#strangely enough i do have a name for him

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 23rd. tom riddle — wet dreams, house rivals.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: tom’s been infiltrating your dreams, and you decide it’s time to call him out on it.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNIIII, coercion!!!!, dark!tom, mind manipulation, religious undertones, gryffindor!reader, enemies if you squint, fingering, squirting, begging, dream sex, tom riddle is his own warning, so much praise, dirty talk, verbal sparring.

You've never been a heavy sleeper. Even as a child, the smallest sound—a creak in the floorboards, a shift in the walls—would jolt you awake. For years, you chalked it up to some ingrained survival instinct, some form of trauma response to whatever part of your childhood still haunts you. You got used to it.

But lately, it isn't sound that been waking you. It isn't movement or foundation shifts, either. It's the dreams.

Dreams—strange, lucid, intense dreams of him. Always him. Dreams that make you feel like you're drowning, like you're flying, like you've found a new level of intoxication that you'd never imagined possible—and each time the dreams wake you up, the sheets (and whatever bottoms you may have been wearing) are always soaked, and your thighs are always shaking.

It's maddening.

They feel too real to be anything but a violation, his presence bleeding into your subconscious regardless of how much you try to fight it. You know it means something is wrong. You'd tried to rationalize yourself into going back to sleep, telling yourself it's just hormones or some form of stress, but you're too smart to believe your own excuses.

You know it's more than that.

He's haunting you in your sleep—in the most unexpected way. The dreams are always lucid enough that you can feel it—you can feel him—his mouth on yours, his hands on your hips, his dick bullying your fucking cervix and his magic on your clit—leaving behind nothing but hunger. Hunger that's so intense it makes you want him in a way it almost scares you.

You tell yourself you hate him, you've always hated him—but denial only lasts for so many days, as you realize you can't look at him or talk to him without the dreams forcing their way to the forefront of your mind, making you remember the feelings and the sensations and how much, despite hating him, you want them to be real.

You wanted to believe it would pass. That this was nothing but a phase, a trick of your overactive mind. But deep down, you knew the truth. Tom Riddle has wormed his way into your head, into your dreams—out of spite—and he's not letting go.

So after a hell of a week of this—with damn near zero hours of sleep—you decide to seek him out. To put an end to this madness. Once and for all.

It takes every ounce of courage and Gryffindor-like reckless bravery you can scrape together just to go through with it, but somehow you do. Somehow, you make it across the castle, make it to his door. You're in your pyjamas, for Merlin's sake. It's 1 a.m., and the slick still coating your thighs from what had to have been your tenth lucid orgasm in a matter of a week is a humiliating reminder of why you're even here at all.

And when the door opens, you have the strange feeling that he's been expecting you, even as he makes a great show of acting surprised to see you, looking you up and down with a lazy, smug glance that makes your pulse quicken so viscerally you lose the last shred of sanity you were pathetically clinging to—

"What the fuck—" you prowl forward without hesitation, forcing him a step back into the room. "—are you doing to me?"

Even if you're not imagining some form of surprise in that smug little smirk, he does his best not to let it show.

"Me?" He says, all pretend innocence, flicking his hand out to shut the door behind you with some spell you don't care to name. "You'll have to be more specific."

You glare at him, refusing to acknowledge how unfairly attractive he looks in just sweatpants and an oversized shirt—because of course, even casual looks like this are a weapon in his arsenal.

"Cut the bullshit, Riddle," you snap, and you're not sure if it's your lack of sleep or some form of desperation-fuelled bravery, but you're suddenly invading his personal space, poking an accusing finger into his shoulder. "You're fucking haunting me—"

He blinks. "I’m haunting you. And how am I doing that?”

There's a part of you that knows it's a trap—that this is probably exactly what the smug bastard in front of you has been wanting, but your brain is so deprived of sleep and your body is so starved of respite that you decide 'fuck it'—you want answers, and you're going to get them.

"You're in my dreams," you say, bluntly, forcing an exhale alongside it. "You've been in them every night for a week straight. I haven't slept a bloody minute."

That's when it happens—the tiniest flash of amusement in his eyes, so brief you might've missed it if you weren't ready to tear his fucking throat out.

"You're accusing me of giving you dreams?" He asks, in a tone that makes you want to grab him by the front of his shirt and make him cut the bullshit, and you can't tell how much of your own expression is irritation and how much is lust. "You think I've somehow managed to invade your mind?"

"Don't be condescending," you spit, trying to focus on the spot between his eyebrows that makes the heat in your core roar the least, "and don't act like you're incapable. As much as I can't bloody stand you, we both know damn well your mind magic is strong enough to do this to me—"

"Mind magic," he echoes with an amused snort, "you think I'm doing some kind of mind magic to invade your dreams, is that it?"

He's so damn good at this, you think—infuriatingly good. The way he's playing it off like the idea is absurd, completely laughable—

"Fucking precisely.” You can't hide the heat from your voice. You don't care to try. "These aren't just dreams. They're—they're strong. I feel you. Your hands, your tongue, your—"

Dick. You can't even bring yourself to say it.

And the bastard just smirks, like he's reading your mind anyway. Like he knows. That glimmer in his eyes—arrogant, insufferable—only confirms it.

"Hm," he says with something bored, running a hand through his hair. "Your subconscious—"

"It's not a bloody subconscious thing," you cut him off, uninterested in whatever bullshit he was about to feed you. "It's you. You're invading my dreams—I feel you—my body fucking feels you—"

He laughs at that. Like some sick, sadistic freak. He actually laughs—

"Listen to yourself." He says, with a mocking tone that makes you want to shove him. "Are you that desperate to hate me that you're pinning your dreams on me?"

"Hate doesn't even begin to cover it," you spit, stepping closer, your frustration boiling over. He shifts slightly, his back brushing the wall. "You've got a hell of an ego, but even you have to know this isn't something I'd want. I wouldn't put you in my dreams willingly if you paid me to do it—"

He hums, smirk never faltering, if anything it fucking grows at the tirade.

"You've been dreaming of me for a week," he points out, coolly, as if this is the most casual conversation in the world. "And now, here you are—standing in my dorm in the middle of the night, dressed like this." He takes a step toward you, now. "Do you know what that's called, sweetheart?"

Your lungs hitch at the pet name. Your mind is at war with your cunt and it's losing—

"Delirium?" You choke out, noticing another flash of something in his eyes as the gap between you closes. "Insomnia? Sleep deprivation?"

He gives you a mocking arch of the eyebrow.

"No," he says, in a tone that makes you seethe. "It's called obsession."

"Oh. The irony," you can't help but hiss at him, heart pounding because he's in your space and you're in his and this shouldn't be getting to you the way it is. "It's rich, coming from you, that you'd put that on me when—when you've been mindfucking me every goddamn night—"

"Mindfucking you?" He repeats, almost lazily, as his gaze drops, sweeping over you—your pyjamas, the clear lack of bra, the flush creeping up your neck. "Is that what you think I've been doing? You think—"

The way he doesn't even deny it—doesn't argue the accusation—makes your blood boil in a way you can't control.

"It's the only explanation. You've been—you've been—" you cut him off but your sentence falters because his gaze is moving so deliberately, dragging over you like he's cataloging your weaknesses, and the anger curdles into something raw and desperate. "God, Tom, I just need it to stop. I'm so fucking tense and tired. I'm so wound I can't even focus—I'm wet all the time—"

His eyes snap up to meet yours at that, and he gives you a look you can't even begin to interpret. You bite your tongue, realizing the words that left your mouth just a moment too late to pull them back, and you know you've lost the upper hand in this, somehow. You feel the ground slipping from under you and you hate the way your body shivers as he takes another slow, deliberate, step forward.

"Is that what you are?” He wets his lips. "You've come all the way here, in the dead of night, in your pyjamas, half out of your mind with exhaustion because you're wet. Isn't that right?"

You know better than to answer, though you feel yourself walking straight into the trap he's set.

"Piss off," you snap, but the bravado in your voice is paper-thin as he takes another step forward. He's so close now that his scent overwhelms you—leather and spice, something sharp and smoky that makes your head spin. You recognize it, of course you do; it's the same as in your dreams, and the familiarity makes your knees feel unsteady. "You're—"

"Don't act so offended," he leans closer, his voice a low murmur, quiet, almost silky as it wraps around you, and suddenly you barely remember what you were so pissed off about. "You can't even deny it. I made you cum tonight, didn't I? In your dreams."

Your teeth grit. "You know you did—"

He takes one more step and now you're backed right up against his desk—and gods, Tom's tall, so much taller than you—and it feels like he's looming over you, caging you in.

"Mhm." There's a flash of triumph in his eyes as you lose your words. He leans down, breath grazing your ear just as he brings two fingers to your temple, pressing the pads against it. "Let's watch, shall we?"

Watc—oh no.

A cold sense of dread washes over you as you catch on to what he's insinuating, merely a second too late—

"Tom—"

He whispers something, something that pulls you under, and the next thing you know—in a flash of consciousness you didn't even consider possible—you're staring at yourself inside a dream you remember all too well. A dream sequence where you're moaning and trembling beneath him, your head thrown back, eyes rolling in unabashed pleasure as he drives into you, hips snapping with thrust after thrust after thrust—

And it's one thing to have felt it in the safety of your dreams, in the dead of night when you woke slick and desperate, clenching around nothing. But this—this is visceral. You can't look away because it's projecting inside your mind: the flush blooming across your chest, the arch of your back, the way your lips part with every desperate breath. You hear the obscene sounds spilling from your mouth, mingling with his low, guttural grunts—and worst of all, you can feel it.

You can feel every ounce of pleasure he's giving you, as if he's giving it to you now.

"Mm," you hear him hum from infront of you—it's too much—you're lost in the memory, the dream, and it's a strange, voyeuristic, intimate experience to watch yourself and him like that. "You're worse off than I thought."

You’re gripping the wood of his desk so hard your fingertips are numb, heart flying out of the room as his hand slowly slides from your temple down to your jaw, holding you in place—

"Stop it." You manage to hiss at him, trying to force some semblance of control back into yourself—the last thing you need is to start melting against this bastard. "Tom—"

"You feel that?" He murmurs, breath brushing your neck, and you can't even focus on anything but the sensations he's forcing through your memory—seeing him above you, feeling him inside you. "You do, don't you? This is exactly what you've been feeling all week, isn't it?"

You want to snap at him, cuss him out, but oh god—

"Damn you," you hiss, even as his hands slide down to your hips—and it almost feels as if he's touching you twice, as if there are two sets of hands on your body. "Fuck, Tom—"

"Mm, you look good from this angle," he murmurs, and you fucking keen as you watch, in your mind, his hands slide over your stomach, pushing up your shirt and exposing your tits, groping as he fucks you. You keen as you feel it. "You love this, don't you? You want this."

"I—" you gasp, trying to convince him, or yourself, or goddamn anyone. Still fighting some invisible battle between resistance and submission because you hate that he's right. "I—god, what are you doing to me—"

"What am I doing to you?" He whispers, and you're not sure if the question is rhetorical, or if he's giving you permission to ask it. "I'm not doing anything that you aren't letting me do."

Your knees feel like they're about to buckle, and it's taking all your strength just to stay standing because the pleasure playing out in your mind is pouring into your veins and you can't even fathom how it's possible but you can't do anything to fight it—

"Oh, god—" you moan, unbridled, your physical body slumping back onto the desk as you feel the slick between your thighs, growing with every goddamn thrust. "Oh my god—"

He takes the opportunity of you slumped back against the desk and instantly leans down, bringing his lips to your ear—

"Not even god could keep your legs underneath you." His hand creeps up your thigh. "You're helpless."

"Helpless," you repeat, with a shaky gasp, and you hate how much the word turns you on. This is the first time you've ever been called helpless, and you're not even sure that you care. He's got you in his clutches, he's winning, and it's so infuriating and so goddamn perfect. “Tom—please, please touch me. I need to—fuck—"

You feel his lips brush the skin of your neck in a way that has you trembling with want, but—fucking hell, that's not what you need—you need his hands on you, you need him to just—

"What do you need?" He cooes, and there's a sly tone to his voice that makes you want to throw yourself at him all over again. "You need to cum?"

You moan, low and needy, writhing against the desk because this fucker—he knows exactly what he's doing. He’s got the upper hand here and you want it back. You want—

"Yes," you manage to gasp out. "I need you to—I fucking need you—inside me—"

As soon as that leaves your mouth, the dream fades from your vision and he's urging you to lay back. There's a soft thud as he places a hand on the desk next to your head, and he leans down, bringing his lips back to your ear, and you can't remember a time when you've ever wanted anyone else this bad.

"I'm touched," he murmurs, fingers slipping to the waist band of your pyjama pants, "that you want me that bad."

"I hate you," you manage to gasp out, but that's a lie, and you think he knows it. His fingers on your skin as he pulls your pants down make you ache for him, and you're struggling to not make another sound that will give him ammunition. "Why do you have to—"

"Why do I have to what?" He asks, and you know he's just trying to get a reaction out of you. "Tease you? Make you helpless?"

Your pants get hardly half way down your thighs before he decides it's enough and slides a finger through your soaked slit, and you can't hold back the moan that tears itself from your throat.

"Fuck, you're soaked.” He hisses through his teeth. “You've been sitting in your dorm for days, hm? Dreaming of me touching you, wishing you could touch yourself without thinking of me—do you want to cum, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you gasp out, and you're not above begging at this point. "Yes, god, please—I want to fucking cum—"

"There we go," he cooes, and he's enjoying this more than you'd like to acknowledge. "You know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that?"

"I'd say at least a week," you throw back, in a vain attempt to keep a shred of your dignity, but that's hard when he's circling his fingers around your clit and your body is jerking against the desk beneath you. God you really are helpless. "Because that's how long you've been plaguing my head, giving me wet dreams like some goddamn incubus—"

He chuckles at that, and you hate him a little less when he slips two fingers inside you, "You think I'm a demon?"

"You certainly act like one," you choke out, because he's crooking his fingers and your mind is going fuzzy and he's not going to let you get the upper hand back, even for a second. "Fuck—oh, yes, yes, yes."

"You've got me all wrong," he says, with a smile that would be boyish if it wasn't so sinister. "Demons come to punish you. I'm here helping you get that relief you've been needing so badly."

"Just want t-to help me," you moan as his long fingers work you open, thumb brushing your clit, "out of the kindness of your heart—"

"Out of the kindness of my heart,” he repeats, with a mocking tone, and it's the way he murmurs those words that's making your thighs clench around him until he grabs the fabric of your pjs bunched around them and pushes your legs up to your chest, working his fingers impossibly deeper. "Out of the goodness of my soul—it's what I do, darling, I'm known for my benevolence—"

"You're a good man," you know he can tell you're being sarcastic, but his fingers are filling you so fucking full you're nowhere near ready to start a fight again when you're this close to losing your goddamn mind on his desk. "You're such a good man, Tom—“

"Mhm," his breath tickles your ear. "What else am I?"

"So good with your fingers," you're moaning, and he's going to get a bigger ego than he already has. You're too far gone to care. "God, you're so good, I'm going to—"

"Yes, you are," he answers, and it takes you a second to realize that he's not correcting your words anymore. He's simply telling you that you are, in fact, about to fall apart for him. "Give it to me. You've earned it."

You almost want to snap back at him, you almost try to, but you're so far gone the words don't form on your tongue and you're not sure you'd be able to fight the fire pooling in your stomach.

"Oh, fuck—“

He doesn't even let you finish that, he just dips his hips down, bringing his hand that's not buried in your slick up to cover your mouth, muffling those strangled screams before they spill out and echo down the hall—

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your skin. "Be a good girl. Let it all out for me."

And it's that; that stupid combination of cooing warmth and the phrase 'be a good girl' that sends you over the edge, and you're muffling your gasps and moans and screams against his palm because gods, what would happen if someone heard you? What would happen if people realized what Tom Riddle was doing to you—your house rival, your sworn enemy—

"There we go," you're falling apart and he's watching you as if he owns you, as if this is where you belong—writhing beneath him, release squirting out around his fingers. "Ride it out for me. Such a good girl, you needed this so bad, I can tell you were aching for this."

You're struggling to say anything back, the only thing that comes out is a strangled moan of his name, and you've always known how bad he was, heard from other girls how good he could be with his hands, but this—you've never had this, never been this before.

"Such a fucking mess," he's murmuring, his voice low and rough and so goddamn beautiful. “How'd that feel? Hm?"

"So—so good," it feels like the words are being forced out of your throat, and you're struggling to think with enough clarity to form anything that's not an embarrassing moan of how much you needed this. "Needed it, need more, I—"

"More?" He murmurs as he slips his fingers free, and he's bringing his other hand up to your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he brings his soaked fingers to your lips. "Greedy girl."

You're not thinking about the implication of him calling you that, you're not thinking about how you should fight back, you're not thinking about how much you hate him—you’re just thinking about the sinful taste of you on his fingers, when they press against your tongue. Without a second of hesitation you suck them clean, tasting yourself, and it's obscene. You're obscene. But you don't care, it just makes that ache in you grow worse—you need more, you need him.

Dear god, what happened to you.

“So good," he murmurs, the praise dripping like honey from his tongue. You hum and he exhales. "I'll find you tomorrow."

"You'll find me tomorrow?" You repeat, as he withdraws his fingers from your mouth, and you're struggling for air, your chest heaving beneath your rumpled shirt. "What are you going to do, come into my room?"

"I'll come into much more than your room," he says, with a laugh that dances with promises of sin. "Now go. Before someone finds you here."

You push yourself up on trembling arms, pulling your pants up your thighs, your heart hammering in your chest because—god, that was incredible, you want more of it, and you can hardly even believe it happened. With a breath, you force yourself to move.

You look back at him as you get to the door. Your legs are shaking and you're not going to hold it against yourself for needing the wall to support you as his eyes rake over you, the corners of those lips curled up his signature smirk, and you want to hit him so goddamn bad—but then he speaks, like he read your mind, and it snaps you out of it—

"No dreams tonight." He says. "Scouts honour."

"You're no boy scout," you throw back, and your voice is a little breathier than you'd like. "And this changes nothing."

He smiles, slow and languid and knowing. "Of course."

You want to roll your eyes at the condescension dripping off his tongue, but you're worried that if you stay here any longer the only words on your tongue will be 'do it again'.

"You just owe me." You say as you crack the door open.

"I owe you," he agrees, and you think that his smile is just a little too genuine—like he would give you anything you wanted, just for another taste of that. “I'm keeping score, darling. Sleep well."

You hate him for calling you that, you hate his stupid smile, you hate the way he knows he's got you.

What he doesn’t know, is that you’re going to make him pay.

"Good night," you mutter, and then you open the door and slip out into the hallway.

