as he could, His heart wouldn’t stop racing as the press of a button had him in his full spider-suit. He tightened his backpack onto himself, and he was off, shooting himself up in the air, and running across a ledge before throwing himself off.

He didn’t even react as he reached closer to the ground than normal, shooting a web to divert his fall just in time. Even when he was swinging way too fast, weaving through buildings and poles and cars. All he could think about you and your words. When he woke up in the morning, he thought he had time, lots of it. Now as dusk falls over and the cars underneath him couldn’t be as loud as his thoughts, he finds out he doesn’t. Or perhaps he did, and now it had run out on him.

.   　˚ ✭　 * ✦　. ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ .˚　 ✭　.

“So, the last thing I said was, ‘I’ll figure out what it is that I want,’ and then we got to the train station.” You finished explaining to your roommate, Yunjin, as she sat on the opposite side of the couch.

You had only met Yunjin last year, but she already felt like one of your best friends you had ever made because of how easy it was to tell her all of your problems. Of course, you already had one of those, Mark Lee, who had been wreaking havoc in your life since you had first caused him to become the laughingstock of the popular kids back in 6th grade. But you couldn’t tell him absolutely all of your problems. Especially the biggest one, that you had always had a strange sense of infatuation for him that you expected to go away, yet here you were.

If you had to pinpoint when it began, you would say when he knocked on your window sophomore year of high school, bloodied and in the famous original spiderman costume. Mark had always been loveable, long before he got bit by that spider. It was what you liked most about him, his ability to always see the positive, to always somehow wear a smile and a laugh. In someone like that, it takes the utmost trust for them to allow the most vulnerable parts of themselves to be seen.

So, it wasn’t the suit that made you realize what you had felt. Even if you had been a major Spiderman fan and the revelation was only a little life changing, that was the last thing on your mind. He was hurt, he was scared, and he needed someone, and his first thought was you.

You thought it was a fluke, feeling so much for someone so unexpected. Surely, it was bound to go away. Yet, it didn’t. The feeling was nagging and adamant, just like Mark, and refused to let go.

After some time, you came to terms with the fact that nothing about it was unexpected at all. Since you met Mark, you spent every waking moment with him. Going to your first hero convention, building the Lego death star you got for your birthday, the school trip to Venice, middle school dances, high school dances, all of it was Mark, Mark, Mark, Mark. Every memory, the good and bad, that held a special place in your heart had Mark. How was he not to become special as well?

You thought about coming straight out with it, hoping to get closure or acceptance or anything that would help maim the feeling of overflowing love. However, Mark wasn’t just Mark anymore, he was Spiderman. While the latter didn’t matter much to you, it had become a part of who he was. With his great powers, came great responsibility. Not just that, but it seemed like him almost dying every other weekend had become his new reality. While it was stressful watching Mark go through all of that, even as you became his girl-in-the-chair of sorts to help him on patrols, you couldn’t imagine how stressful it was for Mark for himself. It felt unfair to throw a confession on top of everything he already had to deal with.

So, you decided if anything were to happen between you two, Mark would have to initiate it.

While you may have kept it better under wraps, Mark always wore his emotions on his sleeves. It would take an outstanding idiot to not notice the way he acted around you. The way his ears go pink before his cheeks do, the way on occasion he’ll forget to respond as he stares in a trance, or he’ll fumble with whatever object he has in his hand. Mark had always had those awkward, loser-ish tendencies, but it was undeniable at how they seemed to be at their worst whenever you were around.

He had to have at least entertained the idea. So, therefore it was just a waiting game. When Spiderman was ready to take that leap, so were you.

You waited, and waited, waited, and waited, and waited some more. Suddenly, the second year of university came, and you were still waiting.

Honestly, it had brought you down that no moves were made as you graduated high school. Needless to say, that the fact he was still radio silent when entering university only made you more discouraged and had you wondering if your premonition was wrong after all.

Your new roommate turned friend, however, was quick to catch onto your gloominess, and almost immediately connected the dots that it was about Mark.

Since you caught her up on everything she needed to know, while of course keeping Mark’s secret locked away, she had become a trusted person to confide in. As opposed to your clear inexperience, Yunjin had more experience on her love life resume, and was always at bay with advice.

Her recent advice being something that she believed would speed up the process, to display your availability, and to flaunt that you were planning on using it. In whatever form that may be.

So, when Xiaojun exchanged numbers with you, (and in your defense, was indeed being a little too friendly) it was the perfect opportunity to test the theory.

That is how you found yourself here, playing the conversation back and forth amongst each other to try and decipher if it worked.

Yunjin groaned, hand coming down to smack the pillow in her lap. “‘I’ll figure out what it is that I want.’ You guys are impossible. It is crystal clear what you both want.” She said with a shake of her head. “Is that really all he said? ‘If that’s what you want?’ How did he…I don’t know, was he panicky or shaky or anything?”

You thought about it with a sigh, shrugging. “I mean, I guess he was a little. At the stop walk he…almost forgot to move? But he had just come from that Stark internship, he’s always like that after it. Like a deer in headlights.”

Yunjin sighed as well, biting her bottom lip in thought. “Okay, this is good. This is a good start. We’ll just have to ramp up the Xiaojun thing and eventually, he’ll be forced to crack.”

You smiled, a little bittersweetly, your hands clenched together. “I hope it plays out like that…otherwise all this for nothing.”

