#did i neglect my college homework to write this? yes. yes i did

[frannyzooey]

In The Dark: 5

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, age gap

A/N: Thank you for being patient for this one - I couldn’t have done it without the reassurance of @krissology​ and @charnelhouse​ who assured me this chapter hit just the way I wanted it to. Apologies for any typos - this lady has COVID brain, but I wanted to get this out. Enjoy!

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

--

Ezra: Can I come over tomorrow?

You kept looking at the text all night long.  Checking it was still there after you dried off from your shower, peeking at it every so often as you finished some homework, opening it after you crawled into bed. The simple words etched themselves onto your brain before you closed it, tapping your Books app to read. 

You had thought you had sated the ache you had for him in the shower earlier, but it did almost nothing against the bundle of nerves warming in your core right now at the thought of that text. It was as if the words acted as a match, igniting the kindling inside you the second he sent them. 

He could have waited until tomorrow morning to call you and ask, but after spending all day with him in close proximity of his casual touches and his lingering looks, you knew now that he liked to see how far he could push you. 

He had a playfulness in him, one that you had observed while being around him so much, and though you always saw it come out in teasing words and winks, you wondered if you were about to be shown a different side of it - a darker, more seductive one. 

You switched your phone for a real book and a light, hoping that the lack of screen would make it easier to fall asleep. It had been a long day after all, and it did the trick, because not even ten pages in, you nodded off.

–

It’s early when you wake; you’ve come to like that. 

When you were a teen, days off meant sleeping in until noon and then rolling out of bed just in time to get ready to hang out with your friends. Once you started college, those early hours were brutal, especially after so many late nights either partying, staying up to gossip with your roommates or studying. You made the mistake of signing up for one 8am class your freshman year only once, and you never did it again. 

It wasn’t until later that you discovered, by chance, how peaceful the solitude of the early morning could be. Needing to deliver a midterm paper that was technically due the night before, you had set your alarm for 6am to make the walk across campus. Stepping outside, you were surprised at how quiet it was, how bright and crisp and refreshing, and after dropping your paper off, you had taken a longer route back to your dorm to soak it in. After that, you decided that while late nights were fun with other people, early mornings were better by yourself.

You usually spent them reading: your couch positioned right next to the window for a premium spot, the ledge of that open window the perfect place for your cup of coffee. Your limbs are too restless this morning for that though, so you take the time to clean instead; weeks’ worth of neglect cluttering the surfaces around your apartment. 

Books are everywhere: weathered copies from the campus library, even worse ones from the second hand store. New, glossy covers of those you couldn’t resist mixed with the hardbound textbooks you owned, slim notebooks tucked haphazardly between volumes, the pages sometimes riddled with study notes, sometimes with writing ideas. There wasn’t a lot of space in your small apartment, which helped you keep it tidy, but books – you always had room for those. 

You sort them, putting them in their rightful places, the task a calming one. After that, the papers in your bag, then a wipe down of your kitchen and bathroom, then one of yourself - a long shower, to rinse the grime of chores off your skin. You take your time shaving, making sure you get every single spot and when you get out of the shower, you see a text from him, sent 10 minutes prior. 

Ezra: On my way, that okay?

You smile, quickly texting him yes before rushing into your bedroom to get dressed and you busy yourself by making your bed, lighting a candle in the living room, fussing with the throw pillows on the couch. 

Then, you wait. 

You’ve spent so long in his environment, in his house, it’s hard to picture him in yours. What will he think of it? It isn’t really about what he thinks of the apartment - those are all the same, in their own basic way - but so far, you’ve only known him as Ezra around Cee. Who is he as Ezra, the man? Is he the same? Different? Who is he around the women he goes home with? 

You try to picture him in a vague, bland apartment, sitting with the woman at the movie theater, maybe a glass of wine in his hand. Them, flirting. Him, kissing her. Him, laying her backwards onto the cushions of her couch, guiding her body with his and suddenly the image of her transforms into you and your living room, your clothes on the floor and his mouth –

When your phone rings, it startles you from your train of thought. Ezra’s name pops up on the screen and you swipe your thumb to answer it.

“Hello?” 

“Hello, Birdie,” he greets you smoothly and you can hear the smile on his face through the line. It gives you a thrill to hear his voice through the phone, even more so knowing he’s calling just for you. “How is your morning so far?”

“Good. Catching up on chores. Are you outside, or –?”

“I’ve had something come up. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come run an errand with me?” You can hear the sound of city traffic on his end of the line; car horns, wind, the general movement of the vehicle itself and you picture him sitting in the driver’s seat, the competent way he drives. 

“Uh, sure,” you answer, wondering what he means by errands. “I can grab my stuff and meet you outside - don’t park. Are you close?”

“I am indeed. See you in a minute.” 

When he pulls up, you’re waiting for him out front just like you said you would and he reaches over, opening the car door from the inside. The smile he gives you in greeting is genuine and disarmingly handsome but brief, the dimples in his cheeks showing only for a moment. He leans back into his seat as you climb in, checking his rearview mirror while you buckle and knowing he can’t be double parked for more than a second or two, he slides back into traffic with a smooth single handed steer. 

“Hello,” he says after a moment, reaching over to grab your knee with a squeeze. You chose a dress to wear today, not sure of where you were going, but sure you’ll look good doing it and you can tell he agrees with the way his eyes keep sweeping over you. They drift up to yours and hold there for a beat, warm and affectionate, before looking back at the road and when he pulls his hand away, you can still feel the weight of it on your skin. 

“Sorry I didn’t just come up, like I wanted. This isn’t how I imagined spending some time alone with you, but I got this call I’ve been waiting for and I didn’t want to reschedule.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him, shifting slightly in your seat to face him. “I don’t mind. Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” He says the words with a hushed weight, a wink over at you when you smile at his teasing tone. “How did you sleep last night?” 

“Okay. How about you?” You bite your lip at the sight of his t-shirt moving in the wind across his broad chest, at his tanned throat just above the collar. He’s wearing a cardigan today again and the fabric looks so soft, you want to lean in and rest your cheek against it. 

“I was restless, Birdie. I’m not gonna lie.” He keeps his eyes on the road, deftly merging into another lane in order to make a turn and his open admission makes your heart pick up pace. You love the way he never says what you think he will say, though always honest and the casually blatant statement thrums through your already tense limbs. 

“Oh yea? How come?” You know why, but you want to hear him say it. 

“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

You’re not paying attention to where you are going at all, instead watching his hand as it comes to settle on your thigh again and when you rest yours on top of it, he hums in approval, sliding it further up the inside of your leg. 

“After yesterday, how could I sleep, hmm?” His pinkie strokes your petal soft skin, a slow back and forth that lights a path straight up between your legs and you are immediately flung right back into his kitchen at night, right back in the Farmer’s Market, right back in the bookstore. 

Unconsciously, you gently scoot on the seat to move his hand further up, the sounds of traffic dimming into a white noise in the background as he peeks over at what you’re doing. 

“Did you think about me last night, like I thought about you?” His question is asked quietly, but you hear every single word in that small space the two of you share. The pads of his fingers are calloused, his hand warm and dry and you want nothing more than to just drag it up to where you need it the most; even more so because you’re fairly sure he would love it. 

“I did,” you reply instead, leaving his hand right where it is and the admission makes him smile, his hold tightening on your leg, tenderly digging his fingers into the meat of it. He caresses your skin, watching your eyes drop down to watch and he knows he should be focusing more on driving right now, but he can’t help but wonder what you’re wearing under your dress. If he just shifts his hand a bit higher, he could find out… 

Fuck, maybe he should have canceled this appointment. 

He looks regretful when he draws his hand back, breaking the moment and the action makes you take a deep breath, pulling you back to the present. He’s slowing down, searching for a spot to park and you look around, trying to figure out where you are.

Distinctly middle class, is your first impression. Different from some of the deepest parts of the city, definitely not the same as Chelsea, where you were yesterday, this neighborhood looks more….lived in. Residential. Brick red apartments line the block, one after the other, stoops out in front of each one. 

Brightly colored storefronts line the next street down, Russian subtext under English bannered names and a couple of people stand in the doorway of one, chatting. A woman pushes a stroller laden with grocery bags down the opposite side, a small child trailing behind her and you wonder if he’s taking you for breakfast, maybe?

Finding a spot, he parks, and rounds the car before you can get out.  He opens your door, a gesture you don’t think anyone has ever done for you before and when he holds his hand out, you take it. He tugs you up and into his arms, your hands finding their place in the thick fabric of his sweater and he stands there for a moment and lets you take him in, just like he’s doing with you. 

You feel so good in his hold, the curves of your body felt clearly under the light dress you’re wearing and when he leans into you, you think he’s going to kiss you -- but he shuts the car door behind you instead. 

He looks down, his lips pulling up at the obvious upturn of your face and even though he wants nothing more than to press his mouth to yours and kiss you until you’re breathless, he restrains himself. He felt what his barely there touches did to you yesterday, felt the heady pulse of electricity build between your bodies until you were squirming in your chair at the restaurant and that is what he wants. 

When his lips brush your cheek in a slow inhale of a very innocently chaste kiss, he can feel your body trembling in his hold.

“Ready?” He asks, lacing your fingers with his and it takes all he has not to smirk at the hooded, dazed want in your eyes.

“Yes.” 

It takes you a moment to answer, something he delights in.  

–

The errand, as it turns out, is visiting an elderly woman’s apartment in Brighton Beach. She had called Ezra, saying she might have something of interest for him and when he introduced himself to her, you admired how well this job seemed to suit him. Not only the delicate task of extracting the treasure from the dirt, but the people skills it took to get there in the first place. He handled them just as carefully as their items. 

He was immensely charming, talkative, his politeness disarming and she welcomed the two of you in. As she led you down the hallway of her cozy unit, you automatically grasped his arm in your hold when you saw the bedroom you walked you into. 

“Oh……my God.”

Dolls, everywhere. Seated on every shelf, piled on the daybed, held standing on the dresser by display stands. Ceramic, cloth, wooden; dresses of all kinds: silk, cotton, lace. Their full cheeked, creepy faces seemed to all stare at you at once, tracking you around the room as you followed Ezra over to a cabinet in the corner and when the woman lifted a doll from the glass case, she did it with the same delicate movements you would handle a newborn with. 

“This is the one,” she said, her voice high and wavery, and Ezra took it gently from her, his hands carefully handling it as he assessed the sewn seams, the hair, the clothes. His brow furrowed in  discerning study, he knew exactly what he was looking for. Not finding it and he eventually handed it carefully back to the woman with a regretful look on his face. Seeing that it wasn’t quite the find the woman thought it was and sensing she was about to lose her audience, she invited the two of you to stay. 

Ezra extracted you from the situation like a professional. 

“We would love to stay, but we’ve got a couple other things to do this morning. Meetings just like this.” He grasped her elbow in sincere apology, a touch that made her pat his arm. 

She nodded in understanding, looking over at you and taking your morbid curiosity of the dolls as in interest like hers, she smiled. 

“Do you like any of them, my dear?” She came closer to you, resting her hand on the dresser top. While she looked at the dolls affectionately, you glanced over her shoulder at Ezra, who appeared to be stifling an urge to laugh. His face shifted into a silent scold for you to pay attention to her and you did, hiding a curl of your lips. “I would be glad to give you one.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t –” you started to refuse and Ezra stepped in, circling to stand behind you. His hand came to rest on your lower back, curling around your hip. 

“Oh, you should, Birdie –”

“Birdie? How sweet,” she said pleasantly. “Is that your name?”

Sandwiched between the two of them and flustered by her insistence on a doll and his presence, you stepped back and he was right there, warm and solid against you. His hand slid down further, his fingers splaying to cup the curve of your bottom and you couldn’t believe he was doing this with this woman right in front of you. 

Polite and charming, indeed. 

You wanted to turn around and look at him, your feet shifting on the floor as he traced the line of your panties through your dress and taking a deep breath, you tried to steady yourself. The woman started to show you her favorite ones, his hand then drifting excruciatingly slowly towards the juncture of your thighs and when they pressed inwards, you almost jolted. Bracing yourself on the dresser,  the woman smiled encouragingly. 

