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princessmisery666 · 4 months

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Just Don't Say You Love Me

Summary: Dean believes you have a good thing going. When you tell him your moving on, he realizes he needs to reassess the relationship and his life before it’s too late.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, miscommunication, unrequited love, friends with benefits, implied smut, Dean doesn’t get a happy ending.

W/C: 4,776.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Jody Mills, Sam Winchester.

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: Just Please Don’t Say You Love Me by Gabrielle Alpin.

A/N: I tried to fix the angst, but it’s not happening, so the unhappy ending will remain (for now). Special shoutout to @kazsrm67 and @pink-sparkly-witch for helping and offering words/comments of encouragement.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes remain my own.

Graphics: made by be on canva. Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

You knock on Jody’s door, taking a deep breath to calm yourself, some residual adrenaline still playing havoc with your nerves. It’s been a long and insightful day.

Dean opens the door with a smile, but it quickly morphs into an appreciative grin as his eyes travel the length of your body. “Wow,” he says, “who knew all that was hiding under that uniform.”

You laugh, stepping through the door, not in the least bit phased by his comment. It's not the first time you’ve been told that. “Yeah, that uniform is like an invisibility cloak. I put it on, and no man sees me. Guess you're no exception,” you explain, turning to look at him again.

“Well, I see you now,” he says, quickly lifting his focus from your ass to your face. “Um, they’re through there,” he gestures for you to go ahead of him.

“There she is,” Jody says, embracing you with one arm while she places the huge bowl of salad on the table. “How’re you doing?”

“Guess I’m still a little shell-shocked, but I’m okay.”

“Well, we’re all here to help you…adjust,” Sam offers with a kind smile.

Discovering monsters are, in fact, very real and not just a Halloween marketing ploy is definitely going to be an adjustment. But what choice do you have? These people have given you an in. They’ve let you into their secret club, and honestly, you feel privileged that they trust you and think you are capable enough to help.

If you weren’t capable, neither Jody nor Dean would be here right now, a fact Sam keeps thanking you for over dinner.

“Thank you for being so cool about this,” he says again, lifting his beer bottle to clink it against yours.

“I’ll freak out later,” you joke, though you probably will.

“Seriously, you rushed in there, no hesitation, and you held your own,” Jody adds to Sam’s praise. “You certainly proved I picked the right woman for my team.”

“And I can’t thank you enough for that,” you say, genuinely grateful for the opportunity to work with her.

You’ve had some awful bosses and equally shitty jobs over the years, so it's nice to have found Sheriff Mills. Okay, so you’ll be fighting real-life monsters occasionally, but what’s a little compromise?

They answer all your questions, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little overwhelming. Dean keeps flashing a tight smile in your direction, and you’re not sure if it's meant to be reassuring or if he’s biting his tongue and trying not to be rude. Regardless of his intention, Jody and the boys’ promises to help you come to grips with it all make it seem manageable.

“Am I going to get to hear the story of how you met those two?” you ask Jody in the kitchen later.

“Definitely, but not tonight,” she explains, handing you a clean, soapy plate to rinse and dry.

Dean and Sam laugh in the other room, and Jody smiles wistfully. It’s so sweet and motherly it chokes you up a little.

“The years have not been kind to those boys,” she says, focusing back on the dishes. “They keep their circle small, and I’m grateful that they let me be a part of it, and now you get to join it, too.”

“It’s a damn good-looking circle,” you confess.

Jody chuckles, “Ah, so you noticed Dean as much as he noticed you.”

“Don’t go all matchmaker on me again,” you warn, “do I need to remind you of the disaster that was Paul?”

“No, you do not. I’m just making an observation. The circle is indeed good-looking, and Dean has been doing a lot of observing of his own.”

“Yeah, not sure that’s for the reasons you’re implying,” you say, “Dean doesn’t seem like he wants me to be helping out.”

Dean’s voice startles you, “You saved our asses.” You jump, twisting to look at him, “that’s enough.”

“But if I can do more…”

“The life of a hunter isn’t a life I'd recommend,” he explains, reaching for a beer from the fridge, “ it’s messy and painful and usually ends badly.”

“That’s life in general,” you counter, “and if something is happening and I don’t do anything to help, I’m part of the problem.”

“That’s fine,” he says, throwing his bottle top into the trash. “You’re a bigger part of the problem if you get into a situation you can’t get out of.”

“Dean,” Jody scolds, “take it easy. You said it yourself, she saved our asses today. She’s proven she’s capable.”

“All I’m saying is I’ll help where and if I can,” you explain. “I’m not going to go all Buffy the Vampire Slayer and start patrolling graveyards.”

It’s faint, but a slight quirk tugs his lips, breaking the building tension.

“Besides, I’m sure our uniform makes us invisible to monsters as well as men.”

He laughs properly at that, “Not invisible to me anymore,” his tongue sits behind his teeth, and you're suddenly jealous when he wraps his lips around the bottle.

“Good to know,” you say.

You hold each other’s gaze, perhaps a challenge to see who will shy away first.

“Cool it, you two,” Jody warns, flicking water off the tips of her fingers at you both.

“Sorry, boss,” you laugh. “And on that note, I’m gonna get going.”

“Need a ride?” Dean asks, a smug smirk in play.

“I would love one,” you wink, but follow up with, “but it’s a nice night. Think I’m gonna walk, work off some of that wine.”

“Why don’t you walk her home?” Jody suggests.

Dean nods, “lead the way.”

When you’d balked, telling Dean you didn’t need an escort, he’d countered, saying he needed the fresh air, but you think it’s more to check up on you and maybe flirt a little more without an audience if your instincts are correct. It’s been nothing but small talk since leaving Jody’s until you're standing on your porch facing one another.

“So how are you really taking all this?” he asks.

“I had a little freak out before I got to Jody’s,” you answer honestly, “but truthfully, it makes me feel a little better about the world.”

He huffs a laugh, and his confused frown is adorable. “Okay, that’s a first.”

“There’s so much evil in the world. It’s scary enough without knowing what I know now,” you explain, adding, “Maybe some of the unexplainable evil that’s all over the news is explainable. Maybe it’s not humans being horrible. Maybe it’s actually something evil.”

“Huh, I never thought of it like that.”

“I’m not saying I’ll remember that the next time a vamp is kicking my ass,” you laugh.

“Hey,” he scolds, “you agreed, no hunting.”

You hold your hands up, surrendering. “I won’t go looking for it, but if it comes to Sioux Falls, I’m all over it,” you promise, but your body has other ideas as an overall ache spreads through you as the day's events catch up with you. “Well, maybe in a few days when I’ve recovered from the last one.” Subconsciously, your tongue rolls over the cut on your bottom lip.

“That hurt?” he asks.

“I’ve had worse.” You shrug. The way he’s looking at you dulls the sting of the cut, and the tired ache in your bones shifts and reshapes into a simmering itch that needs scratching.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks, pointing over your shoulder toward your door. The implication of you being alone goes unsaid.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, trying not to roll your eyes. “But maybe you want to come in? Have a coffee or something, distract me a little longer so I don’t freak out too much?”

He smiles, wetting his lips. He knows that’s not what you're asking, and you wonder how often the offer of ‘coffee or something’ has been used successfully on him. He looks down at his shuffling feet, heaving a sigh. “I should get back.”

The hesitation is clear, yet he doesn’t move. A surge of adrenaline spreads through you, and your heart rate increases. When he looks up, catching your eyes, the intensity of the long, loaded pause is enough to make you wonder, if monsters exist, then maybe that electricity everyone talks about is real, too, because it feels like if you touch your hand to Dean’s face, sparks will fly.

“Thanks again for the save today,” he whispers.

“Anytime,” you smile.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you're as one, mouths connected, exploring the other’s, hands groping and gripping, and your lip stings for a split second, but then Dean has you pinned against your door, and you forget about it.

He pulls away and kisses your neck, “Maybe,” he says, scraping his teeth against your jaw, “we should take this inside.”

Your arrangement with Dean works. No pressure, no expectations. Summer comes, and winter fades, but your relationship remains mutually beneficial.

He rolls through Sioux Falls, that charming smile - that you’re not sure he knows quite how charming it is - “passing through,” but he stays a few days. He always claims it’s to catch up with Jody and the girls, but he spends most of his time at your place, and it’s too coincidental that you’re never on shift or scheduled for a few days when Baby pulls up outside.

Jody insists she has nothing to do with it. Yes, she's the sheriff, yes, she’s your boss, and makes the rotas, but “The only thing I swing is that I get to work with you,” she’d promised, winking. And you love her for that. Some of the men are still stuck in the past, and though they don’t say it, you can tell they don’t think women can do the job.

If only they knew. You’ve helped on a few hunts now. There’s no doubt in your mind that your relationship with Dean wouldn’t be what it is if you didn’t know about the real evils of the world. But each hunt ended the same: a dead monster and your body beneath Dean’s.

You're in your room lacing up your little white summer pumps when the Impala’s engine announces his arrival.

You jump to your feet, quickly check yourself in your mirror, smoothing down the already smooth summer dress, and call out, “It’s open,” when his knock echoes around the house.

“Wow, look at you,” he says, freezing partway over the threshold to admire you as you bounce down the stairs.

You deliver your usual greeting, a swift kiss to his lips, and the unmistakable aroma of leather and cheap motel soap assaults your senses - damn, you’ve missed him - but you won’t say it. Instead, you show it, making the kiss deeper.

He shuffles inside, uses your hips to steady himself as he kicks the door closed, and then wraps his arms around your waist to hold you tightly against him.

Your phone rings, and you fumble to find it on the table by the door, but as soon as you do, Dean releases you, kissing your neck and collarbone.

“Hey, hi,” you answer.

“Hey babe,” your best friend sings, and you know it's because she needs something. “Can you grab some ice on your way over?”

“Yeah, sure, okay.”

“You okay?”

No. Yes.

Dean is kneading your breasts, nibbling on the skin that spills out the top of your sundress. “Yeah, just rushing, I’m running late.”

“So late,” he mumbles into your skin.

“Well, hurry more,” she says before hanging up.

“Oh fuck, Dean, you gotta stop,” you whine.

He groans, dulling the sting of his bite with a sweet kiss, and pulls back to look at you. “This a bad time, isn’t it?”

You nod, feeling as disappointed as he looks. “It’s my friend's birthday. She’s having a barbeque.”

He sighs, leaning his head on your shoulder and mumbling into your neck. “Damn it.”

“I have to at least show my face,” you say, using your hands on his cheeks to pull his head up to look into his eyes. “But you can stay here, take a shower, watch a movie or something, and maybe in a couple of hours, I get a headache and need to come home.”

Wetting his lips, he smirks before delivering a brief kiss. “Or,” he draws out the syllable, mild hesitation clear in his eyes, “Maybe I can come with you?”

Since Chuck is no longer an issue, Dean has been making an effort to live in the moment, opening himself up, if only a little. So you try to quell the shock of his suggestion. It quickly evolves to a pleased grin when your mind flashes to your friends' faces when you walk in with the infamous Dean. They will lose their shit. You like spending time with Dean but don’t want to cross any lines or make assumptions. “I’d like that,” you smile, “but you really don’t have to.”

“I’m sure I can survive a couple hours with your friends, and you know I can always eat.”

“Okay,” you nod, smile widening. “If you’re sure.”

He kisses you again, a simple but effective peck on your lips. “But maybe we both get a headache in a couple of hours.”

“Deal,” you agree, sealing it with another casual kiss. “Maybe lose a few layers. It’s summer.”

He laughs, shrugging off his jacket. “I’m sure I have a clean Fed shirt in the trunk.”

“Perfect,” you say, grabbing your bag and keys. “Want me to drive?”

He rolls his eyes, jesting, “Did that kiss fry your brain?” as he follows you out the front door.

He opens the passenger door for you, and before you slip inside, you tell him, “Oh, and whatever my friends say I’ve said about you, it’s all lies.”

He grins smugly, “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

The shower has done wonders for your developing hangover. Your friend's barbecue lasted longer than you had anticipated, but the day couldn’t have gone better.

Dean fit in well with everyone and crushed it at beer pong. It was a success all around, and when you’d quietly asked if he wanted to leave, he’d said no, that he was having too much fun.

The fun continued when you got home, and Dean is undoubtedly still feeling the effects as well. It’s almost midday, and he’s still sound asleep in your bed when you enter your bedroom in clean sweats and your bra while you towel dry your hair.

Dean is lying on his stomach, with his face smushed adorably against the pillow he’s hugging, taking advantage of all the space now that you’ve vacated.

You crawl across the bed, leaning over him, and he still doesn’t stir. You put your lips close to his ear and half whisper, “Morning.”

His brow instantly creases, and he squeezes his eyes tighter, groaning, “No, no, you have to go away.”

“You gotta get up. It’s almost midday.”

“Nuh-uh,” he grumbles, eyes still squeezed shut. “You have to take your horrible talking, talky mouth away from me.”

“Okay, you asked for it.” You laugh, sitting back and wringing your hair out so the excess water drips on his naked back.

“Ah,” he groans, arching up off the mattress.

You jump off the bed, laughing as you walk to the mirror to start doing your hair. Turning over, he rubs a hand over his face and then both through his hair, causing it to stick up adorably. He catches you staring in the mirror, and you quickly avert your eyes.

“Damn, your friends can drink,” he says, sitting up against the headboard.

You laugh, that’s an understatement. “They definitely know how to have fun.”

“They seem like a good bunch.”

“They liked you too,” you smile at his reflection, and he grins back. “Laura told me to invite you to her and Chris’ wedding.”

His expression shifts, staring off into the distance for a singular moment as if he’s imagining how that would play out. But as quickly as it appears, it drops when he scrubs a hand down his face to put the mask back on. “That’s cool, but I can’t make that kind of commitment.” He swings his legs off the bed, putting his back to you. “I don’t know where I’ll be.”

You hadn’t expected a solid answer, but the double meaning behind his words settles thick disappointment in your stomach. You’ve never asked for any commitment nor discussed the arrangement between you, but hearing him say it aloud singes the hope you always try to contain.