Yunjin could read you like a book, a superpower of hers Mark didn’t always have, ironically. “Not for nothing. You know, you could always say something.”

You looked up at her with a knowing look, shaking your head with a sigh. “You know I can’t. He’s got too much to deal with, he’s literally sp…super busy. With school and the stark internship. I just can’t.”

Yunjin nodded as she stood up, taking the memo not to pry any further. “Alright, I hope this works then, for the sake of you both.” She said as she grabbed your face in her hands jokingly. “Seriously. I’m sick of looking at it.”

You swatted her hand away, chuckling. You hoped it worked too. With your whole being.

.   　˚ ✭　 * ✦　. ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ .˚　 ✭　.

Mark landed on the roof of his apartment that night exhausted from a full day of work followed by an evening patrol. Crime was quiet lately, with his biggest cases today being a measly shoplifter and a cat stuck in a tree. The type of quiet that came before a storm. Mark had too much on his mind to think about that, however. All of which involves you.

He deactivated his suit and found himself back in regular clothes, waltzing his way down the rooftop access stairs, all the way to his apartment on the 6th floor. 

He came in fidgety and anything but calm, seemingly too pumped with adrenaline and emotion to be as tired as he usually is after days like this.

Mark had the opportunity to be roommates with two of his friends, Johnny and Doyoung. Luckily for him and unluckily for his friend, Johnny was sitting on the couch, a gaming controller in his hands as he looked up to see the ball of nervousness make its way into the once mellow apartment. “Hey, Mark.” Johnny greeted, not talking his eyes off the TV. “You wanna play overwatch? Doyoung’s out for the night.”

Mark could barely register the question, his backpack slamming on the kitchen table as he plopped down on the couch next to Johnny. “What? No, no. I’m good, don’t wanna play. I have to talk to you, though.”

Johnny sighed, not taking his eyes off the screen. If his hands weren’t so busy, he’d probably grab his head too. The subject was painfully obvious. “What’s up?”

Mark sat back, looking at the ceiling. “Y/n. I messed up. So bad, dude.”

Johnny nodded, trying to feign surprise. “I see. How is she by the way? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Mark ran his hand through his hair, shooting the back of Johnny’s head a look at the inappropriate question during his time of stress. “She’s fine, dude. She told me something today.” Mark said, taking a deep breath to begin his rant. “You know, I told you…I’m confessing soon. Or I’m planning to. When I work up to it. I thought…shit. I’m so stupid. I thought she’d wait for me. She doesn’t even know, but I thought she’d wait. Apparently, there’s this dumb guy she has a group project with. Xiaojun, that’s his name. He’s flirting with her, I’m assuming. They exchanged numbers and everything.”

Johnny listened with his eyes a little narrowed, nodding in understanding. “Ah. I know that guy. He’s pretty cool.”

The look on Mark’s face couldn’t be described as anything less than offended. “He is arguably not. I mean…I know people must try to hit on her and stuff, but she was like…all cryptic. Saying things like ‘maybe it’s time to not say no so quickly’ and ‘I’m overdue at this love thing.’ She says she doesn’t like him but…she’s…she’s looking to date right? It’s gotta mean that.”

Johnny raised his eyebrows, fighting the urge to keep playing his game or turn and start shaking Mark by his shoulders. “Listen, Mark. Y/n’s a nice girl, full package, great person, gorgeous as well, and a single college student. Dating is kinda what you do. Especially with someone like Xiaojun.”

Mark’s world couldn’t crumble any faster. If only Doyoung was there instead, he at least would have broken the news a little nicer. “Oh, God. Shit. What…what do I do? She’s gonna start...dating.” He muttered with his hands on his face, glasses pushing up to his head.

Johnny stifled a groan. “Mark, you do what you should’ve done years ago. You just tell her, man.”

Mark didn’t like that answer. Of course, it was the only one that made sense, but he was hoping that someone would have some sort of miracle solution. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“Shouldn’t it be though?” Johnny retorted. “I mean, you’ve known this girl nearly half of your life. She cares about you a lot. You see it, I see it, we all see it. A confession isn’t going to break a bond like this, it can’t. You’ve got to know by now that what you’ve got is stronger than that.”

In the eyes of Mark, what Johnny said went against what every imagined worst-case scenario told him, even if logically it had made sense. You weren’t the type of person to cause a grand thing or make Mark feel bad about something so small. That was inherently the problem, however. Nothing about this was small. Small is the last word he would use to describe how he feels about you. You wouldn’t consider small something that could fill every ocean on earth's surface and then some. “How do I even tell her? I can’t just say ‘I’m in love with you.’” Mark argued, his voice sounding more and more pathetic.

Johnny used a brief moment to shoot a look at Mark, his eyes going back to the TV as he finally put his controller down and completely discarded the match he was in, leaning on his knees. “At this point, that’s exactly what you say. Your problem is that you’re trying to make it too grand, too perfect. Y/n has never been the type to be a stickler for that. It doesn’t matter how you do it, it won’t affect the outcome. If the feelings are there, which if you ask me, I think they are, then they’re there. Plain and simple.” 

Mark felt a lot of things, but at that moment defeat was most prominent. He had been imagining for years how he would confess to you. In one fantasy he would buy a billboard in Times Square and take you to see it, or perhaps he would learn the guitar and write you a song. He could make his own advent calendar, buy you a present everyday each specifically curated to your wants, and on the final day, a beautiful piece of jewelry. You deserved nothing short of perfect, but now he had to ask himself if that was really what you would want, or if he’s trying to pull every string he can for it to work in his favor. 