“This one?” she asked, selecting the one she had just pointed out, but you barely heard her. You’d only been with this man for less than an hour and your panties were a damp cling against your center, your emptiness felt even more with his hands on you. 

“Um, yes,” you answered, the words catching slightly in your throat and she looked so pleased, you felt a bit guilty. The second the words left your mouth, Ezra took his hand back. 

Taking the smallest, least scary looking one from her, it was ten more minutes of a conversation held during a slow moving walk towards her door before the two of you were finally freed. 

“What do you think you were doing in there?” you ask, watching him get his keys out. 

He feigns innocence, opening your car door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You laugh, holding the doll out to him. “Why did you let her give this to me? Look at this thing. Take it.”

“Oh no, that’s all yours. I saw how you were looking at its glassy, creepy eyes. It’s Victorian clothes.” He slips his sunglasses back on, a teasing upturn of his lips and leans in closer. “I saw how much you wanted it.”

The double meaning of the words isn’t lost on you and when you climb into the car, you want to toss the doll into the backseat, but hesitate when you think about how much that woman cared for it. You place it down gently instead. 

“Ready for another trip?” he asks, starting the car. 

Still reeling from his touch upstairs and not at all ready for this day to end, you smile and say yes. 

–

He’s got a few places to go, it turns out: an antiques shop in Tribeca to look at an old bed frame, Greenwich Village to pick up some brass hardware and original Victorian wall sconces, over to West Harlem to look at furniture from a recently liquidated Midtown office and while every one of these errands was necessary, his “casual” touches were not. 

His hand remained on your thigh in the car, on your back when you walked along with him,  a bracing wrap around the back of your knee when he knelt down to “inspect” the construction of an end table. On that one, he asked the shop owner to check something on the computer and when the man walked away, you almost yelped when you felt the quick press of his mouth on the outside of your leg. 

You were back where he had left you yesterday, going out of your mind with arousal and you knew he could tell, which made you feel even more worked up. He was doing this on purpose, like an extended type of foreplay and you tried to think of a way to get him back. 

You eventually succeeded, in that warehouse of furniture. Rows of old oak desks, clunky typewriters covered in yellowed plastic sheets, a pile of old rotary phones. It looked like the discarded set of Mad Men, and fishing out a pad of paper and pencil from one of the file boxes nearby, you rested the latter on your bottom lip with an exaggerated pout. 

Channeling your inner Joan Harris, you sauntered over to him and asked him in a sultry voice if you could take notes for his “meeting”. When he tried to grab you, you slipped from his grasp, instead bending over a desk and pretending to reach for something. Letting the word “sir” slip from between your lips, you rendered the man speechless for the very first time since you’d met him.

–

“Did you like it today?” he asks, a one eyed squint over at you in the bright sunlight of the afternoon. Sitting on a bench in a park across from the office building, he takes a bite of his hot dog and you peel the paper back on yours, following suit. You always did love a street vendor. 

“I did,” you answer thoughtfully. “I liked seeing you with those people more, I think. Doing your job. Watching you talk to them.”

He grins, shaking his head and you continue, nudging him with your elbow. “No, I mean it. I always think about like, who lives in all these buildings, you know? What are their lives like? What are their houses like, these little spaces for themselves in this big city.” You stop, a little self conscious when you see him just looking at you, but when you see soft endearment in his eyes, you keep going. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, taking another small bite. “I’m just happy you showed me. I liked it.”

He slowly balls his used paper in his hands, reaching for the can of Coke next to his thigh. “I’m glad you liked it.” He takes a swallow and you watch the movement of his throat above the collar of his shirt. “I’ll take you again sometime, if you want?”

You nod and he finishes the soda, standing to toss his garbage in a can nearby. When he comes back, he holds his hand out to you. 

“Ready to go home?”

You aren’t - you want to stay with him, to let this day unfold in whatever plan the universe has, if only to discover more about him and his life when he’s not with you. He looks boyish and light right now when you look up at him, the sun a glowing halo behind his head, the dark strands of his unruly curls lit with it and the crinkles around his eyes deepen, the dimples in his whiskered cheeks deep when you slowly shake your head no. 

“Not unless you come with me?”

You wait on baited breath for him to answer, hoping he doesn’t have anything else to do today but of course he doesn’t; he’s waited too long for this opportunity to present itself. He’s got the whole day, just for you. 

“Of course.”

–

The steps up to your apartment are a silent, weighted thing, especially for all the talking you’ve done with him today. Your lighter footfalls against his heavier ones, you can feel his presence at your back and the pull you feel towards him grows more intense the higher you climb. At your door, you fumble with the trick lock before you get it to open. 

“So I get to see my birdie’s nest, huh?” The question is said to himself more than anything, but you still feel a swoop light through your chest at the words “my birdie”. His. 

He follows you in, taking in the heady, familiar scent of you in the bright, welcoming space. The tension in the room is instant, as if it was swept in with him once he crossed the threshold and when the door closes, it gets thicker.

Just to have something to do with yourself, you ask if he wants any coffee and he’s still looking around when he says yes. 

When you wander into the kitchen to make it, tossing your keys and bag on the tiny table, he follows right behind. 

He does want to see your place - wants to know who you are, look around the space you call home - but he’s been waiting all day to get you alone. Even longer than that, if you count all day yesterday and the weeks before when he ached for you and he can’t seem to find the interest in pursuing your bookshelves to see what you like to read at the moment or what kind of music you might listen to. 

Not when you’re finally alone with him. 

He comes to stand behind you, crowding you at your counter and when you try to place a scoop of grounds into the machine, he stills your hand with his. You freeze, feeling the warm skim of his breath on your neck and when you feel his mouth graze your skin, the tension you’ve been holding in your body all day crests until it melts, spreading throughout your limbs. 

“Turn around, Birdie.” The words alone are enough to make you shiver, the husk in which his voice sounds low in your ear rolling through your body like an intimate wave of want and when you turn in his hold, he backs up barely enough to let you move. The position and its similarity to the one you found yourself in the other night isn’t lost on either of you. 

You’ve each dreamt about this moment for weeks and now that it’s here, the immense want unfurls free between the two of your bodies, filling the space. It's like a drug; you couldn’t say no even if you tried. 

His hands come up to cradle your face, your lips parting only just as if you want to breathe him in and his eyes warm at the instant softening of your youthful features. “Are you nervous?”

You nod slowly because you are, even though you wish he would slide his thumb only just towards your lips so you could kiss it.

He likes your nod, but he likes your mouth more and when he bends down to press his own against it, the action is chaste and gentle compared to the other ways he’s kissed you. 

“Don’t be,” he whispers, his bottom lip collecting yours, his hold tightening subtly on your face to draw you in closer and he can almost feel the way you're practically vibrating for more than what he’s giving you - which is just how he wants it. 

He kisses you again, his tongue sweeping slowly through your mouth to open you up for him and a soft sound catches in the back of your throat, your fingers splaying over his firm sides. He slants his head to deepen it, your lips molding against his and you’re not even sure how it’s possible you’re already this turned on from a kiss, but this is what he does to you. It’s what he has always done to you, and you feel the thin material of your panties dampen between your legs. 

Another one, another one, his mouth demanding more from yours each time and he tastes so good and masculine, with a hint of sweetness from his soda earlier. He lets out a groan into your mouth and you slip your hands under his shirt to rest them on his warm skin. Sliding them over his sides and around to his strong back, you map the line of muscle that follows his spine and when you get to the waistband of his pants in the back, you slip the tip of your fingers underneath his briefs and pull him closer. 

Devouring would be the best way to describe the way he’s kissing you, just like he did in his kitchen: like he can’t stop now that he’s had a taste, especially now that he doesn’t have to stop.

“You taste so good, Birdie,” he murmurs, breaking from the kiss only far enough that his lips brush against yours when he says it. The tip of his tongue flicks out to taste the middle of your lower lip. “Even better when I can really take my time.”

You smile into his next kiss, the curve of it melting almost instantly when he shifts his mouth to the corner of your jaw, pressing thick kisses there. Lower still, his mouth dragging warm and wet down the slope of your neck and when you loll your head to the side to give him space, you catch a glimpse of the two of you in a mirror you have hanging on the wall. 

You hardly recognize yourself - kiss swollen lips, hooded eyes, a slack mouth opened in near panting - but it’s him you really focus on. The crown of his dark hair, the patch of gray threaded at the corner of his jaw, the solidness and height of his body next to yours, the strain of his shirt over his biceps as he continues to hold you close to him. 

“Do you want more?” he asks, directing the lowly spoken words into the hollow of your throat and when you say yes, he pulls away, licking his lips with a swallow.

“Where is your bedroom?” The direct question shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, and yet –

You take his hand in yours, guiding him down the hallway towards it and when he gets there, he takes it in, just like he did your living room. 

“I like your blanket.” He goes to your bed, sitting down on the edge of it. “And your pictures.” He isn’t looking at either of those things, instead tracking you with his eyes. “And your books.”

“What about me? Do you like me?” you tease, coming to stand between his legs and he hums in approval, his tanned throat bobbing with it. 

“Oh, I like you very much.” The words are directed at your belly, his fingers slipping under the hem of your skirt to rest on the front of your thighs, His hands wrap around them, slowly sliding up until he gets to the band of your panties and you hold still, letting him do it. He looks up, his teeth resting for a moment on his lower lip and you reach down, lifting the material of your skirt to rest at your waist. His breath skims warm over the sensitive skin of your stomach when he cups your bottom in his hold, his hands giving it a slight squeeze. 

“This,” he starts, leaning forward to place a kiss against your hip bone and you sigh, placing your hand on his shoulder when he squeezes the plump flesh harder, kneading it in his grasp. “This ass, Birdie - I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Resting his forehead against the gentle slope of your belly, it puts his face directly in front of your cunt. You want to squirm in his hold, the ache inside you only growing more and more overwhelming with every second that he stays there and his hands tightening, his chin nuzzling your mound. 

“I –,” you’re about to plead for him to do anything, but you’re instantly cut off by the movement of his face.

His nose fits neatly along your seam, his hands splaying wide over your bottom to cup it and pull you closer and he lets out a soft groan into the apex of your thighs; your innocent, white panties undoing him. 

The cotton is soft under his calloused hands, a dampness darkening the crotch of the fabric when you shift slightly in his hold and his eyes flit up to yours for a moment before he presses his tongue against it. 

You inhale sharply, curling into the warmth of his mouth and you fist your dress, your hips wanting to rock forward. You can feel his hot breath through the thin fabric, can feel the humid, damp gust of it just over your cunt and you whimper at how turned on you are by him just breathing on it. 

“Do you want me…..here?” he asks softly, the question a rasp from deep in  his throat and you’re in a daze when you look down at his dark brown eyes, his face tipped up to yours as he strokes the slick spot with the pads of his fingers. 

He doesn’t wait for your answer before he pushes his fingers further back to brush over your entrance and you are completely under his spell, your chest heaving and your body almost trembling with need. 

It’s filthy, what he’s doing, somehow even filthier than it would be if you were naked and while you would normally be much more shy about anyone doing something like this to you, the combination of him building this need in you all day and the way he’s looking at you with a lustful reverence makes you bold; makes you feel beautiful and sensual and so very brave. He’s looking at you like you’re a feast, like everything he’s ever wanted. Like a hunger he needs to satisfy now. 

He strokes his fingers against your seam, pressing the middle one firm against the dip of your entrance. When you let out a whimper, he grins — a slow spreading smug thing. 

“I bet your pussy feels so good. Bet it tastes good too.” He holds your gaze. “Would you let me eat it?”

When you nod, the way he looks at you has you feeling like you just willingly walked right into his trap; his brown eyes shifting into something pitch black and you are already breathing hard when he gently tugs your panties down over your hips, thighs, calves. You step out of them, never leaving the spread of his legs and his eyes are hooded and hungry, directed right at the juncture of your thighs. He drags his tongue slowly across his plush bottom lip. 

You let your eyes flutter shut when he presses his mouth warm and wet to the top of your thigh, his hum of approval felt along your skin when he gives it an open mouthed kiss and he’s so fucking close to where you need him, but he’s taking his sweet time getting there. He switches sides, the soft cotton of your skirt twisting in your grip and you let out a barely there whine when his teeth catch your skin, his tongue sliding between your inner thighs where he can already taste the salt of you. 