Dean quickly gets to his feet, swaying at the abruptness. “I’m gonna grab a shower.” He mumbles, avoiding eye contact as he heads to the bathroom.

It’s been less than ten minutes, and you’re sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through your phone, when he finds the courage to face you again. He’s talking to Sam on his phone, obnoxiously loud, as he descends the stairs, trying to make a point of his hasty need to depart.

He appears in the kitchen doorway, jacket in hand, hair dripping onto the shoulders of his henley. You guess you should be grateful he wasn’t cowardly enough to have just shouted goodbye from the door.

“Listen, I’m sorry about before.” He moves closer to the table, eyeing you as he raps his knuckles on the polished wood. “It’s just that, even with Chuck out of the picture, I’m not sure how things are going to play out. I can’t make any, uh, long-term commitments. Sam and-“

“I get it, Dean.” The last thing you want is any tension between you, so you nip the growing uncomfortableness. “We don’t need to have any awkward conversations.”

He bobs his head, hope swimming in his eyes. “So, we’re good?”

You take your mug to the sink, and once your back is to him, you say, “Yeah, we’re good.”

“You sure?” You didn’t hear him move, but the air shifts behind you, bringing his warmth along with it.

Plastering on a smile, you turn to face him and nod. “Take care of yourself.”

The corner of his mouth curls upward, and he kisses your forehead before heading to the door, “Talk to you soon,” he calls before the door clicks shut.

Fools rush in. Dean is no fool. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel like being one sometimes. Usually, it’s when he’s on the road, heading home from a hunt or supply run, he daydreams about how things could be with you.

The daydream isn’t much different from how things already are. The sex would just be coupled with more official dates – dinner, movies, watching him, which for some reason turns you on, ‘do his thing’ as you call it when he’s hustling suckers at pool. Hell, even grocery shopping. He’d sneak unhealthy snacks into the cart because you promised Sam you’d take care of him, and you would. Dean knows you’d be good to him, that you are good for him. But he’s lived that life. He doesn’t need a wake-up call to know how it ends.

It’s a nice daydream. It gives him a much-needed boost of serotonin when he’s in short supply. But like the gas that fuels Baby, the thought has vaporized by the time he shuts off the engine.

Chuck isn’t calling the shots anymore, but that doesn’t mean the big bads aren’t still gunning for the Winchester's demise. Sam has it all figured out with Eileen, and Dean wishes he could be as sure about what he wants life to look like now. But he can’t be sure of anything, at least not yet. He’s still working on adjusting to a life not consumed by hunting. Trying to come to terms with the fact that there isn’t something lurking around every corner, that the choices he makes – good and bad – are truly his and not fueled by some life-ending curveball Chuck tosses at them.

The doubts bore deeper, and as always, when he’s drowning in his own head, he thinks of you.

He remembers how you busted down the door with borrowed equipment from Sioux Falls. You’d looked frantic but still in control. Your mere presence had calmed him, and not because you were there to rescue him. You didn’t waste a breath with a witty comment like he would have. You let off two shots, dropped the ghoul about to take a chunk out of him, and then untied him.

You’d been cool and calm, checked him for injuries, but didn’t believe he was truly okay till he kissed you breathless. That adrenaline-filled, kiss-swollen lips, slightly frantic edge to your eyes, is the picture he conjures whenever he thinks of you.

It’s been a while since he’s seen you. You’ve exchanged a few calls, but now that his mind is stuck on that picture of you, he has to see you.

He shoots Sam a text, telling him he’ll be in Sioux Falls if Sam needs anything, and then pulls an illegal u-turn to put himself in your direction.

Dean’s not phased that you aren’t home when he shows up. It’s not like he called ahead. He never does. But now that he’s here, he doesn’t want to waste time tracking you down, so he calls.

“Hey,” you greet brightly.

The smile in your voice brings out his. “Hey, yourself. I’m at your door.”

“Shit, sorry, I’m not there.”

He chuckles, “Are you around, or does my timing suck again?”

“No, no, it’s kinda perfect, actually,” you say. “I was gonna call you later anyway. But I need a half hour or so.”

“I can wait.”

“Greasy Sal’s?” you offer.

He smiles, already salivating at the thought of a Greasy Sal’s cheeseburger. “Throw in some curly fries,” he requests.

“Okay, got it,” You laugh.

Dean sits on the Impala’s hood while he waits, head tilted toward the sun, eyes closed while he catches the day’s last rays. The sound of your car’s engine isn’t as distinct as Baby’s, but he knows it well enough that as soon as he hears it, he opens his eyes and watches you turn onto the street. It’s not until that moment that he realizes how eager he is to see you. Maybe Greasy Sal’s can wait; he has another hunger he needs to sate.

He waits till you shut off the engine to open your door, “such a gentleman,” you quip, taking his offered hand to step onto the sidewalk. “Or are you clambering for food?”

“Not what I’m hungry for,” he says, guiding you against your car. He presses himself against you, feeling the coolness of the air conditioning on your clothes. He circles the tip of your nose with his own, whispering, “Hey,” against your lips before claiming them as his own.

Frustratingly, you push a hand into his chest after the first brush of his tongue, and he pulls back to look at you. You're looking up at him from under hooded eyes, and he feels like his heart skips a beat, or maybe he’s just a little out of breath. But he knows that with you gazing up at him like he’s a beautiful sunset, he really has missed you.

“Maybe we should take this inside.”

“Absolutely,” he says, slightly impatient that he can’t get you naked then and there.

He walks to the trunk to get your shopping bags and follows you up the path. He has a bag packed with his essentials but never brings it inside until the next morning. Something about bringing it in before you’ve had sex seems presumptuous, which is crazy because, as per the arrangement, that’s exactly what he’s here for.

“It’s good to see you,” you say, entering your kitchen with him close on your tail.

“Yeah, you too.” He genuinely means it. It’s like things fall into place when he’s around you.

“How’s Sam?”

“He’s good,” Dean explains, placing the grocery bags on the countertop. “He’s taken Eileen away for a couple days.”

“Good for them.”

You unpack the groceries and take a beer from the fridge; as always, it's his favorite brand. Though he never warns you of his pending arrival there is always a supply cooling in the refrigerator and his favorite snacks in the cupboards.

He takes the open bottle from you, leaning in to deliver another kiss, but you turn to grab more groceries, and he realizes it's a not-so-stealthy way to give him your cheek.

It seems to be the day of revelations because he’s super aware of how easily you flow around each other in the small kitchen. Dean plates up the burgers, grabbing another beer for you from the fridge, and he’s surprised to see that it’s the only one left. That, coupled with the kiss avoidance, gives him pause. Something’s wrong.

You sit at the table and take a large gulp of the beer. “You okay?” he asks once you’ve swallowed the beer and the nervousness you're exuding. “You seem a little…off.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, then inhale deeply before adding, “Actually, no, I’m not. We need to talk. And I hate how cliche that sounds, but I don’t know how else to bring it up, and I don’t want to get all emotional on you, but I need to tell you something.”

He feels the panic fizz in his gut. You can’t be pregnant. He's seen you take birth control, and he uses protection every time. So it can only be one thing …you're about to ruin everything.

You're going to utter those three words, and it's going to be the death blow to all the good stuff between you.

He takes a swig of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Please don’t,” he begs, looking you dead square in the eyes. “What we’ve got going on is good, we’re good…”

“Dean, I …” you try, but he holds a hand up to cut you off.

“Don’t say it.” he pushes his chair back and rubs his hands on his thighs, palms suddenly sweaty. “I like what we have. It works, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look forward to it or that I don’t miss you. But I just got back a little peace of mind and…” he pauses, clearly searching for the right word, “caring about someone…” he shakes his head, reaching to wrap his hand around his beer bottle. “...Loving me, even with Chuck gone, it doesn’t make it any less of a death sentence. So please don’t say it.”

You reach across the table for his hand, clenched around his beer, but he’s quick to pull back. “Dean,” you choke out, the remorse you feel slipping from your eyes in a single tear. “I’ve met someone.”

He stares at you, mouth agape, not sure that he heard you correctly.

“It’s still new,” you continue, rushing to explain as your tears spill. “But it’s going somewhere. Somewhere great, and I don’t want to mess it up.”

Of course, you haven’t been sitting at home waiting for his sporadic visits. You’ve been out living your life as you should be. The possibility of meeting someone else, someone you could say those three words to, and it be a life sentence and not a death sentence, had occurred to him more than once. It poked at him like a swarming gnat, knowing you deserved to find someone better than him, but selfishly, he swatted at it until it went away.

He’s holding his breath and will get light-headed soon if he doesn’t find the ability to breathe again.

“Dean,” you coax, “say something.”

He feels as if you’d blindsided him, come out of the left field, and taken his legs out from under him. Now he’s on his back, the wind knocked out of him, and waiting for the feeling in his limbs to return.

Abruptly he stands. He sees the panic in your eyes and knows what’s coming. As you plead, “Don’t leave,” he says, “I gotta go.”

He strides quickly toward the door. You call his name as he goes, but he doesn’t stop.

He rushes out your front door, leaves it open, and as he reaches Baby, he has a singular moment of wondering what will hurt the least - holding on or letting go.

“Dean, please,” you call from the door.

He slides behind the wheel, deciding to let go.

Part 2 - The Right Guy On Paper.

Tags info

/ @alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r / @deandreamernp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @foxyjwls007 / @jc-winchester / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @lyarr24 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @nancymcl / @shanimallina87 / @stoneyggirl2 / @waywardbaby / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @pank0w / @kmc1989/ @deans-spinster-witch / @spnbaby-67 / @roseblue373

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #reader insert #female reader #dean winchester angst #spn fanfic #angst #spn fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fandom #dean winchester x you #you x dean winchester

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kitten4sannie · 11 months

Note

Kitten hybrid sannie with red fluffy ears and a red fluffy tail and all he wants is to breed you and have his kittens :(((((((((

my hard hours are closed but i’ll do it for you, you heathennn 🫵🏼 plus i can’t say no to desperate kitten sannie :((( i wrote this in such a frenzy fhdkdh i hope you enjoy <3

(warnings: subby kitty hybrid! san, mommy kink, breeding kink, bulge kink, unprotected sex, creampies)

“gonna fill you up again, mommy, so you’ll be nice and full of my kittens,” san informed in between gasps of air, his mouth hanging open, his tiny tongue splayed out and leaking drool down onto your face, ramming his throbbing cock into your already cum-filled cunt, sloppily but with clear intent to impregnate you, his previous loads dripping down your slit and onto the stained sheets below.

the thing about san was that he was a ball of energy, always capable of giving into the zoomies at any time of the day, but he was also the biggest hornball you’ve ever come across, humping his precious plushies out of sheer desperation by day and pumping you full of his cum by night — so mix those two together and what do you get? a pussy full of cum, a sore body, and tiny teeth marks left all over your neck and collarbone when you got up the next morning for work. it was worth it in the end. you loved your cute little kitty companion.

“mommy wants kitty’s milk, right?” san asked, his bright red ears lowering slightly, his pretty lips forming a small pout.

“yes, baby,” you reassured, gazing up at him with glossy, half-closed eyes, caressing his sweaty, flushed face. “now be a good boy and cum so you can make me a real mommy.”

short circuiting from your words, san looked down at the bulge his cock continuously made inside your lower stomach, only having to graze his fingers over it and think about all of the cum he most definitely pumped inside your womb. “cumming…!” the kitty hybrid cried out, slamming his cock so deep inside you that it made you yelp, keeping his body still and pressed tightly onto yours as ropes of milky liquid coated your plush inner walls for the nth time.

“h-how many times was that, sannie?” you asked softly, your thighs trembling against his, your lower half almost numb from how many times you had reached your own end, joined by a dull throbbing that was due to being fucked dumb for so long.

“not enough, mommy, need to fuck you full,” san whined, his tail flicking back and forth raipidly behind him, using his canines to gingerly gnaw on your neck, licking over the bite marks with his sandpaper tongue. “gotta keep fucking you, gotta make sure you’ll have sannie’s kittens.”

“o-okay, baby,” you nodded weakly, running your fingers through his damp red hair, occasionally rubbing at his ears, encouraging a series of deep, reverberating purrs to emanate from san’s throat.

“thank you, mommy,” san purred, moving upwards to lick into your mouth and taste you, before he sat up and back on his heels. he slowly pulled out just to watch a few beads of pre-cum to leak out of his reddened cockhead, before shoving himself back into you, your sopping wet hole sucking him back in to his delight, a small pleased trill exiting his drooling mouth.

and just like that, he was hunched over you again, hands pressed firmly onto the mattress near either side of your head, bucking his hips into yours like he hadn’t been going at it for what seemed like hours. he’d probably go a couple more too, and you’d probably wake up with dark circles and a fuzzy feeling in your brain, but it was worth it. you loved your sannie.

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

#ask #for jenna 🦋#ateez #ateez smut #choi san #san x reader #san smut #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours

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alastoridiot-meta · 2 months

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I CANNOT let this continue to be the false narrative throughout the fandom so let’s just talk about Alastor and whether he will be redeemed.

The simple answer I have to this is… absolutely. Like what do you think the message of this show IS.

Alastor is a charming and likable character. He’s edgy and soft and rigid in all the right ways for fandom to take and hold onto him. Viv has said before, along with what is shown in the show, that he tends to have a weird and sort of warped morality.

On one hand, he has no problem threatening Husk, torturing overlords, and overall being a nuisance to every powerful male character that he comes in contact with.

But on the other hand, he believes in being able to control YOUR OWN fate, as said in his fight with Adam “you should know more than anyone what a soul can do when they take charge of their own fate”, implying control over one’s personhood, destiny, and general LIFE. In fact, it’s this sentence that just speaks to so many of Alastor’s true ideals in consent and soul contracts. Like yes he owns huskers soul and maybe nifty’s, but husk only furthers my own agenda of “Alastor targets people with power”, for one reason or another, those people are overlords. HE EVEN IMPLIES IN STAYED GONE THAT HIS TRUE INTENTIONS ARE DISTURBING SYSTEMS OF POWER, GOING AGAINST THE STATUS QUO.