“So, what do I do…?” Mark said quietly, running his hand through dark hair.

“I just told you. Just tell her. Write her a poem, take her to dinner, or just straight up come out with it. Just tell her, as soon as you can, before it’s too late.” Johnny said, a supportive hand patting Mark’s back. “No more waiting. You’ve run out of time. I’ve told you this before, but I promise you it’ll turn out fine.”

It had been a wild afternoon filled with many unwanted revelations and a nasty swirl of emotions, but the quick conversation had brought Mark to the eye of the storm. He was backed into a corner, with only one way out, and that realization had finally dawned on him. “You’re…you’re right. I have to…as soon as I can.” 

Johnny ruffled Mark’s hair, reaching for his controller. “That’s the spirit. You wanna play Overwatch now?” 

Mark shot up and grabbed his bag from the table. “Nah, I’ll pass. I’m beat. I’ll probably just go to sleep, honestly.”

Johnny nodded as he returned his focus back to the TV. “Night, then. Don’t stare at your ceiling all night.”

Mark scoffed as he called from the hallway. “Wasn’t gonna do that. And goodnight!”

1.

He didn’t stare at his ceiling, but he did stare at his desk and lined paper almost all night. Johnny’s first idea of writing a poem was thrown out there randomly, but Mark didn’t think it was half bad. It was a short read on your end, and easy to get the point across without Mark having to do much talking. So, he wrote away, trying various different styles. From haikus to Shakespearean sonnets, to a ballad, each one frustrating him more and more. He even tried to make his usually sloppy writing neater than usual with cursive.

In his last attempt, he decided to ditch all rules of quatrains, lines, and rhyme schemes and instead write whatever he was feeling in a free verse poem. Finally, he felt the poem was right. Enough to say what he needed yet not including the words he needed to tell you himself. With a sigh, he laid out the poem neatly on his desk, ridding all evidence of his struggle the past hour by clearing off all pens and discarding all crumbled up sheets of paper in a trash can.

Mark found himself staring at it over with pride. Was it cheesy? Yeah. Was Mark a hopeless romantic? Certainly. That is just who Mark is, he knows that. After all these years spent with him, surely you know that too by now.

He was drained by this point, his eye lids that have felt stretched open the past few hours feeling too heavy for him to fight against them. Finally, he flopped on his bed, being able to close his eyes and drift to sleep, with plans to give you the poem laid on his desk the next time he saw you. 

.   　˚ ✭　 * ✦　. ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ .˚　 ✭　.

Mark didn’t process that he would be seeing you much sooner than he expected. Soon being the next morning that you had set to head to class together. How could he when he was so out of it? He hadn’t felt as physically and emotionally tired as he did yesterday in a while, which consequently probably caused him to sleep through his alarm the next morning. 

So, he slept like a boulder, missing all of your incoming calls and texts saying that you were headed to him, blissfully unaware of the poem laid out on his desk.

Mark still slept like a baby as you arrived at his apartment, and of course Doyoung had let you in without hesitation. It was completely out of his control as you made your way to his room on a mission to wake him up. Mark stirred awake, slowly and whiny, as you shook his shoulder, your voice quiet yet enough to wake him up gently. “Mark…you overslept. Get up now, so we won’t be late.”

Mark groaned, rubbing his eyes as you stepped away from him, your job complete. In Mark’s freshly awoken state, he didn’t see what the problem was as you browsed around his room while he gained consciousness, eventually pulling his desk chair out to sit at. Sitting down, your curious eyes landed on the only thing that was laid out, his poem. Well, your poem.

He sat up, his hands still attacking his eyes, trying to rub the sleep away, and you were already well into reading it. Your face was a scramble of feelings that only grew in perplexion as you read every last word, and even getting the chance to read it twice before Mark realized. After a particularly effective yawn and stretch, his eyes landed on you with your eyes set on the paper. Only then did Mark shoot up on his feet, his limbs stumbling as he decided if he should play it cool or snatch the paper from your hands, his only thought being, “please tell me she didn’t read it, please tell me she didn’t read it, please tell me she didn’t read it, please tell me she didn’t read it.”

At Mark’s not very subtle reaction, you put the paper down, looking up at Mark from the chair. “That’s…” Is all you managed to say, not being able to choose between the words intense, beautiful, star striking, devoted, or out of place in Mark’s room. So instead, you stayed speechless for a moment, another feeling the poem invoked as you studied his every move. “Did you write that…? For who? Your writing looks different-”

In a split second, Mark was torn between answering your question with a “yes” and several “you, you, you, you, it’s all about you, only about you," ’s which is what he should have done, or lying his head off. 

The image in his mind of you sat in front of him, seeking answers to your questions, looking at Mark like you were searching for something, it seemed to move in slow motion. This was the plan, was it not? He would hand you the poem, and then he would just admit it was about you. You were more than smart enough to piece together what that implied. 

As he cut you off, he hoped that was what came out, a mere couple of words that would be all he needed to say in the moment. However, when has anything ever gone his way?

“I didn’t write it!”

Mark said a little too desperately, wishing he could exit this sack of meat and bones and punch it across the face. “Not my writing. Too neat. I uh…I found it…on my desk! In my coding class! Must be some kind of secret admirer, I think.” He exclaimed, watching as your face went from something that he couldn’t tell was hope to neutrality, drinking in his lie as fast as he had come up with it.