[chris-prank]

A desperate yandere in your area

Chapter 3 : A new pet

Sub pathetic yandere x GN reader

Previous chapter

(This is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only, I do not support yandere behaviors in real life)

CW: NSFW, praise kink, teasing, porn with plot, petplay, obsessive behaviour, yandere, mention of stalking, giving head/eating out, dom reader, receiving reader, bottoming reader and use of protection

(Even if the reader is bottoming at some point I made it vague enough so you can imagine which whole is being used.)

Word count: Over 3K

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

As stupid as it was, you didn’t call the police.

There you were, sitting in front of your phone, debating if you were making the right choice or not. You finally took it and called the coffee shop, cutely named “Brioche d'Or”. You jumped in your seat when a cheery voice answered.

“You have called Brioche d’Or! I’m Pierre, how can I help you today?”

“Can I speak to Jacce…please?”

“Yes absolutely, could I get your name?”

You told the employee your name and heard shuffling on the other end of the line, before you could faintly hear him say “You’re more popular than I thought!” You had to suppress a chuckle, because by that time, Jacce had taken the phone from Pierre. 

“H-hey, you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes, at what time could you come to my place today?”

Silence fell on the other line, except for his heavy breathing. Even if you weren’t in front of him, it's like you could feel the warmth of his breath through the handset.

“Is 3 pm alright?” his voice sounded choked, as if he had runned out of air. 

You hummed in response and swiftly told him goodbye, hanging up before he could answer. Your face was burning hot and your heart was hammering in your chest. You looked at the time. You had five hours until he arrived. 

***

The moment you heard knocking on the door you took a deep breath. The man standing at your doorstep was towering over you with the most nervous, but strangely excited, expression on his face. You didn't even give him the chance to open his mouth as you pulled him inside. When the front door was shut close, Jacce leaned in on you– expecting you to kiss him. You awkwardly turned your head to the side while pressing your hands on his chest to prevent him from getting closer. He tilted his head, confused, but you could see some arousal in them, surely due to your touch.

“Let's go to the living room.” You whispered, feeling like your lungs were crushed by the proximity. 

As you sat down on the couch, Jacce remained standing, giving you quick glances as if he was waiting for you to say something. 

“You can sit, you know.”

To your surprise, he sat on the ground instead of taking a place beside you or in any other chair available. You could feel your lower half warm up instantly at his actions. You scolded yourself mentally for being turned on by a simple action, but it didn’t prevent you from imagining the most blasphemous scenarios. You cough the thoughts away before opening your mouth again. 

“Ok so, I thought about you becoming my… you know…”

It was out of the question for you to say “pet” or “servant”, this whole situation was already lewd enough with him kneeled down before you. Luckily Jacce nodded without saying the quiet part out loud. 

“I guess it was pretty obvious since I invited you here… " You laughed awkwardly as you felt the heat rise up to your face. 

In the meanwhile, Jacce kept staring up at you with this submissive look, accentuated by his down turned eyes. He was really making it hard for you to think straight. It was almost like his body language was screaming at you to kiss him already. 

"Does that mean I can… live with you from now on?" He asked, tilting his head. 

You froze at the question. Even if this guy had clearly shown that he wished to be yours, you didn’t realize it meant living together as well. You blamed your touch depraved self for not thinking any of this through. 

"Oh em… I didn’t think about that part… Don’t you have an apartment or something?”

“I have a house actually, but it’s ok… I want to be with you.”

You look at him stunned, how could he talk about leaving his house behind like it was nothing!? Especially in this economy! Maybe he was hoping for you to move in with him one day, but you had other things to worry about for now. 

“I guess you could live here if you promise to do what I say."

Jacce nodded with clear eagerness, and you swore you saw his pupils dilate as he spoke again. “I p-promise! I’ll do anything just to stay by your side. " 

As threatening as that last part sounded, you felt honored that someone would go that far just for you. You also mentally winced, you had no time to unpack all the childhood trauma that could have led you to think this way. 

“So no more stalking if I tell you to?”

He seemed to ponder at first, but ultimately agreed, “I won’t need to anyway since I am yours now, but y-yay I’ll stop.” 

“And no more secretly touching yourself while watching me?”

He shook his head up and down quickly. You could feel the lust and impatience taking control of him the more time he was spending in your presence, his entire face getting flustered by the second. You wanted the same thing then him at that moment, but it was crucial to establish rules and you had one more in mind. 

"Before settling this, I need to make something very clear. I know you want to pleasure me and all, but I don’t want you to force yourself when you’re not in the mood. "

"But—"

"Ah ah. No but, If I’m not one hundred percent sure you want it to, we won’t do anything. No arguing with that. Say that you will always be honest."

Despite Jacce being visibly shocked, not understanding why you wouldn’t want to use him without his input, a part of him was touched. If that wasn't proof of your love for him, he didn’t know what else could prove it. 

“I will… always be honest about my mood…” He said slowly, almost like a child being forced to admit a fault they committed. 

“Good and now that’s cleared, do you want to continue where we left off last—.”

“YES!”

You were caught off guard by the sudden rise of his voice, but you were more surprised by his lack of action. You expected Jacce to jump on you like a dog in heat, but no, instead he was twitching his hips forward into the air with his tongue slightly sticking out. He had been a well behaved boy ever since he got here now that you think about it. He certainly deserved a treat. 

You started unzipping your pants as the kneeled man watched your every move, his body trembling in anticipation. You took your pants off, followed by your underwear, grinning at the little whimper he let out at the sight of your private parts. You tapped your thighs, and the man immediately crawled to settle between your legs, licking his lips. You couldn’t help but grin at the lewd display.

"Pleaseee can I lick?" He whined as his gaze was still fixated on your arousal. 

A soft yes escaped your mouth, as you prepared yourself mentally. He leaned forward and took your core into his mouth, slowly swirling his tongue around while his hands caressed your thighs.  

“Good boy.” You cooed. 

Jacce moaned and continued to move his head eagerly, covering every bit with saliva. He felt a wave of ecstasy wash over him as he tasted you on his tongue. His free hand reached down to pull his cock out of his pants, making it stand tall against his clothes stomach. The second he was done, Jacce’s hands went to cup your thighs again, gripping the soft flesh possessively. He was using his mouth like a pro, making you wonder if he had done this before or if he just… practiced with toys.

After a while of him servicing you like an obedient little puppy, you couldn’t hold back the burning desire residing in your guts anymore. 

It was too much. He was too much.

So you placed your hands behind his head, slowly taking a fist full of his hair. The soft gesture made Jacce moan between your legs, thinking you were petting him as a result of his devotion. If only he knew that it was hiding a less innocent intention. 

"Jacce I really need to… "

He seemed to finally understand what you were trying to do since his grip on you disappeared and he stopped moving his head. Jacce stared up at you through his eyelashes, waiting for you to sink into your desires. You leisurely started to move your hips so as not to startle him, but quickly picked up the pace. The man under you kept making loud sounds of pleasure despite your roughness. The vibration on your sensitive skin stimulated your arousal even more. Even with the tears forming in the corner of his eyes, Jacce’s cock couldn’t stop leaking. If his mouth wasn’t occupied right now, he would have gone on and on about how much he loved you. 

While lost in the overwhelming sensations, your mind was suddenly reminded to check on the guy choking under you. You swiftly looked down with your eyelids halfway closed. If anything, his rolled back eyes and the fact that he was still trying to touch you in other ways were good indicators that he was enjoying this as much as you were. In spite of his visible enthusiasm, you pulled away to let him breathe, which made him whine in disappointment. Now that his head was out of the way, you were also able to see his swollen dick pulsing like crazy, precum oozing out of it to complete the look. Knowing he could get this hard by simply servicing you was making him even more attractive. 

"Look at you… not touching yourself because I didn’t allow you too. " You answer between shortness of breath, “I think you deserve to… to feel good with me now.” 

***

You lowered yourself until the tip of his glans brushed against your hole. You wrapped your fingers at the base of his cock and patted it against your entrance. Jacce winced at the contact, or in better terms, the painful lack of it. 

“Please please please, let… let me be inside. Pleaseee.” He begged, trying his hardest to keep his hips down. 

“You need to be patient, Jacce.” You reminded him while ignoring his pleas. 

You weren’t much better to be honest. The thought of fucking him stupid clouded your mind since that time you gave him a hand job. Your self control was all for show since you didn’t want to look like a desperate pervert in front of him. That was his job. 

After some more teasing, you finally sunk down onto his dick, gritting your teeth as it stretched you out. The both of you let out moans at the pleasurable sensation. The feeling of his hard cock inside you was already overwhelming all your senses. 

“Does it Ngh– hurt? Do you w-want… to stop?”

Despite his worried tone, his facial expression and heavy breathing gave away how blissed out he was. He also kept making small whines ever since his cock was surrounded by your warmth, not to mention that his cock also pulsated non stop against your walls. 

“I’m ok. You're just… thick.” You answered vaguely, too embarrassed to admit how he was stuffing you up perfectly. 

Pride overtook him, knowing that his dick would definitely grace all of your sensitive spots. That’s what he was made for, to be used by you until he breaks and to be an obedient pet that feels fulfilled by making you happy. 

Only when you felt your insides adjusted to his shape did you raise your hips slowly, before dropping yourself with all your weight. You kept that pace, all the while admiring his face twist in pleasure. 

“I’m yours!" He cried out instinctively in a quivering voice, "a-all yours!"

To keep yourself bouncing rhythmically, one of your hands went to his shoulder. You cupped his face with the other, gently caressing his cheek to compensate how ruthless you were with his cock. Jacce looked at you through his messy hair and fuck he had the most dazed expression. He couldn’t help but whimper loudly and nuzzle his head into your touch. You expected him to say something again as he opened his mouth, but instead he started sucking on your thumb as he kept up your gaze.

“Such a good puppy for me.” You praised while bouncing faster. 

The mess under you moaned and gasped as new waves of pleasure hit his nervous system. The sound of your ass hitting the flesh of his thigh became louder from your swift movements, almost overshadowing the cute sounds Jacce couldn’t keep to himself. He had stopped sucking your finger, to your disappointment, but it looked like he was actually trying to say something now. You leaned closer, making sure to let your warm breath graze his skin. 

“Come on, I know you can use your words.”

The mess under you made multiple whines in response. You were so cruel to force him to speak like a proper human being when his brain was clearly far too gone to create any coherent sentences. You glanced down and saw how hard he was clenching his hands, both resting onto the soft material of the sofa. So you slowed down a bit, allowing him to speak his mind. Jacce swallowed the drool that had accumulated in his mouth, before answering as best as he could. 

“If you go Mngh— this fa-fast, I won’t… Ah ah… be able to keep it in like a good bo— Unff.” His breath had drastically quickened, confirming his complaints. 

“So sensitive.” You teased, while sneaking a hand under his shirt to go play with his nipples. 

“Aargh— mmff!” Jacce leaned up to trap you in a strong embrace, preventing you from stimulating him further, “w-would be too m-much.” He sobbed into the fabric of your clothes. 

Taking pity on him, and totally not turned on even more by his behavior, you wiggled your hand out of between your chests and cupped the back of his head. Jacce's body and grip eased up as the gentle tingle of your touch took its effects on him. 

“Thank’you…” He muttered in that whiny tone that made you go crazy. 

“Now, how about I let you choose the rhythm?” You grin mischievously, knowing the kind of reaction it would get out of him. Just as you expected, Jacce’s eyes opened wide and you could see a glint of excitement in them. 

“A-are you sure? I… I really can?” 

You hummed in response while guiding one of his hands to your waist. To feel his trembling touch against your exposed skin made your stomach twist in that familiar urge to turn him into a crying mess. But no. You wanted his first time with you to be more relaxed. The humiliation of making him cum prematurely would come later, if he’s on board with it, which you're pretty sure he would. 

Meanwhile, your puppy didn’t need more for his fingers to dig into your flesh and his hips to tentatively roll up to meet with your pelvis. Jacce’s eyes closed from the spark of pleasure, but only for him to force them open so he could admire your complexion. He had spent enough time imagining your face alone in his room, and now that he had the real deal in front of him he was going to enjoy every second of it. 

“Lov’you… M-mine…ngh—” He muttered in a whiny voice, only to repeat mine over and over again, louder each time. 

You couldn’t tell if it was a statement on his part or if he was looking for your approval. Either way you found the contrast between his possessive words and his pathetic attitude endearing. He could say that as much as he wanted, but you both knew that, at the end of the day, he was more yours than anything else. 

Jacce started grinding up on your ass desperately, as if you were a magnet he couldn’t pull away from. His brain couldn’t think of anything else than the ecstasy coursing through his body every time his shaft was engulfed inside you once more. For someone who wanted you to go slow in the fear of cumming prematurely, he was going strangely fast now. Both of your hands grasped at his shoulder as not to go flying off because of the unfaltering movements of his hips. It would undeniably leave marks, especially with how your fingernails were pressed into his skin, not that he minded. It would be concrete proof that he was yours and that this wasn’t just a hyper-realistic wet dream. 

Jacce’s body shuddered uncontrollably as he tried his best to not cum right then and there. He needed to be a good boy for you. Meaning he needed your permission to cum, especially since it would be his first time with you. But more importantly, he needed you to climax first. To think he didn’t get the chance to taste it on his tongue earlier made him pout for a second. He was more than grateful that you wanted him to feel good too, but still, your pleasure was his priority!

“I-I need ngff… your c-cum Ah ah— p-please cum with me!”

Lucky for him, you were also close to your breaking point, the feeling in your guts ready to explode into a million pieces. 

“Yes puppy, l-let’s cum together.” You whisper back with a breathless voice.

One of your hands left it’s post to touch yourself down there, as best as you could anyway considering the way you were bouncing up and down on his cock. Your insides instantly tightened around him as sensation, pulling new sounds out of him. It was just the right push to tension to finally let go. 

Your body froze, and you had him in a vice grip, his dick and his shoulder alike. With your head thrown back, a shrill moan escaped your lips. This was the only signal Jacce needed to finish as well, his hips snapping back in short but swift motions. He emptied every last drop of his cum inside the rubber condom. His last moan, if it could even be qualified as such, was mixed with the start of your name, but ended with a pathetic whine. 

As Jacce came back to his senses, he could feel an uncontrollable smile forming on his lips. It was the first time you came because of him and he was feeling euphoric. Now that he got a taste of being the source of your guttural desires, there was no way he would ever leave you. He could feel his heart beating drum in his ears as his infatuation for you grew exponentially. He placed lazy kisses on your collar, his way of hiding his manic grin, and mumbled words of love. 

The wet sensation on your skin grounded you back to reality as you leaned into him. Never in your life you thought you could have the opportunity to make a grown man submit to you like this and, despite the unorthodox circumstances that brought you together, you were truly satisfied. As the aftershock of tiredness hit you, Jacce nuzzled his head into your neck, like a dog wanting to be petted for doing a trick right. 

“I’m… really yours now?” He said in a hush tone. You had noticed that every time he was in a more submissive headspace, his voice would have a whiny quality to it. Not to the length of being annoying, but just enough to sound cuter than his usual raspy voice. 

You lifted your hand to rub his back in circles.

“Yes.” 

Jacce moaned happily in response, leaning his heavy self more onto you.

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

So so sorry for the late update! I hope it was worth the long wait!

Link for the chapter on Ao3

Also no drawing for this chapter! 😔 Maybe I’ll post a drawing based on something that happen in this chapter later on

[hello-from-nrc-infirmary]

Vern's Hometown: Centennial Celebration

Book 5: Finale

Chapter 3: Sunset

Formal is irrelevant. The firelight gains prominence as daylight fades. More logs are added, allowing smoke to fill the air. The younger children slowly leave for their beds. Others stay, laughing with friends. Their joyful cacophony is almost drowned out by the rambunctious music.

Smoke and ash wisp into shadows. The kaleidoscope of prancing images twirl around them. An illusion of flowers dance underfoot. If any attempted to touch them, they would vanish.

Soot is kicked up with every step. Vern's stained skirts flare out on another spin. It's strange and comforting to have a partner. A familiar dance he can do in the deepest of sleeps now flutters anew with every beat. A few steps bring them back.

Sweat shimmers across their foreheads. The minutes and hours bleed together. One melody into another. An iridescent fish ballet weaves around the dancers. A bubbling laughter spills from Vern. Steel smiles, his own airy laugh joins in.

"What's... so funny?"

The sprite meets his gaze breathlessly, "I'm... really happy."

"Eh?"

Joined hands lift above to spin around. The area around them is barely a blurr. Focus returning to Steel, the sprite tries to calm himself. "I-is he still umm..."

"Yeah, on my six."

"... let's um... not think about him," Vern tries. His head feels light, a mild dizziness buzzes down from it.

".. okay."

He welcomes night's breath cooling his skin like autumn rain. Vern can tell when some musicians would take a break and join back in. A simple rotation, yet easy to get lost in. Forgetting the world is hard, yet indulging in a moment is effortless.

For this bubble in time, emotion vibrates the air. Colorful shapes morph to each beat. It has been too long since his muscles felt like a newborn foal finding it's footing. Who is keeping who from collapsing is unclear. The firm earth underfoot is the only certainty.

A gasp from the onlookers is nearly drowned by the rhythm. A string pulls at his mind. His eyes want to follow, yet a turn blocks his view. His brow creases as he attempts to see behind Steel. "Ver.."

Pink dusts the sprites cheeks. It's only one word, a fraction of his name. The syllables spoken softly warms him. Tearing his focus back to his friend, he tries to stay on his toes.

"Almost," Steel winks, "we have to finish this one."

"Y-yeah," Vern manages a dizzy nod. His amber eyes sting, but not from the smoke. A soothing wave rolls through his veins, easing his tension. He almost misses a familiar, icy crack.

Chapter 4: Dusk

A tight spin jostles his focus. Flashes of magic collide. The music falters as smoke billows through the remaining crowd. Vern squeezes his eyes shut against it. Tucking himself against Steel, he waits for the air to settle. He flinches, as a drop hits his cheek.

"Er.. sorry."

The sprite swears the liquid away. Checking his bandages, he finds an inky substance he's well acquainted with.

"It's alright, I um..." he pauses, ducking as Steel casts another counter spell, "don't mind."

Sparkling green mist flares from Vern's hands. Vines burst from the ground to restrain Victor. "Enough!"

Snowflakes drift around them. Citizens that stayed murmur in uneasy awe. The spring sprite trembles slightly, his muscles begging for rest. "Do you forfeit the challenge?"

There's a rumble underfoot. Stumbling, Vern's spell loosens as spikes of ice shoot out of the dirt. He's tackled. Air is knocked from his lungs despite the cushioned fall.

"You alright? Any injuries?"

Vern slowly blinks up at Steel, gasping while registering the questions. "U-umm... I'm fine... I think..."

"Why," Victor's voice rings out above the chaos, icicles forming in the air around him. "Why do you reject everything I do for you?!"

Ooc// Welcome to the final boss fight.