And i know it’s wordplay for destroying the Vee’s, but with the combined evidence of: the Vee’s being the main metaphors for exploitation and taking AWAY control over one’s fate, along with heaven and what the hotel stands for, this makes perfect sense as to WHY he joined the hotel in the first place. Because it’s not for entertainment, and I highly doubt it’s any sort of power. This, along with the previous weird obsession with Lucifer and destroying overlords in general, his friendship with an overlord who values the people she employs to such an extent that Charlie still has to WIN THEM OVER… it just goes against everything the fandom would LIKE to say/think about Alastor.

So I guess what I’m getting at here is that the fandom is acting like Alastor is this big bad villain guy with absolutely no redeeming qualities to build off of, people are acting like defying powerful systems is NOT at all a redeeming quality that Charlie can’t build off of or use to make him gain other qualities.

Not only this, but with Mimzy and his entire relationship with her, how he just lets her walk into his life knowing that she brings trouble and he only banishes her when she proves once again that she brings trouble… like, I’m sorry but it just feels like people actively ignore these things because they’re looking for logical morality systems. Even people who know that this is an aspect of his character, tend to lack the capacity to understand that Alastor can and IS very contradictory.

He CAN own husks soul and make deals with people in exchange for goods or favors, while also disliking the idea of a soul not having independence and/or charge of their own fates. It’s contradictory. It’s supposed to be.

And I guess it’s this that always makes me confused when there’s fanart of a redeemed/angelic Alastor that is FILLED with comments like “I’m sorry but Alastor will never be redeemed” “it’s impossible for his redemption” “cool art but it’ll never happen”, GUYS.

WHAT. IS. THE. MESSAGE. OF. THE. SHOW.

It’s FORGIVENESS. It’s CHANGE. The entire fight in heaven is literally the angels spewing the same rhetoric when talking about Angel, but of course the show has to take baby steps to say that yes, everyone deserves redemption. Everyone deserves the right to change. Everyone can change. Everyone WILL CHANGE.

Alastor already believes in redemption, I know that based off of his conversation with Adam ALONE. What makes you think he can’t work towards it? Even if that’s not now, don’t you think a person would try anything to escape a contract? It’s probably the main motivation for Angel at all.

And I just. I guess I don’t understand how people could be watching and believing in a message about change and forgiveness, while simultaneously refusing to see that a character like Alastor could change. Abusers can change. They should change. If not for themselves, then to stop the abuse they instill in the people around them.

#alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin adam #I tagged them because they’re kind of relavent to this post #anyway the misunderstanding of his character is insane it makes me want to kms #to me I guess I feel it’s obvious but it’s so. annoying. it’s really really annoying.#because people just want to see a bad character that just likes to be bad and there’s nothing else to it #when even in that interpretation there’s so many contradictions to that #‘why does he want power? why to want power of course!’#do you guys just want the mustache twirling trope #be honest #anyway I’m raw dogging this post I didn’t even re read it so hopefully it’s legible

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dduane · 1 year

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Hi there! I'm not sure if this is something you've talked about before in another post, but I just finished the first draft of my first novel, and I was wondering if you could talk about what your experience was like getting your first novel edited and published. I have this story that I'm excited about but no idea what to do with it now that I've reached "The End," do you have any advice on what my next step ought to be towards eventually getting it published? Thanks in advance!

First of all: thanks for asking. ...And now I have to warn you that I am possibly one of the worst possible people to ask about what their first novel's publication looked like... as it was completely atypical.

Not that that's going to stop me, mind you. (And you know what? I'm inserting a cut here, because this goes on a bit. Warning: contains [calculated] dissing by old friends, pulp non-fiction, unexpurgated language, unexpected awards nominations, and advice that's worth just what you're paying for it.)

What happened with me and my first book goes like this:...

In the late 1970s I was starting to burn out on psychiatric nursing, and was offered a job as assistant to the novelist and Star Trek ["The Trouble with Tribbles"] writer David Gerrold. I took it happily, as I was in a place in my life where I really needed some kind of change. The work with David was part-time; I also occasionally did special duty nursing shifts to help make ends meet.

Now during this period, I was writing for my own amusement (as I'd been doing all my life from about age eight onward). Right then I was working on a project I'd been tinkering with from my late high school years right through college, nursing school, and my first couple/few years of practice as an RN. This was the background worldbuilding for a vaguely Tolkienesque, somewhere-between-late-Medieval-and-early Renaissance fantasy scenario featuring a couple of moderately unusual magic systems, a sexually diverse culture, and a pair of "These Two Idiots"-style protagonists with complex interleaving problems.

While I was working for David, I had a lot of opportunity to observe, close up, what the life and workflow of a career writer looked like. Slowly, over a year or so, the realization crept up on me that what David was doing, I could do too. And it was at this point that I finally admitted to him that I thought I might want to write as well.

David's (as I later discovered, extremely calculated) eyeroll could probably have been seen from space. "Oy, not another one," he moaned. After which I went away from the abortive conversation pretty much resolved never to speak to him about this again... but also with a single thought filling my brain: You fucking supercilious sonofabitch, I'm going to show you that I'm not just another one.

...I'll never be able to thank him enough for that. Fury can be so motivating. :)

In the aftermath I got busy pulling together my background material with much more focused intent, and beating the most significant parts of it into something that started looking like a plot. It came together with surprising speed and unnerving insistence—one of the very few times in my career when a project, once begun, has simply flung me into the writing chair and insisted that it was the most important thing in my life and needed handling now. And when in the fullness of time David went on vacation, leaving me to house-sit at his place in LA, I immediately started using his very early computer to transcribe my novel's so-far-only-handwritten draft material.

I took what I thought was considerable care to cover my tracks... but not quite enough. On his return from vacation, when he was putting out the trash, David found some of my discarded draft pages, read them, and confronted me (with a certain amount of friendly teasing) about what had been going on. Then he said to me, "What I've seen of this thing doesn't look too bad. Let me see it when you're finished, and if it looks good enough, I'll ask one of my publishers if they want to take a look at it."

So that's what happened. I finished my first draft and a polish of it in about six weeks, and passed it to David. He read it and immediately handed it on to his editors at Dell, who were just starting a fantasy line for which they needed product. Two weeks later, they said they liked the novel and made an offer, which I accepted. Not a vast amount, but respectable enough. So there it was, my first sale: this book. Which then got me nominated two years running for the Astounding Award, and opened the door for the sale and publication of So You Want To Be A Wizard, as well as my earliest Star Trek work and my entry into the animation world.

I remember very little about the editing process, except that it was painless. What was not exactly painless was the book's cover, about which...well, the less said here the better. But the book came out to generally good reviews. So, with this series of events behind it, you can see why as regards first-publication stories, I'm a first-class outlier and should definitely not be counted. (Also to be avoided by new writers if at all possible: the experience of having half their strongly-selling first novel's initial print run pulped in the warehouse* because it was taking up room needed by a new book by a world-famous novelist.) (Whom I have long since forgiven, since it wasn't his fault, and...well, what can you do? Shit happens.)

...Anyway, that's more than enough about me. Now let's talk about you.

My first advice about what to do with the novel you've just finished? Stick it in a drawer (literally or figuratively speaking, whichever suits your case better) and don't look at it for at least a month. Two would be better. You can spend those two months thinking about your next moves... because you need to give those some consideration before you do anything else.

The question that you first need to answer is going to at least partially shape what you do next. And it's this:

Are you seriously considering making a career out of writing?

It's not that it can't be done! Of course it can. But it won't be easy... not at all. Anyone who tells you it will is either just outright lying through their teeth, or trying to sell you something. ...Or both.

Be honest with yourself as you consider this. If you aren't, you may be letting yourself in for considerable pain over a prolonged period... and I'd sooner you were spared that, if you can be. In particular, be clear about the difference between the statements "I want to write" and "I want to be a writer." Often enough people like the sound of the lifestyle and what they see as going with it—the signings, the book tours (physical or virtual), the interviews, the best-seller lists—without any real concept of the grueling, day-to-day, weekends-are-for-other-people, why-am-I-making-less-than-minimum-wage-most-of-the-time labor that underpins it.

If you simply want to write and be published—without the concept of a career necessarily being involved, or the lovely shimmering dreamlike vision of Giving Up The Day Job—you now have work pathways available to you that would've been unimaginable in the previous century. Self-publishing makes it possible for you to get your work in front of many, many eyes without necessarily having to submit yourself to the specific set of trials that go with achieving the initial stages of an intended career. Selfpubbing still has significant unique challenges of its own, of course, which have to be evaluated so that you can tell (as the commercials say) if they're right for you.

But if you're thinking of a career in what's usually being referred to these days as "traditional publishing", then you face a number of challenges that don't necessarily come with the self-publishing end of things. In particular: many publishing houses no longer consider manuscripts that come to them un-agented. So you're going to need to find an agent who's willing to represent your work... and this is a task that no longer looks anything like what it did when I found mine. (Or rather, when he found me, having been recommended to me by one of my editors. I've been with him for even longer than I've been with @petermorwood... and that's saying something. But this is yet another way in which my career's been wildly atypical.)

There is so much that could be said about this subject alone—the business of researching agencies to see which one seems like a good fit for you, the art of writing the perfect query letter to get their attention focused on a given book, and so much more—that I could hardly begin to even skim the surface of it here. There are whole websites devoted to shopping for agents, not to mention how to pitch yourself and your work to a given literary agency.

Let me leave this whole subject here for the moment. We can come back to it another time, because right now you need to be thinking this through. ...This I'll say, however. For the past six to nine months I've been pulling together links to various online resources that can be beneficial to new writers just getting started. These will be available as posts over at the FicFoundry.com site that I'm going to be bringing online before summer. I'm hoping to build that into kind of a compendium site or clearing house for online resources on this subject. We'll see how it goes.

Meanwhile, thanks for inquiring about this. You're standing at the first branching of what I'm hoping will be, for you at least, a fascinating variant of the Choose Your Own Adventure genre. :)

More on this later.

("Wait. Did she just call us idiots??")

*Now that we live in the era of just-in-time warehousing, this is something that fortunately doesn't happen much any more... as far as I know. But once upon a time, if somebody's new best-seller was going to the warehouse in its many thousands of copies, and your relatively-less-well-selling book was taking up space that could be used by the other author's "more valuable"/higher-priced titles, your books (5-10K of them, in my case) were simply thrown into a machine and turned into papery mush. And these go on your sales record as "unsold copies". (sigh) Some discussion of this phenomenon can be found over here.

#advice #writing advice #career stories

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ireneaesthetic · 1 year

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Simon and Marcus: Simon's pov

I've been requested to do it once and i've actually things to point out. I’m gonna focus on a specific scene, using it as a cue to dive more into their dynamic from simon's pov.

for whoever not interested, i swear the next analysis post will be wilmon centered - love y’all

Relevant fact: call me a marcus anti since day one. I found it kind of weird for him to act so friendly, self-confident and at ease even from their very first interaction in simon’s room, but maybe it’s just my shy closeted self talking!

However, the movie scene is probably the most significant one, showing a lot - if not all - about simon’s approach and intention in 'whatevership' he and marcus were starting to have. He walks into the apartment right after him, eyes wondering all over the room, his “cozy” word to warm the atmosphere, the looks and little smiles: he mirrors wille’s actions when he first entered simon’s room, recreating the same scenario. He tries to fill that space with the same thrill, energy, emotions - love.

It’s a nice try, but not even close to work. He forces himself to be flustered and feel what he knows this type of situation should make him feel. Pretending gets harder if memories are louder and the heart doesn’t beat as much as it did before.

Simon's eyes never lied: the truth is he was always sure about what he was not feeling, the chemistry he tried to find so soon so fast but that, just as quickly, was not pushing him to ask, want or need more ever again. He looked at marcus but never really looked at him: there were no such feelings for simon to communicate, rather vacant eyes and empty gazes that still showed things he was missing and couldn't seem to replicate with him.

The 'let's get physical' coping mechanism to step up the game is real but still: simon suggests watching a horror movie, he's the one taking the initiative, he goes for the upper lip into the kiss. He wants so hard to forget about wilhelm while unconsciously doing whatever it takes to remember him. to have what they had back. to feel something.

But with marcus it turns out to be just ... physical. it's all very rational: no connection or tension building up between them, no growing emotions are involved in pulling them closer, even simon’s hands movements feel thought through.

Falling in love doesn’t have to be rational tho, it comes to you so that you’re not supposed to search for it to happen - oh to be reminded that simon ends up not ever being the first in reaching for physical touch or pulling marcus into a kiss after this one. single. time.

Marcus telling him to take it slow and see where time will take them, it didn’t stir anything in simon but discomfort. He didn’t go to his place looking out for the comfort of a movie night fr or hoping to start something serious, but to prove himself that he was ready to forget and move on, to be with someone else, to love and stop hurting for once - he soon realized he could not do that.

And when he said it out loud to marcus later on, he was not listened to.

Simon’s “i just don't understand why i can’t fall in love with him” finds all the answers here: it was never about marcus, but shutting his feelings for wille down whenever they weighed too much instead. That's the reason why i think they were doomed from the very beginning: as much as simon could be rationally invested in trying to make it work, his heart was not.

Wilhelm’s step back - “i’m gonna leave you alone” - was simon’s realization point. He tried moving on to someone else for his own sake and also wanted to show he was capable of doing that, but to actually loose wille was never an option and he didn't mean it to end this way. It was like being faced with a choice, even though to choose was never really a thing: simon would've chosen wilhelm. always.

#bear with my rambling #i tried to make sense of it all #take a shot every time i say 'but'#young royals #simon eriksson #wilhelm x simon #yr analysis

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fearfulachilles · 5 months

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8. gossip & uncertainty.

chapter eight to buop (nanami kento x reader jjk medical au.) .

full contents here.

summary: you finish the week learning you'll be scribing for the mysterious dr. geto and hearing new gossip regarding kento. meanwhile, kento finished the week with being handed an offer he never thought he'd hear.

The clinic portion of the hospital is only open on weekdays, but Satoru had mentioned he’d like to open it for seven days a week in the future. You hope you’re off in med school when the time comes.