“Oh…well, that’s…wow. They must really like you,” you pondered as your eyes grazed over the paper.

Somehow, the poem that he had poured his heart into for you, had turned into the sign of affection that a made up secret admirer had written for Mark. If you weren’t right in front of him, he’d fall to his knees, grabbing his head in his hands as his first confession attempt results in a failure down the drain. “Yeah…I guess so…”

Turns out, confessing right away was going to be much harder than he imagined.

.   　˚ ✭　 * ✦　. ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ .˚　 ✭　.

chap. 2

chap. 3

[flwrkid14]

I was reading the two posts about Tim's Christmas list, and just thought of the Bat Family noticing how happy Tim is.

Maybe Damian sees the new brushes and asks why Tim has Stephanie's things?

"Oh no, those aren't her's. They're mine. Danny got them for me cause they were on my list. I've needed a new set for a few years, but I only remember when I'm on a mission and needs to use them. Isn't he so sweet? And he got me really good quality ones, too!"

Or Jason mocking Tim for finally getting new hoodies. And instead of huffing or quipping back, Tim just brightens. Smiling in a way Jason's never seen.

"Danny got them for me! They're so soft. There's some of my favorite gifts from him! It's honestly nice to have new clothes that aren't formal. I'm so happy he read my list." And kinda just bounces away.

Maybe Bruce asking if Tim finally got new cups for his office?

"Danny's so sweet, isn't he? He found my list for Christmas and decided to get me a few mugs and thermoses. It's great I don't have to worry about accidentally cutting my mouth open again." 😊

Or Stephanie (who was injured on patrol and Tim's Nest, with apartment on top, was the closest place she could get to.) commenting on the fact that Tim has a lot of blankets, pillows, and plushies.

"Danny got them for me for Christmas I love how soft and warm everything is. He even found a plushie of a sleeping ghost! It's weighted, has a heating feature, and is made of glow in the dark fabric. Matter of fact, almost all the plushies and blankets he got me were weighted! Just like I had written on my list. They make me feel so loved. After all, he wants me to feel warm and safe, what's more considerate than that?"

Cass looks for Tim, knowing he's staying in the manor overnight because of a gala the next day. She hears music coming from the bathroom, but the light isn't on. So she goes in to turn it off, just in case Tim accidentally left it on. Only to see that there is a light on. A music box made to look like a record player spinning a vinyl, projecting blue light to look like you were underwater. Tim was in the bathtub, with the music box on the rim.

After the kerfuffle of them realizing Cass walked in on Tim taking a bath, and Tim getting dressed quickly, Cassandra asks him where he got it? It's cute and sounds really nice.

"Oh, it's a gift from Danny. He gave me it for Christmas. He knows I like cute things like that. And it's nice to listen to. He even got me this cat eared fluffy hairband for when I do my skincare or makeup! So cute, right?" 🥰

And slowly, all of them realize they never got Tim what he wanted. They try to justify it by saying he put tech on the list, but they look back through past lists and realize Tim changed his list because no one ever got him what he put on the list.

omg, I love your take on my posts! Your writing is so good! And you're absolutely right—the batfamily realizing their oversight and coming to terms with is such an interesting angle to explore! I like the way you went about it, especially all the times Tim kept mentioning the items were from his list!!

That said, I also wanted to address something that a lot of people were frustrated about when reading my original post.. many were upset with the family for not reading Tim’s list, wondering if they lost it or ignored it on purpose. I realize I didn’t provide enough context on my post for how the list actually functions!

The christmas lists in the batfamily aren’t necessarily meant to be followed to the letter—they’re more of a reference in case someone doesn’t know what to get. For example, Damian’s interests are pretty well known (art supplies, things for his animals, weapons), so most of the family can buy him something without needing to check his list. But for someone like Alfred or Bruce, where their preferences might be harder to pin down, the list serves as a guide.

With Tim, the family assumes they already know what he likes. They don’t think they need to check his list because, in their minds, they already understand him. So they keep giving him things they know he uses—cameras, electronics, hard drives—without realizing he already has more than enough. It’s not necessarily neglectful; it’s just a blind spot.

Danny, on the other hand, actually looks at the list. Not only because he wants to get Tim the best gifts possible, but because he lives with him. He sees what Tim already has in abundance and what he’s been meaning to get for himself but keeps putting off. That’s why his gifts are so thoughtful—he pays attention in a way the others don’t.

I hope this explanation helps clarify things for those who were confused or frustrated!!

[munsonsmixtapes]

Just You and Me: Part Two

On every part of this series, there will be a poll where you can vote whether you want reader to end up with Steve or Eddie or both! This has been so much fun to write and I hope y’all enjoy!

summary: you debut your “relationship at Corroded Coffin’s gig at The Hideout, unknowingly hurting the both of them.

cw: hurt/no comfort, angst, mention of alcohol

part one

Steve is sitting on the couch in your living room while you show him the entire time frame of your “relationship” that you’ve mapped out on a piece of poster board. You put it up on an easel and even got a collapsible metal pointer to really show him how serious you are about the whole thing.

Though, he seems more interested in the bag of potato chips he’s snacking on as opposed to the whole point of why he’s even at your apartment. He knows he’s supposed to be focusing, but how can he when you’re wearing that skirt that drives him crazy? Your legs just look so good and he’s so desperate to run his hands up and down your thighs as he lies on top of you, kissing you until you’re both-

“Steve, hello,” you’re waving your hand in front of his face and he’s quick to snap back into reality.