Tag List: @nrcbookclub @castaway-achlys @nightonthemountain

Songs for the dance:

There's Nothing Holding Me Back by Shawn Mendes

A Bar Song (Tipsy) by Shaboozey

I Don't Wanna Wait by David Guetta & OneRepublic

Roundtable Rival by Lindsey Stirling

Élan by Nightwish

Songs for Everyone vs. Victor:

It Ends Tonight by All-American Rejects

Liar by Jelly Roll

Ready For This by All Good Things

Trophy Hunter by Within Temptation

[rafesbangs]

was literally just reading all your work and you write so well!! new fav blog fr, i was wondering (if you're interested) if we could have some rafe x kook bestf!reader fluff, angst kinda one-shot story? thank youuu !! <3

thank you soso much ml !! ofc ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

req! 𝜗𝜚 kook!reader sneaks out to a boneyard kegger, & bsf!rafe gets pretty protective.

c!w; fluff ! for once, bsf!rafe, soft!rafe, possessiveness, overprotective guy friend, icky males, drinking, a brief physical fight, tiny mention of blood, mostly very fluffy with a tinge of angst ! notes; i can't believe this is my first fluff work lol ! i kinda wrote loads oopsie, i hope you enjoy <3

you sneak out of your house, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards. the night air is cool against your skin as you walk through the empty streets, the buzz of the kegger ahead growing louder with each step. it’s just past midnight when you reach the boneyard, the ground is uneven, the sand mixing with beer-stained grass, and the smell of salty air mingles with the faint scent of weed and sweat.

you grab a red solo cup from the keg, its warmth feeling strange against your fingers. your eyes scan the crowd, taking in the sight of everyone laughing, shouting, and dancing—people you mostly know but can never remember their names the next day. you slip into the chaos, easing into conversations, letting the alcohol dull the edges of the night. everything’s blurry, but in a good way, like you can finally breathe.

“hey,” a voice says, way too close to your ear. you turn, finding some random boy—a touron, probably. his blue eyes are too wide, his grin a little too eager. “you’re cute. want a drink?”

you arch an eyebrow, taking a small step back. “no, thanks. i've got one,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. you’re not interested, but you don’t want to be rude.

he doesn’t get the hint. instead, he takes a half-step toward you, leaning in as though he’s trying to get into your personal space. “oh come on, don’t be like that. one drink won’t hurt.”

you cross your arms and take another step back, annoyance creeping up your spine. “i said no, okay?”

he just laughs like it’s some kind of game, and that’s when you start to feel the frustration bubble up. you don’t want to make a scene, but it’s clear this guy doesn’t know how to take a hint. every time you move away, he follows.

“seriously, i’m not interested,” you snap, voice growing more annoyed. “go find someone else.”

the boy’s smile falters, but his hand comes out to touch your arm, a move that feels more possessive than friendly. before you can even say anything else, a shadow cuts through the crowd, and you hear a familiar voice bark, “hey, man, leave her alone.”

you glance over, relief flooding you when you see rafe, your best friend, pushing through the crowd, eyes narrowed and jaw tight. his presence has always been a kind of shield for you, and this time, it’s no different.

the touron boy looks up at rafe, sizing him up like he’s about to say something smart, but rafe doesn’t wait. he steps closer, his voice colder than you’ve ever heard it. “i said, leave her the hell alone.”

the tourist smirks. “or what?”

before you can even blink, rafe’s already moved. his fist connects with the touron's jaw, knocking the boy off balance, and the crowd around you steps back, forming a ring. it’s over before you can process what’s happening—a punch here, a shove there, and the guy crumbles. rafe doesn’t stop. another hit to the stomach, and the touron goes down, blood trickling from his lip.

you’re frozen for a moment, shock settling in your chest, but when rafe finally steps back, you see the blood smeared across his knuckles and the red pooling around his nose. it’s not much, but it’s enough to make your heart stop for a second.

“oh my god, rafe,” you rush to him, your hands hovering at his shoulders as you try to figure out what to do. “are you okay? your nose…”

he swipes at it with the back of his hand, but it only makes it worse. his eyes narrow, his face flushed with anger, but his voice is rough, like he’s trying to convince himself he’s fine. “yeah, i’m fine. it’s just a scratch.”

“rafe…” you trail off, frustration mixing with your worry. you want to help, but he’s already brushing you off, turning his back to you to walk away.

“let’s get out of here,” he mutters, walking toward the edge of the party. you follow, watching him, unsure of what to say. your stomach twists, unsure whether to be relieved that it’s over or angry that he’s hurt, again, because of you.

the two of you make your way down the beach, the sounds of the party growing distant behind you. it’s too quiet, and you can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

“you shouldn’t have done that,” you say finally, breaking the silence. you’re still angry, but your voice cracks with worry. “you didn’t have to get into that fight. you could’ve just-”

“and you shouldn’t have snuck out in the middle of the night to get drunk at a kegger alone!” rafe snaps, his voice rougher than usual, and you flinch at the bite in his words. “what the hell were you thinking? you know i worry about you.”

you swallow hard, the sting of his anger hitting you like a slap. “i didn’t mean to… i wasn’t trying to-”

“you’re reckless,” he interrupts, throwing his hands up in frustration, and you step back, feeling the weight of it settle deep in your chest. his words cut through you, sharper than you want to admit, and you stare at the sand beneath your feet.

“i’m sorry,” you say quietly, your voice small now, “i didn’t mean to make you worry. i didn’t-”

rafe stops walking and turns to face you, the moonlight catching the blood on his hands and the jagged split on his knuckles. he looks at you for a long moment, his expression softening just a little.

“it’s not just that,” he mutters, the words barely above a whisper. “i care about you. i don’t want anything to happen to you.”

you feel your chest tighten, your heart fluttering unexpectedly. you step closer to him, unsure of what to say, but then your arms are around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“'m sorry rafe. thank you f'caring, so much about me” you whisper into his shirt, the words soft, sincere. you feel the tension in his body for a moment, like he’s not sure what to do with this closeness, but then he wraps his arms around you too, just a little hesitantly at first, before he holds you tightly.

“don’t thank me,” he mutters, his voice breaking a little. “i’m just... doing what you deserve.”

but when you pull back to look at him, his eyes are full of something else, something that feels a little more vulnerable. you reach up, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, and that’s when you see a tear, slipping down his cheek, a quiet, unexpected crack in his facade.

“rafe…” your voice trembles. “what’s wrong?”

he swallows hard, avoiding your gaze. “it’s just… no one ever thanks me for caring. they just expect me to always be the one looking out for everyone else, but no one ever... gives a damn about me.”

you blink, heart catching in your throat. “that’s not true,” you say, pulling him back in closer, holding him tighter. “i care. i always care.”

he sniffles, his shoulders shaking just slightly as he pulls away, his expression softening but still strained. “dad doesn’t love me 's much as he loves sarah. he’s always telling me how proud he is of her. he- he never says it t'me. and i try so hard. i do everything f'him, everything to make him proud. 'm just invisible to him”

the weight of his words hits you like a punch to the gut, and you squeeze him tighter, not knowing what else to say. “’m so sorry, rafe,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. “i can’t imagine what that must feel like. but you’re not invisible t'me. you never will be.”

his breath hitches, and then, finally, he lets go. tears slip down his face now, the kind he’s always kept hidden. you hold him as he breaks down, your arms around him, offering what little comfort you can.

you both sit there in the sand for a long time, the sound of the ocean surrounding you, the night stretching on like a long, quiet exhale. finally, rafe pulls back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“thanks for being here,” he says, voice still rough, but softer than before. “for… f'caring.”

you smile at him, your heart full. “always, rafe. i’m always here for you.”

when you finally sneak back to your house, you help him up to your room. in the soft glow of your bedroom light, you clean the blood off his hands, gently tending to his wounds. rafe watches you, the affection in his eyes evident as he gazes at you with a softness you don’t see often.

“y'always so damn careful with me,” he murmurs, his voice full of something unspoken.

“'ts because i care,” you whisper, holding his hand in yours, feeling the warmth between you that has always been there.

[wolfstarlibrarian]

Hello friends! It's that time of year when it's time to escape into some nice fics with a hot cup of tea or cocoa. And while, Christmas fics are traditional, I've been reading some vampire fics that I had to share. And I read a vampire book that's SO R/S I had to include it on the list. (Extra spicy).

Below you'll find a link to the first Vampire list I ever made, as well as the new recs. Hope you enjoy!

Vampire Wolfstar Fics Pt. 1

Vampire Wolfstar Fics Pt. 2

New Blood by @gardenoflupins Remus comes to consciousness as a new and inexperienced vampire. In his disoriented state, he leaves a bunch of dead bodies lying around, which gets the attention of a much older and more powerful vampire named Sirius who guides him through the stages of vampirism.

What Lurks in the Shadows by @puuvillaa When Remus leaves work after dark, he encounters a vampire.

all the hot singles in your area are dead by @atroposaeneas The first vampire who comes to campus is annoying. The second one is an unwelcome, if begrudgingly pleasant, surprise. The third, fourth, and fifth vampires, on the other hand… No matter. Remus has been alive far, far too long to have his resolve broken on behalf of someone like Sirius Black.

My Roommate is a Vampire by @moonyverse “Remus! Why didn’t you tell me?” Lily asks. He continues wiping, focussing on a particularly stubborn stain. “Tell you what?” “About your secret boyfriend.” Remus spins around. “My what?” “Don’t act so surprised. Your neck is covered in hickeys and you thought I wouldn’t notice?” "Er, yeah… sorry." Remus wracks his brain to think of an excuse. Anything but the truth. He sputters out a lie, "It was a one-time thing, is all." It was better than telling her his roommate is a vampire whom he lets take his blood on a biweekly basis.

I'm starving, darling. by @marigold-hills “Dear gods you are gorgeous,” the man said before Remus could utter a sound. “I’m so sorry about this. Truly. I wouldn’t, but it’s a rather desperate situation you see.” I’m going to get mugged, Remus realised. Here, under the sharp stars, in the soft snow, by the hands of the most beautiful man he had ever laid his eyes on. And wasn’t that just his luck. “Trust me,” the man continued, “I am no more pleased about it than you are, but it’s a matter of life and death at this point, otherwise… well, sorry. Again.” Remus is accosted by a vampire on his way home. Strange in itself. But when the vampire realises he has anaemia, he starts bringing him food. And medication. And nice little treats to make him feel better. And - well. Remus never claimed to be a man of strong convictions.

A Taste of Your Love by starsnsoul “It’s dangerous out here at night,” Remus wet his lips, suddenly aware of how dry they were, “and we’re quite far from the nearest town.” The man in front of him continued to gaze up at him, eyes twinkling with a dangerous look, seeming to dare him to ask risky questions, to probe and let curiosity kill the cat. “What’s your name?” he asked, feigning ignorance to Remus’ concern. “Remus.” He answered without a second thought to who he was telling this to, something about the other man made him want to lay himself out bare, secret’s spilling out into the night air, all the good and the ugly. Something about the other man was dangerous but Remus felt the blood in his veins ignite at the thought. “Remus,” the man with eyes like the moon whispered, “I’m Sirius.”

aka. the one where Sirius is a vampire and Remus a cowboy and they fall in love {inspired by likeafuneral's art and a wip I had going on as well as my life growing up on a farm}

closer to heaven by @moonymoment “And you’re… high.” “As a kite, baby,” Sirius says, clicking his tongue. Remus inhales sharply. “High… on drugs. That kind of high.” Sirius looks at him. “Do I have to do the sarcastic bit again, or is this stare enough to indirectly call you stupid?” he asks, and then makes a Face™ at Remus that falls somewhere between “you’re ridiculous” and “you’re a knob”, although he can’t promise that “I’m morosexual and this close to taking my pants off” isn’t being conveyed as well.

BOOK REC:

Looking for a book similar to these fics? With characters that was SO FREAKING SIMILAR to Remus + Sirius that you're looking around fandom for the author? Check out this book with rich, hot, older vampire "Sirius" + nurse cinnamon roll "Remus". Roman by Grae Bryan 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️

“And for the record…my demon does not just like you. It craves you. Is obsessed with you. Wants to own you and devour you and never let you go. You would run for the hills if you could hear what it thinks about you. What I think about you.”

Don't forget to share this list with your own recs and leave a comment for the authors. ❤️

Happy reading lovelies, The Wolfstar Librarian

[mischiefinbloom]

୧ ‧₊˚ caramel mornings

₊⊹ summary:  james potter, a barista in a quiet café, is used to the routine of early mornings and regulars. that is, until you start coming in every day. as he perfects your caramel latte, the connection between you both deepens—slowly, sweetly, and with a few unspoken thoughts lingering between the conversations. in the simplicity of coffee and shared moments, james begins to realize that what started as a casual encounter might turn into something much more.

₊⊹ pairing: james potter x reader (no use of y/n)

₊⊹ warnings: coffee shop au, nothing just pure fluff! that's my first fic ever, let me know what you think!

james potter hadn’t expected to spend this chapter of his life as a barista. it was supposed to be a temporary gig, something to keep him busy while he figured out his next steps. but after a while, the warm smell of coffee beans and the familiar hum of the shop became a strange kind of comfort, anchoring him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

there was a rhythm to the job: the hiss of the espresso machine, the soft murmur of costumers chatting over their drinks, and the occasional chaos of a long line of orders that kept him on his toes. james liked it more than he thought he would, though he’d never admit it to his friends.

and then you walked in, shattering the monotony of his carefully structured days.

the first time he saw you, it was raining. not the light, misty kind of rain that made everything look cinematic, but the kind that came down in sheets, soaking anyone unfortunate enough to be caught outside. you stumbled into the shop, water dripping from your coat and hair, and james’s first thought was that you looked completely out of place in the best possible way.

“hi,” you said, breathless and a little flustered, “can I—uh—just get a coffee, please? whatever you recommend.”

james had blinked at you, his usual confidence momentarily short-circuited. “sure,” he managed, fumbling for a cup. “you trust me with that decision?”

your smile was soft, almost teasing. “why wouldn't I? you look like you know your coffee.”

james grinned despite himself, and as he made your drink—something sweet, with just enough espresso to cut through the rain-induced gloom—he felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the steam rising from the cup.

when he handed it to you, your fingers brushed his for a brief moment. “thanks,” you said, meeting his ocean-colored eyes.

james wanted to say something clever, something to keep you at the counter a little longer, but you’d already turned away, heading for a corner table by the window.

it was only after you left, your empty cup abandoned on the table, that james realized he’d forgotten to ask for your name.

you became a regular after that.

every morning, without fail, you came in at the same time, your arrival as reliable as the sun breaking through the clouds. it didn’t take long for james to memorize your order—a caramel latte, extra foam, with the occasional cinnamon scone if you were feeling indulgent.

at first, you’d linger just long enough to grab your drink before disappearing into the bustle of the day. but over time, you started staying longer, settling into the corner seat that had quickly become your own. you brought books, a notebook, sometimes even a laptop, and james couldn’t help but wonder what you were working on so intently.

“still caramel today?” james asked one morning, flashing you his signature grin.

you glanced up from the menu you were pretending to read, the corners of your mouth quirking upward. “what can I say? I’m a creature of habit.”

james chuckled as he turned to make your drink, his movements fluid and practiced. “I’ll have to come up with something new to tempt you. change things up a bit.”

“oh?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “think you can outdo my usual?”

james slid the cup across the counter with a flourish, a foam heart swirling in the center. “try me.”

you laughed softly, your eyes crinkling at the edges as you took a sip. “hmm. not bad. I might have to start trusting you more.”

james felt a surge of pride, even as he tried to play it cool. “high praise. I’ll take it.”

the days blurred into weeks, and before james knew it, you were as much a part of the shop as the mismatched chairs and the ever-changing chalkboard menu.

he looked forward to seeing you, even on the busiest mornings when the line stretched out the door. he found himself saving the best pastries for you, making sure your latte was always just right, even if it meant starting over three times.

but for every moment of warmth, there was an undercurrent of doubt.

james didn’t know much about you, beyond the small snippets of conversation you shared. he didn’t know what brought you to the shop every day or why your smile sometimes seemed a little forced, like you were carrying more than you let on.

one day, he worked up the nerve to ask.

“rough day?” he asked softly as he handed you your drink.

you hesitated, your fingers tightening around the cup. “something like that...”

james wanted to press, to ask what was bothering you, but he didn’t. instead, he watched as you retreated to your corner table, your shoulders hunched slightly as you opened a book.

he hated seeing you like that, and the helplessness gnawed at him for the rest of the day.

james’ friends loved to tease him about you.

"she’s got you wrapped around her finger, mate,” one of them, sirius black, more specifically, said one evening as they closed up the shop.

james rolled his eyes, but his flushed cheeks gave him away. “it’s not like that.”

“right,” sirius drawled, smirking. “that’s why you’ve been drawing hearts in her lattes.”

james groaned, burying his face in his hands. “shut it, t’s not a big deal."

but it was.

he’d never felt like this before—this nervous, this unsure of himself. he wanted to get to know you, to make you laugh, to be the reason your eyes lit up when you walked through the door.

but what if he wasn’t enough?

the rain was relentless that evening, pounding against the windows in a steady rhythm. the shop was quiet, most of the usual crowd having opted to stay home.

you were the only customer left, your book open on the table as you sipped your latte. james had been stealing glances at you all day, his chest tightening with every passing minute. finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

he grabbed a fresh cup and started on another latte, pouring the foam with extra care. when it was done, he hesitated for a moment before carrying it over to your table.

“for you,” he said, setting it down gently.

you looked up, startled. “what’s this?”

“call it a… thank you,” james said, scratching the back of his neck. “for being the best part of my mornings.”

your eyes widened slightly, and james felt his pulse quicken. for a moment, neither of you said anything, the sound of rain filling the silence.

“james,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

he braced himself, his stomach twisting with nerves.

“would you like to sit?” you asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from you.

james blinked, caught off guard. “yeah. yeah, sure, I’d like that.”

he slid into the seat, his heart pounding as he met your gaze. and for the first time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t imagining things.

james sat across from you, fidgeting slightly, uncharacteristically nervous. the rain outside drummed against the windows, a comforting backdrop to the tension building between you.

“thanks... for the coffee,” you said, breaking the silence. you traced a finger along the edge of the cup, your expression thoughtful. “you didn’t have to do that.”

james smiled, a little lopsided, and shrugged. “I wanted to. you’ve been keeping this place interesting.”

you raised an eyebrow. “interesting? is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“good,” james said quickly, then laughed at himself. “definitely good. I just mean… it’s nice, seeing you here every day. feels like I’ve got something to look forward to.”

your cheeks flushed, and james couldn’t help but notice the way you looked away, shyly smiling. it was a vulnerability he hadn’t seen from you before, and it made his chest ache in a way he didn’t quite understand.