You work with Dr. Gojo again before the week ends. You’re fascinated by neurosurgery and he notices it. He tells you about his favorite surgical case during his fellowship here at Jujutsu Hospital and how he developed his own technique that helps reduce risk during brain surgery by 85%.

“That’s amazing.” You say, starstruck.

Satoru doesn't feel like a boss at times, he's easy to talk to. You ask when was the last time he had to use his technique and he says a year ago, around the time he last performed surgery.

There’s gossip of Satoru’s lack of surgery hours that you’ve heard…well, Nobara heard and told you. Some rumors say it’s because of malpractice and others say it’s because he’s been banned from the operating room by the chief of surgery. Satoru doesn’t hide the fact that he hasn’t been in the operating room in sometime, but he usually brushes it off it with a joke and never explains further.

You bite your lip and take a chance. “Can I ask why it's been so long?”

“You’re kidding, right? I have my hands full with this clinic. Surgery will be there when I’m done.” He answers, then changes the topic quickly after.

That's when Satoru shares information regarding your schedule next week. You’ll be scribing for Dr. Geto.

“He's filling in for me, just for a day. I’ve got some bullshit meeting to go to.” The young doctor explains, rolling his eyes.

When Satoru stopped performing surgery, Dr. Geto took over all his surgical cases, causing his surgery schedule to double. Because of that, Dr. Geto doesn’t have time to be in clinic, other than when Satoru absolutely needs him to be there.

It’ll be an exciting start to your week.

_________

You decided to Google Dr. Geto once you got home. You don’t know much of the physician, not even what he looks like. When pictures of him show up, you were taken back by how pretty Suguru Geto was. Was every doctor in that hospital good looking?

Then something catches your eye.

“Have you guys ever read this article? 'Dr. Satoru Gojo renounces titleship to famous Gojo technique.'” You read aloud to your roommates. “He gave credit to... Suguru Geto? It’s called the Geto technique now.”

“Weird. I wonder why he'd do that.” Yuji commented.

“Maybe he stole it from Dr. Geto and finally got caught.” Nobara speculated. She always loved a scandal or drama that didn't involve her personally. You couldn't blame her, you did too.

“I heard they're close friends, I doubt that happened.” Megumi chimed in.

From your reading you learn that Suguru is also a gift to medicine, similar to Satoru. He was a couple years older and accomplished many things in med school, alongside Satoru, and during his fellowship in a Kyoto hospital.

Nobara decides to bring up some more gossip she's heard, her voice filled with juicy intention of trapping you into the topic. “I heard that Dr. Nanami was left on his wedding day.”

You take the bait.

“He what?” You whip your head around from your phone screen to look at her.

Nobara nods. “Yup. He was getting married to some pharmaceutical rep, but she never showed.”

“That's probably why he looks so grumpy all the time.” Yuji says.

“Where did you hear that from?” You ask intrigued.

“Maki told me. She's the cute nurse I told you about. She used to work there, then she quit, but Dr. Gojo hired her again.” Nobara explains. She met Maki Zenin when she got lost on her way to the cafeteria in the hospital on the very first day. Since then, the two had been texting.

You've never bothered to learn the dating history of your past flings, but this was different. Being engagement and left at the alter are serious. You think, is he using me as a rebound?

You shake off the thought because you're not supposed to care, but you still feel something tugging deep within you. You ignore it.

_________

It had been the slowest week of Kento’s career, mentally. He had back to back surgeries scheduled and he stayed at the hospital until the early morning hours, busy with operative notes, but it had felt long and nearly tedious because you were on his mind.

The week is over and he arrives home tired. He drags himself to his kitchen and looks through his fridge. Kento feels the motivation to cook real food for the first time in a long, long time. He used to cook all the time, having a passion for it and always experimenting with new recipes.

He lost that side of him long ago, the side of him that looked forward to the things in his life and enjoyed them, as if he outgrew happiness. He thought he would never find it again. It had strained his relationship deep enough to be left stranded at an alter he never wanted to be at.

Then he met you, he talked to you, kissed you, and touched you. He saw the vibrant color of your hair, eyes, and body. He tasted your lips and felt your skin on his. It felt like he had been holding his breath for years, waiting for something to come along. Then, you came along. He made you laugh in that bar and thought this is how it feels to breathe again.

His microwavable dinners from the frozen aisle and instant coffee weren't enough to get him by anymore. He missed the spices of his home cooked meals and the richness of his favorite coffee beans. His days weren't dull anymore. He appreciated the rising sun in the sky on his way to work and the sound of chirping birds outside his bedroom window a little more. Your touch brought his senses back.

In the midst of his thoughts of you, he thinks back to when you mention your mother had Cordis Aneurisma, a slow killing disease of the heart and a medical mystery. The only fact known was that it is genetic, primarily in women, with a 50/50 chance of a mother passing it to her daughter.

Kento never really enjoyed taking chances like that. Though, he took one with you.

He had told you he didn't want anything serious, something he'd never done before. He was raised to be a traditional man, primarily by his grandfather. So, he worked towards a good and stable career with a great salary, and he was going to get married and settle down. After being with you, he knows he doesn't want to go return to that, even if it meant breaking his traditional values he was raised with, all for a chance you'll let him stay around for a little longer. He hopes you do.

He cooks something quick and easy for him before he digs up his old med school textbooks and begins searching for anything on Cordis Aneurisma. Two textbooks turn into five, and when his sixth one doesn't have anymore information than the others, he moves his research on to his laptop.

He doesn't hear the knocking on his front door until it's loud enough to bring him out of his thoughts. When he opens it, it's Asami, his ex-fiancée.

She greets him with a smile, but Kento stares blankly at her, blinking his eyes. He didn't expect her to come by today, but she has made it a habit of showing up unannounced, which usually led to them fucking on his couch.

Asami walks past him and makes herself at home, and he doesn't stop her. She places her handbag on his counter and walks further inside.

“Did you just get home from work?” Asami asks.

Kento looks down at his attire to see that he's still wearing his scrubs. He looks over at a clock in his home and realizes it has already been a few hours since he got home. He lost track of time reading up on the genetic illness.

She moves on, not taking notice of Kento’s cooked dinner. Asami was never good at noticing the small things in him. She peeks at all the opened textbooks and then over to what is on his laptop. “Do you have a patient with Cordis Aneurisma? How sad.”

Kento hadn't spoken a word yet. His face had turned back to the one Asami had known very well now, neutral to everything.

“What are you doing here?” Kento finally asks, speaking his first words to her. He dreaded thinking she was going to finally explain herself to him on why she left that day, something they both had been avoiding to acknowledge.

Asami steps her way over to Kento and places her hands on his broad chest. She's smaller than you, he doesn't like it. “I wanted to talk. I miss you.”

I miss you. She said that last time she was here, in the middle of sex. Kento had thought it was just in the moment of bliss, he had hoped it was.

“And I've been thinking about us…getting back together. I-I think we should try again.” Asami continues, sounding eager and unsure all at once. She's fidgeting with her fingers on his chest.

Her words make Kento run cold. He looks down at her face, uncertain of what to say or think. He spots her engagement ring on her finger, she had recently began putting it on again.

“We don't have to talk right now, I just wanted to tell you in person, but I'd like you to think about it.” Asami smiles with her lips closed and with a sense of uncertainty. She can’t read his face, he hardly gives her any sign of what he was thinking.

Asami removes herself from him and grabs her bag from the counter, knocking off the parking ticket Kento had taken from you. She picks it up to place it back, and reminds him, “oh—don't forget to pay that, Kento.”

She comes back to him, slipping her hand into his larger one and pulling him over to his front door once again as she makes her exit. She meant for this to be a quick visit. “You will think about it, right?”

Kento doesn't say anything in return, he just slowly nods at her words. She nods back, taking a chance and tugging him closer, raising herself on her tiptoes to kiss him. He kisses back for a moment, but all he could think about were your lips.

He didn't like comparing women to each other, but the feeling of you still lingers on him. He could only think about how much he would rather kiss you again instead of her. He abruptly breaks the kiss, pulling away, and it leaves Asami taken back.

Words don't need to be exchanged for what she felt as Kento pulled away from her, so she leaves him to think about her offer alone.

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edgeofn1ght · 10 months

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Anakin Skywalker is a very talented baker who co-owns a very popular bakery with his mom. Customers and croissants come and go each day, and Anakin bakes and bakes and never pays much attention -- this is his mother's dream. Until one day a very handsome man stops at their store front to gaze at their display, and Anakin is never the same.

I signed up for the @ficwip 5k in an effort to challenge myself to write less than 5,000 words! So here is another entry into my bakery au, from Anakin's POV. It's not necessary to read the Dough or Doughnut, There Is No Rye first, but I wanted to include the link anyway. 😊🍞

—

getting together • obikin • 4.5k words • read on ao3 instead

In the wee hours of the morning, as Anakin mixed, proved, rolled, and laminated, he told himself over and over again, ‘This is worth it. This is worth it. I’m doing a good thing. For my home, for Ahsoka, for my mom .’ But as he pushed the sticky dough back and forth across the cool metal table at 4am, he couldn’t help but ask himself WHY.

His mother, Shmi, told him time and time again he shouldn’t listen to his brain between the hours of 9pm and 5am (Ahsoka told him he should never listen to it), but that was easier said than done. But when the answer to 'why' always came back to his mom, he thought it was worth listening to.

Shmi was a gifted and adventurous baker, and had been baking as long as he could remember. She talked often of opening her own bakery but never knew how to make it happen. And after all she had been through in her life, Anakin wanted to make that happen for her. So when he got older, he looked into it.

They opened Ryes & Shine two years previous and as time went on, the small bakery increased in popularity, thanks to their dedication, hard work, and Shmi’s amazing bakes. The baguettes, bagels, focaccia, and loaves of different breads they baked fresh almost every morning were nearly gone by the afternoon. And if not then, then almost certainly the next morning. Eventually it became too much work for just the two of them, so they hired Ahsoka Tano, a young university student who went to school nearby, and who very excitedly told them she had been baking for fun since she was 4. Her excitement and joy was so contagious, Shmi hired her on the spot, even without any professional experience. So she became Anakin’s apprentice.

And today she was late.

Anakin and Shmi could fill the display window alone, they’d done it many times, but with dough needing to go in the oven, come out of the oven, cooled, wrapped, and everything else, they were spread a bit thin when she wasn’t around. Fifteen more minutes went by and she finally appeared in a rush, flying into the shop, tearing off all her winter layers and apologizing profusely the entire time. Mostly to Shmi. Because she knew Shmi would forgive her anything. Anakin? Well, the jury was still out.

But she got to work quickly, helping them finish all the morning tasks before they opened. As she stood at the window rearranging the displays, she suddenly shouted.

“THERE HE IS!”

“Shit!” Anakin yelled as he dropped the basket of freshly-wrapped mini packets of sweet buns. He looked on in horror as the shiny cellophane scattered every which way behind the counter. He scowled at his young apprentice. “Ahsoka!”

She grimaced then giggled as she placed the last loaves of French bread in the basket in the window.

“He probably heard you,” Anakin said exasperatedly as the sweet buns were forgotten and he made his way towards the window. “You’re so loud .”

The man with the gold-red beard stood to the right of the window, bent slightly at the waist, very intently staring at their display. His lips moved almost imperceptibly as he read the display cards all handwritten by Ahsoka each morning. Anakin wondered to himself if this would be the day he came inside.

“You’re staring , Skyguy,” Ahsoka said with a grin as she elbowed him and walked away from the window.

“Why are all the buns on the floor??” Anakin and Ahsoka jerkily turned towards Shmi, who stood at the far end of the counter with her hands on her hips.

Anakin sighed as he knelt to quickly pick them all up. His mother didn’t need to know he was shirking his duties to pine after some random guy he didn’t know who happened to walk by their shop every morning for the past two weeks. NOT that Anakin noticed such things… (he told himself unconvincingly). But he DID notice the man never came inside.

And that would have to change.

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And change it did.

That morning they were busy, like most mornings, but today it felt different. More demanding, more harried, and sometimes frantic. Thankfully Shmi and Ahsoka had been more than willing to man the front counter while Anakin busily cranked out loaf after loaf, mixing, proving, baking, proving again, as well as creating the cold butter layers for tomorrow’s flaky croissants and pastries. It was hard work, but that they were constantly busy made it worth it.

The buzzer on the large oven rang signaling the end of the bake for the latest batch of baguettes. He’d lost count long ago at how many of the medium-sized loaves he churned out in a day, but as long as he made them, people would buy them. They were one of the most popular items, gone almost as soon as he made it to the floor with the tray. Anakin took out the three trays and placed them on the large kitchen island to cool as he busied himself checking on other dough. It had been a while since he’d looked in a mirror – or had a bathroom break, if he was honest – but he was sure he was covered in flour like always. And even though it was cold outside, back in the kitchen, he could work up a sweat like no place else.

After letting the bread cool, Anakin piled three trays worth of baguettes on top of one tray then headed out to restock. A quick glance at the lobby showed a crowded space and a long line, but his mom and Ahsoka were doing their best to move people through. They’d been so busy all morning, he hoped they had at least already made their daily sales total. Anakin squeezed past the two women with the tray and made his way to the display. He smiled to himself as he put the loaves out into the basket in the window, listening to Ahsoka as she deftly, efficiently, and kindly took care of all their customers.

He loved the sound of the busy bakery – there was a comfort in it.

Rising above the din today was a gently lilting accent coming from the other side of the counter. It wasn’t too often that he heard an English accent in their store, but it was a soothing tenor, and it would be nice if he could focus on just the sound of that particular man’s voice. But Ahsoka…

“Anakin! A baguette!”

He startled out of his reverie and grabbed a paper sleeve and slipped one of the fresh loaves in. He didn’t know why she felt she had to yell at him. If she'd just ask nicely … He laid the baguette on the counter with a grunt and pursed his lips, turning away from Ahsoka and her customer so he could finish his task. He tried to tune her out as she ran her mouth, but it wasn’t so easy as she could be quite loud. However, he secretly admired her ability to become friends with everyone (even if he couldn’t understand how she did it). His method had always been just to let the people pay and go.