“Huh?” He asks, still partially in his daze and you snatch the chip bag from his hand and see them down on the coffee table that sits between you, making sure it’s just out of reach for him.

“Focus.“ You hit the pointer against the poster board to try to get his attention, but he’s still got that dreamy look in his eye. You wonder what’s so important that he’s not listening to you. It seems like he’s been in his own head for days.

“Sorry.” Now he feels like a jackass. You’re going through all of this effort and all he’s doing is staring at your body. He brings his focus back to the board and for the first time, he’s actually looking and holy shit, with how much thought you’ve put into this whole thing, it might just work.

“Where is your head today?” Up his ass, apparently. He can’t think about anything except how beautiful you look and it’s fucking with his head.

“I’m sorry. I was just up really late last night.” He’s actually not lying. He couldn’t sleep because of you. Because of this whole thing and how he isn’t exactly sure how it’s going to play out.

“Right, with your flavor of the week?” He hasn’t actually slept with anyone in a long time. He would just keep wishing it was you so he just stopped altogether because he didn’t want to lead anyone.

“Nope, just me and my hand, unfortunately.” He holds up said hand and wiggles his fingers which causes you to grimace.

“Gross.”

“So when does this whole thing start?” He asks, leaning against the couch with his arms sitting along the back.

“Tomorrow night. Corroded Coffin is performing at the Hideout so it’s a perfect opportunity.”

“So, no practice? We’re just going balls deep?” How the hell are you going to pull this off without practice? That makes no sense and no one’s even going to believe you if you can’t be convincing.

“First of all, don’t ever say that again. Second, we’re going to practice right now so just chill out, alright?” You head over to the couch and sit down next to Steve. Your thighs are touching and he can feel the heat from you through his jeans. If things were different, he’d have you straddling his lap, his hands resting on your back as he kisses you until you’re both breathless.

“Practice what?” He asks. Maybe if he actually read everything on your easel, he wouldn’t be so confused.

“Hold my hand,” you tell him and he hates that his cheeks are blushing. He’s held your hand so many times, but this is different. It’s supposed to be romantic, or implying that it is to other people.

His hand slides into yours, fingers intertwining and when he looks up at your face, you’re staring at him like he’s just hung the moon. God, you’re good. You’re acting, right? You have to be. Because if you weren’t and actually in love with him then you wouldn’t even be doing this whole stupid thing.

“You’re a natural,” you tell him with a smile.

“I’m just holding your hand, l/n. It’s not rocket science.”

“Still,” you shrug. “You know exactly what to do.” And he does. You’d never admit it, but his hand feels nice in yours. It’s soft and smooth and the way that his thumb is rubbing back and forth along yours. You almost don’t want to let go.

“Is this it?” Steve asks, still feeling his heart hammer in his chest at the feeling of your hand in his. He’d never tell you how right it feels to him. How he wants to hold your hand forever and never let go.

“No,” You shake your head, your hand reluctantly slipping out of his. You turn your body fully to face him and he mimics you, trying his best to not reach for your hand again. “I was wondering if you’d be comfortable practicing kissing.” Would he be comfortable? He’s only dreamed about kissing you every day for the majority of his life. He’s so ready and trying to not show just how eager he is.

“I’m open to it,” he nods and you bring your legs up onto the couch, crossing them over each other. And once again, Steve mimics you, doing the exact same thing. He watches as you take a deep breath. Could it be possible that you’re just as nervous? That would actually make him feel a whole lot better.

Your hands slowly reach up and grab hold of his face, cradling it gently. He hums at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. Is this actually real? Or does this dream just seem so realistic? As soon as your lips touch his, he’s sure that it’s real. And it’s perfect, everything he ever dreamed it would be.

His mouth moves with yours as one hand rests at the back of your head, the other resting on your waist. And of fucking course you’re a good kisser. You’re good at everything. It’s only supposed to be short, but neither of you want to be the first to break away.

So you stay like that for just a little longer. You even go as far as licking into his mouth to deepen it, so close to climbing into his lap, but you refrain. It isn’t supposed to be like this. It’s just practice. But you’re enjoying it way more than you thought you would. So much so that you’re not even thinking about why you’re doing it or Eddie for that matter. All you’re thinking about is Steve and how much you want him inside you.

Steve lets out a moan and you’re quick to pull away, finally pulled back into reality. His pupils are blown wide and his lips are a pretty shade of pink from being kiss bitten. He runs his hands through his hair and god, he’s just so pretty. You’ve always thought that, but especially tonight. You have to pull yourself out of your thoughts, trying to think about Eddie. That’s your main focus.

You don’t like Steve. This was just you getting caught up in the moment. That’s all it is. You just have to make sure that you don’t go that far again so you don’t do something you know you shouldn’t. As long as all of your kisses are around other people, that shouldn’t be a problem.

“How was that?” You ask before rolling your lips into your mouth.

“That was-” Steve cuts himself off, his cheeks turning a bright pink. “That was-I mean, wow.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You’re unsure, but you’re hoping so. He wouldn’t have kissed you for that long if it was bad, right?

“Yes.”

“Well, good. I think we’re going to be convincing.” So you still want to go through with it. Eddie is still your goal. He doesn’t know why he thought that his kiss would make you want to call the whole thing off. Clearly all Steve will ever be to you is your best friend.