That undoes him - his eyes intently fixed on your face for a split second before he lays back, sharply tugging you forward with him. 

You think he means for you to straddle his lap, but when he shuffles up the bed and digs his fingers into the meat of your hips to guide you forward, you don’t even hesitate. Instead you follow him up, your knees sinking into your comforter around his torso and then his shoulders and ripping your dress over your head and tossing it onto the floor with your bra, the twin sounds of relief that you both let out when he pulls you down onto his open, waiting mouth are filthy and loud. 

“Jesus,” you pant, bracing one hand on the mattress above his head and the other on the wall and he answers you with a groan, his tongue licking a wide, deep path inside of you. You chase the wet warmth of it, your hips starting an instant, unconscious rock against his face and he encourages it, guiding them with his hold. “Yes. Yes.”

How the fuck you got from the slow, methodical, stripping of your clothes to this, you don’t know, but you can’t seem to care. He’s fucking you with his tongue and you are blinded by how good it feels, his hands splaying wide to keep you tight against his mouth and rather than being self conscious about being fully nude and grinding on his face, you act purely based on need - which is exactly what he wants.

You arch your back and drag your hips forward; again, again, just like you would if you were riding his cock and he plants his feet on the bed for leverage, his arms taut with the strength it takes to keep you on his face. His hands slide up around your hips, following the lines of your smooth sides and when the weight of your breasts fills his palms, you cry out with how hard he squeezes them in his hold. The sound makes him groan again into you, the tip of his tongue now focusing directly on your clit before he gives it a suck and your hand flies from the bedding to his hair, threading your fingers into the dark locks with a tug. 

“Ezra,” you warn in a pleading moan and you reach down to cup the crown of his head, his soft hair slipping in your hold. You cradle it between your thighs, dropping them open wider as he presses his face deeper and you roll your hips restlessly against his worshiping mouth. 

Wanting nothing to distract him from the task at hand, he doesn’t answer you. Instead, he shifts on the bed to slide two thick fingers snug into your soaked cunt and quicker than you can vocalize how good they feel, he’s rubbing something deep inside you while he sucks. His cheeks hallowed with the rhythmic pulse over your clit, a hungry, satisfied groan into your cunt when he feels you bare down on his fingers with a broken cry and when you arch your back and let go, he can feel it before he can taste it. 

“Please,” you beg, not even sure for what, chasing the maddening swirl of his tongue as the single point of contact is exactly the right pressure to keep your orgasm rolling. He feels just as good as he does in your dreams, his mouth practiced and competent, but what you didn’t imagine is that he would be so hungry for it, would do it with such a genuine need. 

You are fixed frozen above him for a moment, your hips jolting with aftershocks as he continues to lick you down and when you ease off, he doesn’t even wait a beat before pushing himself off the bed to stand. 

You lay there, catching your breath while you watch him pull his shirt over his head and swipe it over the lower half of his face before he lets it drop to the ground, his fingers immediately working the button of his jeans open. His movements are frantic and rushed, the thick, rigid bulge in his briefs outlined just for a moment before he tugs those off too and when you see his cock, heavy and stiff between his thighs, you immediately part your legs. 

Fuck. 

He kneels on the bed, bracing his hands around your waist to lean down and kiss the soft swell of your belly, the thin skin over your ribs, the bridge of his nose sliding along the sensitive underside of your breast before he pulls back, remembering something. The bed dips with his weight when he reaches over the side of it, and you admire the ripple of muscles along his bare side when he fishes something from his pants on the floor. A condom. 

He places it on the bed beside you before fitting himself between your spread thighs and when he smiles down at you before giving you a kiss, you match it with one of your own, humming in contentment. The weight of his body is solid, the warm firmness of his skin fitting and molding with yours, flush against the length of you and his scent, the one pressed into the cushions of his couch and the interior of his car, the one you’ve been chasing for weeks now, fills your senses as he presses himself closer. The slip of his hair, the plush give of his lips, the bristle of his sparse beard. The lean strength of his arms surrounds you, the taut thickness of his thigh fits under the curve of your ass and the heft of his cock drags along the silky skin of your thigh.

He doesn’t stop - nothing about him does. His tongue, sliding against yours like it wants to memorize your taste, his hands mapping every inch of your bare skin, his legs restless and moving, knees pushing into the bed for leverage as he rocks his hips forward into yours and you meet every single one of his movements with your own. He rolls his hips forward again into yours, a deep groan into your mouth when you wind your legs around his waist and flex to meet his thrust and the two of you move like that together until it becomes frantic, his hands squeezing a little too hard, your moans turning more into whines. 

He pulls himself away to kneel between your spread knees, the black wrapper of the condom crinkling between his fingers as he works it open and when you reach down to slip your fingers into the slick, aching warmth of your cunt, he keeps his eyes fixed there while you watch him. 

What is so hot about the act of putting a condom on? Is it the deft handling of his own cock? The weight to it, the way it stiffly bobs in his firm grasp? Is it the intent to fuck, the explicit implication of what is about to happen? Is it the slight hurry to the movements, as if he can’t wait to be inside you? Is it imagining him doing this a hundred times before — is it the experienced motion? 

Maybe, you think, swirling your slick fingers over your clit,  it’s the way he looms above you: his broad shoulders accentuated by his slight hunch, the dark crown of his hair as he looks down for a moment, his taut stomach, the tapered dip of his hips, the collection of dark hair that leads to the base of his cock that calls out for your touch. 

His throat bobs with a swallow when he finally gets it on, dropping down to brace himself over you and crawling up, he takes his rightful, needed place between the welcoming cradle of your thighs.  

“You ready, Birdie?” he asks, his husky voice intimate in the golden lit, early afternoon glow of your room and you answer with a nod, your eyes dropping down to his mouth before lifting your head to kiss him. 

A frown settles between his brows as he opens up to you, his hand cupping your jaw to keep you in place while he lines up to slide into you and the cry you let out into his mouth makes him harder than it should. 

It’s a lot - Jesus, it’s a lot - but more than the delicious, filling stretch is how good it feels. It’s so good you want to cry, even more so when he pulls out to slide back in again and this time your moan is met with one of his own; the deep sound strained with heavy breathing. It’s not only what he’s doing and how he’s doing it, but the sheer relief after wanting it for so long that the two of you cling to and he picks up pace, not being able to control himself.

“You feel so fucking good,” his eyes are clenched shut above you, your hands pressed into the span of his lower back as he rocks forward again, again and you encourage it, digging your nails into the meat of his ass. “You’re so tight. You’re squeezing me so tight.”

A moan breaks in the back of your outstretched throat, your mouth dropping open in a pant and his tongue traces a line around the corner of your jaw before he mouths it, another kiss pressed to the side of your neck as he tastes the skin there. You thread your fingers through his close cropped dark hair, tipping your head to the side to give him room to explore and your thighs hitch higher on his lean torso. “Please, you feel so good. please don’t stop - I need it. I need you.”

He says nothing, his brow furrowed with concentration, his eyes black with lust as he plants his knees wider on the bed for purchase and he thrusts in deeper, harder. Again, again. 

“Fuck - you feel so fucking good. You’re so wet. How long have you thought about this? Tell me.”

“All the time. Every night. Oh god — Ezra, I —“

He kisses you, a frantic thing and it’s all you can do to barely hang on as he fucks you deep into the mattress, his mouth taking, tasting, savoring with a groan. 

It’s overwhelming for you, the full stretch and weight of him inside, but it’s just as much for him. The fruition of this want he’s felt for weeks, he’s never been harder in his life as he shoves himself into you seeking relief and flashes of everything he’s wanted to do to you slip through his mind. 

You, riding him on his couch. You, bent over his work desk. You, pressed against the wall or kneeling between his thighs. Your vacation photo, the swell of your tits splashed and smeared with his cum. You, your mouth stretched around the base of him. 

These are the things that have haunted him for weeks, but more heady than any of them is the real thing underneath him right now: the lush give of your body against his, the soft pliant mold of your lips, the welcoming cradle of your thighs, the tight fist of your slick soaked cunt. 

Your mouth - the one he’s been obsessed with - he devours like it’s the source of life itself.

“Jesus Ch —“, and it’s almost pained the way he lets it pour out of his open, panting mouth. “You’re so fucking wet, I’m gonna come. You’re gonna make me come.”

You tense your jaw, forcing your hips against his in a rapid roll, meeting his every harsh thrust and the two of you lose yourselves in groans of long awaited satisfaction, in the rustle of your blanket under your writhing bodies, in the the bruising, needy grips you have on each other’s sweat damp skin. 

More, more, you want more and as though your body is speaking directly to his, he gives it to you - his arm hooking under your knee to tug it higher, so he can slide deeper. 

“Fuck,” you whine, the word coming out before you can stop it and the swell of your breasts bouncing underneath him as he fucks into you makes him thicken inside you, but the near pained look on your face does it even more. “Just like that. I want it – I want –”

You're babbling, so close to coming around him you can taste it with that deep spot he stroking inside and you can feel slick dripping from your cunt, sliding down the curve of your ass. You’re stretched beyond what you’ve ever felt before, so full and deep and satisfied and a tear slips from the corner of your eye, sliding down over your temple. 

He sees it, tongue scooping it up the salty drip before he gives you a bruising, greedy kiss and your hand wraps around the nape of his neck, holding his mouth to yours. Your breath mingling in a hot, humid pant, you can’t even kiss anymore because he’s fucking you too thoroughly and too hard and when you start to come, an almost sob slips out of your mouth; one that he soothes with a shush. 

“That’s it, Birdie,” he murmurs, “Come on it. I want to feel you come, okay?”

You already are, the tide cresting in your center overflowing with a burst and your cunt is a slick, tight grip around his cock when it starts, one that squeezes him so tight he lets his forehead rest against yours with a deep, strained groan. When you lock up underneath him with a cry, his hand slides down to cradle the bottom of your jaw, pushing it up to fit his face into your neck.

“Ezra!” His mouth rests open on the juncture of your shoulder for a moment before he bites down, shoving himself harshly inside while he floods the condom with his spend and as the two of you come together, you relish the pain that he instantly soothes with a kiss. 

–

“What about you?” you ask, rolling onto your stomach, looking up at him from the cradle of your folded arms. He shifts onto his side, his hand reaching out to caress the length of your naked back. 

It’s warm, the perfect temperature for lounging naked on top of the sheets and the sounds of the city in the late afternoon waft through your open window, coming in with the breeze. You are content and so is he; the matching, sated smiles on your faces saying so. He looks so large in your bed, your pink sheets complimenting the tanned flush of his bare skin and he can’t stop touching you, like he’s mesmerized by the softness of your skin. 

“Hmm, I don’t know. That’s a tough question.” He thinks for a moment, his hold reaching down to fondle the curve of your bottom and when you can tell he’s no longer thinking and instead playing, you swat his hand away. He huffs a laugh, sliding closer, slipping his hand around the curve of your waist to pull you next to him. “What was the question again?”

He’s distracted by how different you are here, than at his house. There, you are Cee’s friend: youthful, funny, sweet and kind. Here, you are those same things, but different: sensuous, more like a woman. He likes seeing this different side of you, having something for himself. 

For the two of you, to share. 

“Nevermind.” You lean closer for a kiss, one he grants and you hum against his lips, parting them only just to breathe him in. “Are you hungry? Want to go get some food?”

“Can we stay in?” He murmurs the question against your mouth, his nose sliding along your cheek before his lips find the shell of your ear and you lean into the warmth of his bare skin stretched out along yours. “I don’t really wanna get dressed.”

You laugh, his own deeper one gentle in your ear. “Sure. Lemme grab my phone.”

When you slide out of his hold, he sits up, scooting down the bed and you admire the image of his bare ass and strong, lean thighs as he walks down the hall to your bathroom. Picking up your phone from the bedside table, you see a text on the screen. 

Cee: How is your day off going? Wanna meet me for a latte?

It was sent over an hour ago and you push down the guilt of what you were doing when you received that text, closing the message app and opening another one to order food. After you place it, you set the phone down, thinking about the naked man in your bathroom right now. 

You stretch out, the pleasant soreness in your limbs and between your legs coming to life with the movement and rolling onto your stomach, you bunch your pillow up under your face and smile so wide the stretch hurts your cheeks. 