“He’s 24 years old, an amazing baker…” he suddenly heard Ahsoka say, then she trailed off again when the customers got slightly louder. He angled his body to hear her better because surely she wasn’t…

Because HE was 24 years old. And a baker. But amazing ?? That would be a new adjective for Ahsoka.

“My name is Ahsoka and I'm pretty much his best friend,” she continued to chatter as she finished the transaction. “Like, anything you want to know about him, I could tell you. Even things you don’t think of! Like how he’s single and really loves–”

“Snips!” Anakin turned then walked over to stand next to his very chatty and oversharing coworker, ready to give her a tongue lashing when he finally looked up. The man from outside. The man with the beautiful beard. He suddenly heard nothing but white noise.

He tried hard to school his features and must have been doing well because the man seemed rather timid. But then the man smiled.

Oh no.

It was just a small thing as the man looked down at his purchased items on the counter, so small Anakin almost missed it.

Oh no. He was so much more handsome than he had been outside just looking in the window. But h e had FINALLY come inside the shop. And Anakin had frozen up.

He spared a single glance for the man – it was all he could do since he was stunned into silence – and headed back to the kitchen. Be cool, don’t run, don’t RUN.

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Anakin took a few moments to collect his thoughts, then berated himself for completely missing his chance. As if he really had a chance. He knew nothing at all about the man, and he’d only been inside ONCE. He’d probably never come in again now that Ahsoka had probably talked his ear off and most likely said something cheeky about Anakin. He dropped his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

“You BLEW it!” Ahsoka fussed as she burst through the kitchen door. Anakin immediately went into an attack stance in his surprise, which the young girl mirrored then laughed. “It’s just me, Skyguy… my goodness, you’re jumpy.”

“Yeah! Well!” He pushed himself off the wall and headed back towards the oven where another timer went off. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that! I could have had a knife or something.”

Ahsoka laughed again. “Anyway, I know you’re avoiding the topic now. I was trying to HELP you! He’s never going to come back in here because you threw his baguette at him!”

Anakin scoffed as he removed the last batch of baguettes from the oven. “I did not throw anything!” That would be the last thing he would say on it, then, if he ignored her, eventually she’d go away. Except Ahsoka rarely behaved like a normal person would.

“He seems really nice! He’s got a great accent. I noticed him watching you. I know he’ll be back for more, I just know it.”

There was no way she could know that. He probably really had blown it. He uncovered a bowl of dough that had doubled in size in the proving. He punched it down with much joy.

“And I gave him your schedule and your number!”

“You what!?” Anakin stopped and looked up. “I should fire you!”

The infuriating child giggled again as she left Anakin with his thoughts and dough in the kitchen.

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A week and a half went by before Anakin wanted to crawl into a hole again.

Abnormally busy Saturday mornings called for bakers to find new and clever ways to keep their stock going, so Anakin wasn’t always afforded the opportunity to ‘camp out’ in the kitchen and ‘hide away from the customers’ (Ahsoka’s words). In the first morning rush, they’d managed to clean off the counter space between the cash register and the window, so Anakin used the long stretch of cool marble to make a batch of fresh rolls and loaves. The counter was a mess of white flour and small lumps of dough as Anakin rolled and stretched and pulled the dough. Though he was rather on display working here like this, he actually found he didn’t mind it too much – the work and steady stream of customers kept him in an oddly good mood for once.

He looked up to check the line once more and there he was. Baguette Guy, which Ahsoka had “affectionately” named the man after his first purchase in their shop. Several days went by before he even learned the man’s actual name – Obi-Wan .

He had apparently come in once when Anakin was quite busy, and no one even thought to come and interrupt. He might have yelled about it initially at the time, but another glimpse of the man would have made all things right. The worst part was that Obi-Wan had apparently even met his mother on that visit. Anakin wanted to crawl into a hole thinking about the conversations they probably had. Embarrassing ones.

But now Obi-Wan was here again, and Anakin was sweaty and most likely covered in flour. Perfect .

“Baguette guy!” Ahsoka called as Obi-Wan stepped to the counter and chuckled – it was such a lovely sound to Anakin’s ears.

“I guess that’s my name now, is it?”

“Those are the rules,” Ahsoka smiled. “You are what you eat. Hey, how’d you like that focaccia?” Anakin could give her one thing – she was a friendly and knowledgeable salesperson. She could probably have the rest of today’s focaccia sold to this one man today.

Obi-Wan finally replied, “It was amazing, actually.”

“That’s Skyguy’s own recipe!”

Maybe if he focused on the dough, they would all go away.

“Skyguy?” Obi-Wan waited for an explanation, but before he could say anything else, Ahsoka chimed in again.

“Skyguy is Skywalker over here,” she said as she hooked a thumb in his direction.

“Skywalker…”

Anakin had to look up again. He supposed he already wasted enough time NOT looking at the beautiful man.

“That’s me,” he said, resigned to his fate. Suddenly Obi-Wan’s eyebrows did a thing – a frowny, furrow-y thing.

“Did you know you’ve got…” Obi-Wan gestured at his own face. “A bit of flour just there?”

ShitshitshitSHIT. Anakin’s gloved hand flew to his face and rubbed at his jaw.

“No, other side… there, no…” Obi-Wan attempted to direct as Anakin clearly was not following. It seemed that no matter what part of his face he touched, it was not right. Or else, he just had that much flour on his face. If he could crawl into a hole, or just disappear behind the counter, that’d be great. But Ahsoka – the traitor – seemed to be having a grand time at his expense.

He huffed, “Ahsoka, help a bestie out here?” How dare she act like she was doing him a favor when she left him hanging in such a way!

Then it got worse. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched Ahsoka lick her thumb then reach out and rub it along his jaw in the one spot he clearly had missed.

“Ew, Snips!” He reeled back. “Don’t put your spit on me!”

Next, Ahsoka smirked and he just knew that was going to hate whatever was going to come out of her mouth next.

“I bet you wouldn’t say that to Obi-Wan.” He could feel his cheeks heating and he knew it wasn’t from the warmth of the shop. She turned back to Obi-Wan – the incredibly handsome customer that Anakin had been pining after for weeks – and put back on her best customer service voice and smile. “Anyway, what can I get for you?”

Obi-Wan seemed stunned, and who could blame him after that little display? “Oh, right, yes, the reason for my visit… still have any brioche?” If Anakin could get what he wanted quickly, then he could get him out of here quickly and berate Ahsoka quicker.

“You’re in luck!” He said before Ahsoka could say one more thing. He walked to the window and grabbed the last one. “Last loaf.”

“Wonderful,” Obi-Wan smiled and Anakin wanted to melt. He had to hold himself together.

“You better use some of this to make French toast,” Ahsoka added. “I’m telling you, best stuff you’ll ever have in your life. Unless you somehow manage to screw it up.”

Luckily Obi-Wan chuckled instead of stomping out of the shop. He'd be well within his rights after she just insulted him . “Well, I certainly hope not, but that’s good to hear because that was my intention. Going home to make it right now.”

Ahsoka smiled and clapped her hands, completely oblivious to the daggers Anakin was shooting out of his eyes. "Excellent."

She finished the transaction and Anakin got back to the bread. That's why he was here – bread. Not the thought of brioche French toast for breakfast in a handsome man's apartment, made by the aforementioned handsome man on a lazy weekend morning. Just when he thought he was in the clear, in the safety of his own daydreams, she spoke again.

"You know, Anakin lives upstairs over the shop."

"Snips!" He glared at her. Obi-Wan meanwhile was clearly trying to suppress laughter. Anakin could not be more embarrassed.

"What!? You do!" She cried in defense.

"Yeah but you don't have to tell… strangers where I live!" He gestured at Baguette Guy on the other side of the counter. "No offense."

Obi-Wan shook his head, "None taken, I assure you."

"This isn't a stranger! It's Obi-Wan, Baguette Guy!" She cried again. That sinkhole under the city could swallow him up any day now. He'd be surprised if Obi-Wan ever came back now after Ahsoka's lack of decorum. "Anyway, that'll be 3.75," she said then leaned over the counter to whisper something Anakin couldn't hear. He knew it was nothing but trouble.

"Uh, well, thanks," Obi-Wan said as he paid and left.

Anakin forlornly watched him walk out of the shop, sure he'd never return now. He turned to his evil apprentice, "You're gonna pay for that."

Ahsoka's eyes widened for just a second before a smug grin spread across her face. "You can't kill me in front of all these witnesses."

"Next!" She shouted and turned away.

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“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Ahsoka asked as she flattened her buttery square of dough.

Anakin looked up to find her watching him with that same self-satisfied smile she had been wearing for weeks. He regretted long ago ever expressing any interest in the stranger who passed by their shop every day. But the thing was… if Obi-Wan actually did dare to ever come back into their shop, Anakin would have to finally say something to the man.

“Thinking about whom ?” He replied and continued to roll out the dough.

“ ThInKiNg AbOuT wHoM? ” She mocked with a laugh. “You know exactly WHOM.

“Why don’t you concern yourself with–” Anakin stopped mid-sentence when the kitchen door swung open and in walked his mother… and Obi-Wan.

“Good morning,” he said with a smile and a small wave.

“Hello,” Anakin said, maybe almost too quickly, and turned back to his task. He was here. He actually came back.

“You get to see us in action!” Ahsoka smiled.

“He asked what laminating was, so I brought him here to see,” Shmi said as she headed back out front. “It doesn’t hurt to show him!”

Anakin’s brain was pinging back and forth, trying desperately to think of something to say. Maybe if he just continued laminating he would either magically come up with something. Or it was more likely that Obi-Wan would actually get bored and leave. (He hoped he wouldn’t.)

“So you see, Anakin put a large slab of butter in there then folded the dough over it then rolled it again,” Ahsoka explained and Anakin worked. “You do this numerous times, turning the dough and folding it and chilling it, and you’re incorporating the butter each time and that’s what gives the croissants their many buttery layers!”

Anakin was almost proud – she actually had been listening to him.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said with a nod. “I never knew that’s how they did that. I never looked it up.”

“You were meant to find us so we could tell you,” Ahsoka said as she folded the edges of her own dough.

Anakin didn’t believe much in soulmates or people being ‘meant’ to find each other, but he supposed there was always time to change one’s mind.

“Did you like the brioche?” Score one point for remembering to speak.

“Oh yes, it made a wonderful French toast, just like you said, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan smiled.

“I’m always right,” she replied. “Just like how I’m right about you and Anakin–”

“Snips!” Anakin shouted. “I hear mom calling for you.”

Ahsoka furrowed her brow. “I didn’t…” She paused and her expression changed immediately back to smugness. “Oh yes, I see.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes, “You see nothing, now, don’t keep her waiting.” Maybe with Ahsoka out of the way, breathing down his neck and waiting for Anakin to make any move at all… maybe he could find room to actually breathe.

“Whatever you say, Skyguy! I’ll leave you and Obi-Wan alone,” she said very pointedly as she practically skipped out of the kitchen.

They were finally, truly alone.

“Don’t mind–”

“Would you like–”

They both started their next sentence at the same time then laughed at the gaffe.

“Apologies, you first,” Obi-Wan said as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Perhaps he was as nervous as Anakin felt?

He put down his rolling pin and leaned against the table. “No, actually, you first. What were you going to ask?”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan chuckled weakly. “It’s not important.”

Anakin arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure that’s not true. What were you going to ask?”

Something soft fluttered in Anakin’s chest as he watched Obi-Wan flex and crack his knuckles – a sure sign of nerves. His cheeks were also slightly flushed. It was probably just the heat of the kitchen, but Anakin preferred to believe otherwise.

“Well…” Obi-Wan stammered. “I was just… well, I was just wondering if you’d–”

“Yes!” Anakin said quickly, interrupting Obi-Wan. He didn’t need him to finish. He was taking his own leap now.

Obi-Wan laughed. “You don’t even know what I wanted to ask!”

Anakin walked around the table towards where Obi-Wan stood. He wiped his floury, buttery hands down his apron. He wasn’t as big a mess as usual, but it was more than he’d like when he was actually alone with Obi-Wan for the first time. He imagined this moment going so much differently from this. He stopped a few feet away then leaned against the table then folded his arms across his chest. It was now or never.

“Then if I am so mistaken, ask what you wanted to ask.” He didn’t know where this nerve came from.

“Would you like to go out to dinner sometime?” Obi-Wan asked with a gentle smile. Force, he was a handsome man , and Anakin was a goner.

Anakin grinned. “Like I said… yes.”

Obi-Wan barely had time to smile himself before Ahsoka and Shmi burst into the kitchen.

“Finally!!” Ahsoka sighed and rolled her eyes. Shmi stood behind the girl smiling.

Anakin threw up his hands in a huff. “Can’t I have one moment alone!?”

“You can have a whole night alone,” Ahsoka said as she waggled her eyebrows. “With Obi-Wan!” The poor man sputtered then tried to pass it off as clearing his throat. At least his mother laughed.

“Well, then,” Obi-Wan said as he began to put his scarf back on, trying to recover from Ahsoka's cheekiness. “Can I come pick you up at say, 7pm? I know where you live.” Maybe Ahsoka actually did a good thing telling Obi-Wan where he lived. Even if he had still been a stranger at the time.

In another fit of boldness, Anakin reached out and helped rearrange Obi-Wan’s scarf. “Yes, you can,” he smiled as he smoothed down the knitted wool. But he froze when Obi-Wan reached up and touched his chin, most likely wiping away some rogue flour. Anakin didn’t even care anymore. His teeth could be full of spinach at this point, and he wouldn’t care.

“Did you two already forget we were in here?” Ahsoka huffed.

“Why are you still in here? Aren’t there customers or something?” Anakin waved his hands dismissively. She was like an annoying fly buzzing around at this point. Shmi was even chuckling as she pulled Ahsoka out of the kitchen, finally leaving him and Obi-Wan alone again.

“So…” Obi-Wan started with a small grin. “How long?”

“How long?” Anakin was slightly confused.

“How long have you been sitting on ‘yes’?” he asked.

“Since the first time I saw you.” At Anakin’s response, Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up. Clearly he had not been expecting that answer.

“When I came in for the baguette?”