The rest of the night is spent role playing different scenarios and acting accordingly. Steve tries his best to play it off like he’s fine, but really, all he wants to do is throw in the towel. He wants to just quit and tell you that you’re on your own because it’s all just hurting too much.

But because he’s just such a great friend, he doesn’t. He can’t. You’ve already gotten this far and now you have to see it through. He also doesn’t want you asking Robin. Partly because he knows Robin can’t lie for shit and partly because he’d just be super jealous. So he’s going to do it and he’s going to do it with a big smile on his face because he doesn’t want to hurt you.

The Hideout is pretty empty when you and Steve show up. This is the usual turn out for a Tuesday night, but you and your friends are going to cheer for the band just like you always do. They’re setting up their equipment on the stage and you and Steve make a beeline for them, you trying to not seem so excited to see Eddie.

He looks so good in his leather jacket, cropped t-shirt, and jeans that hug his body in all the right places. He catches sight of you out of the corner of his eye and cuts his conversation with Gareth short as he hurries over to you.

He jumps off the stage and Steve’s quick to pull you back so you don’t get hurt, trying his hardest not to glare at the guy. That’s one of his best friends and is he really going to be the kind of guy who lets a girl get in between them? No way. Their friendship is way more important than that.

“You made it,” Eddie smiles, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“I always do,” you smile back and Steve doesn’t like the flirty looks you’re giving each other. “And I even brought Stevie to be another one of your cheerleaders.”

Eddie watches the way Steve wraps his arms around your middle, resting his chin on your shoulder. This doesn’t surprise him since you’re always touchy with each other, but this time, it seems different. And when Steve kisses your cheek, he knows it is.

“So, you two, huh?” He asks, pushing hands further into his pockets, balling his fists as he tries his best to hide how upset he is. He always knew this day would come. The two of you are meant for each other and everyone knows it. He just wished he would have had a chance before the two of you made it official. But he supposes that you were always bound to end up together. That’s how that kind of shit always goes for Eddie.

“Yeah,” you nod with a smile, looking up at Steve and Eddie feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest because it’s not him who you’re looking at like that. “For a couple weeks now, wouldn’t you say so, honey?”

“I’d say so,” Steve nods, not even having to try to look lovingly at you.

“Well, I’m happy for you. It was a long time coming.” He’s smiling through the pain, trying his best to pretend like he can’t hear his heart breaking.

There’s a look on his face that you can’t quite make out and you really wish you knew if he was telling the truth. But then again, Eddie is one who’s known for being honest, even brutally so. And you’ve been friends long enough that you expect him to tell you the truth when something is bothering him.

But Eddie would never tell you the truth, not about how he feels about you, anyway. He’s taking that shit to the grave now since you’re with Steve. He excuses himself to head back to the stage to make sure that everything is all set and you’re starting to think that went too well. He really wasn’t even a little jealous?

You and Steve head to the bar and he’s squeezing your shoulder to show you that he’s sympathetic to the situation. Because as badly as he wants to be with you, he really just wants you to be happy in the end even if it’s not with him.

The two of you sip on your drinks, standing even closer to each other than you normally would, feeling the need to touch each other in any way you can to make the whole thing believable. You have to admit that Steve is a much better actor than you had initially thought. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that he was in love with you.

How devastating that would be if he was? You would have felt so horrible for asking him to pretend to be your boyfriend if you knew that was what he was wanting from you all along. That would really make you feel like a dick because how cruel would that have been to make him pretend to be something he’s wanted to be all for the purpose of trying to get the attention of someone else?

You reach up and brush some hair out of Steve’s face and he’s trying so hard to reel back his feelings. He’s been thinking about that kiss since it happened and if he had the balls, he would have asked you if you could price again. He’s desperate for more, so close to pulling you yo the bathroom to have his way with you, fucking you senseless until you completely forget Eddie’s name, Steve’s being the only one to fall from your lips.

You’re nudging him from his fantasy and he’s immediately snapped back to reality. How long was he out? His fantasies seem to be lasting way longer lately, much more real. He’s getting even more pathetic by the second and he’s not sure how much more he can take.

“It's about to start. Let’s go.” You grab him by the hand and he follows you to the front of the stage where you’re beaming up at Eddie who’s at the front of the stage, introducing the band into the mic before going into the first song.

He watches you the entire time, hating how Steve’s got his arms wrapped around you, his chin making a home on your shoulder. He’s filled with more anger than he knows what to do with. Seeing how you’re looking at each other makes him so jealous that he’s so close to diving off the stage and tackling Steve, which he knows is wrong.

Because truly, neither of you are doing anything wrong. You’re just a couple and Eddie was actually counting down the days, trying to slide in before you got together, but he’s too late. And he’s kicking himself for it.

He’s so focused on you and Steve that he’s not even paying attention to what he’s doing. He’s actually not even sure how he can keep up with his bandmates. He’s trying to focus on the lyrics he’s singing. The lyrics he wrote for you and how he feels about you.

You can’t believe how talented Eddie is. How this is what he’s really meant to do. You just know he’s going to make it and pretty soon, Corroded Coffin is going to sell out arenas, The Hideout being just the beginning.

He’s so into what he’s singing, his eyes closed. But you don’t know that he’s only doing it so he doesn’t have to see you with Steve. The song is so romantic, unlike the band’s other songs. Eddie’s voice sounds so pained and you hope that he’s not speaking from personal experience. Even though it hurts thinking about him being with someone else, you’d hate for him to not be able to be with who he’s interested in.