–

Afterwards, a man sated, he pours over your living room. The spines of the books, the pictures you’ve framed, the art on your walls. He wants to see it all — wants to see you all — and you let him have his look from your seat on the couch. 

There is something so intimate about seeing him wander around your hardwood floors barefoot, the same furrow etched into his brow as when he’s working and when he leans forward to look at the titles, you stay silent. His fingers dance along the spines of the books on your shelves, just like you’ve seen him do at the bookstore and you smile affectionately.

“A lot of mid century modern fiction here.”

You shrug. “I like the short, direct sentences. It’s clean. Neat.”

“Is this how you write?” He looks over, eyebrows raised. 

You wait a beat before you answer. “I try.”

He seems amused at your answer and when he moves to another bookcase to check those, you scoop up the dinner dishes and walk them to the sink. Coming back into the living room, you curl up in your spot next to the window and watch him pick things up and put them down. Walking around your space, he seems so big for it - and yet also right at home. 

“I recognize this,” he smiles, lifting the cover of a book Cee left behind. When he sees a picture of the two of you in a frame next to it, he stares at it for a moment before coming to join you on the couch. He sits down next to you, leaning back into the cushions and you feel a delight in being able to sit as close to him as you want, in the open like this. 

“So what do you do all night, when you aren’t at my house?”

“Write. Study. Watch TV, maybe.” You shrug. “Sometimes I —,” you stop yourself, your teeth resting on your lower lip and he thinks it’s endearing the way you look hesitantly timid. “Sometimes I turn all my lights off and open the window and just watch.”

You continue, braver at the way he’s looking at you — just listening, without judgment. “Watch the people, listen to the traffic. I like it. I like the….movement of it. The never ending show of people.”

You turn your head to look out the window and he drapes himself over you and leans in, doing the same. The two of you sit there for a moment, the breeze from outside skimming your faces and he can’t help but nuzzle the curve of your neck, giving it a kiss. 

“Like that guy.” You point to a man waiting to cross the street; hands in his pockets, headphones covering his ears. His expression is a blank one — one you’ve learned everyone has mastered while walking around this city. “Where’s he going? Did he just get off from work? Is he headed to work? Maybe to a friend's house, or home alone?” 

Peeking at your face, he recognizes an eagerness for life that he saw in himself when he was younger; an insatiable curiosity, but one more so of quiet observation than his way of action. Safer, he thinks. Better. 

“I think,” he murmurs, the curve of his nose gliding along the fine hair at the nape of your neck, “you might need some new hobbies, Birdie.” You smell like you, but also like him, and he likes that, inhaling a little more. 

You laugh, reaching back to encourage his gentle exploration of your skin. His fingers shift the strap of your dress to the side, his mouth tasting the uncovered skin there and when you move to face him, he settles back into the cushions of the couch. 

The spot he’s sitting in, incidentally, is where Cee always sits when she comes over. A clear image of her flits through your mind, and you know that the temporary silence right now would be a good time to ask him what he thinks the two of you should do about her - but you can’t bring yourself to say the words. 

That question is a bigger one, a topic you don’t want anywhere near this day you’ve had with him. Today was just for the two of you, a secret bud of joy unfurling in your chest that is yours to nurture and hold and so you push against the guilt, instead climbing onto his lap. 

“It’s getting late,” he says, his voice raspy and warm in his lean back to look at you and his hands wrap around the top of your thighs, pushing up underneath your dress. They find your hips, his cock stiffening his jeans at the memory of those hips in his hands earlier and when you bend forward to kiss him, a groan rumbles from his chest. 

He doesn’t want this day to end. He wants to stay the night and he could, he supposes. You’d probably let him, if he asked, but he knows Cee will be waiting for you in the morning at the coffee shop you frequent together and the thought of her makes him kiss you deeper, harder, his hands cradling your face to take deep pulls of your taste before he has to leave. 

He should break this kiss, but when you trail your small hand down his stomach and slip it between his legs to cup him innocently through his jeans, all logic flies out the window into the night air outside. 

“Do you – did you bring another…” you bite your lip, the heft of his cock fitting neatly into the cup of your palm and you roll your hips forward in time with the lingering, firm stroke you give him. 

“It’s – fuck, Birdie,” he grits out, his hand covering yours to press your hold tighter against him and he lets out a groan. “It’s in my pocket. I’ve got another one, just –”

You sit up on your knees to let him fish it out, your hands already working open the button of his jeans as he tears the wrapper with his teeth and when you stand up to slide your panties down your legs before climbing back up onto his lap, the two of you are in silent agreement. 

Not today. We won’t talk about this today.

#ezra prospect #ezra/reader #ezra/you #ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra smut #pedro pascal

[k-srandomthoughts]

College

...I never wanted to actually be in college. If I was in college, I wanted to be far away from home. But God arranged it to where I'm living home and going to college located downtown. School work, deadlines, the constant stress of financials and the pressure my mother and family puts on me to have outstanding grades all the times and cook for everyone and clean the house all the times and counsel everyone and be the protector and be the provider at times..to do everything and be everyone it's..overhwhelming and in my family, I can't talk about it to anyone or I'll be told I'm doing too much or being extra and dramatic and don't need to be spreading family business around. If I try to talk to my family- my mother or sister about it, they write it off and just say they had to go through much worse. When the reality of the situation is, yes I'm the youngest, but the one parent that treated me like someone abandoned us and I look similar to him and as a result, I got the short end of the stick a lot. I was bullied immensely in school, then beaten senselessly at home for a disorder I can't control, beaten for things my elder sister did and didn't do or things she put on me, beaten for not having my homework done, expected to clean the entire house and cook by the age of seven..and now..I'm the Cinderella daughter and being gaslit and manipulated when I need to talk about how I feel. My older sister couldn't handle it when I needed to talk to her and tell her about how I've been constantly bullied, overworked, overlooked, neglected, abused, manipulated, lied against, lied to, and much more and I need a break. Now? On top of the emotional turmoil caused from lies and deceit, I'm in risk of flunking out my second semester of college with burnout from what I had to endure over winter break that I still haven't recooperated from. So now, I must turn in all of my discussions or I flunk out of all of my classes. Fun..really fun..God..I'm barely holding on..I need you..I really do. This is not okay, I am not okay. I am truly not okay and because of lies, deceit, and misunderstandings, I have no one. God..I'm not okay.

[incomingalbatross]

GF Fic: (Insert Time-Related Pun Here)

Having a birthday on the last day of summer was great when you were a kid.

When you were in college and vacation ended somewhere in the last third of August? Not so much.

“Grunkle Ford, I...I don’t think Mabel and I can make it to Gravity Falls,” Dipper confessed, the day before his twenty-second birthday.

“Is it the travel time?” Ford asked from the other end of the phone. “If your usual transportation is too slow, we can call in a favor or two for you kids—I know plenty of entities that would be happy to give you a lift as a birthday present—”

“No, I know, I know,” Dipper said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “And I really appreciate that, Grunkle Ford, I just...it’s not the travel, it’s being there. The other years we’ve been in college, our birthday was always on a weekend—last year was a Monday, but we spent that year with you guys instead of in school—”

“Thank goodness that seer tipped us off about her vision of 2020!” Ford agreed. “Taking a gap year to sail the Arctic with us was definitely the right decision for you two.”

“Right? Half a semester of online classes was more than enough. But—I mean, maybe it’s being back in school after being gone for a year, maybe it’s just early-semester problems, but...” Dipper sighed. “It’s just, I’m taking five classes, and I’ve got a TA job this year, and I’m getting back into the DD&MD group again and maybe planning to DM a oneshot as a Halloween event, and...” He sighed again. “It all looked much more manageable on my schedule. It was color-coded and everything!”

Grunkle Ford hummed noncommittally.

“Yeah, I know,” Dipper admitted. “Not the first time I’ve overbooked myself.”

“Not quite, perhaps. But it’s very good that you’re learning to recognize it and take steps to take care of yourself—when I was in college, I burned out routinely.”

“Mabel would sic the ‘Self-Care Fairy’ on me again if I didn’t learn.” The “Self-Care Fairy” was a truly terrifying onslaught of Mabelness, complete with costume and character voice, and would not go away until its subject had reached an acceptable level of well-being and had examined their mistakes. “Which is why...I have to cancel. If I came to Gravity Falls, even with instant travel, I’d only be able to get there around like 5:00 PM and I’d be stressed and anxious the whole time. And then I’d get back here exhausted and with no homework done and with class tomorrow, and...I just don’t think I can afford that.” Dipper paused, a knot twisting in his stomach. “I’m really sorry, I wish we could come...”

“Of course, Dipper, we know you do!” Grunkle Ford hastened to assure him. “Don’t feel sorry for us—of course we’d love to see you, but we just had the summer together. I’m just sorry you’re so short on time.” There was a moment’s silence.

“But how is Mabel doing? Is she facing the same challenges?”

“I mean, sort of.” Dipper smiled ruefully. “She kept trying to figure out some solution so that we could have our usual birthday and everything would work out, but...neither of us could come up with anything that would actually work. And she’s really busy too. She jumped back into school full steam ahead, and she’s got her Etsy store, and all her social groups to keep up with—you know she’s better at managing her energy than I am, but it’s still a lot.”

“I understand that,” Ford said. “You both do what you need to to keep up with your responsibilities, okay? We’re very proud of you both, you know.”

Dipper swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I know, Grunkle Ford.”

“Well, then, I’ll let you go—I imagine you have plenty to do right now! We’ll get in touch with you tomorrow, even if only by text.”

“Thank you, Grunkle Ford! Mabel and I are going to video-call at some point, we think, so there’s that. Say hi to Stan and Soos and Melody and the kids and everyone for me?”

“Of course, my boy. Have a good evening.”

“You too.”

The call disconnected, and Dipper sighed, throwing himself down on his bed. After a minute, he picked up his phone again and texted Mabel.

Just called Ford and canceled plans. He said to take care of ourselves and that he and Stan are proud of us.

Then he pushed himself into the homework for tomorrow until his phone buzzed.

Aww, of course he did. <3 Thanks for calling, brobro. I wish we could go, but you were right--I’ve got WAY too much booked. Why didn’t we check what weekday our birthday was FIRST???

Dipper snorted. Maybe we’re dumb :/

IMPOSSIBLE, Mabel sent back. Clearly an evil College Schedule Gremlin messed with our brains

Is that the same guy who makes it so you can never take the prereqs you need when you need them?

Yep!! And the one who fogs your brain so you THINK you’ve filled all your requirements until it’s too late to patch up the holes in your plan. His phone buzzed a second time after that text. ...Ugh, maybe there ARE gremlins in all the college systems

It would explain Blackboard, Dipper agreed with a frown. Huh, maybe they should look into that...

Anyway, though, u good for Zoom tomorrow?

Dipper huffed, reminded of the fact that they had no time for a paranormal investigation right now. Yeah, he typed, I can do an hour or so anytime after 5:30.

Cool, I will figure out a time and let you know!! Can’t wait to see your 22-year-old face!! :) Even if it sucks that we can’t party :(

Same, same. TTYL :)

Dipper tossed his phone aside again, shutting his eyes for a minute. It wasn’t just the party that had him down—though he would miss the bash that Gravity Falls usually threw on their birthday. It was...everything.

It was having a birthday without Mabel.

Oh, sure, they would talk, but they wouldn’t be in the same place. That was why, really, he’d hung onto their plans until the very last minute. He’d made it work on paper—taking an evening to travel to Gravity Falls, have a party, and be back in time for the next class—and it just felt wrong to admit defeat, to compromise on something this important. Their birthday meant the two of them celebrating together, having a good time, acknowledging that it was important.

This year wasn’t going to feel like a birthday at all, Dipper thought glumly.

But no, that was quitter talk. They were going to do their best anyway, because they were the Mystery Twins! Even if the situation was lame. Even if he was going to spend his time on the call with Mabel tomorrow doing homework and/or bursting with stress.

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. “Why do I always overfill my schedule?” he asked plaintively.

The ceiling didn’t answer.

---

Dipper dropped his backpack with a thud on his dorm room floor, hastily unzipping it and digging out his laptop. He was late—he’d left his thermos in his last classroom, and been halfway across campus before he realized and turned around to go get it. He blamed his sleep deprivation (a week in, and his body still hadn’t readjusted to the rhythm of morning classes).