“No, the first time I saw you,” Anakin replied as he took a step closer. He reached out and grabbed the lapels of Obi-Wan’s coat, rubbing his fingers along the heavy wool. “I guess you were on your way to work, but you stopped – only for a minute. You stood there and just stared at the window, like you were enchanted by whatever you saw.”

Obi-Wan thought for a moment then spoke again. “Anakin, that was the very first day I came by this shop. That’s been weeks!”

Anakin looked up with a grin then shrugged. “You didn’t stop. Then suddenly you did.”

“Oh, Anakin…”

What Anakin wouldn’t give to hear his name from that mouth for the rest of his life.

“Anyway, I’d very much like to kiss you now.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened slightly. “Before our first date?”

“Before our first date,” Anakin replied, tugging on Obi-Wan’s coat and pulling him closer. Their lips met in a tender kiss, and Anakin resisted the urge to moan as he felt Obi-Wan’s arms slip around his waist. He could most certainly get used to this.

When they finally broke apart, Anakin laughed at the state of Obi-Wan’s torso. “Oops…” His coat was covered in a fine dusting of flour from when he had pulled Anakin close.

“I can’t really walk into work like this. They’ll be able to guess immediately why I’m late.”

“Don’t go in at all,” Anakin brushed down the front of Obi-Wan’s coat. Mostly to get the flour off, but maybe also to feel the solid body underneath. “Stay here and let us teach you how to make some bread.” For as long as we both shall live.

“I guess that sounds… loafly to me,” Obi-Wan said with a wink.

Anakin groaned as he dropped his head back, “Don’t make me rethink this date already.” He was trying to play it cool, but he couldn’t believe the pun. Maybe Obi-Wan was a bigger dork than he anticipated.

Obi-Wan removed his coat and scarf again. “I thought you’d like that.”

Anakin walked across the room and found another apron, then brought it back and slipped it over Obi-Wan’s head and around his neck. The man’s cheeks were tinged pink, much to Anakin’s delight.

“Ok, fine, I loved it…” He smiled as he tied the string around Obi-Wan’s waist.

Obi-Wan’s smile was lovely and infectious. Anakin couldn’t stop smiling at how this day was going nothing like he expected… and it was oh-so-much better.

“Ok, well, get those cute buns over here and let’s make loaf,” Anakin groaned inwardly at his own terrible puns, but Obi-Wan seemed to love them. And that was all that mattered.

He was half in love with the man already.

#my writing #obikin #ficwip 5k 2023 #modern au #bakery au #obi wan x anakin #loaf is all you knead

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sevensquidz · 1 year

Text

The report (Hange/Reader)

beta read by @cowboynutz

A/N: I had posted this a couple days ago so if this looks familiar I apologize for the trouble! I deleted my account and made a new one today so now I have to repost some stuff :,)

CW: 18+ content, Hair pulling, Fingering, Biting if you squint, Angry sex

The loud clacking of your keyboard filled the otherwise silent room as you typed away on your computer in frustration. You had to stay after hours at your office job because your supervisor, Levi, wasn’t pleased with your report you had made. You thought it had been perfect, even retyping the papers and scanning it over more times than you could remember, but apparently it wasn’t good enough for him. The sun had already set and you were the only one left working, making you feel even more annoyed with your boss.

You sighed in defeat as you heard a knock at the door, assuming it was Levi since he tended to come and go from the building, returning to work in peace at night.

“Come in.” You ushered in a monotone voice, hoping to just get this report over with. You didn’t care if it would be the best paper you ever wrote, you just wanted to go home and relax.

There was a pause behind the door before Hange, one of your coworkers, busted through the door, looking over a paper they had probably been assigned.

“Hello! Levi was busy so he decided to send me over to see how you were doing!” They declared, still looking at their paper until they finished reading to look at you.

Hange and Levi had always been close, so close that you had heard rumors that they had been a thing, but they both had quickly shut the accusations down before it could get out of hand. From what you knew, Hange and Levi had been friends since college, and Levi had hired them to help start up the office. The crazy brunette was usually found in their office working diligently to the point of not taking care of themself, so it didn’t surprise you that they had stayed late too.

“Here, it’s mostly done so you can look it over and see if it’s alright to send it over.” You nodded, turning the computer over so Hange could see. They leaned forward on your desk, intently reading as their eyes followed down the page while putting down their own paper. A small frown emerged from their face as they sat back up, shaking their head.

“This is all wrong,” they stated bluntly, “even the formatting is incorrect. Did you look at the example?” You knew they had no ill intent, but them asking that question made you feel insulted, making you lightly clench your hands.

“I’m just doing it the way I’ve been shown.” You shot back, feeling a little guilty about your aggressive tone, but holding your ground anyway. Hange looked at you confused before furrowing their brow, becoming irritated with your attitude.

“Whatever they showed you was incorrect, do it all over and I’ll have it sent over to Levi.” They scolded, crossing their arms to try and shield themself from your anger.

“How about you do it since you know so much?!” You hissed, rising from your chair to meet their eyes, hands balled into tight fists now.

Hange scoffed and rolled their eyes. “If I do that then you’ll just fail again whenever you’re needed for another report, don’t drag the company down.”

Your jaw dropped, stunned by what they had just said until you felt a swell of hatred flow through you, replacing any shock you had felt. You took a step around and shoved them towards the computer, pinning them between the wooden desk and your arms. Now it was their turn for their jaw to drop, you now staring daggers into their eyes. Now that you think about it, Hange has always pissed you off.

They were always bouncing around the office, making their way into someone’s business. Thinking of this fueled your anger even more, making you unknowingly move closer to them. You could see a light shade of pink dust their skin as they flickered between your eyes and your lips, their breathing starting to quicken.

Before you could register what was wrong with them, you felt their lips trace yours as they closed the distance.

You couldn’t tell if what you were feeling right now was hatred or lust, but you wanted them to get what they deserved. You sloppily picked up their legs to slam them on the desk, deepening the kiss. You broke the kiss and they frowned once more, upset at the loss of contact.

“Lose the shirt.” You threatened, resting your hand on their thigh while giving it a hard squeeze. They quickly started to unbutton their shirt, making you chuckle at their hastiness. After they had finished you quickly threw the shirt to the side as you returned to kissing them, hands trailing over their body.

“You still need to finish that report.” They moaned in the kiss, making their words sound muffled. You didn’t give a shit about the report, you shoved the laptop to the side, making more room for the two of you. You began sliding your hand to their breast and your lips trailed down their neck to their collarbone, beginning to give them a dark bruise. Your hands traveled to their back where you unclamped their bra, letting it fall to the floor and returned to their chest.

You felt their hands move around your body before settling on your hair, pulling at it while you replaced your hand with your mouth, earning a low groan from your coworker. In one tug you pulled their pants down, not letting Hange have the opportunity to finish taking them off as you returned to their mouth. They whined from your contact, begging for more from you. You could tell they were still angry too, but that just drove you to them more, now ghosting your hands over their underwear.

They moved their body toward you, pushing you to do more. However, you didn’t comply but just teased them, rubbing their wet spot that was on their underwear.

“Please” They whined angrily “I need more.”

They looked pathetic, you had barely started to do anything and they already were melting from your touch. You yanked them off the desk and turned them around to bend them over, pulling the computer over in front of them and flipping it on with one hand.

“Finish the report then Hange.” You spat, leaning into their ear to make sure they could feel your breath on their neck. You jerked their hair to make them face the screen, not giving them a chance to look away.

Once they began typing, you grabbed their breast again, roughly massaging and pinch their nipple. As painfully slow as you could be, you scratched the back of their leg before slowly removing their underwear, snaking back up to hover over their entrance. You moved your other hand that was on their chest to their shoulder, giving yourself some control as you went inside them. They let out a loud sigh as your two fingers slid in, and gave them no time to adjust before you began pumping into them, the room now filled with l moans coming from Hange, who was trying to hide it by biting their lip.

You could hear them struggle to type, their hands moving away from the keyboard to dig into the desk.

“If you stop typing, I stop too.” You threatened, immediately stopping your movements.

They groaned in annoyance before resuming the typing on the computer, hoping for you to continue. Without warning, you slid a third digit in, them hissing from the sudden size change before a wave of pleasure washed over them. They couldn’t hold it in much longer, and let out more breathy moans as you moved faster, biting down on their shoulder to leave another mark.

You could feel they were almost at their limit, removing your hand to massage their clit before going back in. You felt their thighs clench, and a loud moan escaped their mouth before you felt them cum on your hand. Their ragged breaths slowed as you took your fingers out, kissing their neck in the process. Wordlessly, you moved your fingers to their mouth, Hange immediately cleaning your hands from the clear liquid.

“There, your report is done.” They sighed, still catching their breath as they stumbled to put on their clothes and redo their hair.

You went to open your mouth when another loud knock was heard from the door, making both of you freeze in fear.

“Can you keep it the fuck down?!” Levi called from behind the door, hostility laced in his voice as he stomped off, steps echoing down the hallway.

#hange zoë #hange #hange x you #hange zoe #hange attack on titan #hange zoe x y/n #hange x reader #hange zoe x reader #hange zoe x you #hange aot #hange snk #hange smut #aot smut #attack on titan #attack on titan smut

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yanderes-galore · 1 year

Note

TF2 Miss pauling, with the prompts from your list?

53.) "I left you a few voice mails, why didn't you pick up?"

21.) "Photos and trinkets only do so much, dear!"

9.) "The wound in your leg serves as a lesson, does it not?"

3.) "You'll love me, even if we have to sit and wait for it to happen."

I feel like the scene could be pauling finally breaking into Darlings house to chase them then cornor them

Alright, sure! Here's one of the many Miss Pauling short stories you all wanted :) This feels short and may be a bit rushed but I was struggling on the plot :(

I don't like how this came out, I feel to fix it I need to make a prequel but I hope it was horrific enough....

Yandere! Miss Pauling Prompts 53, 21, 9, 3

"I left you a few voice mails, why didn't you pick up?"

"Photos and trinkets only do so much, dear!"

"The wound in your leg serves as a lesson, does it not?"

"You'll love me, even if we have to sit and wait for it to happen."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Stalking, Harassment, Violence, Delusional behavior, Clingy behavior, Breaking and entering, Forced relationship, Insane Pauling, Gun wound, Not my best work but it's short and scary, Kidnapping implied, Drugging.

You never knew a day of silence. There's days you would cower in your own home while your phone rang off the hook. Call after call after call. Even when muted your phone blows up with messages.

You wish your coworker would just leave you alone, you both had jobs to do, why was she so insistent!?

"I left you a few voice mails, why didn't you pick up?" She'd ask you, acting innocent as though she didn't make your phone ring and blow up all day every day.

A few, huh? You stopped reading them long ago.

"Sorry, Pauling, just been busy with work. You should be too!" Is always your excuse and you were starting to think she wasn't buying it.

You just thought Pauling, a fellow assistant, was clingy. Overly clingy but it's not like team PURPLE goes out too often. It's a lot of work to oversee RED and BLU for whatever reason the Administrator feels is right.

You were allowed to go home and rest but it was back to work right after. You normally loved going home, happy the day was over and you could relax. That was before a sense of paranoia overtook you in the recent few months.

Part of you wondered if it was because of the calls and texts constantly trickling in. You were just stressed out, right? That WASN'T a camera clicking in the darkness or a knock on your window.

You tried to ask Pauling to stop calling. Just to give you a break as you weren't feeling yourself. Pauling frowns at this but promised she'd calm down.

She did... for a few days... then your phone was filled with her messages again.

You were wondering if you should quit at this point. Maybe even move while you're at it. You feel like you're being stalked... but surely you couldn't be?

Either way... you always had a wary look in your eyes when you spoke with Pauling.

It got to the point you broke your phone... desperate to stop the constant messages.

Now that you think about it... you wonder if that was her intention in the first place.

One late night... you're vulnerable. You broke your phone and never bothered to pay the house phone. You thought you could hold out until you could get a new one.

Then you heard a knocking on your door... silence... then a knock on your window...

Then a crash.

"Dear... you've been ignoring me lately. What's wrong? Have you been feeling unwell?"

Your breath hitches. That voice... Pauling? Had she lost her mind!? Was she really this crazy!?

"Photos and trinkets only do so much, dear!" Miss Pauling calls, looking around your home in awe. "It hurts that you ignore me...."

You frantically look around your room for a potential weapon. Of course... she was probably the only one who knew you had no phone. It was just your luck that she was also the source of your paranoia.

You're vulnerable... alone... and cornered.

Just as you look for a weapon, footsteps approach from behind. You freeze, hand midway into a drawer.

"Dear..." Pauling drawls. "Look at me."

You don't dare move....

"Listen to your love when she's talking to you!"

"Pauling?" You ask, slowly turning. You hear the click of a gun... before a deafening bang meets your ears. Past the loud ringing in your ears... a searing pain courses through your leg. You topple over onto the ground in shock.

"The wound in your leg serves as a lesson, does it not?"

"PAULING!?" You cry, still trying to figure out what was going. "What are you talking about!?"

"Did you listen to any of my calls!?" Pauling yells, glaring. "I said I loved you! I said to pay more attention to me instead of work! We're meant to be dating!"

"You're insane!"

"Of course I am." She states bluntly. "I'm crazy about you. Don't you know how much it hurts to see the one I love ignore me? It's more than that bullet wound in your leg." She grunts bitterly.

You highly doubt that.

"We're not dating... we're not even friends! What the hell is wrong with you!?"

Pauling only stares at you. This was your stalker... this was the one who harassed you with call after call... your coworker. She's delusional, a deadly handgun in her hands pointed at the ground for now. You could be dead in seconds.

"Leave me be... I don't love you... we just talk some times... urgh..." You groan, tears pricking your eyes at the pain in your leg.

"You'll love me..." Pauling breathes, appearing to be in denial. "Even if we have to sit and wait for it to happen."

"What...."

"Come on, my love..." Pauling sighs, kneeling down on the ground to look at you. "I'll treat your wound when I get you home. I just got a little mad at you, that's all."

A little mad!? She shot your leg! She hurts you and speaks nonsense like you'd understand it!