“I could say the same thing,” you admitted softly, your voice almost drowned out by the rain.

james blinked, his heart stuttering. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you said, meeting his eyes. “you’ve made my mornings a little brighter, James.”

he grinned, the boyish charm that always seemed so effortless now lighting up his face. “well, now I feel like I’ve got to up my game. can’t have you thinking I’m getting complacent.”

you laughed, the sound warm and genuine, and james realized he could get used to this—the easy rhythm of being around you, the way you seemed to make the world feel a little less heavy.

the shop closed earlier than usual that night, the storm outside growing too fierce to keep customers lingering. james finished wiping down the counters while you gathered your things, your umbrella still dripping onto the floor.

“let me walk you out,” he said, grabbing his coat.

you hesitated, looking out at the downpour. “you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” james said, holding the door open for you. “but I’d like to.”

you smiled, and james thought he’d do just about anything to see that look on your face again.

the two of you stepped into the rain, your umbrella doing little to shield you from the relentless drops. james stayed close, his shoulder brushing yours as you walked.

“thank you, james...” you said after a while, your voice quiet.

“for what?”

“for caring,” you said simply.

james stopped walking, turning to look at you. “of course I care,” he said, his voice softer now. “I—”

he paused, the words catching in his throat. he wanted to tell you everything—that you were the best part of his day, that he thought about you more than he should, that he’d been falling for you since the moment you walked into his shop. but he didn’t know how to say any of it.

instead, he reached out, his hand brushing yours. “I’m glad you came in that day,” he said finally.

you smiled, your fingers curling around his. “yeah... me too.”

[mochiwrites]

SCARIAN PARENTHOOD ARC????? I just saw that post Mochi PLS make this canon this is so fucking sweet ;~; grrgrhhhhhhh that would be so adorable 😭

canon you say? 👀

——————————

Of everything Grian expected from this day upon waking up with a snoring husband in his ear, a secret breach was not a part of the list. Trying to break into Mumbo’s vault, restock The Entity, get Hotguy’d by Scar, all typical occurrences. Searching the server far and wide for a strange anomaly that got past the firewall? Not even close to a thought on his mind.

Still, here he is, checking around the Rift for any strange or unusual entities. Grumbot Prime beeps behind him, watching as he looks over the shifting portal. He doesn’t see anything too unusual upon a surface level gleam of the place.

Up above, he hears the telltale flap of an elytra, along with a call of his name. Looking up, he spots Scar gliding into the cave, landing nearby. “There you are! I swear you took off like a rocket as soon as Xisuma finished explainin’ everything!” Scar heaves a breath as he pauses to catch it. “Have you found anything?”

Grian steps back from the Rift as he shakes his head. “Not yet. I was just about to open my Eyes to search for anything that’s hiding,” he answers. Easily does he slip his hand into Scar’s, lacing their fingers together. “What about you?”

Scar’s lips tilt low in a light frown. “I checked by the Elven Tree and Cookie Emporium but couldn’t find a thing,” he sighs, squeezing Grian’s hand. “Was just about to check Scarland if you’re willing to come along?” His voice carries something hopeful in it, making Grian smile despite the pile of nerves that sit in his stomach.

There’s only a handful of things that can break through a server as strong as Hermitcraft, and Grian has every reason to fear it.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Let me do a quick sweep of the place first.” Grian leans toward Scar to press a kiss to his cheek before looking back toward the Rift. He shuts his eyes with a quiet exhale, internally flipping the switch of his Watcher magic. Keeping his normal eyes shut, a ring of purple eyes float around his head, painting his view in a mix of code and a lavender tinted haze.

He hears Scar mutter beside him, “hot.” Grian promptly elbows him, the feathers of his wings fluffing. Scar laughs in return, although the sound is a little breathy.

Ignoring the distraction of his husband, Grian scans the Rift. Almost immediately is he overwhelmed with the strings of code before him, making him wince. He’ll be feeling that later in the form of a killer headache. But that’s a problem for future Grian. Present Grian has a completely different problem at hand. Lying within the code of the Rift is lines of broken numbers, a small hole. The numbers flicker in and out, and Grian swallows thickly.

“Well,” he starts, voice weak, “I’ve figured out how the anomaly got in.” Guilt already starts to flood him, as he realizes this is his fault. Who knows what he’s gone and accidentally allowed in. Stupid.

“That’s great!” Scar cheers, though one look at Grian’s uneasy expression and he wilts. “Or… maybe not?”

Grian doesn’t answer, Eyes still reading through the ruined code. He picks up on some kind of trail of numbers, and realizes it’s traceable. His eyes open and he looks at Scar. “I think I know where it is.”

Scar squeezes his hand again, a silent reassurance of I’m here. “Lead the way, G.”

——————————

Of all places, they’re brought to a forest not so far from Scarland. The warped numbers twist around the leaves and branches, creating an easy enough trail for Grian to follow. They walk along a path as they look around, keeping an eye out for anything strange.

They come to a small clearing within the forest and that’s when they find their anomaly. Sitting by a pond is a little girl who looks no older than six. On her back are two little wings, the feathers in a complete state of disarray. She wears what looks like an old dress, tattered and singed at the edges. Bandages cover her hands and arms, and she has some light scrapes and bruises.

Grian and Scar share a look before they look back at the child. He gestures for Scar.

“Uh—hello there!” Scar begins, sounding a bit unsure.

The girl startles, her wings fluffing up as she whips her head toward them. Her eyes widen with fear as soon as she sees them, hurrying to her feet.

“Wait!” Scar exclaims as she goes to run. However, he doesn’t have to do much for she trips and lands on the ground with a pained cry. He looks at Grian, who wears a similar expression of concern. Scar looks at the girl again, taking a few small steps toward her. “Are you okay?”

Hastily, she pushes herself up onto her knees, wings opening in an attempt to make herself bigger. Her big brown eyes are filled with tears, expression tight in terror. “S-Stay away!” she shouts, her voice shaking and wet. “I don’t wanna go back!”

“Go back?” Scar repeats, confused, taking another small step forward. “We’re not gonna make you—”

“I said s-stay away!” she yells again, her eyes flashing purple. Grian’s breath catches at the sight of it, and if he needs further evidence of this little girl’s identity, she looks right at him. Afraid. “H-He’s gonna bring me back! He has the big scary eyes like all the others do!”

Grian thinks he’s going to be sick.

“What?” Scar looks over at Grian, confused. He stares at the avian for a second before his eyes widen in realization. “G, your magic thingy! Make them go away!”

Right, he didn’t shut his Eyes—that’s what’s scaring the poor kid even more. Letting them close, he feels a soft pressure against his skull, and Grian grimaces. Lovely time for a headache. Pushing that aside, he looks at the girl. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologizes. “They can’t reach you here, I promise.”

She still looks afraid, and Grian winces.

“Why don’t we introduce ourselves, hm?” Scar smiles at her as he sits down on the ground. “I’m Scar, and this lovely man right here is Grian. We’re members of Hermitcraft, the server you’ve stumbled into,” he introduces cheerfully as Grian sits beside him. “What’s your name?”

“I…” the girl begins, though her eyes well up with tears. “I don’t remember…”

“Hey, hey, that’s alright! Why don’t you pick a nickname to be called for now?” Scar’s smile doesn’t waver, staying warm and gentle as he speaks to her. He never fails to amaze Grian, truly. Scar really is a wonderful man.

The girl blinks at Scar, looking confused. “A… nickname?” she asks.

“Yeah! It can be whatever you want, we just need a name to call you by,” Scar explains. “Everyone deserves a name.”

Her expression scrunches as she tries to think of a nickname, deep in thought. Grian can’t help finding the sight adorable, watching her wings twitch. “I… I wanna be called Sunny,” she decides on, and the smile Scar gives her is so bright.

“I think that’s an amayzin’ choice, Sunny!” He grins at her, watching the way her eyes light up. “Do you think you could tell us what happened to you, Sunny? You said you didn’t want to go back… did you run away from someone?” The two of them already know the answer to this, but they have to be sure.

Sunny flinches at the question, her wings folding tightly to her back as her shoulders rise. The tears are quick to return as she looks down at her lap, shaking. “T-They… they were really tall and had a-all these big wings…” she sniffles. “They w-were really scary… and they’d m-make me do training that really hurt…”

Grian’s hands curl into tight fists, some protective feeling clawing at his chest. Just hearing how trembly her voice is leaves Grian’s blood boiling. Seeing how little she is, knowing what the Watchers are like, his heart cracks. Judging by the hitch in Scar’s breath he has the same reaction, the man frowning.

“I-I’m sorry,” the little girl apologizes, looking up at the two of them as she sniffles. “Please don’t t-tell Them I’m here..! Don’t make me go b-back! I just… just wanted to see the sun…” Her tiny wings wrap around herself as she trembles, and Grian feels his heart breaking in half. She looks so small and afraid, he can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for someone at her age.

“It’s okay,” Grian’s speaking before he thinks, avian instincts crying for him to protect her. “No one here is going to make you go back. Not if I have anything to say about it.” There’s a stubbornness to his voice that catches him off guard, and he can feel Scar’s eyes on him. For the moment he ignores it, focusing only on soothing the scared child before him. He’s not good with kids like Scar is, but he’s sure going to give it his best shot. “Hermitcraft is a safe place for runaways like us. You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

Sunny stares at him with open surprise, her brown eyes shiny as new tears start to form.

Scar doesn’t bother hiding his own shock from Grian, but he quickly covers it up after, keeping it for much later, when it’s just the two of them together. For now, he nods earnestly in agreement, “You’ll be safe here, promise. Once we explain everything to our admin I’m sure he’ll have no problem with you staying!”

Grian watches as the girl begins sniffling before her little wings flutter and she’s flying right into them. It catches both of them off guard, Grian’s own wings flaring as he and Scar hurry to catch her. She presses her face into Scar’s shoulder as she shakes and cries and Grian looks at his husband. He sees the same protective gleam within the depths of his eyes, and Scar nods at him.

They’re going to do whatever it takes to make sure she stays here.

[sondheim-girly]

ok im gonna get my yap on, because Brody Grant has so much power in this fandom and I need to talk about why. Am I overthinking this? Yes. Is everything I’m about to say super obvious? Also yes. But who cares.

Ok so some might say “oh the fandom just likes him cuz he’s hot” and the thing is, yes hes hot, but so is the entire cast? And I can’t think of anyone else in the cast who can break the fandom with one single appearance. I think the key of it is the fact that hes unpredictable and always leaves us wanting more. See, back before the Tonys he was doing a lot of press, both for opening and as a nominee. And then post Tonys, you had a three month drought where we practically didn’t get any content of him. However we were still riding high from the pre Tonys interviews, so the obsession continued to stay strong. And theres an element of someone not having their entire life and personality on public display that makes them so much more exciting. And then he disappears for an entire month, then comes back blonde and posts a bunch of photos from his trip in Tokyo. He then goes on to start appearing in the occasional Soc Saturday after not appearing in one for literally months, then is in sky’s Instagram, and starts posting on Instagram more!! So hes giving us just barely enough content to keep us sustained, but also leaving us wanting to much more. Theres also a level of mystery that’s just super exciting cuz you literally never know what he’s gonna do. Is he gonna disappear for a month and go blonde? Is he gonna show up on Soc Saturday and yell about a guy named Mike? Who knows. Not to mention how… mysterious the post he just made was? Like who even knows why he posted that?? No clue, but it’s wonderful.

now of course this is how he has maintained this strange hold on the fandom, but how did he get it in the first place? Of course hes good looking, but hes also absurdly talented, and a very charming person. He’s interesting because he has this kinda edgy ‘persona’ tho idk if that’s exactly the right way to describe it, but then you watch an interview with him and hes this super duper genuine, thoughtful, interesting guy! And then u see a clip of him with the cast and hes just really silly and funny. And so he has all these sides to him which is very intriguing. And he just has this like- really sweet smile and also I think the ear cuff and fingerless glove combo is something that definitely had a major effect on the fans. Ok ive kinda lost the plot.

also theres something about him having social media and rarely using it. Because then it’s like oh we could get content but you never know when- there are a lot of cast members who are super active on social media so we get used to it, or actors who don’t have it at all, meanwhile Brody can just get on there, say something, explode the fandom, then leave. Hes also very intentional about what posts he leaves up, which we can tell from his occasional cleansing of his account. Idk what my point is here but I wanted to say something about this

anyways this is my yap. It’s unedited and completely chaotic but I hope y’all enjoyed it.

[theoceanoasis]

The Lost Light jumps into a new universe and during their adventures, they find a Soundwave trapped in the Shadowzone. They decide to save him and help him recover and when he's stable again, he decides to shadow/follow after Rodimus all the time. He's like Rodimus' second, violently protective guard dog.

Turns out, Soundwave was engaged/Conjunxed to his Hot Rod but Hot Rod perished when Nyon burned and he never got over it. Now he sees this as a second chance of making things right by caring for this Roddy to the best of his abilities. Over time, Rodimus and Soundwave do fall in love with each other.

"This is so freaky."

"It's like Earth but not."

"Look I can put my hand through the wall!"

"Don't touch that."

He ignored his crews excitement instead focusing on the weird feeling he couldn't shake as though he was being watched. Which shouldn't be possible because Perceptor said there was no life there except his crew.

He looked back at them wondering if someone was watching him but they were all focused on their hands going through the walls.

He looked around again and noticed something out of the corner of his optic. He walked towards it wondering what it could be.

He was shocked to find what looks vaguely like a Cybertronian although he looks really weird.

Noticing that he was injured he decided to help him. He called Ratchet and some of his crew members to help lift.

They all stared at what they found in shock and when Ratchet began repairing him he'd found the Decepticon symbol.

"Do you recognize this mech?"

"He's like nothing I've ever seen before."

Megatron stared down the Decepticon.

"Doesn't matter. If we leave him here with his injuries he will die."

Megatron picked him up when Ratchet did the best he could out there.

"I'll finish working on him in the medbay."

They walked inside with the mech and he sent a message telling the crew to stay away. They locked down the medbay given the unknown threat they'd just brought on board.

Megatron looks at the mech reluctant to have him on board.

"Do you think this is wise?"

For some reason he can't shake the feeling that it is.

"Yes. I can't explain it but I think we can trust him.

After that it was waiting for the mech to wake up. Which didn't take that long surprisingly. He'd looked around confused before zeroing in on him.

He'd taken a step back from the strength of his gaze even though it looked like he didn't have optics.

"What's your name?"

He carefully asked and the mech stared at him for a moment longer before finally revealing his name.

"Soundwave."

They all looked at him in shock because he looked nothing like their dimensions Soundwave.

"Are you hungry?"

He held out a cube of energon and Soundwave quickly drank it.

"How long were you out there?"

"Unknown."

"Why were you trapped in that dimension?"

"Punishment."

"Enough asking questions my patient needs to rest."

He left the medbay feeling optics on him the entire way out. After that Soundwave began recovering. He brought him energon and watched over him constantly finding himself looking for excuses to visit. He couldn't explain why he found himself drawn to Soundwave and it scared him a little.

He heard rumors that Soundwave could read minds and he wondered if he was telepathically messing with him.

When Soundwave was released from the medbay he was given a room near his own, so he could be watched over.

Everyone had been weary both because it was Soundwave and because of his strange look. Whenever Megatron and Soundwave were together everyone would look back and forth nervously wondering what would happen.

Everyone had expected Soundwave to follow Megatron. Including Megatron which was why it was a surprise to everyone that he followed him instead.

He'd been shocked and a little weary as Soundwave followed him around, but eventually he got used to it and it became kind of nice. Especially when Thunderclash visited or when he returned to Cybertron.

The first time Optimus saw him he'd almost voided and someone called Soundwave his protective guard dog. Willing to attack anyone who tried to hurt Rodimus.

He had no idea why Soundwave was doing this and one day he decided to ask. Soundwave had looked tense and seemed to space out for a moment.

He was about to tell him it was fine when Soundwave told him. He'd been engaged to his universes version of him before he was a prime.

Although he never had a chance to become one. Because instead of surviving the fall of Nyon like he did. He perished in the blast and Soundwave had never gotten over it. So consumed with hatred for everyone involved he joined the Decepticons and killed everyone in the Senate.

"Are you trying to replace him?"

He'd given him an unsure look hoping it wasn't the case and Soundwave had quickly shook his head.

"No. I'm not. You two are two different people. I just don't want to see you get hurt and maybe this could be a second chance."

He hugged Soundwave thanking him for telling him knowing how hard it must have been. He hated talking about the fall of Nyon and couldn't imagine losing the love of his life along with everything else in the blast.

After that the two of them hung out more as friends. Instead of Soundwave being his bodyguard. Although he would always protect him it was nice being able to sit with him and talk about different things.

Slowly the two of them fell in love. Both of their sparks healing from everything they've lost.

[mar3ggiata]

the night of the tarantula - 1

simon riley x oc

'All is fair in Love and War'

She sensed something was wrong from the second she woke up. She felt dizzy and lightheaded from the alcohol of the night before, it was still early. She had to go to base for a checkup on a patient, nothing major, but she offered the young Sargent a small meeting even if it was a Saturday. She had gone to bed happy, smiling into her pillow like a fool. It was his presence, just being in the same room as him did something to her. She thought about it all night, his arm nearly touching hers while sitting at the table, the was he would bend towards her, hunching his back to talk to her closely like his words were only meant for her. He was protective, or possessive, driving her home and making sure she got inside her flat. He even pet the dog, was incredibly excited to see him. He'd make a great dad for Jinx…

She thought about what could have happened if she asked him to stay. Maybe she would have offered him a gin and tonic, he would have suggested to drink tea. They had too much already. Maybe they would have made out on the couch. She imagined him sitting in her small apartment, Jinx asleep in his dog bed (moved to the bathroom for the occasion), her legs straddling his hips. She imagined removing his mask with her teeth, covering the scars on his face with sweet kisses, she wondered how he tasted, of beer probably. She imagined him gentle, firm grip on her ass, hands caressing her back. Maybe he was a good kisser, maybe she was going to be the first woman he ever kissed. She imagined him on top of her, while settling down in her bed, she imagined his body between her and the ceiling. He was tall, large and bulky and yet, she imagined him so gentle and delicate. She would have guided his hand between her thighs.

She fell asleep flustered and with her legs pressed together.

The base was quiet, the only noise being the clicking of her boots on the floor. She was early for her appointment, that's what gave her time to realise what was going on. She felt like the few soldiers she passed were looking at her. So strange, she was almost nervous, and for what? A simple chat with a patient? Her heart was beating faster than usual. It was really no surprise there were 4 people waiting for her in front of her office. They know. She turned the corner, she saw them and immediately turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. Her heart jumped in her chest, her legs moving quick without even realising. She heard them shout her name, she was already down the emergency stairs. They found out. It's done, it's done, I'm done. Her bag was nearly flying off her shoulder, she sprinted down the stair, they were following her, telling her to stop. Do they have guns, are they gonna kill me? She knew she had parked just opposite the emergency exit, she always parked there… just in case. She had never thought that day would come. So stupid, she had made a terrible mistake the night before, she knew this was gonna happen...