Now, though, he could finally pull up Zoom. He plugged in his headphones as he waited for it to connect (stupid dorm wifi), and was rewarded with an ear-splitting squeal.

“Happy birthday, Dipper!”

He grinned at her beaming face. “Happy birthday, Mabel!”

“Did you get a birthday cupcake?” she demanded. “Or at least a birthday cookie?”

He grimaced. “I got ice cream at the cafeteria, but I had to eat it there,” he confessed. “Here, I’ve got...a birthday candy bar?”

“Hmph.” Mabel looked crestfallen, but plastered a smile on anyway. “It’ll have to do! We can sing Happy Birthday, anyway. One, two, thr—”

Before they could launch into an inevitably out-of-sync rendition of “Happy Birthday,” Dipper heard a loud knock. Judging by Mabel’s startled turn towards her door, she heard it too—

Wait, what?

The knocking repeated. On both their doors.

“..Huh,” Mabel said thoughtfully. With a wordless glance between them, they both unplugged their headphones and went to their respective doors.

“Happy birthday, slugger!” Stan said, grinning, the instant he saw Dipper. Over the internet, Ford’s voice was greeting Mabel at the same time.

Dipper’s jaw dropped.

“Ha!” Grunkle Stan shoved past him into the room. Waving to the camera, he added, “Happy birthday, sweetie!”

Ford peered past Mabel into the screen. “Happy birthday, Dipper, my boy!”

“But—what—”

“Grunkles!” Mabel cried. “...But wait, why not just video call us? Not that we’re not happy to see your wrinkly faces, but you came such a long way!”

“Yeah, exactly,” Dipper said, waving his arm in confusion. “You guys—you know we can’t really visit, right? Even with you with us? We don’t have time. I dont want you guys to waste a trip—”

“But we didn’t,” Ford said smugly. “We came to bring your birthday presents.”

With a flourish, Stan produced something and handed it to Dipper. It looked like...a piggy bank, but with a clock face set into the side?

Mabel gasped. “It’s so CUTE!”

“But what is it, Grunkle Ford?” Dipper asked.

“Simply put, my boy...it’s time.”

“It’s a Time-Savings Bank,” Stan said proudly. “Got our hands on these babies a few months ago, on a little side trip. See, when you’ve got some extra time—like, at night, or when you’re waiting for a pot to boil, or whatever—you can use these gizmos to store it up instead! Then when you need more time, you use the clock to take it back out. Whammo! You squeeze in a few extra hours between the normal ones.”

“Like Daylight Saving Time without the false advertising,” Ford added. “We know you two are short on time right now, but...if you’d like, there’s enough in here to give you and everyone currently at the Mystery Shack a good few hours of spare time. What do you say, kids? Still up for a party?”

“Are we!” Mabel crowed.

Dipper stared at this miraculous device. “But...that’s a lot of hours,” he said. “Where did you get the time?”

Stan barked out a laugh. “You kiddin’, Dipper? We figured from the start that at least one of you would burn out when you went back to school. We’ve been putting time aside in these things for months.”

“...Really?” Dipper said. Somehow, he found himself blinking rapidly, and swallowing down some obstruction in his throat.

Stan coughed uncomfortably, looking away. “I mean, it’s not like we gave you any time we had a use for. Just some odds and ends here and there...every day... Anyway! You kids wanna get this show on the road?”

“YES!” Mabel shouted.

Dipper beamed. “Definitely,” he said. “Absolutely.”

And a few minutes later, when they all found themselves in the Shack (courtesy of one of those “favors” Ford had mentioned yesterday), and Dipper had piled into the inevitable group hug with his twin and his grunkles—and with hours of birthday celebration in front of them all—he had to add, “Best present ever.”

#did i neglect my college homework to write this? yes. yes i did #anyway #happy birthday dipper and mabel! #belated in my timezone but NOT ON THE WEST COAST so it WORKS #gravity falls #mystery twins #dipper pines #mabel pines #pines family #my fic #i did not proofread this At All so...there may be glaring errors #i'll find out later

[fae-redux]

im stuck on you

S: People usually find their soulmate by following their heart (the closer you are to your soulmate, the warmer you’ll feel). Remus has been pining for so long, he doesn’t know how to handle himself.

P: dukeceit

happy birthday, @littlemisschameleon!! it’s corona and i can’t give you a physical present so have some dukeceit soulmate au!! i hope you like it :D (here’s an ao3 link if yall like that formatting better)

***

Remus sends the letter because Roman’s teacher thinks a penpal will help him learn English. Also, because Roman thinks it’s stranger danger and won’t. 

If he gets kidnapped, at least there’s a chance for his heart to feel warmer whichever direction his kidnapper goes. Fact remains, he’s freezing and bored and he’d do pretty much anything to not be.

He neglects to say that in the letter. 

His penpal instead receives the gift of approximately two full pages of fun facts about different species of mushrooms and how fast they can decay different animals. It’s pretty well written, if he says so himself, and it’s all in English because he’s polite, not because it has to be.

Any who, Ms. Andrea says she’s not going to read the letters before they’re sent, and Roman is only required to send one at a time, so Remus signs it with his own name and lets it go.

He doesn’t expect the letter he gets back to be so nice.

His penpal’s name is Janus and he doesn’t like to eat mushrooms unless they’re in fried rice, but he loves how mushrooms look.

There are little mushroom doodles that line the bottom, along with a few snakes, which Janus goes on to say is because they’re his favorite animal because of the way they unhinge their jaws.

Remus has never wished to be in the same school as someone more.

***

The next letter they write to each other includes their emails, and Remus takes full advantage of it to send Janus all the deadliest snakes he’s found out about in the library, and includes a pain scale with human accounts of getting bitten.

Janus sends back a heart and fun facts about the deadliest octopi in the ocean. 

He feels his heart get slightly warmer when he hugs the monitor, and when he loudly proclaims he found his soulmate, he gets a laugh from Roman.

He asks him what his plan is here, and Remus tells him to shut his fuck and keep his nose out of it if he doesn’t want to get smacked.

***

When they’re old enough to have phones, they exchange cell numbers, and Remus gets daily updates instead of sporadic emails.

He finds out that Janus likes to dress a little more on the punk side and that he wants a million tattoos as soon as he’s old enough. Janus tells him about foster homes and how he thinks he might be sticking with one of the other kids he met who is a little older than him, but is sort of like him. 

Janus is smart, smarter than anyone he’s ever met in real life, and he wants to go to law school because he knows he can talk his way out of hell if the devil asked him to try, and Remus is inclined to believe he could do it if he wanted to. He thinks through all his words, his every movement, ten times before he follows through, unlike Remus’ zero-thought policy.

He learns that Janus likes boys, but there aren’t really other people in his hometown like him, and that he wants to study in a big city someday so he’s not so alone. 

He learns that Janus wants to keep talking to him forever, or at least that’s what he tells him.

Remus in turn tells him about his brother, and their origin story. He tells him about how everyone else just seemed to have grown out of curiosity and how he feels out of touch with other people his age sometimes. 

There’s still a part of him that feels like he’s been touching all the stars in the sky, but none of them have set his orbit quite right, leaving him drifting endlessly.

He tells him that he might like boys too, but he doesn’t really want to tell his mom because she already rags on him for everything else, like wanting to go to art school and his knife collection and how he’ll never meet his soulmate with an attitude like his. 

He doesn’t tell him about the small seed of doubt in the back of his head that Janus won’t want to stay if he ever meets him in real life. 

He tells him he wants to keep talking forever too.

***

They don’t ever talk about meeting in person. For the first time in their lives, they’re in the same city, but every time he goes to bring it up, seeing a picture of Janus in the financial district, or near his favorite Starbucks, something makes him hesitate. 

Remus wants it so bad, it feels like all the air in his lungs isn’t real sometimes, or like something cut up his insides then spooned all the pieces out to replace them with ice. Still, the thought lingers in the back of his mind that Janus hasn’t suggested it for a reason. 

They still talk all the time though, whether it's to rant about professors, or homework, or siblings, or just about something they saw recently.

Janus tends to hyperfocus on cases he works on in his internship sometimes, and when he’s allowed, he tells Remus all the gory details and grins when he revels in the fun, while also giving valuable insight that contributes to his defense.

Remus in turn sends him the paintings that don’t involve Janus’ face and stupid selfies he takes at random food carts around school that are rumored to give you instant food poisoning. 

He makes sure to send progress updates on the projects he really feels good about and sends him updates on Roman and his new trends, whether they be six second dance videos or random quotes he’s said to him of varying hilarity based on how stupid they are.

The longer he lives in the city, the more Remus knows his heart feels warmer. He’s been feeling it since the start of the semester, but he hasn’t said anything yet, at least not to Janus. Roman is free game, though:

“Roman, I swear to everything fuckable within a ten mile radius, he probably goes to the same college as me,” Remus groans, his feet propped up on the back of the couch as he lies upside down. “I get warmer every time I go to campus.”

“There’s a million colleges in New York, so he really might not be,” Roman says reasonably, doing his eyeliner in the hall mirror. “Besides, he’s pre-law, right? There’s no way.”

“You’re just being uppity because you fricking met your soulmate on campus,” He responds grumbling.

“You’re right, I am. My soulmate’s a genius and I am very lucky to have met him when I did,” His twin’s pride infects the room, and he throws one Roman’s unnecessary couch pillows at him. “If you make me screw up my eyeliner, I’m going to run you through with one of your stupid wall-katanas.”

“They aren’t stupid, and I’m never going to see him face to face at this rate, so you might as well,” he snipes back, his purely decorative wall-mounted katanas be damned.

Roman raises an eyebrow, as if his mocking will affect Remus at all, “I’ll be back in like three hours, then you can mope your heart out, okay?”

He gathers his things from the hall table as Remus yells at his retreating back, “I don’t mope, I’m not you!”

“No, you’re not, and that’s why you don’t have a hot date tonight!” he hears as the door shuts.

He wishes he kept the pillow to suffocate himself with.

***

When Roman knocks on Virgil’s door, he doesn’t expect the person who answers the door to be so familiar, and he’s sure the answering party doesn’t expect him either.

“I thought-Sorry, I thought my roommate’s soulmate was coming over,” Janus says, a flash of recognition in his eyes, completely stunned in a way Roman has never heard while listening in on his brother’s phone calls. 

“Yeah, no, I’m here for Virgil. Janus, right?” And at the immediately suspicious look goes, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you send my brother at least five selfies a week, and he agonizes over your beauty for ages after every single one, you have to know I would recognize you on sight.”

“....Roman?” he asks, like he doesn’t actually know what was going to leave his mouth when he said it.

“That would be me,” Roman just goes for the back of his neck, before wincing at the Remus-like gesture. “So, uh, Virgil?”

“Yeah, yes!” Janus opens the door fully so fast, Roman almost expects him to run himself over, “Do come in. Would you like anything while you wait? Water? Tea?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Janus hovers for a moment like he’s going to say something, but bites his lip instead, “Want to know how my brother is doing?”

He shifts elegantly, though his chains rattle, making the adjustment more obvious, “Of course not, what do you take me for?”

“A liar, you definitely want to know how he’s doing. Well, you’ll be happy to know he lives fifteen minutes away,” Roman grins, “And he’s home alone right now, pouting about wanting to see you, if you wanna go over.”

“It would be rude to leave you unattended in my home,” Janus replies, his voice strangled. “Arrangements can be made to get Virgil to hurry up.”

Leaving the room in a swift movement of leather and metal, Janus nearly vaults the couch in his haste. Roman can hear him yelling at Virgil to “Hurry up, you nasty, spider-pet keeping bitch,” and his soulmate’s yells to “Get out of my room, you tattooed skank!” Then an offended gasp, “How dare you?” and the snarling response, “You barge into my space and-”

“You hooked up with my soulmate’s brother-”

”Who is my soulmate, idiot!”

“Would you just-”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Janus leaves the room and, in Roman’s line of sight, straightens his shirt as if he’d just been in some sort of scuffle. “Virgil will be out shortly, if you wouldn’t mind giving me the address.”

“You two are going to be related if you marry my brother, you know?” Roman grins as he puts the address into Janus’ phone.