He’s grabbed your attention as he goes into his guitar solo, the cords slower than what he’s used to. You’re hypnotized by the way his fingers slide across the strings, doing it so effortlessly that you can’t help but be impressed.

Steve sees the way you’re staring and pulls you closer to him to get your attention. How will it look if his girlfriend is looking at the lead singer like he’s hung the moon? He knows no one cares, but he does. He honestly only cares because of how badly he wants you to look at him like that. That’s all he’s ever wanted and he knows that he’s not going to get it. Because it’s just his luck that he'd be in love with someone who isn’t in love with him. He’s never anyone’s first choice.

The set ends and the two of you wait as Eddie and the band pack up their equipment. You’re supposed to go out to dinner with them afterwards and Steve is absolutely dreading it. He just wants to go home and drown himself in the bottle of tequila he bought the other night and listen to your favorite record on repeat.

You wait until Eddie is distracted and wrap your arms around Steve's neck, throwing your head back as a loud laugh escapes your lips. Steve somehow catches on and he laughs as well, his genuine because yours is just so damn contagious.

Eddie looks up from where he’s putting his guitar away and that feeling in his gut he’s been having since the two of you showed up gets even worse, to the point where it starts to hurt. Yeah, he’s not going out tonight. He’s going to curl up in his bed and write some of the most devastating lyrics.

And when he watches the two of you lean in for a kiss, well, you might as well have ripped his heart out of his chest. That would have hurt a lot less. Gareth follows Eddie’s line of sight and doesn’t even have to ask to know what Eddie is thinking.

He doesn’t see how no one else knows how Eddie feels. He’s so goddamn obvious that it’s become painful to watch. And he knows you like him too so seeing you show up with Steve really threw him off. He knows that Steve likes you too, so this whole thing is really just a mess. He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, especially not Eddie because he’s always getting the short end of the stick.

The rest of the members go out to dinner which you politely decline the invitation to since Eddie’s not going. You just have Steve drop you off at your apartment because being by yourself suddenly sounds so inviting. You just want to be by yourself because of how hurt you are that your plan is failing and it’s only started. How the hell are you going to continue when it’s not even effective?

So, the three of you wallow in your self pity in your respective rooms, hating how everything is turning out. It’s all so painful and unfair. Tears are shed and alcohol is drunk like water to numb the pain that you’re all feeling. Something that should be so simple has been complicated because you just had to go and pull Steve into your scheme instead of just being honest with him. And it seems like you’re going to pay for it, unknowingly hurting the both of them.

[lesbianherald]

so i know you're trying to process Coming Home being the top fic now but bestie are you aware that you hit 30k kudos?

ok. ok ok okok.

As a warning, I'm going to get really weird and personal here.

I got these this morning. Just like with the last one I have no idea what to do with this or how to appropriately deal with it lmao but to everyone who has been so nice - thank you. so much? this is a number so unfathomable to me that I've been trying to sit with it all day and simply cannot process it as real.

I don't want to care about numbers. I want to be super cool and chill and above that. but this is a really big one. and I think it also is really reflective of how big this community has grown. I've decided it would be odd not to acknowledge it.

This is one of the craziest, kindest, most lovely things that has ever happened to me. It feels so incredible and validating to know my work reached some people. That is quite literally all I want to do with my life. And now it feels like I might be able to with my own stuff. But its a lil deeper than that too. All the comments and support have genuinely been such an amazing balm during a really dark time in my life.

At the start, this fic was always a method of escapism for me. I've been under so much pressure in my real life. I'm in a really weird, really competitive transitional point. everything I write irl may make or break the rest of my career. It is a type of pressure I'm incredibly grateful and privileged to have, but still stressful nonetheless.

But then, as i was writing this fic, it became way more of a lifeline. Not to get too personal, and idk if people paid attention to my end notes, but if you did you'll note I fell victim to the ao3 curse last October in a really big way. I lost a dear friend of mine very suddenly.

Starting coming home was a way for me to write something just to write it, knowing that I could be myself and do whatever I want and just throw shit at the wall without worrying about anything. after my friend passed away, the escapism of it became that much more valuable. (btw I would not post about it were I not in a much better place with it so don't worry about me <3)

I feel like maybe it's important at this point to explain the meaning of all the support because I've genuinely been unable to express it in a way I find appropriate. every piece of art every sweet comment etc. etc. helped get me through this really weird, sad, shocking time. As "cringe" as it might seem... fandom and fanfic can be really meaningful, powerful, and connective.

All this being said. coming home was definitely released in the right time for this to happen. A multichapter released right before and during season 2 as well as in the months after? Like. It was primed for this a bit (not intentionally but still) So many fics that get posted now deserve the same amount of love and support.

I really hesitate with numbers. sharing them, abiding by them, gaining value from them. I also get nervous about how people will feel entitled to treat me because of them. But this is so insane it feels weird not to say a bigger thank you.