She got out the emergency door, which flew open, hitting the wall with a loud clang. She was stopped by the muzzle of a gun aimed directly at her forehead. She raised her arms, a small step backwards. Fuck.

She didn't scream, she didn't make a sound.

When the gun was lowered, Simon stood in front of her, hard grip on his weapon.

'Isn't this enough?' Simon turned towards her, twisting his chair. She gripped the counter's edge, her knuckles turned white. 'It's not enough? What more do you want?' He went on. She pressed her lips in a thin line. He really didn't understand her point, nor did he try for that matter. 'It's fine Simon, I'm going without you.'

'The hell you're not'.

He was standing up at this point, she turned her body in his direction. He was scared. She crossed her arms and let out a sarcastic laugh, 'Oh, am I not allowed, Lieutenant?'

'No, it's dangerous, we're not going.'

She blinked a few times, then turned back to the sink and resumed washing the dishes. 'I said I am. You can stay here if you want.'

'Eva, I said n-'

'Don't bother.'

They escorted her in an interrogation room. She felt like crying, she felt stupid and naive. Such a stupid mistake, she was drunk, she didn't think... She kept quiet, her jaw tense, fists clenched. It was a defeat really, and Simon… He must have had that briefing that morning, he… Seeing him pointing his gun at her face made her insides turn, Gaz and Soap stood behind him, same angry, disappointed expression on their faces. Not for the danger itself, she was not afraid she was going to get killed. Just… him, his look, his mask. She knew by betraying him like that, the guy she came to knowing over the past two months was going to be gone forever.

It took Simon a good 30 seconds to have her face the wall and put her hands behind her back, but he did it eventually. Aiming a gun at her wasn't on this year's bingo card. It brought him back to reality really, he went back to being Ghost. He really had thought life was giving him something good for once, you know, he thought things were going to be different. And he would learn to be normal, a normal guy with a girlfriend or some shit, but no. Turns out sweet angel Alba, or better, Eva, is a serial killer immigrated from Italy to America to ruin his life. Eva, the same person he spent Christmas with, the same person who danced the fucking nutcracker Snow Queen bullshit, was a terrorist. Her in her stupid, angelic ballet tutu. He had to take her for what she really was, terrorist. Murderer. Aiming his gun at her forehead was scary. He had never seen his hand shake, and he saw his fingers trembling a little, on the trigger. She, however, she wasn't scared. And it was infuriating, he wanted her scared. Be sorry for what you did, no? No, she wasn't sorry. She looked at him surprised, she looked at the gun, she waited for him to act, patiently. He saw it in her eyes, she wasn't scared cause she knew it was going to happen, like she had rehearsed what she was going to do when, or if, they found out. That was when he felt the most disconnected from her. Thinking about the fact she knew all along, she had planned her escape in case they found her, it made his blood boil. It made him furious.

'I just feel like you don't appreciate what I'm giving you'

She hated that part of herself, but she was conscious she always raised her voice when she was annoyed. The Italian in her. Also, her accent was much more heavy and thick on her tongue. She roller the r, clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth when pronouncing a t.

'How can you say that?' She screamed, her hands on her hips.

'Non urlare', he replied in perfect Italian. He hated when she raised her voice. Reminded him of his childhood. She was loud when she was happy and chatty or mad about her coworkers, but never directing it towards him. When she did he would stay silent until she was finished. She was passionate about everything, even their fights. And the Italian, well, he learned by living with her. He had to. She was tired of English, sometimes she didn't feel like trying. He learned by the way she spoke to Salvo and her sister, he learned vocabulary. She called him 'amore', 'amore mio', 'cuore'. And he liked it better than any other pet name he had ever heard, or tried to use. He never used 'sweetheart' or 'baby' ever again. He learned a few things, cause it made her smile when he spoke it with his thick Mancunian accent. It made her smile that he was trying, and he got good at it. His accent sounded natural, he switched from English to Italian like a professional.

'Non urlare.' Don't yell.

'Spiegami.' Explain.

He was very bad at confronting her, especially when she was this mad, this loud. He went silent, he stood there without moving, he felt trapped. He feared that speaking about something that was wrong would scare her away. He feared to wake up with her bags packed beside the door. Plus, she knew more about communication, and the whole relationship thing, she was always telling him the things he was thinking. She studied criminal psychology, she was a therapist for Christ's sake. He could never win with her, she always outsmarted him. He mumbled some incoherent words under his breath, his shoulders raising in defence.

'See?' She let her arms drop at her sides, 'You feel like I'm not appreciating what you give me, Simo, look at what I gave you!' She raised her arms, pointing to their apartment, their life, their routine. Well it was all hers, really. He had just moved in.

The interrogation room was cold, looked like the ones in the movies. They had her sitting in a chair, the three soldiers standing on her right, rifles in hand. Price and another man were inside, General Shepherd. She sat quietly with her hands behind her back, they had a laptop on the table in front of her. She had prepared for this moment, she had a code word for Salvo, in case she got caught. She knew what to do. She knew what was gonna happen, she kept quiet and kept thinking. Her phone was in her bag, sitting at Gaz's feet. She could ask to call him, tell him to go pick up her dog and take the pink leash. Taking the pink leash meant to take Jinx from her apartment and destroy any evidence she might have that incriminated her, he knew where to find everything. Every sign of Italy, of her family. A picture of her sister hidden in her bookshelf, a teddy from when she was young, her dead brother's shirt from when he was only 16, everything. It only took a phone call…

She looked up to see the door open and a woman step inside, tall, brunette in her early thirties. Price greeted her. Then Shepherd spoke. 'So, Alba… well… Eve, might as well call you Eve…' She looked at him like she was going to jump at his neck and kill him right there. She had never liked him, from the day she came to the first job interview two years ago. And her name wasn't fucking Eve, and he probably knew. She let her eyes examine his hands, his posture, the colour of his socks, rage building up in her chest. He noticed. He was startled for a second.

'…Eve, you sent a text to your sister Maria yesterday night at 2.41am from your apartment, on Campbell Ave if I'm not mistaken.' She looked at the laptop in front of her without replying. They already knew, what did they need her for? It was correct, she was drunk, she was happy, she smoked some weed and texted her sister for the first time in 4 years. A dumb mistake. She did the one thing she wasn't supposed to do. Reach out.

He continued, 'Maria is in the list of people you can't contact as per your contract, you know that.' He took a step close, she didn't raise her eyes. 'We could get you arrested, Eve, your family is dangerous', he continued, she felt her left eye twitch, as happened when she was stressed. She bit the inside of her cheek. '... You were hired and given a second chance under many conditions, but this, the message, is nothing but a betrayal of our trust. We can't have criminals working for the American government.'

He gave a look to his left, the brunette woman spoke to her in Italian. 'Eva, hai capito cosa ha detto?' She had a good accent, but still, a fucking translator? Unbelievable. She chucked, a single puff of air from her nostrils. They brought her so she could not speak Italian. So stupid, ignorant pigs. It was outrageous. Price jumped in, 'Eva listen, this doesn't have to be difficult, you can tell us what you did and why in Italian and Grace here will translate.' She felt her eye twitch again, she was starting to sweat. She needed more time. She took a few deep breaths and waited for them to go on. They did, cause they were impatient.

'You wrote that you missed her, your sister Maria, is that correct? What doest that stand for?'

'Is it code for something, does it have a meaning?'

She started to feel the familiar stinging pain of a migraine at her left temple, her contact lenses suddenly dry.

'You know, this is a good timing to get back in contact with your family, business is moving in Italy as I'm sure you know. Are you planning on going back?'

She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood.

'You know you breached our rules, we had said no contact whatsoever.'

'Eva we don't have time for this, if you could…'

'Grace', she spoke. She felt tears pricking the sides of her eyes, she turned towards the woman. She moved slowly. Her last shot, she considered her options and, well, there was really nothing she could do to get out of the situation. She could feel ringing in her ears, her heart beating so fast she felt like fainting. Her voice was low, but they payed attention now. From the corner of her eye, she almost saw Simon move against the wall, like he couldn't sit still. She almost forgot he was there.

Grace looked surprised to see her directly call out her name. She must feel important right now, thought Eva. Could turn this investigation around. The woman took a step towards her chair. 'Yes, Eva, puoi parlarmi.' So sweet, Grace had told her she could speak Italian to her if it made her feel better, so nice of Grace! She tilted her head, examining the woman's features. She was pretty. And confident. Eva could change that.

'Tu si capace 'e parlà 'o dialetto?'

Silence. The men waited for Grace to translate, but she didn't. Cause she didn't know what Eva said. They were so so so stupid...Grace's expression crumbled when she understood Italian grammar books didn't cover regional dialects, which is a shame, considering it was the first language Eva learned as a child. Still, nice try.

'Pardon me…?'

She didn't bother replying. She turned back in her chair, facing the table and the laptop. She saw her reflection in the black screen. She examined her eye bags, her bangs covering her forehead, her lips. She needed to stay strong, she needed to get a hold of her emotions, like she always did. This was just another day on the job.

The two men in front of her were trying to grasp why Grace didn't understand her dialect, the woman was telling them southern dialects are considered entirely different languages to standard Italian, only natives of the south really understood them. She saw Price rub his hands on his face in a defeated way. She was winning, at least for now. It didn't last long.

'Use her friend.' Said a voice. A deep voice, not just someone, him. Simon. She looked at him for the first time. They gave him their attention, she felt colour leave her cheeks. No...

'She has a friend from southern Italy, Salvatore, he's not deployed at the moment. Call him in. He knows the dialect.'

He was good, she had to give him that. Good idea, bring Salvatore in to talk to her. Good, good. Good soldier, Ghost. She let herself look at him, she didn't bother acknowledging the other two soldiers asking Ghost how he knew that information. It was obvious they were close, at this point. Not anymore, I guess. After this, she could never speak to him again. Good soldier, she had trusted him with the name of her best friend, now he was turning against her. Fair. I betrayed you, you betray me. Fair. All is fair in Love and War. She looked at him with compassionate eyes, he did too. You don't know what you just did. If we're here, in this room, and I have my hand tied it's cause I'm a threat. Don't you feel threatened, Ghost?

Behind that mask, coward, she couldn't pinpoint his expression. His eyes were on her face, her figure, hands cuffed behind her back. He had dreamed of her over and over again, he had imagined her as his pillow when he held it in the darkness of his room. He had envisioned her hands on his body, he had thought about her scent, he was consumed by her. She took that all away, with all those lies. It was gone, it was good while it lasted. She deserved his fury now. She was the enemy, after all.

And what does a good soldier do to his enemy?

I'll let him tell it.

notes: in italian, the abbreviation of the name Simone, Simon in English, is Simo (read Seemo. Simone is pronounced Seemone and not Seemonee, does that even make sense?)

notes: I'm back I'm sorry this took forever ouch

taglist:

@random-fandom-smoothie @lucienofthelakes

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me @asteriadisera

[littleredwolf]

Home for Christmas

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: It's Christmas Eve at the Avengers Compound and you and Wanda are busy making festive cookies for the team to enjoy upon their return from a mission.

Warnings: none. This is pure fluff/cosy Christmas content.

Words: 982

A/N: I wanted to have a go at something fluffy and festive, so I hope this ticks all the right boxes! Merry Christmas!

--

The snow fell in gentle cascades, blanketing the compound in a glittery shimmer that added a touch of magic to the view. Inside, the compound had been transformed into a festive haven, every corner adorned with twinkling lights and tinsel, while Christmas music played softly over the sound system, mingling with the rich scents of sugar, vanilla, and freshly baked gingerbread. It was like a scene straight out of a Christmas movie, so cosy and picturesque. 

“I think we may have overdone it,” Wanda mused as the two of you stood at the counter to admire your afternoon's work. 

The kitchen sides were covered with trays filled with cookies of all shapes and sizes. There were snowflakes, gingerbread men, Christmas trees, candy canes, Santa, stockings, and even some questionable looking reindeer. To anybody else, maybe it was a little too much, but with a team full of superheroes to feed, you wondered if maybe it wasn't enough.

“I don't think that's possible,” you replied, straightening one of the cookies on the tray closest to you. “The super soldiers alone will get through most of these between them.” 

“I'm surprised you haven't made Bucky his own personal batch,” she said with a teasing smile.

At the mere mention of his name, your cheeks flushed and your chest tightened. 

It had been nearly three weeks since you'd last seen Bucky, he and a few other members of the team had been away on a mission, and while he'd sent a few texts and the occasional picture (one particularly adorable shot of him and Sam looking begrudgingly festive in Santa hats), you missed him more than you’d like to admit. 

The compound had felt strangely empty since he'd been gone, you'd missed his dry humour, his quiet strength, and the way he always managed to put you at ease simply by being there. Your bed had felt too big without him in it each night, and the absence of his arms around you and gentle kisses to soothe you to sleep had thrown your sleeping pattern completely off balance. 

The excitement of his imminent return had been bubbling all morning, making you so impatient and restless that Wanda had insisted you do something to keep yourself busy, hence the cookies.  

Now you were finished, however, the nervous excitement was returning, and you couldn't resist the frequent glances out the window to see if you could spot the quinjet through the snow. 

“You really love him, don't you?” Wanda smiled as she began to tidy everything away, sending the dirty utensils to the dishwasher with a wave of her hand. 

You hesitated for a moment, contemplating her words, then slowly nodded. Although neither of you had used the ‘L’ word yet, there was no denying how you felt. 

“Yeah, I do. It's different with him, Wanda - I can be myself around him without feeling like I have to dilute any part of my personality. I never thought I'd find someone who just accepts me as I am - even the messy, broken bits! He’s just, so damn perfect, you know? I feel like pinching myself sometimes because it feels too good to be true!” Your tone was light, but there was no hiding your insecurities from Wanda Maximoff - she knew you better than you knew yourself most days. 

She reached over the counter to squeeze your hand, smiling softly. “He feels the same way, you know. Anyone can see it.” 

Before you could respond, the compound’s security system chimed, announcing an incoming quinjet. Your heart leapt -  they were home! 

“They’re here!” you exclaimed, abandoning your work and rushing to the window. Through the snow, you could just make out the sleek shape of the jet landing on the pad outside. 

Wanda laughed as she trailed after you.“I think you’re more excited about this than Christmas itself,” she teased.

You turned to her with a thoughtful expression. “I'd say it's a draw,” you smirked, and she shook her head with a laugh. You turned to the window again, but the snow was so thick now that you could barely see a thing. 

“What are you waiting for? Go and greet your man!” Wanda urged, giving you a gentle nudge. 

You didn’t need to be told twice - you slipped on your shoes and dashed outside, forgetting to even put on a coat in your rush. The icy wind bit at your cheeks, but you hardly noticed as the quinjet’s hatch opened and the team began descending the ramp. Sam was the first to emerge, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Merry Christmas!” he called, waving as he approached and pulling you into a bear hug. “Now, where are the cookies?”

“It’s good to see you too!” You laughed, giving him a playful shove as you sent him on his way, your attention snapping to the next figure emerging from the jet. 

Bucky stepped out into the snowy evening, his eyes scanning the landing pad until they found you. His face softened instantly, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he hastily made his way down the ramp. 

You didn’t wait for him to reach you. You ran to him, flinging your arms around his neck as he caught you, pulling you close. The familiar scent of him - leather and something faintly metallic - wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

“You’re freezing,” he gasped, brushing his gloved hand over your cheek. 

“I don’t care,” you replied, smiling up at him. “You’re home.”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin mirroring yours as he cupped your face. “I’m home.” 

He pressed his lips to yours, filling you with so much warmth that it instantly melted away the agony of the last three weeks. 

Out of all the gifts you could have written on your Christmas list, being back in Bucky's arms was by far the best one.

[kezdispenser]

Tinsel, Whiskey, and Mistletoe

A Dean Winchester one shot

The bunker always felt a little too cold, a little too big, and a little too much like a military base. Functional, sure, but cozy? Not even close. But this year, you’d decided that was going to change.

It was Christmas Eve, and while Dean, Sam, and Cas were out handling a minor salt-and-burn, you’d spent the entire day turning the bunker into something that vaguely resembled the holidays. You’d raided every thrift store, big-box shop, and craft aisle within a hundred-mile radius, hauling back decorations, lights, and enough tinsel to choke a reindeer.

By the time the guys returned, the bunker looked... different.

Dean was the first to step inside, his boots echoing against the floor before he froze in place. His eyes scanned the room, widening at the sight of garlands strung along the railings, a small but cheerful tree set up in the corner, and stockings hung along the edge of one of the desks.

“What the hell?” he muttered, blinking like he’d walked into an alternate universe.

You popped your head out from behind the tree, holding a string of lights you’d been wrestling with. “Surprise! Merry Christmas, Dean!”

Sam walked in behind him, his eyebrows shooting up. “Whoa. You did all this?”

“Sure did,” you said, grinning as you plugged in the lights. The tree lit up, casting the room in a warm, festive glow. “If we’re gonna spend Christmas in the bunker, we’re doing it right.”

Dean crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You realize this is a secret lair for fighting monsters and saving the world, right? Not Santa’s workshop?”

“Uh-huh. And you realize you’ve spent the last however many years skipping Christmas like it’s the plague?” you shot back. “Not this year, Winchester. You’re having a proper Christmas, and you’re gonna like it.”

Sam chuckled, clearly enjoying Dean’s discomfort. “She’s got a point, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t argue further, which you took as a win.

The evening felt strangely quiet after dinner, the kind of peaceful stillness that settled in your chest when you were alone with people you cared about. You didn’t want to let the night slip away without showing them just how much they meant to you, how much you appreciated everything they did—even if they didn’t always show it.

When it came time for presents, you couldn’t help yourself. You’d spent weeks getting gifts for all three of them, each one hand-picked with the hope it would mean something to them.

First, you turned to Sam. You handed him a large, neatly wrapped package. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t hesitate to tear into it. His eyes widened when he saw what was inside: a collection of vintage books, including some rare editions on folklore and hunting techniques, as well as a beautiful leather bookmark with his initials engraved on it.

“Holy—wow. You really went all out,” Sam said, clearly surprised. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” you said with a soft smile. “I know how much you love your research. Thought these might help.”

Next, you handed Castiel his gift, and he unwrapped it carefully, as if savoring the moment. Inside was a rare celestial map, detailing constellations and star formations. You could see the quiet joy in his eyes as he traced the patterns. You had also thrown in a small hand-carved wooden angel figurine for him, something you knew would resonate with him more than anything store-bought.

“This is... beautiful,” he said, his voice soft and full of appreciation. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

You nodded, trying not to let your emotions overwhelm you. You had always known the angels in his life were complex, but this—this was something tangible that he could hold onto.