He takes the phone back and rolls his eyes, “We were fostered by the same family. We really can’t get any closer, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“We were adopted by the same person, Jan, why do you always conveniently leave that part out?” Virgil grumbles as he enters the room. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and be safe.”

Janus sniffs turning up his nose, “I’m going to get violently murdered before I even make it there,”

“Don’t test me, I will put off this date,” he pushes Janus’ head forward so he can’t look up at them. “Be safe, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Janus mumbles, fixing his hat and his chained belt, “Do I look okay?”

“My brother is a trash rat,” Roman responds, louder than he means to, “You will look like a model next to him and you will constantly get questioned as to why you’re in a five foot radius of him.”

“So, good?”

“Fantastic,” Roman confirms. “Now have fun.”

Janus double checks his pockets for his phone and his wallet, and then he books it in the direction of the twins’ apartment.

***

For the first time since he moved in, Remus feels himself getting warmer by the second. It’s not as though he’s moved from his spot going over every single thing that could currently be going wrong at Roman’s date, but somehow, his heart is pounding like he has.

“What do you see?” He asks it, vaguely aware it can’t actually respond. Either his soulmate just figured out where he lives, or there is something extremely important happening in the city.

Picking up his phone to check, it lights up with a text from Roman reading ‘Sending a pick-me-up your way,’ but he has no idea what it means.

After two minutes of constant heat, he searches for major events happening nearby. Nothing.

Five more minutes pass, and he thinks he might die young to a heart attack.

There’s a knock on the door.

His self preservation instincts must be completely nonexistent at this point because he yanks the door open with a knife in his hand and freezes. There, right in front of him, is Janus, who he thought he’d never see, and who was always too good for him, and yet, perfect for him in every way and, “I could have accidentally killed you with one of my many wall-hung weapons because you didn’t knock like Roman,” and that is the first thing he chooses to say to his soulmate.

“I wouldn’t have appreciated the trip to the hospital after I just sprinted over half a mile to see you,” he pants a little, “I know we didn’t talk about it, but Roman showed up at my door, and I knew you had to be nearby, and I just-”

Remus yanks him forward into his arms, and sighs in relief as the heat abruptly goes away, “Mr. I-think-everything-through needed to be impulsive, huh?”

“Yes,” Comes the fervent response as he clings to Remus’ body. “I missed you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to meet up. We didn’t even-”

“I know,” And Janus’ mouth brushes his cheek, just barely, because he’s not tall enough to reach, and Remus bends down, and kisses him soundly on the mouth, the feeling running through his body like a new kind of heat and comfort, and it feels like he’s done it a million times, even if it’s the first time.

Breaking apart, he notices they’re just standing in the doorway of his apartment. “Come inside, sweetheart,” He wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, Janus bursting into laughter as he pushes him back. 

“Nope,” He grins fondly, and this is the first day of the rest of their lives, it hits Remus, “I think I’m going to cause problems on purpose.”

“Fair enough, honeybee,” He tugs at the yellow cuffs of Janus’ leather jacket, pressing a kiss to a tattoo at the edge of his hairline, “Want me to carry you? Roman did say he was sending a pick-me-up, and I can definitely pick you up.”

He’s giggling, Remus delights as he scoops him up, kicking the door shut behind them, “If you call me one more pet name, I will combust, and you will have no soulmate to be with, is that what you want?”

And he says what he wants to say, because Janus has never once cared about the shit that leaves his mouth, “Biscuit, I’ve waited so long to see you, even death couldn’t keep me away from holding you.”

Janus pushes into him and kisses him again, putting a hand in his hair, tugging slightly to get the angle he wants, “I wouldn’t want it to,” Then after another kiss, “Love you.”

Remus sighs into his mouth, his world aligning so he could be the orbit to Janus’ sun, the whole system correcting itself. “Yeah,” He holds him just a little bit tighter, “Love you, too.”

#dukeceit #remus sanders #janus sanders #ts remus #ts janus #sanders sides #intruceit #awen writes #its the floof guys #im also getting into human au stuff and like punk sides #you can blame tulip for that one #punk janus is a classic tho #imo anyways #remus uses pet names because all the others cringe something awful whenever he uses them and janus is the only one who gets normal ones #did i project my wish to be called honeybee into this fic? yes #would i do it again? #also yes #hey alex #go listen to falling for u by mxmtoon thats what the titles from

[writingtoforgetreality]

I just want us to be safe – Chapter 1 (Andy Barber x Daughter!Reader)

Next Chapter / I just want us to be safe-Masterlist

Summary: You were the 20-year-old daughter of Andy Barber. Nine months after a one-night-stand, your biological mother decided to give the responsibility to him. Yet, you were happy with your small family. One day, though, a scary event occured & somehow you involuntarily started being a part of this.

Words: 2,089

Warnings: none just yet, maybe a bit of swearing bc that`s me, angst if you squint

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

You were (Y/N) Barber. Daughter of the assistent attorney, Andy Barber. You were 20 years old & used to attend Newton high school, like your younger brother Jacob did. Now, your background is a bit more complicated. Technically, Jacob was not your biological brother. Neither was Laurie, Jacob’s mother & Andy’s wife, your biological mother. Some time ago, when your dad had not been dating Laurie yet, he had a one-night-stand with some girl he had met at a bar. Just one night, he had not seen her after that encounter. What he did not know though: the girl got pregnant & nine months later, Andy found a small basket at his doorstep. There you were, wrapped in a blanket. There was a letter, too. Your biological mother had not been ready for a child but she knew Andy would handle you just fine. And, being the guy Andy was, he obviously took you in. You were his daughter to say the last. He made sure to take a paternity test & yep, you were his daughter.

Now, do not get me wrong, you grew up with Laurie being your mother & yet, you had never, not even once, called her “mom“. You simply did not feel ready to do so & neither your dad nor Laurie pushed you into something you were not comfortable with. When you were 6 years old, Jacob was born & ever since then, you had made sure to protect him at all costs. Your dad loved seeing you with Jacob & he loved the bond you two shared. Laurie was sure that you would be more open about her being your mother after that but nope. Your guess was that you still felt neglected by your biological mother & did not want to let another “mother figure“ get close to you. Your dad never lied to you about anything. He tried to explain to you from the very beginning how your biological mother “abandoned“ you & that Laurie was & will always be your mom. While Andy did not lie to you, the two of you had kept a secret from Jacob & Laurie. Your dad said that they did not need to know & he did not want them to see him in a different light. It was not his fault that his dad had been a criminal though. It was not his fault your grandfather killed, stabbed to be exact, a girl. He had been suffering for his actions in jail, for a very long time. You had agreed on keeping it for you, never doubting your dad. You knew he only had good intentions.

After graduating from Newton High, you got into law school near your home. You wanted to follow your dad’s footsteps. He did not force you to approach the same career & let you choose a path yourself. He would lie if he said that he was not proud of you for wanting to do the same as him though. Law school was absolutely amazing, you loved going there every day, loved coming home to tell the new things you learned at your dinner table. People say sometimes you know when a decision is right, you have a gut feeling about it. You were sure: this was YOUR way. Even though your family was quite wealthy, never having a problem about money whatsoever, you still wanted to have a part-time job during college. Earning your own money simply felt amazing. Your dad & Laurie were so proud of you for being so independent.

Here you were, a nice family, a house, the best future ahead. But life does not always roll that way, does it? Every time when Jacob had a problem in school or with homework, studying for an upcoming exam, he would knock on your door, waiting for you to yell “Come in! I told you there’s no need to knock, Jay.“ Jay. You always called him that. He was your little brother & while others called him “Jake“ or simply “Jacob“, you wanted to have something for yourself. Jay it was. Anyway, after coming into your room, asking if you were busy, the two of you always ended up doing school stuff together. It was more fun to have company & Jacob was always thankful for you helping him out. Of course you would, you never had a problem in high school, always bringing home good grades. You liked helping him wherever you could.

Your alarm woke you up at 6 am. Time to get up, get ready & head to college. Usually, dad would take you with him in the mornings since his work is close to your school. Today, though, you had to take your own car to drive to school, you had to work at your local diner afterwards. Yes, you did purchase that car on your own. After saving enough money, you decided on a small black car, not really caring too much about the brand. All that mattered was that it was not too pricey & that it worked. Of course your parents offered you to buy you that car but you wanted to do this on your own. And would you look at that, you managed to buy it without being broke. As you finished showering, putting makeup on & deciding on an outfit, you made your way downstairs where dad & Jacob were already seated. Laurie was most likely out on her daily morning run. You did not understand how someone could go jogging voluntarily. It kept you healthy but at what cost?

“G’morning male beings of this household.“ you greeted them & earned a chuckle from dad. You were not a morning person but that was not your family’s fault so you would brush off your grogginess in order not to say something you might regret later. Jacob was busy writing away on his phone. Gosh, this boy & his damned phone.

“Good morning, angel. How did you sleep?” your dad shot you a grin. He had been calling you “angel“ ever since you were little & you absolutely loved this nickname.

“Like a princess, as always.“ you answered. Some might say you were a sarcastic piece of shit & you know what, maybe they were right. You were a lot like your dad & you liked yourself & your goofiness. You could be serious when it was needed though, your personality was perfectly balanced.

“Hello? Earth to Jay?“ you waved your hand in front of his face to gain his attention but his eyes were glued on his screen still.

“Morning.“ was the only word you got out of him.

“Okay, what girl are you texting? Do I know her? Does she have an older sister? Brother, maybe? Is she hot?“ you teased him & Jacob sent you a glare which made you giggle.

“I’m just texting Derek.“ Jacob stated.

“Wow…And I thought I was the one who hated mornings.“ you stated, mostly to yourself but your dad heard you & started laughing. Even Jacob let out a low giggle.

While the three of you held a conversation, Laurie got back home, greeting you & asking you about your plans for today.

“Do I need to take any of you to school?“ dad asked.

“Um, actually, I’ll be driving myself today. I’ll be back home a bit later, gotta earn that bread, y’know?“ you smirked at both, your dad & Laurie to wait for their reactions. Seeing them laugh was one of your favorite things in this world, especially when you were the reason.

“Sure thing, just text me when you know how late it’ll be.“ dad waited for you to nod, looked at Jacob & asked “What about you, buddy?“

“I’ll be walking today.“

“You sure, you know it’s no probl-” but before dad could finish, Jacob cut him off.

“I’m fine with walking.“

“Okay, just be safe.“

Checking the time, you saw that you should keep going so you went over to dad & Laurie, gave each of them a kiss on the cheek, went over to Jacob, messed up his hair a bit which earned you a groan & finally made your way outside to your car. You hopped in, turned on the engine & started driving off. Every time you would drive yourself, you always stopped at Starbucks for a quick breakfast. Your breakfast mostly consisted of a nice coffee. No offense, but the coffee you got at home just was not it. And let’s be honest: Nobody survives college without having coffee.

Finishing all of you classes for the day, you & a few of your colleagues exited the building. Usually, when you were at college, you did not look at your phone at all, finding it too distracting when you had to focus on something else. But as soon as you unlocked your phone, you knew something was off. You had two calls from Jacob, which was weird since he barely ever called you, & 5 missed calls from dad. Fuck, something was not right. You excused yourself from your friend group, teling them you had to go to work earlier, while in reality, you moved to your car, opened it & got inside. As soon as you closed your door, you called Jacob first. He picked up almost immeadiately.

“(Y/N)? Thank god, I’ve tried calling you.“ he sounded a bit shaken up? That was off.

“Yeah, I know, sorry `bout that, Jay. You know how I ignore my phone during classes but anyway…What’s up? Are you okay?” you started growing concerned now.

“Newton High is locked down. Apparently they found a 14-year-old stabbed in the woods. I am fine though.“ his voice was quiet, almost like he did not want anyone else to hear. Your heart stopped a beat. There was a killer running around town. Who the hell would stab a teenager? Who the hell would stab anyone to begin with?

“Have you talked to dad yet?“ you really did not know what else to say. You were just glad your little brother was alright. That was all that mattered right now.

“Yes, he’s on it. He said he wanted to call you. Have YOU talked to him?“

“Not yet, I’ll call him now, just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Call me if something’s wrong or if you`re scared, okay?“ your heart was literally racing. Yeah, your brother was fine but the victim was his age & Jacob usually took the way through the woods to get to school. The mere thought of your brother being the one who had been murdered scared you like crazy.