"Home...?" You croak with unease.

"Yes." Pauling giggles, eyes half-lidded.

"Your new home."

There's a sharp prick in your neck. You freeze, you were so focused on her and the pain you never noticed where her arm went. Was that a syringe?

You vision blurs and you struggle to crawl away when she wraps her arms around you. Just as your ears stop ringing you already feel your hearing failing you.

Pauling only smiles, looking way too happy with herself.

At least with the drug you can forget the pain momentarily.

#yandere team fortress 2 #yandere tf2 miss pauling #yandere miss pauling #yandere tf2

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mariaofdoranelle · 9 months

Note

"Ah yes, betrayal. I'm familiar with that." but it is a mermaid AU

The Cheating Client

Written for my Drabblefest

I had so much fun with this!! I have almost zero experience with anything mermaid-related but I love doing fic research, so I thought, what do mermaids do in their free time? Do they work? Do they have an economic system? What’s the social function of every marine being?

So I asked my cousin (who does marine life research) for help. Yes, he did call me crazy, but he also told me about crabs and cleaner shrimps. 🤣 And only DAYS later I realized you were probably asking for a mermaid x human fic which would’ve been a lot easier to write lmaooo but here it is!!

650 words, no warnings

⨯ ⁺ ✦ ･｡ﾟ⨯ ﾟ♡ ✧* ･｡* ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Watching the dolphins play with water bubbles was one of Aelin's favorite weekend activities. Too bad the amount of merfolk it lured was so big it made her bump into some unwanted merpeople.

Rowan Whitethorn was close enough to fit a blue whale between them, trying to catch her eye. Aelin looked away. Just to look back at him again, watching him scan the crowd with his deep green tail and his electric eels, one at each side. His eyes found hers again, so she had to look away once more.

He chose this.

And when Rowan first came to her, wearing that cute grumpy look in his pine-green eyes as he complained his rock home was filled with seaweed, she should’ve known this is how their relationship would end.

The hotter the client, the bigger is the betrayal.

She totally forgot Rowan worked as a security merman in those kinds of events making sure the dolphins won’t be disturbed, looking very hot intimidating between his electric eels.

The crowd dispersed after the dolphins stopped this week’s show, and Aelin swam away from there to avoid awkward interactions. However, Rowan didn’t try to mask his intentions like she did, so he swam faster and gently grabbed her arm.

“Aelin, hi.” He gave her a shy, close-lipped smile. “I sent you a flounder, but you didn’t answer my message asking for the crabs.”

“I didn’t feel like I needed to.” She squinted her eyes at him. “I passed by your house recently. It looked awfully clean.”

Rowan’s face fell, his lips parting as he sensed the ugly truth being revealed between them.

Aelin worked organizing crabs’ schedules. Homes made of rocks tended to get dirty and filled with seaweed, so merpeople came to her to request some crabs to eat it off.

So imagine her surprise when Rowan, one of her regulars, disappeared for a while, and when she passed by his house, it was as clean as a cleaner shrimp’s anemone.

Rowan’s mouth opened and closed before he blurted, “I can explain.”

She crossed her arms, silently nudging him in.

He continued, “My friend told me about this hermit crab service—“

"Ah yes, betrayal. I'm familiar with that." Aelin’s voice was bitter, her stomach hardening with the knowledge that her favorite client was nothing more than a traitor.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his eyes seeming truly apologetic at least. “If I knew Remelle—“

“Remelle?” Aelin shrieked. Her biggest rival of all people?

The end of her tail flailed, but Rowan stopped her from swimming away.

“It was a one-time thing, and I really regret it because she mistreats her crabs and…” he trailed, grimacing. “Her work ethic is a little fishy.” The ends of Rowan’s mouth twitched, but he was too smart to smile now. “Please don’t fire me from being your client.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Truth was, she couldn’t dismiss Rowan just because he looked for another crab service. He didn’t look happy about it either, but this doesn’t mean she wouldn’t give him a hard time.

“What if I make it up to you over dinner tomorrow?”

That piqued her interest. Aelin stood a little taller, eyeing him carefully. “Seaweed doesn’t fix shark bites, Whitethorn.”

Rowan crossed his arms, a playful gleam in his eyes as his posture stayed firm and strong, looking too confident for his own good. “What about Pirarucu?”

The air rushed out of Aelin’s lungs. Dear Mala, that fish was bigger than some whales. She snapped her parted lips shut, but still took a swift glance at his toned body. “That’s a hard one to hunt.”

Rowan sent her a poorly concealed smug look. “Anything for your forgiveness.”

“Good.” Aelin bit her lip in an attempt to hide her smile. “But you’re not forgiven yet.”

“Don’t worry, princess.” He cocked his head, an indecipherable look in his eyes. “I’ll work for it.”

You can get notified when I update by either turning notifications on for @backtobl4ck-fics or entering my (sometimes glitchy) tag list!!

TAG LIST

I couldn’t tag the people in bold, sorry!

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@autumnbabylon

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#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #throne of glass #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #ask #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #rowaelin drabble #drabble #drabblefest

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ragingstillness · 8 months

Text

Ok so I just finished the episodes and by a cruel twist of fate I once again have to work in the morning so here’s my quick thoughts:

Calypso’s bday was clearly a pride celebration and I love that for them

I actually picked up on it surprisingly fast, like literally when Frenchie left the galley to go prepare for the party

Izzy’s voice is of course always tops, we knew Con could sing but man he really belted it this episode

Ned Low is a dick and deserved what he got

I now stan Hellcat Maggie

Not surprised murder turns Stede on, frankly it was smtg I was always expecting

While their previous two kisses have been sweet and romantic I was happy to see one with some passion

Izzy, Jim, and Wee John in drag mean everything to me

Poor Roach, he seemed to be enjoying his torture

Wish we’d seen whatever torture there was that “turned Izzy on” lol

Can confirm, people who play violin are assholes (source: I am a violinist) /jk

Ngl the episode felt a tiny bit rushed idk if that was just me

Ricky’s a dick and his speech immediately made me think of a gay priest who is denying himself and condemning homosexuality (for which specific priest, just take your pick there are a lot of them)

As much as I like Ed trying to encourage Stede not to “kill in cold blood” I think that ship has totally sailed on both their parts. Even if you don’t claim Stede’s killing of the Badmintons as “cold blood” he did totally set that ship of French aristocrats on fire

I like that the show’s acknowledging that jumping right into sex especially after trauma is not necessarily a good idea no matter how much some part of my shipper heart is like ugh why are they fighting again let them be happy

The second episode in particular Stede spends kind of acting like a dick and knowing Djenks and his team this is on purpose but it’s still unpleasant to watch

I feel like Stede’s fallen into the trap of now that he’s back with Ed he thinks everything is going to be fine and he’s turned Ed into this idealized figure again and is ignoring the actual things that Ed says

That being said, I do agree with him that Ed is being a coward by running off to become a fisherman as if he wasn’t a bloodthirsty pirate who still hasn’t made up for his actions to the crew.

Ed becoming a fisherman is clearly a “I was happy fishing for the first time in a long time I want to hold onto that feeling” decision

Essentially both Ed and Stede are running from their faults and pasts and I think they need to talk it out

Ed seems to be trying to say to Stede that he wants to have time to love himself before falling headlong into a relationship but he missed the mark a bit

Izzy briefly plays Lucius’ role in congratulating them on sleeping together and giving Stede advise

It fits him like an over large suit but I understand they needed a character to fill that role and Lucius has his own plotline now

I do think Izzy is being remarkably calm and that might not last, he’s probably bottling it up

Has the Jim/Olu/Archie polycule expanded to include Zheng? I’m so confused by it all. I don’t disapprove in any way I just feel like some of the relationships in that square are qpps and some are romantic and I can’t really nail down which is which

Fang and Roach bonding I kind of ship them a little

The Paper-azzi hysterical

Jackie’s new outfit: yes queen

The Swede’s new look: bitchin’

I feel like most of the cast have gotten hotter over the season. Shows what a few modifications in costuming can do (note, I said in costuming not in body or face or anything I’m not shaming anyone)

At one point I straight up thought Izzy was a ghost the way he kept popping up near Stede and Ed and giving commentary, idk if that was intentional

Izzy is still dealing with his alcoholism and I’m glad they didn’t pretend that’d be solved in a few days

RIP Ed’s leathers, you were hot

I knew there was smtg up with those clocks but I thought there was some sort of secret message in them not that they’d explode. That might be just because I considered it an anachronism. The earliest I can find evidence of a time bomb with a little googling is 1776 but that may be wrong

Who was firing on the republic? Was it Ricky or did the bombs somehow set off the canons on Zheng’s ships?

Stede deserved the beat down he got he was being a misogynistic dick

Also, it’s about time Stede detached from Ed long enough to realize that he hasn’t spent enough quality time with his crew to get them to stay with him when there are other options

Not surprised Ed didn’t kill Ned Low but a little surprised Izzy didn’t, as Izzy’s canonically killed everyone Ed couldn’t

Izzy mentioning how Ed shot him when he told him he loved him and Stede responding as if he’d heard that before I would have loved to see that scene

In general these two episodes felt a little rushed but idk if I’m perceiving that correctly I’m too tired

#ofmd #ofmdspoilers #ofmd spoilers #ofmd season two #ofmd season 2 #ofmd season two spoilers

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ilydeku · 2 years

Text

Workout...right? | izuku x reader

"...30 more seconds y/n!-"

"AGHHH!" You grunted as the core of your abs throbbed in pain. You've only been doings planks for 8 minutes, but the time felt like hours.

You turned your head to Izuku. Sure, he was sweating and all, but it seemed like nothing to him. In fact, he was smiling. This was all fun to him; going beyond limits while working out, waking up to a stiff sore body.

"...and done!" Your body collapsed to the mat in exhaustion, diluting it in sweat. The vibrations or treadmills and weights hitting the floor rumbled through your body. Izuku grabbed his gallon water bottle, nearly chugging down half the fill.

"Great. Let's go home."

"Home?" He laughed, twisting the cap back onto the bottle. "We've only gotten through the warmup! Now it's time to lift!" You groaned, sitting up and crossing your legs. He handed you the bottle to drink.

"You're joking. That was the warmup? All those 10 set 20 reps of exercise? Never working out with you again."

"Hehe you don't mean that. You enjoy anything we do together, plus you wanted a feel of how my daily workouts are, right?"

"...shut up."

You and Izuku took a 5-minute break, taking a breather, and resting on the bench press. After, you both starting on lifting dumbbells. Though, you moved on after seeing Izuku lifting over 60-pound ones. You went off and did your own thing of using the treadmills and stair climbers while Izuku stayed around the weight-lifting area. Agility has always been more of your stronger suit than strength anyways. From time to time, you'd look over in Izuku's direction. Every time you just decided to glance over, he'd be doing something that never failed to amaze you. Whether that be bench pressing over 1000 pounds or deadlifting over 2000. What a sight to behold. He turned the heads of the men working out around him. Compared to him they looked so small and weak. You found it amusing when some even came up to him, probably asking for tips and tricks. But it wasn't funny when some girl came up. You frowned as you watched the action unfold.

"Hi! I'm new here!" The girl smiled, interrupting his routine on

"Hello! Welcome! This gym has a lot of equipment to offer, so go ahead and explore for yourself."

"I couldn't help but notice you out of the other people here! Are you a professional trainer? I saw you helping these guys a while ago." She leaned in a little, failing to grab his attention.

"Oh! I'm actually not. Just a friendly average guy working out. Not a professional trainer." By this time, Izuku had let go of the equipment and was intently listening to the girl. You frowned. You couldn't hear what was going on, so couldn't really tell her to go away.

"I see. That's unfortunate for me." She crossed her arms and pouted, puffing up her cheeks for effect.

"Well if you really need help on working out, I could lend you some time."

"Really!?" She exclaimed rather too loudly. "Thank you so much!" They then started going through the routine that you just recently endured. You laughed a little at how embarrassing she looked as she struggled to make it halfway through the exercises. Though you may have struggled, at least you made it through the whole routine.

"H...Hey." She huffed, as they took a breather. "I heard on social media that squats or whatever are good for you. Can we try them?" She asked, snaking an arm around his. Izuku frowned, pulling his arm away from her, but managed to keep his cheery outlook in continuation. You began coming closer to the weight area, just enough to hear what was going on.

"Uhm...Sure!" He began by getting into the starting position. The girl followed after. "The stance and core of squats are the most important when it comes to squats." He began squatting down halfway. "When you do it, don't go all the way down. Try to make your thighs as parallel to the ground as possible. When you go back up, do it slowly-"

THUMP

"Oops. I fell hehe! Do you mind helping me up?" He turned to see the girl sitting on the floor who was amused at the situation. Izuku offered her a hand and helped her back to her feet. None of this was very funny to you though. 'I fell' my ass.

"Sorry. It's my first time doing workouts like this." The girl kept a hard grip on Izuku's hand.

"Ahh don't worry! Everyone's like this on their first time."

"...who are you anyway? What's your name? You're, like, totally my type of guy." She clasped her other hand around his, inching closer to him. "From the way smile and the way you act, your handsome face...What are you doing after this? I'd be up for a cup of coffee!"

"HEY IZUKU-"

"No thanks." He tightly grasped both of her wrists in one hand and lightly pushed her away. He might've even bruised them unintentionally. "Sorry, but, I have a beautiful girlfriend waiting for me." He smiled as he turned in your direction and began walking over to you. Your face heats up as the girl watches as he wraps his arms around your waist, kissing your cheek in advance. "This is my girlfriend." He declared audible enough for the people around to hear. The girl was in shock. How embarrassing it must've been for her.

"...Huh?"

"Just so I'm clear, girlfriend as in I'm in a committed loving relationship. Meaning I'm taken. You understand right?"

"Oh..well...right...then excuse me!" She quickly turned away and walked out of sight to the far end of the gym. You were amazed at how confident and assertive Izuku was. It suited him and it was honestly very attractive. You stared at Izuku as he grabbed his gear and set the equipment back where it was. The fluttery feeling was driving you crazy, but it only showed how much you loved him.