Finally, you turned to Dean. His gift was a bit more elaborate—a box that was heavier than he expected. As he opened it, he found a set of custom tools, engraved with his name and a few inside jokes about the number of times he'd complained about broken equipment. You’d even thrown in a high-quality flask, knowing he’d appreciate it on long hunts.

“You didn’t have to get me all this stuff,” Dean said, his voice soft, but there was something in his eyes that made your heart flutter. He stared at the flask for a moment before looking back up at you. “This is... amazing, (Y/N). Thank you.”

You smiled at him, trying to mask the overwhelming sense of love you felt for the three of them. “You guys deserve it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “For all the shit you go through, for everything you’ve given. You deserve something nice, even if it’s just for tonight.”

Dean reached across the table, brushing his hand over yours in a rare moment of sincerity. “You didn’t have to do all this. But I’m glad you did,” he said, his words heavy, but sincere.

You took a breath, trying to hold back the tears you could feel welling in your eyes. “I wanted to make it special,” you whispered. “For all of us. Even if it’s just for tonight.”

The smiles on their faces were more than you’d hoped for. It wasn’t about the presents—it was about the fact that you cared enough to show them they weren’t alone, that despite the chaos and violence that had always been a part of their lives, there was still room for peace.

And maybe, just maybe, there was room for love.

Later, when Sam and Cas had gone off to their rooms, you found Dean sitting in the war room, nursing a glass of whiskey. The tree’s lights reflected in the amber liquid, casting a warm glow over his face.

“Hey,” you said softly, walking over and sliding into the chair next to him.

He glanced at you, then back at the tree. “This is... a lot.”

You shrugged, resting your chin in your hand. “You guys deserve it. You never take a break, never let yourselves have any normal shit. I just wanted to give you something good for once.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the tree. Then he smirked, shaking his head. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you love me for it,” you shot back without thinking.

The words hung in the air for a beat too long. You glanced at him, expecting him to laugh or roll his eyes, but instead, his gaze was locked on yours, intense and unreadable.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low. “Maybe I do.”

Your breath caught as he leaned closer, his whiskey-warmed breath ghosting over your lips. “Mistletoe,” he murmured, his eyes flicking upward.

Your heart flipped when you realized you were sitting directly under the sprig you’d hung earlier. “Cheater,” you whispered, but you were already leaning in.

When his lips met yours, it was soft at first, almost hesitant. But then his hand cupped your jaw, and the kiss deepened, all heat and unspoken feelings pouring out in one perfect moment.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

And just like that, the bunker didn’t feel so cold anymore.

---------------------

A/N: Here's a Dean one for you girlies.

[heliosunny]

Yandere!Fyodor x Reader

I took a liking to this man recently so bear with me ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ Promise I'll write one for Dazai soon.

The step-mother who once wore a mask of kindness revealed her true nature after your father passed away.

"Y/n!!!!! Get down here!" The woman adorned in luxurious fabrics and expensive jewels screamed your name at the top of her lungs. You were cleaning the messed she caused you earlier that morning.

I'm thirsty! Go make me a drink - the elder woman demanded, tossing you orders like you were nothing but a servant. Dutifully, you got her a glass of orange juice, only for her to knock it to the floor, watching it shatter without so much as a sip. Now, you carefully pick up the sharp fragments, trying not to cut yourself.

Her voice rang out again, shrill and impatient. You replied reluctantly, fully aware that hearing your name from her lips rarely brought anything good "Yes, I'm coming!"

Descending the stairs, you were greeted by an unfamiliar man seated on the couch sipping tea while speaking to your stepmother. The moment his eyes - cold and calculating met yours, a chill ran down your spine. Something was off.

Behind him stood two soldiers, their presence exuding quiet menance. Without warning, at his signal, they raised their weapons and shot your stepmother dead before your eyes.

"Y/n.." The man said, stepping forward. His uniform bores an air of authority, and his eyes, a piercing shade of violet, seemed to see right through you. "I need your ability." You stared at him with question. What ability? You have one?

You avoided his eyes and stared back where the corpse of your stepmother was. The man moved in your direction to keep your eyes on him. "You didn't know? Your father was a honorable man, yet he told you nothing?" You shook your head, stunned.

He sighed, almost amused "My my... You have the power to predict the near future, Y/n. Now that I've freed you from.." his gaze flicked to the corpse "whoever that was to you. I want you to work for me." Suprisingly, you agreed.

The man introduced himself as Fyodor Dostoevsky. He was straightforward, almost unsettlingly so. He admitted having prepared several ways to persuade you, but things had turned out far easier than he anticipated.

As your childhood home burnt to the ground, You felt little attachment to the ashes left behind. Without your father, it had never truly felt like home.

┈┈┈┈

"Now that you're with me, I'll teach you to use your ability." Fyodor said, his lips curling to a smile as he lead you to a room in his mansion. The place was old, its hallways cracks and worn, yet some rooms looked oddly well-maintained. The moment you sat on your bed, a strange sensation overtook you. Pain pierces your skull like a hammer blow, your nose bled, and your body collapsed. You fainted.

When you open your eyes, the first thing you saw was Fyodor sitting by your bedside. "Ah, you're awake. How do you feel?"

"Much better", you replied, though your voice was quiet and hesitant. "Good, rest." His hand gently patting your head. Suspicious of his kindness, you put his hand away and backed of a little. "You said you need my ability, what for?" For a moment, he was silent, simply staring at you with those unnerving eyes. That act creeps you out. Then, he stood and turned toward the door. "You'll find out soon enough." Before leaving, he added "You'll understand."

That night, sleep evaded you. Creaking footsteps echoed from above and around your room. A constant reminder of guards patrolling the mansion. Your mind raced with questions about Fyodor. Cruelty seemed second nature to him. After all, he had ordered your stepmother's death without hesitation.

A voice suddenly whispered from the windows "Shh, over here!" You turned, startled to see a man with white hair and a distinctive fringe. "I'm here to save you, open the window!"

"Save me?" You murmured to yourself, wondered.

┈┈┈┈

The story started to unfold as you encountered Atsushi and the men he mentioned to be detectives from Armed Detective Agency, your ability leading you to dangerous visions and even more dangerous choices.

"So she fled?" Fyodor stood in your room questioning the two guards, eyes scanning the whole place. "W-we didn't hear any sound.. sir- --khoff-" The one who was answering him cough up blood and drop dead soon after, leaving the other trembled in fear. "FIND HER!" Fyodor ordered.

Suddenly, a vision flashed in front of your eyes, you saw Fyodor. "STOP!!" You screamed, frightened Atsushi who was rushing through the bushes. He then stopped. He knew you saw something, as your ability is unstable, he didn't know when it will happen, yet it's better to be cautious. Fyodor is no man to joke with.

And so You returned. On your own.

Fyodor didn't even have to go, you're already here. "What did you see that changed your mind?"

"A lot" you replied "and definitely not worth risking the lives of others." By 'a lot', you mean there will literally be mountains of corpses. You got a hint of his nature and it was wrong for you to follow him back here, but he freed you from that wicked woman. You have mixed feelings about him. Fyodor signaled you to come closer to where he sits. You followed, he pulled you in. "Don't worry, You are in good care."

┈┈┈┈

Months passed. The bond between you and Fyodor grew more complicated. He exploited your ability ruthlessly, yet showed an inexplicable tenderness towards you. His touch lingered, his words carry a weight you couldn't ignore, and his gaze seemed to pierce in your very soul.

The only drawback to using your ability was the toll it took on your body. Prolonged use often left you feverish and drained.

Today was one of those days. You lay sprawled in your bed, feeling as though every ounce of strength had left your body. It was nearly impossible to even lift a finger.

"Y/n! Time to take your medicine." Fyodor called as he pushed the door open. Since aligning yourself with him, you had become something of a criminal, constantly moving from one safe house to another. You had long lost count of how many places you'd stayed in. Fyodor often leaves you behind, disappearing for meetings or visits to members of his mysterious organization. He never shares the details of his plans, brushing off your curiosity with a dismissive "It doesn't concern you."

Now as he sat beside you, you couldn't help but feel conflicted. You'd seen firsthand how easily he sacrificed others, treating them as pawns in his schemes. So why did he bother taking care of you with such apparent concern?

"Y/n, what are you thinking about?" He asked, his piercing eyes scanning your face. You shook your head weakly, unable to answer. He sighed and helped you sit up, his hands steady yet firm. "Your temperature is no joke, can you take this on your own?"

Before you could respond, another vision overwhelmed you. A sudden flash of Fyodor mercilessly killing the members of ADA. Blood, screams and lifeless bodies filled your mind, and it was enough to make your stomach churns. You had only encountered Atsushi and others a handful of times, but their kindness had left an impression. You couldn't bear the thought of them meeting such a cruel fate.

"Y/n! Y/n!" Fyodor's voice broke through the fog of your vision. "Huh..?" Your consciousness wavered as you turned your head towards him. The dizziness hit you like a wave, and you nearly collapsed into his arms. For a brief moment, you thought you saw worry flicker across his face. That couldn't be right, Fyodor, worried? It had to be your imagination.

Without a word, he placed the pills into your mouth. Then, to your surprise, he drank water from the glass and passed it to you through a kiss. You were too weak to resist, and before you could process the intimacy of the act, the medicine was already working its way down your throat.

By the next morning, your fever had broken, and you felt noticeably better. You left your room quietly, your curiosity pulling you toward Fyodor's study. He was asleep, his usual composed expression softened in slumber. You hesitated, unsure whether to disturb him, but the stack of papers on his desk caught your attention. Creeping closer, you skimmed the documents. Your breathe hitched. Among the papers were detailed accounts of your father's death, your personal profile and outlines of Fyodor's larger plans.

And then there were the pills, your medicine. The documents revealed that their side effects weren't a natural result of using your ability but something he had engineered.

"Enjoying yourself, curious cat?" The low, mocking voice made your heart stop.

Before you could react, Fyodor was behind you. His hands pinned you to the desk, his tall frame casting a shadow over you.

"You..." the words caught in your throat. You were powerless, frozen under his control.

He leaned down, his breath warm against your neck as he inhaled deeply. "What a shame, I had hoped you would find those later," he murmured, his voice tinged with disappointment. Without warning, pain seared through you as his teeth sank into your neck. You gasped, the sensation both shocking and terrifying.

"I suppose I'll have to accelerate my plans" He said, pulling back to meet your wide-eyed stare. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him "I've given you everything you wanted, haven't I, Y/n?"

Your gaze dropped to his chest, unwilling to meet his piercing eyes. "Yes.." you whispered.

"Good." His voice softened, almost tender. "Then from today onward, you'll give me what I want."

[followyourfleart]

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝑭𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔

Chapter 1 -

After the outbreak and countless heartaches, you found yourself in a settlement in Jackson, Wyoming. Much different than Austin, Texas. In your years of living there, you have built a wall to save your feelings, even if you are the teacher for the small kids of the town.

Your life was going as fine as life could go, until Tommy brought back his estranged brother and a kid, opening memories you spent years suppressing.

Word Count: 2.5 k

When you were thinking of a new neighbor, a gruff man, and his daughter living right next door was not the idea.

You remember seeing it when the two hugged on the streets. You guided a line of young kids back to the school after their short recess in the horse stable. The kids were tugging on your hands, with their missing teeth grinning up to you. Your breath had curled in the air as it became visible and soon disappeared while you adjusted their scarves.

“Tommy!”

It was enough to make you stop in your tracks. No one ever called out Tommy’s name like that unless something was wrong. And every day, it seemed like everyone stopped what they were doing when they heard it. But this time, the desperation in the voice was different—urgent, as if time had stopped, leaving only that one sound hanging in the air.

When you were watching them hug, you looked at who was death-gripping Tommy. An older man, his roots greying into his black to create an ashy shade. He was wearing multiple layers, his brown jacket covering his frame and his dark gloves gripping Tommy’s shoulders as they spoke.

The kids gawked a little bit, staring up at the obvious reunion. They didn’t speak, but soon grew bored of looking, and dragged you along. Your body followed, but your face would turn back, looking at them talking. You didn’t catch a look at his face, or at the new girl who was sitting awkwardly on the horse.

By the time you had gotten home, word had moved around fast. Gossip tends to spread quickly in this settlement in the mountains. Turned out that was Tommy’s brother, Joel Miller. The girl was only 14 years old. As you walked home, the cold freezing your nose, you couldn’t keep your mind off the pair. Strange, how fate allowed those two to meet again. A prickling of a feeling you can’t identify starts in your chest, but someone cuts off the idea.

“Reader,” It was Tommy. His jet-black hair was sprinkled with white flakes, which were quickly melted into his scalp. “How are you doing?”

You smiled, “I’m fine, Tommy. I saw what happened earlier, and I’m glad you found your brother again.”

Tommy’s expression turned amused. “I guess everyone already figured out that Joel is my brother, huh? Word doesn’t keep to itself around here.”

“I guess not.”

An awkward silence came over you both. To say you were close with Tommy was a lie. While he did save you, time had let you make your friends and meet others. You still had good contact with his wife Maria, however other than that, it was radio silence.

He broke the tension with a request “Listen, you know the girl that came with him, Ellie? Well, I want to make her more comfortable with this life, so I was wondering if you could take her in at the school.”

Your eyes widened before you almost laughed. “You know that the school isn’t a private school. We take anyone, there isn’t a process or anything like that. You could drop her off and no one would bat an eye.”

Tommy cleared his throat “I know that Reader. I just want you to keep your eye on her. She’s important… to Joel. And I want to make sure everything is good for them. Give them a semblance of normalance.”

You nod your head in agreement. You don’t miss that ‘important’ part “It’s possible she could come on Monday next week with Joel, see how things work for her age group, then put her in on Tuesday. It’s only Wednesday today, so you can give her the rest of the week to see life here.” You had to make a mental note to write that down in the shared teacher planner.

His face brightens, before he clears his throat, going back to his cool professional look “Thank you, Reader, I owe you one.”

It was the opposite. You quite literally owed him everything, as his intervention saved your life. But you simply parted ways, and you finished the trek to your home.

It was simple, a white house with two rooms and two floors, something you would have killed for before the outbreak. You run the heels of your boots against the ledge of the porch, scrapping off snow and dirt. Then, you heard talking.

Bringing your head up to the noise, you saw Joel and Ellie walking up the steps to the house next door, Tommy leading them. You had watched in curiosity. New neighbors, you suppose. The girl was looking everywhere, the large house and the railings, the dead shrubs, and the icy walkway.

Tommy caught you in the corner of his eye and waved. You returned it. Joel’s eyes followed Tommy’s sight, before landing on you. You couldn’t see his expression from so far, but you nodded to him in common courtesy. He returned it, with a small lift of his hand. Tommy then leads them both into the house.

Even with the time going by, you couldn’t help but think about them. When you were living before the outbreak, you would have spied on the new neighbors to get to know them, before actually talking. But the full snow made it harder for them to see anything, and they weren’t about to play in the snow on their first day.

So that’s how you ended up, 9:30 in the night in front of his house, with a plate of cookies.

It gave you some sort of normal, being in front of another’s house with a plate of cookies. You had never been the ‘welcome wagon’, bearing a plate of food, nor have you been given the chance. When you first got here, the house next to you had already been filled by a couple in their late 50s, now 60s. They were the grumpy kind that you would see in the movies, yelling at kids on their front porch. The chances of them showing up like guardian angels with food were little to none.

You fidget with your scarf nervously. What if no one showed? Then you would have looked like an idiot with a plate of cookies you wouldn’t even end up eating. You knock twice, adding a third for good luck.

Then, the door slowly creaks open, with only a sliver of a face present. He was taller than you, his face was covered by shadows. His face was unreadable, however, his eyes couldn’t mask the suspicion that came off him.

“Can I help you?” His gruff voice came out from behind the door.

Your words were suddenly caught in your throat, but you forced them out. You were not about to look like a fool in front of your new neighbors.

“I’m Reader. I live right next door. I waved to you earlier today…” Your voice started to die off as you tried to give him pointers on how you knew him slightly.

“I know who you are.” His voice was even and cold. You swallowed, the conversation dying. He was actively shutting this down. You attempt to save it.

“Since we’re now neighbors,” You stammer, “I thought it was only right to properly introduce myself!”

“Great.” He said deadpan.

“Here,” you push the cookies toward the crack of the door, which he half-heartedly takes “Made these for you and your daughter. Hope you aren’t allergic to anything.”

You joke with that last part, but Joel’s expression becomes colder than it already was. Guess he doesn’t joke about allergies.

“I’m gonna… yea I’m gonna go now.” You can tell when you're not wanted, and clearly, this man would rather eat his foot than continue this conversation. As you make it down their steps, you can feel his eyes still on you. A brief look back shows you that he is still looking at you through the sliver at that door before he shuts it. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how much and when a man is wanted. It’s been a couple of days since Joel and Ellie arrived at Jackson, and almost every woman has stared at him for a solid 30 seconds. You, unfortunately, had become one of those women lately.

He was strangely magnetic, even though it was clear he could care less about what others thought about him. He was more interested in Ellie’s well-being than anything else. Joel’s eyes were always on her when they were together, however, Ellie took any chance she could to explore the settlement.

This gave Joel enough time to spend time with Tommy, and they always ended up at the bar, the bar that you also ended up in during the weekends. However, it was the only bar in Jackson, so everyone ended up there.

When you walk into the bar, it’s busy. A successful raid had brought a bunch of supplies that Jackson couldn’t grow. The people were wall to wall, holding bears and glasses of alcohol. Music played from the stage, old music that you haven’t heard since before the outbreak. You shuffled through groups of people, making your way to a lone table in the back near the wall. 

“Reader!”

Tommy’s voice is loud enough to cut through the noise and the music. You turn your head, rubbing your temple. He makes his way to you, people patting him on his back. His brother follows close behind, setting his drink on your table when he gets there.

“Hey, Tommy.” You wave “How’s the night going? The only talk I’ve been hearing about is how good the raid went.”

Tommy grins. “More than great. Managed to snag a couple of books and supplies you asked for for the school.”

A waiter comes up, takes your order, and promptly smiles and leaves. You guess everyone is more than happy today “I saw that, thanks.”

Joel looks over the crowd, before taking a long swing of his beer. This was where you could see his features properly. 

The man standing before you was rugged in every sense of the word. His dark ashy black hair, streaked with gray at the temples, was unkempt but somehow suited him. A scruffy beard covered his jawline, rough and uneven, as though shaving was a luxury he’d long abandoned. His skin was tanned and weathered, creased around his eyes and mouth, hinting at years spent enduring the elements.

What stood out most, though, were his eyes. Dark and intense, they scanned his surroundings with a sharpness that made it clear he missed nothing. Those same eyes, framed by furrowed brows, carried a weight that made it hard to look away, though she wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or discomfort that rooted her to the spot.