“Will do. Thanks, (Y/N). Bye.“

“Bye, Jay.“ you ended the call & let yourself breathe for a moment. Not even once in your life did you think something like this could happen in your neighborhood. You lived in one oft he safest areas in the country & yet this brutal event had happened so close to home. The world was a scary place. A few minutes later, after calming down as good as it was possible, you dialed dad’s number. He would most likely knew more. To be honest, you were not sure if you really wanted to know more about this case but on the other hand,you were curious. Of course you were, you wanted to do this as your future job. His phone rang twice before he picked up.

“(Y/N)? Angel?“ he did not sound scared, just relieved to hear your voice.

“Yeah, it’s me, dad. I’m fine, talked to Jay. He told me what happened. Well, as much as he knew, of course. What the hell is going on?“ you were rambling. You always were when you grew nervous or anxious.

“Breathe, angel. Look, there’s a lot going on. Could you come home, like, right now? I called your boss, she said it was fine if you took the evening off.“ he knew you would say you needed to go to work so he had called the diner you worked at to explain the situation.

“I’ll be home in ten.“

“Drive safe.“ your dad always made sure you were okay, trying to protect you as much as he could. He would do everything for his family to be safe.

“Always.“ & with that, you ended the call. Everthing inside you screamed to go over the speed limit but your dad’s words popped into your mind again. He would not want this. You would survive another ten minutes before coming home.

~to be continued~

Published 04/30/2020 by Cathy

#defending jacob #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x daughter reader #andy barber x daughter!reader #Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans imagine #defending jacob imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #appletv #apple tv #original series #reader insert #reader imagine #masterlist #series masterlist #writing #writers #fandom #crime #crime series #jacob barber #chapter #captain america #Steve Rogers

[ashyphoenix00]

Spend the night?

You heaved a sigh. The world definitely was against you, you decided somberly as you laid your head on your desk. A long week of studying was behind you, and it was nearing two am Friday morning. You had back-to-back tests this week, and you were completely drained. You hadn’t been able to properly finish up homework that got put in the back of your mind as the tests approached, so the past four hours had been spent dedicated to the neglected work. You weren’t sure if it was worth it, though; your head was pounding with the beginnings of a migraine and your eyes drooped sleepily.

Your phone vibrated on the desk beside your head, making you wince. With effort, you grabbed it and squinted at the screen. It was a text from your boyfriend.

hey babe you up?

You smiled sleepily and tugged your other arm out from under your head to tap out a response to him.

haha howd u know?

You sat up, stretching. Seeing Changkyun’s name on the screen had perked you up a little. He was a senior at the same university, studying music while you pursued biology. You were both seniors, graduating at the end of the year. He had planned on making music and you were going to continue school to get your masters in education to be able to teach biology. As for your relationship, well, the topic was too raw for either of you to breech yet.

because you’re you and i’m me, Changkyun’s response buzzed on your phone. A moment later came a follow-up text: wanna come over?

You contemplated it. Yes, you were tired; yes, the week was exhausting, and you were ready for sleep. But Changkyun. Texting him back a yes, you pick yourself up, yawning and pulling on one of his hoodies over your t-shirt and jogging shorts. The lucky part was that you both lived in the same dorm building, just on different floors. You just had to be careful not to run into any of the resident assistants who might be patrolling just for the heck of it. Not a lot of them did that, but Jessica definitely had it out for you, at least that what it seemed like after she caught you last time trying to sneak into Changkyun’s room a few weeks ago.

Slipping your feet into your worn sandals, you quietly left your dorm room, left empty since your roommate had gone home for the weekend. Glancing up and down the hallways, you hurry to the door to the stairwell and begin taking the steps two at a time, arriving at the third floor within moments. His room was 326, which wasn’t far down this hallway. You knock quietly on the door and enter. Changkyun had been lucky enough to get the entire room to himself; his previous roommate had transferred midsemester and the college hardly ever refilled rooms at this point in the semester.

You closed the door behind you, scanning the room and finding Changkyun sitting on his living room sofa. Not surprisingly, the dorm was a bit messy, with papers and textbooks strewn around the table and floor. With his musical mind, you were used to the clutter. It was how he functioned when writing music or doing homework. The dorms in this building were laid out like small apartments, with a tiny living room and adjacent kitchen, and two bedrooms with bathrooms off to either side of the living room. It was cozy, especially compared to the cramped, 4-bed rooms in some of the other dorms on campus.

You walked over to Changkyun, and he looked up from the notebook he had been writing in. A smile lit up his face and your heart fluttered. You sat by him and took a peek over his shoulder at his work.

“Baby, I can love your flaws

It's not from the wine

You don't need to hide, just come and show your smile”

He snatched it away before you could read any further. “Hey, no peeking.” You made a pouting face at him, and he laughed. “It’s a song for you, I don’t want you to read it yet.”

Your heart leapt. For you? Giving him a shy smile, you laced your fingers with his and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Okay, I’ll let it be a surprise then. Now, it’s really late, can we go to bed?”

Changkyun shook his head, chuckling in amusement. “You haven’t been here one minute and already you wanna go to the bedroom.”

Your face burned in embarrassment. “Not like that, Kyun!” You hit his arm and tried not to look at him.

He squeezed your hand. “I know, I was just playing with you.”

You nodded, trying not to feel mortified still.

A few minutes later, you had climbed into the dorm’s extra bed, the cool sheets smooth against your bare legs. Shivering slightly, you pull the comforter up higher and nestle down into the growing warmth of the bed.

Changkyun poked his head in and, seeing you bundled up with only your eyes poking out, started to laugh. “You look cold, Y/N.”

You blinked at him. “Why do you always keep it so cold in here, it makes no sense.”

He snorted and came into the room, wearing a pair of sweatpants and no shirt. Your eyes flickered briefly to his toned abdomen, but you quickly looked away, sure he’d be able to see your red face.

“It isn’t that cold,” he argued, coming over and sitting on the side of the bed.

You snorted in skepticism. “Changkyun, I can’t feel my toes.”

Before you could protest, he slid between the covers and wrapped you in his arms, immediately enveloping you in warmth. You smiled as he fit you into the curve of his body. You always fitted like a puzzle piece into his arms and it never failed to make you happy.

You jumped as you felt his warm feet touch yours.

“God, you’re right,” Changkyun murmured. “Your toes are frozen.”

His feet rubbed against yours, warming your chilled digits. His arms tightened around your waist and you made a content noise as he kissed the back of your neck.

“I have class in the morning,” you warned him, knowing if he stayed in bed with you, it’d take major motivation to get out of bed the next morning.

Changkyun nuzzled behind your ear. “Play hooky for once,” he replied, leaving feather soft kisses down your neck.

“Kyun!” you scolded, turning to reprimand him. But you stopped short at the soft look in his dark eyes. Your heart melted at the adoration in his gaze. He leaned in and kissed you softly. “Okay, I might,” you whispered, your faces still inches away.

He smiled and kissed you again, then nestled farther down in the covers. “G’night,” he said, his voice muffled.

Feeling warm and fuzzy inside, you curled up next to him, his arms still wrapped protectively around you. “Night."

#changkyun #monsta x #changkyun/reader #cute changkyun fluff

[brokenjardaantech]

captain allen appreciation week 2020 day 2: college au

summary: set in early 2021 in the same universe as the previous entry. the pandemic is not over yet. america as we know it is on the brink of collapse. now that anna is in the air force academy, allen can finally go to college himself. except that everything is online cause social distancing.

notes:

this fic is the closest to reality among everything else i've written. i don't have 2021 vision, but this is what i imagine what things will be if america continues being like this in everything.

i know the space force as an independent branch of the us military is still a fairly new concept, but let's just assume that they need people so desperately that they'll pull prospecting cadets onto the path to space starting from their academy years. they used to be a branch of the air force anyway, right?

tags: brief mentions of childhood neglect and parentification

----

The high-pitched hum is driving Lou crazy, so he turns on the speaker on his laptop and plays some potato peeling ASMR to give the house some other noise. The hum disappears, but seeing the Slavic guy peeling potatoes makes him want to cook again, and cooking for himself...just sounds depressing. Not that he hates cooking alone - he takes pride in being able to prepare his own food and be good at it - but he doesn’t have much of a choice in raw ingredients; he stocked up when it was announced that a large storm is coming, and all he has is canned food - hardly something he would prepare for Anna had she been here.

He switches tabs, discovering that his new lecture is still downloading, and lets out a groan. Fucking blizzard locking him in and fucking with the internet. Now he can’t even study when he’s snowed in in his own house - yes, his own fucking house, because his Papa apparently can’t stand Alaska anymore after his wife disappeared and fucked off back to France as soon as he could, leaving his property (which had been his wife’s) to his children to distribute between themselves, and Lou, being the only adult during that time, became a homeowner. Sighing, he goes to his email and drafts an apology.

Professor, am snowed in. Internet slow. Can’t stream lecture, so tried downloading. 5 hrs in, only 70% downloaded. Requesting deadline extension. L. W. Allen

He sounds like Anna in this one, thoughts going so quickly that she omits pronouns and ‘the’s and ‘a’ or ‘an’s while she’s typing. Except that he’s typing slowly with his non-dominant hand while scooping cooling mashed potato into his mouth with his other hand. Damn it, he misses his sister.

The potato peeling video is over and he still is not sleepy, so he goes over the lectures he has downloaded and chooses the one he remembers being useful in writing his paper to be his new background noise. The drone of his professor’s voice makes him think of Anna rapid-firing her thoughts while she’s doing his homework for fun.

Everything comes back to Anna.

His Skype jumps with an incoming call, and he accepts it without reading who that is, acting in desperation for company good or bad.

‘Allen here.’

‘Lemme guess: you didn’t read the description.’

Lou is so relieved to hear his sister’s voice that he nearly cries. ‘How the fuck did you do that? It’s midnight on your side.’

‘I’m different, Lulu, haven’t you heard?’ Anna dismisses her brother’s question, proud as always. ‘Snowed alone in the house must be hard.’

He laughs. This is ridiculous. ‘Yes it is. How did you know that?’

‘You talking about the snow part or the lonely part?’

‘Both.’

‘I’m not completely cut off from the rest of the world. I read the weather forecast and report, and I lived with you and only you for four years. Enough time to discover a pattern, I should say.’

Lou takes the laptop and flops down onto his bed. ‘We haven’t been apart for longer than a day back then.’ Placing his Bluetooth headphones over his head, he lies down on their bed - his bed now - and allows himself to imagine that this is just one of their many pillow talks about nothing and everything. Oddly, he can’t imagine his sister doing the same. 

‘It’s called logical deduction, bruh. Then her voice softens. ‘You spent most of your life taking care of me. I’ve got planes to fly, programs to write, labs to blow up and muscles to flex. You get to listen to some boring old man spew bullshit about our minds as if the theories he teaches aren’t outdated as hell.’

It puts a smile on Lou’s face. ‘I don’t think they’ll let you stay for long if you blow up too much shit in the lab.’

‘Details, Lulu, details. Hey - check your time.’

Lou squints at the corner of the screen where the clock should be. 17:58. ‘Fuuuuck,’ he groans. Of course Anna’s awake - it’s just 19:58 on her end. ‘Fucking storm fucking with my sense of time.’

‘Hail English,’ says Anna. ‘Though not as elegant as our father tongue. How’s the French club going on?’

‘I’m developing abs from laughing too hard. There’s one fine but thin line between normal conversation and random-ass flirting, but they don’t seem to grasp it.’

‘Not everyone has an incompetent French dad who barely speaks English but moved to America anyway.’

‘Very true,’ Lou admits. Anna turned up fine even with only minimal parental guidance, but at what cost? Himself, probably, except that he seems fine as well. ‘How about you? How’s the Academy been treating you?’

‘It’s not official but,’ Anna lowers her voice as if she wants to keep it secret, ‘I’m most likely going to be in the Space Force when I graduate.’

Lou coughs to mask his laughter. Of all the things his sister is skeptical of, the Space Force set up by that orange isn’t one of them. ‘No offence, Anna, but Space Force? Seriously? A woman of your talents?’