"Should we get going now y/n?"

inspired by this one webtoon called maybe meant to be. read it or I'll skin your family

support me? :)

#w.midizu #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #deku x reader #drabbles #oneshot #bnha x reader #fanfiction #fluff

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midnightcinderella · 2 years

Text

Words Don’t Come Easy

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader Word count: 1k Summary: A very self indulgent fic I wrote about what I would want Leona to do for me when the world is entirely gray. Kind of a hurt/comfort I guess? The way I portray the reader here is based off of my own feelings and experiences. Please be mindful of this if you have any criticisms Notes: depiction of a depressive episode, use of “you” pronouns, not proofread

You pressed the power button on your phone, putting it to sleep before letting your arm fall limp onto your mattress. You heaved a deep sigh and closed your eyes. Immediately you felt the muscles around them relax, finally able to rest after staying up all night again.

Another day, another excuse to Leona about why you couldn’t come see him. You’d told him you had a ton of homework to do. That wasn’t technically a lie, you thought as you eyed the pile of papers and worksheets on your desk. Though you had no intention of actually doing it. Not today anyway.

Day by day the pile had been growing, delivered by Grim when he came back from going about his day. You closed your eyes again, the sight of the pile filling you with guilt. Guilt for Grim for having to get it for you. Guilt for the professors, who you knew you were disappointing by not doing the work and letting it pile up. Guilt for Leona, who you once again turned down using the work as an excuse. Not even an original one either. You recalled using it two-- no, three?-- days ago. You couldn’t remember.

You shifted in your bed, wearing the same pajamas you have been for the past couple days. You bet your clothes and body were pretty gross right now. Not to mention your hair, which was probably rubbing oils all over your pillowcase. You simply rolled onto your side and snuggled deeper into your blanket.

You needed to shower, you knew. But you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your bed. Couldn’t bring yourself to change into clean clothes, to wash your bedding, to function. You hardly wanted to look at yourself right now, let alone have Leona see you.

It was hard. Everything was hard. You needed time to stop so that you could get your bearings. But you knew it wouldn’t. Time stopped for no one and never would, much like the incessant knocking on the front door. All you could do was wait it out. Whoever it was would think no one was home and leave. It was probably Ruggie anyway, sent by Leona to deliver something or other.

Knock knock knock. Why wouldn’t it stop? Just go away already, you thought. Can’t you see no one’s home? Go look for me in the science rooms or something.

As if on cue, the knocking did stop. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and prepared to sleep until your troubles left you alone. Then you heard shuffling and the light thud of unhurried footsteps downstairs.

The footsteps came up the stairs and stopped just for a second outside your door. Before you could even think to move, that this person might have wanted to do you harm, the door opened some to reveal the second prince of Sunset Savanna himself.

“Hey,” he greeted you simply, same half-lidded eyes and uncurved lips. You didn’t say anything in response and just stared, wondering why he’d come to see you. It seemed he wasn’t in the mood to give anything away just yet as he left his shoes by the doorway and approached the bed.

“Sit up,” he said. You grunted, letting him know you heard him, but made no move to do as he asked. He sighed and slipped his arms underneath you to prop you up, muttering a “C’mon, bein’ a lump is my thing.” He gently let you back down, this time leaning against his chest as he sat behind you, legs stretched out on either side of you.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said softly.

“Sorry.” You couldn’t think of anything else to say.

When he didn’t say anything else, you decided to just let out what you’ve been thinking for so long. “I’m a mess. I can’t make myself do anything. Everything’s all gross and I can’t make myself get up to clean.” And after a thought crossed your mind, you let out a humorless chuckle. “You probably already knew that, though. Bet you could smell me from the doorway.”

You closed your eyes at the rumble in his chest as he let out a laugh. “Yeah,” was all he said, pulling you tighter against him.

Neither you nor him were ones for mushy gushy heart-to-hearts, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Actions spoke louder than words, after all. The way he pulled you closer despite how his keen nose was probably telling him not to was better than hearing an “I’m here for you.” The way he took the full weight of your body on top of his was better than hearing an “I’ll make it better.” And the way he came to you instead of sending a note or flowers or gifts was better than hearing an “I love you.”

“Take a catnap,” he told you, “and we’ll get you cleaned off afterward.” The prospect of having someone help you bathe kind of made you feel like a child. But you knew Leona didn’t mean it like that.

“Ooh, you gonna join me?” you asked. His fingers lightly dug into the side of your waist and you squirmed at the ticklish sensation.

“You really comin’ onto me smelling like that?”

“Hey,” you pouted. Leona chuckled as he slid you both lower onto the bed.

“Sleep.”

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath to release the tension from your body. This encounter wasn’t a huge affair of heartfelt comforts and promises of tomorrow, but it didn’t have to be. You’d bet that if it were, you wouldn’t feel half as loved as you did now anyway.

“Leo.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m kinda glad I stepped on your tail that one time.”

He chuckled softly, his breath brushing over your face as he nosed at your cheek. His face slid lower until it was buried in the crook of your neck and he took a deep sniff. You were too tired at this point to ask him what he was doing when you hadn’t showered in days.

It must have been unpleasant. And he could honestly say it was. But beneath the dirt and oil and sweat of your unwashed skin was the scent he was looking for. The one he always wanted around. The scent of you. It was you he was looking for and it was you that he found, even if on the verge of being crushed under the burdens of your own mind and body.

“I’m kinda glad too.”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #leona #leona kingscholar angst to fluff #leona kingscholar fluff #gender neutral reader #missy writes

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sweetestlittledarling · 4 months

Text

Our First Kiss

Rating: PG

Pairing: Julian x Sparrow (Female Apprentice)

Part of @monthly-challenge 2024 | First Kiss

Summary: There are many first kisses, but a true first kiss is special

(Side note: this takes place in my own head Cannon of three sibling apprentices, so it mixes a bits of Julian's, Asra's and Muriel's story line all together. Trust me it's been a hell of a time working it out, but this takes place after Julian's and near the end of Muriel's. Enjoy lol)

Julian realized very quickly that Sparrow was indeed a very good choice for an assistant. She was quick to learn things and even quicker to get things done. With those steely gray eyes, she mastered ever task he set her to do, quickly and efficiently. Also, her handwriting was impeccable compared to his, though as a doctor he assumed that came with the territory. He also noticed other little things about her as well. The way she hummed as she worked, filling the clinic with sound rather than silence. The way she would tuck stray hair behind her ear as she leaned over the desk. The way she would name the leeches to make them a little more tolerable to work with or how she petted Brundle as she read through research books, the old dog happily leaning into the touch.

Jealous of the dog Ilya? a voice inside his head asked, sounding a little like Pascha. He shook the thought away and tried to focus on his writing, though he felt his heart beat a little faster.

One evening as they were returning from a house call, Sparrow asked a very surprising question: “Doctor Devorak, what do you plan to do after you cure the plague?”

Julian paused, not sure how to answer for a moment. “I am not sure,” he said truthfully as he hung up his plague mask carefully, “I would think probably continue being a doctor.”

“Is that all?” Sparrow asked, watching him from where she leaned against her desk.

“As I said I’m not sure,” Julain admitted, waving his hand a moment as he looked to find the words. “I don’t like to think about he future especially since the here and now needs the most attention.” He paused again looking at her in earnest. “Why? What are you going to do?”

“I was thinking of traveling,” Sparrow said, her voice hopeful, “maybe see the world outside of the city for a bit. I love my home, don’t get me wrong, but I have never really seen it anywhere else. I would love to take a boat and sail to a sunny island somewhere.” Her eyes seem distant as she stares off into space, as if she can see the island right there in front of her. But then she sighed as she shook her head. “I’m sorry doctor, these are silly questions. I just figured if I had hopes for the future then maybe all this effort on finding a cure might not seem so- “Futile’ was the word on both of their minds though neither spoke it.

Julian nodded. “I suppose it is nice to hope though don’t let it make you lose focus. Our duty is to our patients and daydreaming won’t bring us any closer to a cure.”

“Yes doctor, “Sparrow said, looking as if she was turning back to the papers on her desk. Julian also turned back to work but then he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up, about to ask if she needed something when he found her lips on his. Now the clinic was not very big, and it was not unusual for them to bump into each other, though they had worked out many a system for this not to happen as often. But this was deliberate, it was intentional, it was…gentle and warm. His eyes grew wide for a moment not knowing what to do, his heart suddenly racing. Kiss her back you fool, his inner voice told him. But before he could respond, Sparrow was already pulling away, her face beat read from blush and her eyes wide.

“I am so sorry...I…” she stuttered. She then grabbed her bag off the chair and rushed out the door. Julian rushed to follow, making it to the door in time to see her retreating form disappearing into the darkness. For a moment he just stood there watching where she had gone. Then he touched a hand to his lips, feeling warmth there. For a moment he pictured a beach somewhere and pretty Sparrow, smiling at him…

A distraction, a new voice in his mind supplied, all this is a distraction to your goal doctor! If you loose focus now so many people will die… A new image sprung to mind, Sparrow’s pretty gray eyes dyed red like blood and Julian shuddered. No, he had to focus. He would find the cure. He would find…

“She’s gone!”

Julian opened his eyes again. What day was it? It was a clear day, but the red haze made it a little more difficult to tell lately. He was at his door still, but something was different. Instead of three it was one. Lark, Sparrow’s twin, the youngest brother and he was clearly angry. Julian blinked tiredness from his eyes. He hadn’t slept in what felt like years. “What are you yelling about?” he asked, somewhat rudely though in his state he didn’t much care.

“Sparrow! She’s gone! They’ve taken her and Robin to the Lazaret!”

Julian’s heart stopped. The world stopped. Everything stopped in that instant. “What?” It wasn’t so much a word out of Julian’s mouth as a painful breath.

Lark grit his teeth and actually growled. “My brother and sister are gone and it’s your fault! You and your stupid cure! If my sister had been home, then she would have been safe instead she was here with you! She’s dead because of you!”

Julain felt pain as his fingers dug into the door frame. His mind was empty. His mouth didn’t work as all he did was stand there…Imagining a dark-haired young lady with determined gray eyes, who tucked her hair behind her ear and hummed little tunes to pass the time. He imagined the same young girl on the beach who laughed sweetly and kissed him…. No! How had he not known she’d been sick? Had he known he would have…No! NO!

“Julian?”

Julian awoke with a start. As his mind came back to him, he remembered where he was. He was in camp in the woods, just outside of Muriel’s home, in the tent he shared with…He blinked his tired eyes as he felt a gentle hand run through his hair and he when he looked up, he found the gray eyes he had come to adore so much. Julian melted under her touch, savoring the calm he felt just being in her presence.

“Are you alright love?” Sparrow asked, voice quiet. “It sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

“I was, in a way.” Julian sighed as he moved closer, gently resting his forehead against the nape of her neck. “I was just remembering the first time you kissed me.”

“The first time I kissed you, you mean at Malinka’s apartment?”

Julian shook his head. “No, back when you were my assistant.”

“Oh,” Sparrow said suddenly catching on. “You mean…” There was no need to finish the sentence as they both knew what he meant. Sparrow lowered herself a little more, so that she was eye level with Julian, one hand still playing with his hair while the other held one hand in hers. She rested their hands against her chest and gave him a gentle smile. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There is nothing really to tell,” Julian said, resting his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. “One day you kissed me, though I always regretted not kissing your back.”

“Hmmm, I think that makes sense,” Sparrow mused, “I was thinking about thing and how I felt when I first met you. When I saw your face without the mask that night in the shop, I felt like I knew you and my heart skipped a beat. I think I realize now that before I might have had a crush on you.”

Julian laughed a little. “Couldn’t resist my charms even then huh?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it would have worked out back then.”

Julian opened his eyes, looking curious. “You don’t think so?”

“Well for one I think I was too young and naïve,” Sparrow answered. “I didn’t really know you outside of the hero worship I probably felt watching you work. Plus, I feel that it might have been a little inappropriate given that you were my boss at the time.”

“Always my dear pragmatic Sparrow,” Julian sighed, though a sexy grin creeping along his lips, “but the thought of the handsome doctor and sexy assistant does get the mind going now doesn’t it.”

Sparrow giggled as she brought the back of her hand to her forehead in dramatic faction. “Oh doctor, not in front of the leeches.” They both broke down into a fit of giggles after that one, Julian wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer. They fit so well together, her arms wrapping around his neck pulling him for a kiss. As they broke apart again Sparrow rested her head on his chest, his face resting in her hair breathing in. “You know,” Sparrow said, “I don’t think that was our first true kiss. I mean you didn’t kiss me back and, in all honesty, though that person was me, they are gone now. I can’t even remember who they were even though I’m sure they were very similar.”

“Yes, very similar,” Julian breathed, “but I agree, we are no longer those people. So, then our first kiss would have been in Malika’s apartment?”

Sparrow shook her head. “No, while we did kiss, I think it was more out of lustful desire, which is nice, but I like to think our first true kiss was much later. I think our true first kiss was right before you went down into the dungeon, through the bars of grate.”

“And why that particular moment?” Julian asked, a little bit surprised.

“Well, seeing you so frightened, feeling how you clutched my hand and held me like we would never see each other again, made me realize that I was scared to.” Sparrow pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “I was scared for you because I loved you. I loved you so much and just wanted to protect you, to keep you safe, to have that future with you. And when we kissed, I knew whatever was down below, whatever came next, I wanted to face it with you just like now and just like always.”

Julian could say that again the world came to a stop, though for a much different reason than before. Looking into Sparrow’s beautiful eyes he found the same determined girl he had seen that night on his doorstep but now he could also see the love of the wonderful woman he had come to treasure over their adventure. With one hand he tucked a stray hair behind her ear and leaned in for another deep kiss. He felt her hand grab hold of his hair as they came together again and again. “I love you,” he breathed once they had broken apart, though faces remaining very close.

“I love you too,” she breathed back.

Julian grinned. “I don’t think I will ever get tired of hearing that.”

“Good,” Sparrow said, grinning herself, “because I plan to say it a lot more for a very long time.”

#the arcana #the arcana julian #the arcana mc #julian devorak #arcana apprentice #arcana fanfiction #fanfiction #februfluff2024

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