You understood why it was so hard to look away now. He was simply, breathtaking. He was the type of older man that your mother warned you about when you were a teen but couldn’t help but stare at those modeling pictures.

When the waitress came back with your drink — a light beer to calm the nerves — you took a sip to sedate yourself. He was a man who just moved into a town after suffering years on the outside with a child on his hip. He wasn’t anything special either. Maybe it was the rugged single dad look that attracted every single woman in town.

“Hello,  Joel.” You say politely “Did Ellie enjoy the cookies I made?”

His head remained looking outward, but his eyes snapped to you. He turned, nodding “She did. Couldn’t get her to stop eating.”

“Kids are like that. They always love all this sweet stuff. We have to make sure we don’t overfeed them. Sugar rushes are not fun.” You joke.

The conversation was easier than at his house. Was it because he was near his brother? He seemed actually open to talking.

“The kids always pester me around Christmas time for sugar cookies,” You continue  “But I rather throw myself in mud than deal with over 20 high on sugar.”

Joel’s eyebrows furrow “You deal with the kids?”

You nod “I’m one of the teachers at the school. Well, it’s not like a school we went to. It’s more like a daycare for the younger kids and having the older ones supervised and getting used to working in the community.”

He keeps his hand on his drink “So you’re going to be taking care of Ellie.”

“If you want that,” You keep your mouth shut about Tommy's involvement in enrolling Ellie. Knowing Tommy, he liked to keep his good doings to a minimum “I’m sure Tommy has told you the idea of putting Ellie in a school setting. Does Monday work for heading to the school and checking things out?”

He thumps his fingers against the wood of the table. His face was one of concentration “Sure.” He lifts his head to meet your eyes “I can bring her there and have her check things out.”

As the night rolled along, the alcohol warmed up your body. The bar got even more busier, the music being drowned out by the chatter. Maria soon came as well, drinking along with Tommy. Joel remained close to the wall, on his second beer.

The night was getting long, and your eyes dropped. Fridays were always the worst, the kids were always jittery, draining your energy to the lowest of lows. 

Slip out of your chair, you head to the front to pay. You gesture toward Tommy and Maria, saying goodbye. With your hands in your pockets, you make your way into the cold night. Lights cast a glow over the snow, the mountains darkening the sky even more.

The crunch of snow under your boots was soon accompanied by another pair. Turning back, you see Joel. His breath fanned around his sharp face.

“Joel, didn’t expect to see you coming this way.” It hurt to smile, the cold freezing up your muscles.

“I live the same way.” He motioned down the road. 

‘Oh, I guess that is right’  You rubbed the back of your neck.

You slow down to match his pace. Having him just trail behind you was just strange and it wouldn’t help your anxiety of walking home alone. A silence that was present when both of you first talked fell over you both again.

The snow slightly drifted you both, the brown of your coat getting small dark dots on the shoulders. There was slight chatter from the center of the settlement, that slowly went away as you made it toward the cemetery.

Now that you were looking up at him so close, you felt like you’d seen this man somewhere. Not before you were living in Jackson, but somewhere earlier. His face seemed like it was a part of a distant memory.

When you reach Rancher Street, your house comes up first, the roofs full of snow. You slow your walk and put your foot on the first step. Before heading up more, you turn back to Joel who is watching you with an intense look.

“I’ve seen you somewhere, haven’t I.”

authors note -

I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter!! Don't look at my past posts and realize that I haven't posted in almost a year. Oops!

Here's my a03 account where you can read this same story on a03 if you prefer that format: Writer_Spins

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Chapter 6

summary: The Christmas Party is nearly here and while setting up decorations, Negan has other plans...

tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Gossip, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Alcohol Consumption, Flirting

word count: 5.9k

check out the previous part here!

It’s strange how much can change in just a week. Seven days ago, the mere sight of Negan was enough to make your stomach turn. Everything about him annoyed you. From his smirk to his little quips, to how his eyes would follow you. Everything!  

And from the way he had abandoned you at that Target parking lot, it was clear he felt the same. But here you are now, a week later, and things are just… different.

Wednesday morning goes by in a flash. When you aren’t trying to get your students to focus, you’re jotting down decoration ideas for the sports hall or texting Negan to arrange times to meet.

Only on professional business, per usual.

Although you have so much sorted for the party, everything still feels like a frantic blur. Other teachers talk to you about last minute presents they can’t track down. Meanwhile, the kids are practically counting down the minutes, each one trying to power through the day just to get a little closer to the holiday break. 

No one wants to be here and yet you’re all stuck in school for a few more days; one last push before freedom.

A rhythmic knock echoes at the classroom door, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Without waiting for a response, Carol pokes her head in, a bright smile on her face. Some kids meet her look with big grins of their own, completely buying into her happy-go-lucky persona.

You give her a smile too but you know when she’s putting up a front.

You have most of your students writing stories, giving them a page quota and letting their imaginations run wild. None of them are doing it though, too busy chatting with friends, sneakily going on their phones and asking you to play Christmas music.

“Hi!” Carol greets you, throwing a quick glance behind her to make sure the students are too busy chatting to pay attention. 

Clearing her throat, she hovers by the edge of your desk and whispers “I see you didn’t take my advice”.

Your eyebrows knit together and you pull your chair closer to her. “What? What advice?” You question, tone full of curiosity. 

“When I told you to keep your head down and just plan the party, I didn’t mean put your head down on Negan’s thing!”.

You almost blurt out a string of “What’s,” “No’s,” and “As if’s,” but you catch yourself just in time, not wanting to draw the attention of your students. Instead your mouth just opens, a strangled sound of what could be a scoff coming out. 

“I haven’t been anywhere near his thing!” You quietly protest “Negan and I are just working on the party, nothing more, nothing less!”.

The look on her face says she doesn’t believe you. “So you just like sending each other pictures? Nothing physical?” Carol asks pointedly, making you feel like a student getting reprimanded. 

As subtly as you can, you throw your hands up “Ok, so this is all coming from Sherry and the dick pic rumor?”.

Jingle Bell Rock starts playing down the other side of the class and you have to quickly remind Enid not to play it too loud before turning back to Carol. 

She looks at you with her arms crossed “Yes, Sherry mentioned pictures but also, it’s a little obvious with how Negan’s acting”.

You raise your eyebrows at that, waiting for her to continue.

“Do you know what I walked into today when I went into the teacher's lounge?” she asks, her voice taking on a dramatic tone “Negan, laughing with Eugene”.

She lets the words hang in the air, revealing it like the twist in a horror story, expecting you to react the way she clearly wants.

“I don’t think I follow…” you admit truthfully.

Carol sighs, looking like she’s about to pick up a book and try to knock some sense into you. “Negan was laughing with Eugene,” she repeats “not laughing at Eugene, like he normally does”.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the smirk that’s desperate to break free. “Maybe he’s finally found the meaning of Christmas?” you suggest, offering up an explanation.

Carol doesn’t appreciate the joke. 

“He’s different, I’ll give you that,” she says, her gaze locking with yours. It’s not a glare, but an intense stare that makes you feel like she’s trying to drill her words into you, as if she needs you to understand now more than ever. 

“But he’s still Negan. And Negan will do what he always does, chase skirts and try to get laid” she continues.

You purse your lips, torn. You don’t want to defend Negan, especially when Carol is technically right. But you also know there’s more to him than what she sees. You opt to stay quiet.

“If you show him interest then he’ll sniff around you for a while but he’ll get bored or realise you’re not interested in doing things at his pace, and that’s when he’ll vanish,” Carol gives you the harsh truth “He’s not going to chase after you when you rebuff him or eventually give into him. Either way, you’re not winning”.

It almost makes your mood falter, the harsh reality check of who Negan is. But then you remind this is just her perspective, shaped by the rumors she’s heard and the small glimpses she’s caught.

Carol hasn’t seen him getting dodgeballs hurled at him or witnessed Negan falling on his ass while ice skating. There’s a different side to him that you’re more privy to.

And so you shrug nonchalantly “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind”.

“Keep it in mind?” Carol repeats, her voice laced with a thin edge of disbelief. She has a talent for making every answer you give sound like the wrong one.

With a sigh, she adds “Oh, he has you wrapped around his finger and you don’t even know it”.

Sticking to your story, you calmly reply “Negan’s just a friend, that’s it. I get that he has this… charisma but that doesn’t mean I’m interested in him”.

Carol keeps her face neutral, her eyes studying you like she can detect if you’re lying. “Sure, if you say so,” she cautiously concedes “but that’s not the impression everyone else is getting”.

You let out a long groan, putting your head in your hands.

“But I’ll drop it,” she quickly says as you groan “…but if something happens, I called it first”.

“Carol!” You exclaim before looking around at the busy students “Um, I mean, Ms Peletier!”.

She chuckles at your quick correction. With a final glance, she heads toward the door. “I’m just looking out for you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you” her words hang in the air and before you can respond, she disappears out the door.

As your classes go on, Carol’s words echo in your head. No matter how much you try to push it away or deem it ridiculous, it lingers. 

You know Negan. You’ve been on his good side and his bad side and yet, you’re still here. You’ve got it all under control.

There’s no crush, no hidden feelings lurking in the corners of your mind and most definitely no secret hook ups or nudes being sent. 

By the time you get to visit Negan, your lingering thoughts are replaced by nervous fretting about the party. 

You already gave him the heads up that you wanted him up a ladder and putting up the tinsel and lights you had bought. But in true Negan fashion, by the time you get to visit the sports hall, he isn’t the one up a ladder.

“Carl, I know you’re just fucking with me now,” he has his hands on his hips, not even holding the ladder “just tape the lights up there! It doesn’t have to look all fancy!”.

“I know,” the tense voice of his student retorts.

“You know? Then why the fuck are you doing a ‘will they, won’t they’ routine with lights and tinsel?” Negan barks out before remembering how an essential part of hand-eye coordination just so happens to be eyesight. 

“Y’know what, just come down and I’ll get my own ass up there” he sighs, practically slapping his hand off his forehead. 

“Looks like I came just in time,” you speak up, alerting Negan to your presence. He looks back with a smile, sizing you up and down. 

Gesturing to the ladder, he asks “Why, you gonna volunteer?”.

“Nope but I’ll hold the ladder for you,” you offer. Walking over, you wait until Carl’s feet touch the ground before giving him a grateful smile for trying. 

Negan steps up next, turning back to his class and ordering them to start moving some tables in here and to pretty them up with tinsel.

“Hope ya don’t mind I got started without ya,” Negan grunts as he begins his ascent up, lights wrapped around one arm and tape in the other.

You hold the ladder steady, purposefully not looking up. 

“It’s fine,” you reply “but won’t the decorations get in the way of your classes tomorrow?”. 

Glancing around, you see Negan’s class fully focused on the mission at hand; some are following his orders and lifting in tables, two are racing up and down as they sweep the floors, others make paper chains and snowflakes with what they can find, hanging them up on the walls.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Negan steadies himself at the top of the ladder “if the weather’s fine tomorrow, I’ll have them run laps outside”.

Through a series of huffs and grunts, you can only assume Negan is getting the lights and tinsel to stay. You hear strips of tape being tore off, the rustling of the tinsel and then… whistling?

You look up. How could you not look up when he’s deciding now is a great time to whistle?

But it’s a trap. 

Grinning down at you, Negan lets out a dark chuckle. “Look at you appreciating the view” he teases. Instantly averting your eyes, you make an act of putting your hand up to shield him from your view. 

“Asshole” you mumble just loud enough for only him to hear. You get a chuckle in response before Negan goes back to work.

“So if the hall’s going to be done by the end of the day, what’re we supposed to do tomorrow?” You ask.

“We got a special job tomorrow,” Negan says vaguely “we’re getting domestic”.

He purposely makes you wait until he’s done taping up the lights and tinsel before revealing more “Dear ol’Jesus— the school counselor, not the other one, has made a donation to our cause”.

“Is that so?” You allow yourself to look up at him once he starts his descent down, meeting him with a skeptical look when he’s off the ladder.

“Yup,” he smirks, tongue peeking out of his mouth as he revels in your reaction “we got a Christmas tree to put up!”.

“What?!” Is the only thing you can manage to say, your brain struggling to catch up with the absurdity of the situation.

Negan nods “He gave us a tree, balls to hang off it, a fuckin’ star for the top”.

You blink at him in disbelief. “First off, they’re called baubles, not balls,” you correct him, but even as you say it, you’re still trying to process the entire scenario “And second… just— what?”.

Negan tilts his head, his smirk never fading “I know but balls are better, and I raise your what to a what the fuck”.

“Well, why don’t we put it up now? Or after school if you’re free” you suggest, trying to keep the momentum going.

Negan sighs, shaking his head slowly. “Sorry, doll. I got plans… and so do you.”

You furrow your brow. “I do?” you ask.

“Yeah, duh,” he says, his tone impossibly casual, as if the answer should be obvious “it’s my turn to take you on a date”.

You laugh, shaking your head despite appreciating the gesture “Negan, no, you don’t have to do that”.

He raises an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. “Oh, c’mon. You took me out, and you didn’t even expect me to put out,” he winks mischievously “it’s my turn to wine and dine you”.

You hesitate, clearly torn. You want to accept and Negan’s offer is tempting in ways you’re not willing to admit, but you’re not about to let yourself get swept up in whatever this is. 

Carol’s words from early ring out in your head. 

“Well…” you start, fidgeting with your fingers as if the words are stuck in your throat “I don’t think another round of ice skating would be a good idea”.

Negan raises an eyebrow, a sly grin spreading across his face “Who mentioned that? No, no, no, I’m going all out this time”.

You try to keep your voice even, but there’s a part of you that’s already imagining whatever plan he has. You swallow the feeling down, just barely. 

“So… what did you have in mind?”

He leans back, eyes gleaming as he watches you “You said you haven’t been to the Kingdom yet, right?”.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The second you walk through the heavy wooden doors of the Kingdom, you're met with the rich scent of roasted meats and herbs.

The dim lighting casts a golden glow over the room, with flickering candlelight atop sturdy wooden tables, each surrounded by plush velvet chairs.

The walls, lined with dark oak panels, are adorned with tapestries depicting medieval scenes; knights on horseback, feasts in great halls, ancient forests.

As the server leads you through the restaurant, he brings you and Negan to a table near the back. Close by, a stone fireplace crackles softly, the flames dancing in the hearth. 

“Negan, how did you even get a booking here so close to Christmas?” you ask once you’re both alone and left with the menus.

He lets out a stiff laugh “Between you and me, the place had plumbing issues a few years back and I don’t think its reputation ever recovered”.

Your face says it all but Negan quickly reassures you “It’s all sorted now so don’t worry if you need to use the shitter”.

With a playful scoff, you pick up your menu “You can’t say ladies room? Or bathroom?”.

“Oh, well I would be nice and polite if this was a date,” he says it so brazenly with that perfect white smile of his “so, doll, is this a date?”.

You open your mouth to answer when the server comes back over “My dude and dudette! Have we decided on food? Or some drinks to start you off?”.

Giving Negan a quick, playful glare, you turn to the menu and decide on which drinks to have.

The candlelight flickers gently on the table as you order drinks. Since Negan has insisted on driving tonight, you’ve decided to treat yourself to a cocktail, the house special to be exact. Shiva a lá Tigress. 

The buzz of quiet conversations act as background noise, merely there to set the mood.

Negan’s shoulders relax as he leans back in his chair, the deep lines of his face softened by the warm glow of the table. He’s wearing a smile tonight but you don’t doubt that it could become a mischievous smirk within seconds. 

You can’t help but notice the leather jacket that clings to his broad shoulders, the worn material perfectly shaped to his frame. As much as you’re reluctant to admit it, the jacket makes Negan look effortlessly handsome, a perfect combination of rugged and rebellious. 

The conversation flows non-stop, especially since you have your cocktail in front of you. He talks with that charmingly cocky confidence that used to irk you endless but since then, you’ve grown accustomed to it. 

For dinner, you keep your order simple, while Negan goes all out with steak and roasted vegetables. He’s always been partial to something he can sink his teeth into and tonight's no different. 

“So, you heading back home for the holidays?” Negan asks before clarifying “I mean, family home”.

You go to shrug but stop yourself, the question throwing you off guard to the point that you can’t pretend to be nonchalant. “Actually, I was going to stay here for Christmas” you take a sip of your cocktail to distract yourself. 

Negan raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your answer. His smirk softens into something more thoughtful, though it’s hard to tell if he's surprised or just curious.

"Staying here for Christmas, huh?" he repeats, his tone warm but carrying that edge of skepticism only he can manage "No family to visit? No friends back home?".

You can feel his gaze lingering on you, a mix of curiosity and maybe just a hint of concern—though it could just be him enjoying the chance to poke at something unexpected. He swirls his glass of Coke before taking a sip as you debate what to say.

For once, the man is patient.

You can feel the weight of the question. It's not one you expected and that's only one of the reasons it makes you uneasy. Shrugging, you steal a small roast potato off of his plate. 

“I just want some space, I guess,” you bite into the potato before you continue “I want a nice, relaxed Christmas and this is the first time I have an actual excuse not to go back home for Christmas”.

Negan watches you swipe the potato, his lips twitching into an amused grin, but he doesn’t say anything right away.

Instead, he thinks it over, eyes narrowing slightly as he processes your words. When you finish speaking, he lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

"First time with an excuse, huh?" he murmurs, the tone half-wistful, half-knowing. 

"Well, sometimes the holidays aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, you know? Family’s great and all, but... sometimes you just need a break from all the noise” Negan taps the side of his glass thoughtfully "I get that. Hell, I’ve skipped a few of those big family gatherings myself".

He shrugs, his eyes flickering to the plate but you can see he’s not really focused on the food anymore “So, you’re not used to relaxed Christmas’?”. 

You glance up from his plate, finding the question oddly direct but it’s clear he’s genuinely curious now. You take another bite of the potato, chewing slowly before setting it down.

“I don’t think anyone in my family knows how to have a ‘relaxed’ Christmas,” you say with a dry laugh, shrugging “It’s always... loud, busy, everyone trying to outdo each other. Or if it’s not that, it’s just a whole lot of awkward silences and forced smiles”.

You take another bite, letting the quiet settle in for a moment. “I don’t even know if I’d know what to do with myself if I had one of those perfect, calm Christmases you see in movies. Maybe that's why it feels like the right time to just... take a break. For once” you try to explain.

Negan gives a low, thoughtful hum “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes it's easier to just step back, take a breath. No noise, no expectations”.

He leans back in his chair, a little more relaxed now "Maybe that's what Christmas is supposed to be, huh? Just... doing what feels right".

There’s something in his voice—maybe the quiet understanding—that feels like he's speaking from experience, not just making small talk.

“So, what’s Ms. Goody Two-Shoes’s idea of a perfect Christmas?” Negan asks, his grin widening as he throws the playful jab your way.