[ilysungho]

hiii what do you think about the boynextdoor members + sad sex?? maybe they're aware you two are going to break up soon or know there is something wrong with the relationship (i honestly love angst)

i actually have some ideas but itd be great to hear yours too since you write amazingly

thank you so much for your compliments love! this is so different from all the other asks i've had, thank you for asking me this! i'd love to hear your thoughts too so please feel free to leave them any time, and let me know what you think of mine as well~ i wrote short scenarios for each of the members as i thought that was the best way to express the emotions. they aren’t as focused on the sex, but rather the emotions. leehan’s is inspired by this post!

contains: a lot of angst and sadness and tears, sad sex, husband!sungho x wife!reader, situationship!leehan x fem!reader, everyone else is in an established relationship (bf/gf), sungho/riwoo live with reader, lowercase intended

sungho - fixing a breaking marriage

there would be a lot of tears from both you and him, though not a lot of words are being exchanged as he holds you so impossibly close, yet still pulling you closer. bruised lips would show how much one means to the other as he gives you slow, deep strokes. eventually, he would be the first to break the silence, his words cutting through the sadness as he utters three simple words: i love you. and at that, you’d be crying harder than you already were, nodding while repeating those words back to him. he’d crack a small smile at you, relieved to know that you still care for him, at least enough to say the sentence back to him. you both know that both of you messed up somewhere along the line, but neither of you were ready to admit it. and as days went on, it felt like both of you were walking on eggshells around each other despite being married for 2 years, together for 5. his strong arms held you close as he started to be more vocal, asking you how it all feels so he can be better, not only at the moment but also as your life partner. he wanted nothing more than to stay as your husband, and he knows you reciprocate those feelings. so you tell him everything, through actions and words, for better, but not for worse.

riwoo - words that should've been left unsaid

"let's just break up then!" riwoo's voice echoes through the room as he stood up to leave. it was pretty normal for the two of you to have disagreements over small and meaningless things, the occasional arguments making way. yet it had never been as big as the current one you were both having. a little nagging turned into a course of reasons why he isn't being a very good helper around the house, which then turned into a screaming match between the two of you. neither of you knew why the argument became this extreme. he roamed around the park nearby as you sat on your shared bed in shock. you processed your pain and anger, ultimately deciding to take a leave for a couple days to really think things through, getting up to pack a light suitcase. about ten minutes after you began, riwoo comes back and is standing by the door frame with his eyebrows arching high. "babe i didn't actually mean it." he'd say as he tries to get you stop, only getting you to do so when he pulls you to him. "you're not going anywhere, you got that?" you're glaring at him the entire time, anger through the sky at the thought of that sentence slipping out of his tongue. he notices your expression at him not faltering, leaning in then to kiss you, apologizing to you continuously as he laid you down to properly convey his sorrys by giving you unforgettable pleasure.

jaehyun - closing the distance

he'd be very sad, hearing you say some things he never thought would come out of your mouth. jaehyun knew his schedule was too busy, yet he always tries to make time for you. days turned into hours, hours turned into minutes, and minutes turned into nothing. the distance between the two of you grew exponentially as he tried to juggle so many things at once. when you said that you were thinking of potentially breaking up with him because of how the relationship didn't even feel like what it's supposed to be anymore, he's on the verge of breaking down. it wasn't until you were at the door, questions with unanswered motives hanging over the two of you when he hugged you from behind, sobbing into your shoulder. jaehyun didn't want to let go of you, pleading you to stay with him as you tried to get his hands to loosen up. you turned around to face him, giving him a hard kiss full of requited pain and emotions. he'd kiss you through the tears, following your movements into his room as the kiss turned into more. you both hadn't been so close in a long while, but it felt like the right place to be in as he showed you his undying love for you in any way he could for the rest of the night.

taesan - instincts on point

if a relationship with you was something he didn't want to keep anymore, then he would've made it very clear. you know he would've told you that he can't be with you while also juggling all other aspects of his life. you know that, yet you still find yourself begging him to spend more time with you, to give you more attention, to properly communicate with you even. and the worst part of it all is that taesan knows it all. he knows it and that is why, the second before you could hit the send button asking him to break up with you, he's standing outside your main door, drenched in the rainwater and breathless. as soon as you open the door, he comes in and slams the door shut, kissing you hungrily against it before you could utter a word. he's pulling you in with him as he discards his wet clothes along with your nightwear. as you both reach the main bedroom, he's pinning you against the mattress as he says how he could feel something was wrong and came to ask you himself. you'd be shocked to see how strong his senses are, not saying anything as you pulled his face to your own to kiss him through your tears that finally spilled out, turning you both over so that now you are straddling him. "let me do this please," you say with a breaking voice, inserting his length into you while he pulled you down to kiss you again, unable to keep himself apart from you for too long.

leehan - end of an era

leehan held onto your figure, hugging your shoulders as the faint sound of the tv reverberated through the room. “let’s not meet anymore. this should be the last time we do.” well, those were the exact words leehan expected yet didn’t want to hear. he was… stunned to say the least, absolutely quiet as you looked at him to see any reaction he’d put on his face. being in a situationship was the hardest thing for you, especially when it was with someone like leehan who was practically perfect, yet far from it at the same time. “ok… i understand.” those weren’t the words he wanted to utter, yet he was afraid of fighting for you. he knew that if he stayed, it would all end up going wrong eventually. he had convinced himself of it and doesn’t even want to try to salvage what’s left of it. he knows he fucked up, he always does, but you are only doing what’s best for you and he respects your decision. he’s too in love with you for you to not choose what’s best for you. he’d hold your body close as you both share such intimate moments for the last time, kissing and letting sounds of painful love show through instead of direct words signifying the end of an era. an end of an era because of his denial of needing you, tears falling as he holds you one last time before letting go of all traces of you.