You giggle at the nickname, shaking your head a little. You pause for a moment, thinking about it. What would a perfect Christmas look like for you? You’re not sure, but one thing’s for sure—it wouldn’t be like the ones from your past. 

“Hmm,” you murmur, tilting your head as you contemplate the question. “Lazing around all day, eating whatever I feel like, and watching Christmas movies on repeat. Sounds like heaven to me”.

Negan raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “The Hallmark ones?” he teases, smirking at the thought of you glued to the TV watching all the over the top, feel good holiday rom-coms.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “No, no. Whatever ones I come across. Doesn’t matter if they’re cheesy or weird or action packed. I’m not picky”.

You take a moment to think about it, the image of you sprawled out in front of a TV playing reruns of Christmas movies filling your mind. “Honestly, I think I just want something... low-key. No pressure to impress anyone, no forced cheer. Just me, snacks and maybe an ugly Christmas sweater”.

Negan’s smile softens, studying you for a second "Yeah, I can see that. No expectations, no drama. Just... doing whatever feels right in the moment. Not a bad way to spend the holidays". 

You can feel the weight of his words and for a second, it almost feels like you’ve stumbled into a little unspoken understanding between you two. But then you remember that this is just two friends having dinner.

There’s nothing more to it. You’re not about to get tangled up in whatever attraction this is. It’s not like Negan is the type of person who does relationships or anything more than a hookup. 

As Carol’s warning from early ring in your head again, you take another sip of cocktail. 

You try to rid your mind of his laugh— genuine and deep, or the glint in his eyes whenever your gaze meet. No, that warmth that makes you want to melt isn’t important. That’s just how everyone feels when they look at their friends! 

…right?

Both your phones go off at the same time, a sharp ping cutting through your drifting thoughts. For a split second, neither of you react, the phones interrupting the nice moment.

Before you can pull your phone out, Negan already has his on the table. The screen glows bright and he glances down, fingers tapping quickly to unlock it.

You’re unsure whether you should look or not but without saying a word, Negan tilts the phone so you can see the group chat from his phone. 

Gregory: staff party friday can only go on until 11! Everyone needs to leave the premises by then

You can't help but groan. "Ugh... We don’t have to stay the whole time, right? Like, we’re not obligated or anything?"

Negan chuckles, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. "As far as I’m concerned, the second that party kicks off, it’s no longer our problem".

You’re about to take another drink when Negan leaves the group chat messages and goes back on to his list of messages with his various contacts.

You were at the top of the list due to Negan and you messaging during school about your dinner dat– … dinner meeting, but Gregory’s message into the group chat has knocked you into second place.

You catch a glimpse of your name sitting by the top and a confused look shadows your face. Yes, it technically is your name but the brackets after it is what throws you off guard.

You lean in, squinting to get a better look, and read aloud “Good ass, great throw?”. 

The words hang in the air, your voice wavering slightly as you glance up at Negan. His expression shifts instantly, that sly grin fading into something closer to a deer in the headlights moment.

Without missing a beat, he swipes his phone off and locks it, a little too quickly. 

"Uh..." he starts, but his usual confidence is nowhere to be found now. He shifts, looking anywhere but at you "You... didn’t just see that". 

You raise an eyebrow, trying to suppress a grin. "Good ass, great throw, huh?" you repeat, drawing the words out “that’s all you have to say about me?”.

Negan clears his throat, looking a little flustered for once. "Yeah, well, uh, I mean it is the truth, doll”.

“Uh huh,” you respond, waiting a few beats before playfully slapping his arm “you’re weird”.

He laughs at your brief assessment, relaxing now that you’re not storming out. “Well, it used to say good ass, weird at flirting”.

You blink in mock outrage “I am not weird at flirting!”

Negan gives you a slow, calculating look, his grin widening like he’s about to watch some sort of show “Alright, then. Prove it to me”.

You raise an eyebrow, instantly skeptical “Prove what, exactly?”.

“Flirt with me! Show me you actually got some game,” he laughs at your innocent question.

You take a slow breath, a bit taken aback but determined to play along.

You lean forward slightly, meeting his gaze with a playful smirk. "You want me to flirt with you?" you say, your voice laced with a quiet challenge "I mean, I’m not sure you’re worth the effort but I guess I can make an exception".

Negan raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. His smirk widens “Oh, so we're starting with the sass, huh? I like it”.

You giggle, running a finger along the rim of your drink, eyes never leaving his. "I’m not being sassy, just honest," you continue, gesturing to the leather jacket "Like I can be honest and tell you that I’m liking the whole ‘Rebel Without a Cause’ thing you got going on”.

His eyes glint with amusement and he shifts slightly, clearly enjoying the game. “Well, well, look at you, getting all bold. You think you can handle a guy like me?”.

You laugh softly, your tone low and teasing “I don’t know, it would be a tight fit”. To make sure he gets what you’re saying, you give him a slow once-over, letting your eyes roam down his chest… then down his torso… to where the table blocks your view. 

Negan’s smirk falters as he lets out a low groan, his expression shifting. “You want to get out of here?” His voice is gruff and there’s something in it that makes you think he’s serious.

“I think we’ll have to,” you agree before you break your act and nod towards the approaching waiter “here comes the bill”.

Reluctantly, Negan pulls his gaze away from you, his eyes flicking toward the waiter. He lets out a heavy sigh, then shoots you a playful glare, clearly not thrilled about the interruption. 

Before he can say anything else, the waiter arrives at the table, ready to settle the score.

Negan pays the bill without even asking if you’d like to split it, putting a couple of bills down on the table and nodding to the waiter.

You both stand and he gestures for you to head out first, the tension between you still palpable despite the evening winding down.

As you both step out of the restaurant, the sharp winter air hits you immediately, biting through your clothes. You’re just about to pull your coat tighter when you feel the warmth of Negan’s leather jacket settle over your shoulders, his actions wordless. 

The smooth, worn leather feels surprisingly comforting against the chill, and for a moment it’s as if the cold doesn’t exist. You glance up at him, but he’s already heading towards his truck.

You follow, trying to will yourself not to smell his scent from the jacket.

The drive back is quiet at first, the only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional flick of a turn signal. The soft glow of streetlights flickers through the windows, casting shadows that seem to accentuate the unspoken energy between you. 

Every now and then, you’ll give him a direction back to yours. Considering you’ve had your cocktail, all you can do is accept the ride home from your friend. You can feel his eyes on you, how he always turns to look your way whenever he doesn’t need to be paying attention to the road.

“And Negan will do what he always does, chase skirts and try to get laid”.

The car moves smoothly through the night but the air feels charged, thick with the remnants of your banter from dinner.

It’s calm, almost intimate, but you can’t ignore the underlying tension— like the quiet before a storm, neither of you know how it’ll break but it will, eventually.

When he pulls up outside your home, you take a deep breath and say what you’ve been debating the whole ride home.

“I’m not inviting you in,” you make clear, despite the hesitancy in your eyes “we know where that would lead…”.

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he turns to you, his voice soft but laced with amusement.

“I wasn’t expecting you to,” he replies, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

“If you show him interest then he’ll sniff around you for a while but he’ll get bored or realise you’re not interested in doing things at his pace, and that’s when he’ll vanish”.

“I’ve had a really good night, though,” you add quickly, wanting him to know you’re not brushing off the evening entirely. You unbuckle your seatbelt slowly, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before you slip his leather jacket off your shoulders. 

You hand it back to him but Negan doesn’t take it. Instead, his hand moves in a fluid motion, past the jacket and gently cupping your wrist before you can pull away.

The quiet hum of the engine fills the space between you, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the contours of your hand. The air in the car feels thicker now, charged with something deeper, something neither of you can put into words. 

His eyes stay on you as if nothing could pull his gaze away from you now. Negan shifts slightly, his posture more serious.

“I gotta ask,” he starts, his voice low but steady, “are you gonna keep on pretending these aren’t dates?”.

It’s tempting to play it off, to keep it light and avoid the question altogether but the truth is, you know it too. There’s more to this— more to the connection between you than just a night out or playful teasing while planning the party.

Yeah,” you admit, your voice soft “I guess these are dates.” 

The truth feels strange coming out, but the moment you say it, you feel something inside you shift. It’s like a door has opened and suddenly, everything is laid bare between you.

You lean in just a little, your breath mingling with his, and for a heartbeat, you almost forget to breathe. His lips are so close and the moment feels so right, you can’t resist anymore.

“He’s not going to chase after you when you rebuff him or eventually give into him”.

Negan’s grin widens but it’s softer now, like he’s relieved. He leans in closer, the air between you crackling with a mix of excitement and anticipation.

“Took you long enough,” he murmurs, his lips brushing just a hair’s breadth from yours.

And then, the tension breaks.

Without another word, Negan leans in and the space between you closes in an instant. His lips meet yours with a quiet, urgent tenderness, as if all the teasing, all the moments leading up to this, have been building to this one perfect kiss.

Time slows as you kiss him back, the world outside reduced to nothing more than the heat of his lips and the fluttering of your heart.

It’s slow at first as if you’re both savoring the simple act, but soon it deepens— more pressing, more urgent, as if neither of you wants to let the moment slip away.

When the kiss finally breaks, you both pull back just enough to catch your breath, foreheads touching and a quiet laugh is shared between you. The air is still thick with desire, but now there’s a warmth, a certainty, that wasn’t there before.

“Either way, you’re not winning”.

“You’re still not coming inside” you murmur, grinning up at him before you rethink what you’ve just said. “My apartment!” you clarify “You’re not coming inside my apartment!”.

“Fair but don’t think this’ll be the last time I’m taking you out” his words carry a promise but there’s something deeper in his tone, a kind of vulnerability you didn’t expect from the infamous womanizer.

“Goodnight, Negan,” You give him one last lingering glance then slowly slide the truck door open.

He watches you for a beat longer, a half-smile still playing on his lips. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he responds, his voice carrying something more than the usual casual goodbye.

As you make your way up the path to your door, you can’t help but feel a sense of giddiness, like you’re walking on air.

It’s baffling to think Carol was so wrong about him but you can only assume that’s the result of so many people brushing Negan off as an asshole.

You don’t know what the future holds, but tonight, something changed, and you can’t wait to see where it goes.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Thursday. Just today, classes tomorrow and then it’s on. Party time. 

You rush around the school, genuinely panicked that it’s already midday and you still haven’t located Sherry.

You need to know the details; what food specifically will she be making for the party? Will she only prepare it and you have to cook it before or will it be ready to go? How much food is she making? Does she seriously believe Negan’s dick pic story?

To make matters worse, you haven’t seen Negan all morning too, setting back your plans to decorate the Christmas tree. 

Like a beggar, you stay in the stoop of your classroom, unable to leave your students unattended but yearning to track down the cafeteria worker. Whenever a colleague passes by your classroom, you barrage them with questions, hoping someone else might know what you so evidently don’t.

“Have you seen Sherry today?” is the question you start with.

Morgan, or, Mr Jones to the kids, keeps walking as he replies “I’ve been clearing the corridors all morning and I haven’t seen her once”.

Next, you ask Eugene, who gives you the most unhelpfully detailed answer. “Well, uh, truth be told, I don’t exactly have that particular piece of information in my possession,” he starts “if I did, I would certainly share it. But as of now, I am, regrettably, not privy to her current whereabouts”.

Carol thankfully didn’t stop either when you asked her, knowing she’d be able to read your face and know that something happened between you and Negan.

“Maybe she just isn’t in yet?” she suggests before going off to her own class.

Rosita, on the other hand, simply says “No”.

It’s only during the short break between classes are you able to quickly do a lap of the school, peering into the cafeteria and staff room as you go. But once again, no luck.

Walking back to your next class, who are no doubt going crazy now that they’re teacher is late, you catch a glimpse of a certain brunette out the window. 

In the teacher’s parking lot, Sherry huffs as she gets out of her car. You see her mouth move, as if she’s talking before shutting the car door. Not seeing anyone else around, you assume she’s on the phone and decide to wait until later to bombard her with questions.

But then the passenger’s door of her car opens. You recognise the tall frame, the slicked back hair and the greying stubble.

Negan. Arriving to work with Sherry. In her car. Together.

Your throat tightens and you’re not sure if you want to cry or punch something. Turning on your heels your feet go into autopilot as they bring you back to your classroom.

“Either way, you’re not winning”.

[fakeusernamelol]

Sorry I'm obsessed with bad ending teen dad stancest--

When Ford leaves home for college he takes Stan with him, Stan thinks it's fine, it's not their boat but it's basically what he used to wants, they're out of jersey and they're okay. Fiddleford asks him what he wants out of life sometimes but that question's made him sick since he was twelve and realized he wasn't smart enough to be much more than a housewife for whatever man he ended up with. Instead he tells Fiddleford he's gonna be a pirate, because it makes him laugh. Then Ford wants to go to Gravity Falls, and Stan's back to being alone with him. By the time they're 27 he's stopped trying to keep his hair short, he makes for a piss poor Ma as far as hes concerned but the twins aren't old enough to get that yet. Bill gets mad at Ford so Ford gets mad at Stan, and Stan sleeps on the floor next to the kids' beds because Ford's better than their father, he won't lay a hand on him in front of the kids, and Stan uses it because hes a conniving coward with a distant look in his eyes that their own Ma used to have.

But then the portal, it drives Fiddleford insane, Fiddleford tells him Ford is dangerous, that he's going to kill them. And Stan didn't believe it until he spent a night barricading a door covered in height marks and crayon while Bill tried to claw his way in and then the next morning when he caught Ford crying in front of the TV, Ford punched him full in the face in front of the twins.

So it was so easy, hitting Ford back for once, shoving him just a little too far and letting the portal take him away, leave Stan with the house and the kids and a new name to inherit and the freedom to cut his hair and get himself the glasses he needed and call himself Stan instead of what Ford called him.

SORRY IF I RAMBLED TOO MUCH IM EATING YOUR DRYWALL I NEED MORE AU--

would that be a win-lost or a win-win?

PLEASE PLEASE DON'T APOLOGISE WHEN YOU ARE GIVING ME EXACTLY WHAT I WANT, I LOVE YOU AND OF COURSE I'M GIVING YOU MORE DEAR ANON you and me are now friends and i don't take no for answer 🤭🤭💖💖💖 Also what a good name for this au, im using it now 😘

(tw: Transphobia, Misogyny, Abuse, a lot of implied noncon yadda yadda you already know where's this going 🤷)

Stanley needed something to hold on to try to survive this new life, it's not exactly what he always dreamed but it's not bad, he has ford and that's all he has always needed, isn't it? He can get used to, come on he has always been seen this way he can get through it.

But when he met Fiddleford those thoughts were becoming harder to support again, a new person, new air and new perspective. Sure he wasn't going to tell him all those crazy thoughts he had because that would make ford mad but he can express a little of it, fidds wouldn't ever know that those jokes were actually his dreams but at least he can say them and think a bit of them every once and then to distract a bit from the real life. Maybe... Who knows,maybe one day Ford wouldn't be this harsh with him and he and their kids could still sail the world once he's done with college! Joke's on him, of course they were going to do what ford had in mind and he can't say anything, after all if he's not in the streets is thanks to him so,heh, could be worse. going to miss fidds anyway...

But well, not time for thinking about himself, they are already grown adults and since he's not getting a job the least he can do is be a good as possible mom for their already 10-year-old twins. Ever since they've been in Gravity Falls, Stan can swear that he's seen all kinds of strange creatures but Ford seems delighted with it and only times he doesn't talk to him in a rude tone is when he says something about them so, it's not that scarier as it was the first times. He doesn't quite understand what Ford is actually doing with that information, but after that he goes to the basement and warns him and the kids to stay away from this as possible, and he's going to obey for his own sake.

...At least as much as he can because things are becoming even weirder, he has seen Ford obsess over an investigation before, but this time he seemed to be going genuinely crazy, not all bad tho, at least fidds was back again and having a new face in the place was genuinely a good thing for him, sure he was here for working but anyway stan would try to sneak up on them like bringing them something to drink after a long day of work in the basement, Ford wasn't so harsh when Fiddleford was around so he wasn't so scared to do that and share a few words with a good friend not knowing that ford would make him pay for that later.

« what did I tell you about going down the basement, [ ] ? You have your things upstairs with the kids. »

It was fine, he deserved it. He has never said anything about Ford's abuse, because ever his teenhood he knows he deserves it, He only knows how to screw things. Maybe if he hadn't broken that stupid machine ford would change his mind but he had to fuck it. Yes, he sometimes still daydreams about a world where ford could accept him, a world where ford would hug him often and not hurt him again and maybe, a world where he calls him stanley for once... but time has passed and his hope has faded away, Now he just wishes that thoughts to leave his mind once for all.

Suddenly things get worse. «they could?» it seems to be.

Ok, sleeping in the kids room wasn't so bad, sure the floor was cold and he only had a blanket in order to not die of hypothermia but at least he had his kids near him and that was fine, ford wouldn't try to make something to him with them near. Now, seeing the eyes of that friend he always thought of like a kind of safe place full of fear and warning him of such an unthinkable danger for him what's indeed something he would never forget and fuck shouldn't do it. He thinks he knew what Ford was capable to do, sure he's angry with him ever since and his touch is not the gentlest, but stan didn't think he would go so far as to endanger himself, much less his children... Seems like everything he thinks is really just bullshit, he says to himself while using his body to lock the door of the kids room while hearing those strange creepy laughs and scratches from behind the door.

Ok so things are going to be dangerous now, but the next morning when he sees ford crying with his hands in his face and his legs on the floor he gets second thoughts, something was wrong with ford, he don't get what but maybe he could...

So you know, Stan has endured a lot of things ford has done: the words, the insults, the abuse, the punches, the constant contempt and more but punching him in front of their kids was enough.

For the first time ever since that night in the bathroom floor stan had enough of ford and didn't even think twice before giving him the punch he has always deserved it. Not punch, punches.

HE was angry, HE was tired, and not even the cries of his little children in the background had made him stop while Ford tried, like the coward he really was, to flee from him when he saw that this time his blows were not saving him.

Funny, stan thought, « I always protected ya' from Crampelter and his herd, no matter what. Ya' we're afraid of givin' them a good punch but what about me, sixer? Are ya' scared of me now? »

Stanley was stupid, but he was stronger, even if ford has always despised him for being born as a woman, HE was stronger than him and for once he wasn't scared of his rejection.

But.. sure he didn't expect what happened next. He has never seen what he and fidds were doing in the basement and now, he knew it even less.

He was angry but fuck he didn't mean that! Why does everything have to be so complicated towards Ford? Fuck!

...On the bright side, those 30 years will serve Stanley well to realize everything that his brother held him back from for years, guess who's the one being welcomed with a punch in the face here. 😗

So, you can say the bad ending au got a good ending? Lol 🙆