‘I should tell them that their efforts are successful,’ says Anna. ‘Hold on.’

Footsteps. A slam of a door. Some scratching noises, and when she turns on her camera, it shows not her face but the screen of her phone. It started as a joke, it writes. They admit to that. But something happened in the scientific field. Something so unbelievable and classified that they sobered up instantly and begged for more funding from the federal government. 

‘America as we know it is ending,’ Lou points out. Sure, they didn’t let the orange continue representing the country, but the harm has been done, the virus comes back every few months and before the previous batch of patients are freed up, and everything is failing - the economy, the already-problematic medical and healthcare system, the old order governing the country for two centuries. It is terrifying but, in Lou’s opinion, a much-needed change for America to go forward. ‘You’re more familiar with them than me, but they might be doing it to preserve the old order. You know, before they lose all the power they currently have.’

Anna takes the phone away. ‘I highly doubt it,’ she says as she continues typing. ‘They’re used to whatever we now have. They already expect some things to change;’ she holds up her phone again; but not in the way shit’s going. ‘You heard about the declassified document on Alec Ryder? The guy who tried to write an advanced AI and developed it into some highly illegal and sci-fi-y shit that he can’t control?’

‘Didn’t read the whole thing. Sounds unbelievable, though, letting an AI control your body. And I thought Elon was stupidly crazy.’

‘Well, for some reason they’re still on high alert about the whole shitshow even though the AI was supposedly destroyed,’ she puts her phone away and switches off the camera. ‘Call it my instincts if you wish. Something big is coming and I’m not sure if I like it.’

Lou takes a deep breath. Anna has always said that America needs to change, but if she thinks that she won’t like it… ‘Let’s don’t speculate anything right now, okay?’ he tries to rationalise. ‘We can’t do much right now, can we?’

‘True.’ A creak. Some muffled conversation. ‘Look, I need to go now. Try not to freeze your ass off at home.’

‘With that nasty generator you built? Don’t think so. Take care.’

‘Same for you.’

The call disconnects. Taking off his headphones with a trembling hand, Lou quits the application and checks again how much longer he needs to wait for the lecture. A few minutes left. Standing up and popping all the joints in his body in preparation, he goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water to clear his head.

If he’s gonna be stuck in this house for days, he at least can use the time for some studying, right?

----

spoiler: anna’s instincts are right.

the potato-peeling video

#allen art week #allen appreciation #dbh allen #detroit: become human #allenartweek #allenappreciation #groom lake aftermath

[ongfreestyle]

Coffee and College

A Jaehyun college coffee bullet au that ZERO people asked for

So anyway, you're in your second year of college and you're in the groove of things (kinda) and all is well

You're on your way to your 9am French I class on the first day and you feel your phone vibrating

It's your bf and you smile thinking "aaww it's our 3yr anniversary n he's calling already to say good morning"

More like... goodbye

Yep. 8:45am he calls you to dump you in the driest most uncool way

"listen. I just ... I know this is random, but....I don't wanna do this anymore."

"oh. Uh. What? Sorry I didn't hear you?"

"I'm sorry, I just can't do this anymore I want to break up with you. I'm sorry."

"oh. Ok. Fine. Sure. Umm...if you wanna talk about it later. Then...yeah..I have French class now bye."

End of call and start of class

Yep you're third row from the back and you plan to pay attention to the syllabus talk and following lesson but

You're definitely tearing up

Like literally WHO DOES THAT?? Just dumps you at 8am no explanation??

So anyways there are teardrops on your notes now and ink isn't tear proof so...rip

Anyways thirty minutes in and your head in kinda just down and you're kinda just crying quietly

And then this kid slides into the seat next to you

He's v late

And v cute even through the tears

And he's smiling really big even though the teacher just scolded him

He sets his coffee down and looks at you wiping snot and tears away and he hands you a napkin from his bag

You take it and mutter a "thanks"

And a moment later he slides his coffee to you too

"I didn't drink it yet"

"it's an espresso, extra caffeine"

"I made it myself"

And he's back to taking notes

And you're still kinda pouting, but it's been 45+ mins so you try to at least write down the homework assignment

And you decide to sip the stupid espresso it's actually pretty good

The next day you find yourself at the school cafeteria and guess who it is??

Espresso boy!!

And it turns out that he's even cuter in uniform!

You go to order some food and he greets you with a big smile

"feeling better today?"

"kinda"

"rough day yesterday, huh?"

"yeah. Can I have a breakfast burrito?"

"no coffee?"

"no, but thanks for the free coffee yesterday. It helped. I owe you one"

"no you don't, it's on the house. And so the one I'm about to make you next. It's today's special!"

Who are you to deny another free coffee? So you take his offer and a few minutes later you're at your table eating your breakfast and doing your French homework

And the special coffee is really good

Then one of your friends comes by and is giving you a weird look

"are you drinking the nasty coffee from the cafeteria??"

"yep. Its actually really good"

And your friend's like ??? "It's usually bitter and gross tho ?? Like 10 times outta 10"

And you shrug and get back to work and your friend grabs some food and starts doing their work too

The day goes on and finally you get some time to yourself to think about yesterday

Your ex hasn't called or texted. Nothing. And it just hits you like wow. I'm. Single.

Cool.

Except not cool because you got no closure or explanation and ouch.

So you hate it but just like yesterday, you're crying again. Just. Uglier crying.

And your roommate comes back and is like "awww sweetie, fuck him"

And she says if you wipe your face she'll take you out for ice cream

So fuck the snot and tears, you want some damn ice cream

And out you go!!

Free ice cream you two stop at a park on campus and there's a basket game going on

And your roommate is like SKSSKDJS "LOOK IT'S JOHNNY SKSJDJ"

English??

"that means holy shit it's the hottest tallest nicest guy in school and he's playing basketball look at his ARMS BITCH"

So guess who's watching a pickup game of bball while eating ice cream?

You two!

Oh and guess who else is playing and is red and sweaty and had a nice jump shot?

Coffee boy.

Yup and you might not be interested in the Score, but dammit the view was nice

The game ends and Johnny is the first to come over to the side lines n greet your roommate

She's batting her eyelashes and telling him he did amazing even tho they lost

And he's smiling and chugging water as he goes on talking and coffee boy and a few of his friends are on the sidelines now looking at you

Coffee Boy is the first to say hi and all you can do is say hi back

And thank him for the coffee again

He shrugs, "no problem. Coffee fixes almost everything in college"

Almost everything. And there's an awkward silence

"see you around." He says and he walks away

Like that you never find out his name and life moves on

French class is going well and you sit in the front now and coffee boy is always late and sits in the back

You really don't do anything except exchange glances

Then midterms are coming up and you are a bit panicked bc u definitely neglected French studies

So like any good college student you cram like hell

In the library at midnight you're trying to learn vocabulary, conjugations, grammar points

You look insane by 1am bit you can't stop then you hear someone coming I'm the library

It's (literally if you can guess by now) coffee boy

And he's got 4 coffee cups in a holder with him and a huge backpack

He spots you and waves

"mind if I sit with you?"

"mind if I claim two of the coffees?"

"there all yours" and he sits next to you and slides the holder to you just like when you first met

"I made them myself"

"so you make these awesome brews?"

"yeah the schools coffee recipe is shitty."

"well maybe you should major in business and open a coffee shop. They're really good."

"maybe I will"

And you two study quietly and you peek over to see him going over French vocab

"let's quiz each other?"

"sure"

And it's 2am and you guys realize you're both fukced

Like. No vocab is sticking and the coffee had you two literally SHAKING

And by 3am you guys are just cracking up

"I never learned your name coffee boy"

"Jaehyun. Jung Jaehyun."

"well. Good luck with the test tomorrow because I. Give. Up."

And you get up to leave and he offers to walk you home and you accept for safety reasons

"I'm glad to see you so happy. You're pretty like that."

"I'm an ugly crier, huh"

"kinda."

"okay, not the gentleman answer, but I admire your honesty"

"thanks. I hope you have a good night"

Yeah the walk back was not long at all. Too bad because you really were enjoying your time

But 9am French !!!

Midterms are over after a week and it's back to the daily grind

But days are way better when you have French now bc Jaehyun sits next to you (when he's on time and the seats open) and you guys joke around alot during speaking practice

He's brings you a new coffee everyday and asks you how it tastes and what he should add or take away

And you kinda hang out at the cafeteria now so you can talk to him while he's working

Ooppsss you have developed a small™ crush on Jaehyun and it's not going away anytime soon

You even open up to him about why you crying the day you met (tho u vowed to NVR speak of it again)

Yeah now the crush is nvr dying :)))

Bc your friends notice that you always go watch him play b-ball even tho it's not a REAL game

And he always has a coffee for you

And you two are always studying French

But like...you guys are making questionable grades...so...what's up??

NOTHING

French I finals are coming and you and Jaehyun are at your usual spot in the library, except this time YOU bought HIM coffee

"what brand ?"

"gross school brand that you didn't make, but is LOADED with caffeine"

"gross. Hand me one"

"cheers!"

And it's study time

But he's not focused

Like he never is and neither are you, but it's really off now

"is it that bad?"

"the coffee? Yeah. And my French grade? It's even worse. I won't make French 2."

And you're like WTF WTF NO FRENCH 2 WITH JAEHYUN YOUR CRUSH WHO LITERALLY GOT YOU THRU THIS SEMESTER ????

"Jaehyun. We are going to fix your grade with this final. I SWEAR."

You're like REAL STUDY MODE: ON

And he has this small smile on his face.

Sly....

"what?"

"you WANT me in your French 2 class don't you?"

"uuhhh-duhh free coffee to keep me up during le snooze fest"

"you know it's not free. It comes outta my pay check"

"okay, then I owe it to you to get you to pass this class and get to French 2"

"I guess."

Yeah. You're DRILLING info into ur heads ,,,, but Jaehyun is like ____ blank.

So you kinda snap

"yo do u wanna fail??? At least TRY!"

"I can't focus. I'm confused about something."

"past tense conjugations?"

"you."

Pause.

"I can't tell if you're over your ex. You took it hard and I'm trying to wait, but..."

???????????

"my ex? My ex is my ex...I'm over that"

"you never really brought it up much. I wouldn't know."

"Past tense."

"and also. The coffee."

"your coffee is good! I'm serious, Jaehyun!"

"yeah, but do like me...? Or my coffee?"

"both?"

Jaehyun is not making this easy for you okay

"I mean, if I didn't bring you coffee, would you still hang with me? Teach me French n stuff?"

"of course."

"so you...........like......me?"

HELL YES, but you settle for a simple yep

Then he just looks at you seriously

"you LIKE me LIKE me..like....LIKE LIKE?"

"uuhh...if I understood all of the likes right, then....yeah. I do like you."

OH AND THAT DOES IT

He is so reeeeeedddd

Like this boy GONE

You. His crush. Likes. Him. Wtf

Yeah he cannot quit grinning

And when you move on from the topic he can't focus on a single word you're saying

Finals day comes and you feel okay about your score and Jaehyun said he wants to leave it in the past

And you two go hang out at the cafeteria

And he's looking at you across the table

Randomly he just smiles at you

"I..wanna be your boyfriend...."

bc y'all nvr because s/o's officially soooo

Your heart rate

Lemme draw it

/\/\/\/\_______💀

Wow

He said it so cutely

Damn that's crazy bc you would love if he was your bf

And when you say that!!

Reference to drawing

After becoming official you two are like the cutest couple ever

And you go to French 2 and he's back in French 1

He got a 58 on the final :/

But OH WELL you're his tutor now

And you guys actually study

And he doesn't feel like he has to bribe you with coffee to make you like him

So with some hard work you both kick your caffeine addictions

And you guys spend the days making stupid jokes and playing basketball together

Cramming for French while high on 4 coffees each

(old habits die hard)

And you two tease each other so much

It's a miracle you get any work done really

Jaehyun passes his French 1 class with an A+ and he literally runs to your dorm to tell you

You crash into each other

He holds you to steady you

And hes like "babe I passed"

"that's great!"

"it's all thanks to you I could kiss you, but I have coffee breath and-"

"that's nothing new"

Okay and cue the totally cheesy kiss

Where Jaehyun's like "you're right, but our first kiss should be special"

Valentine Boy is a ROMANTIC okay

But it doesn't matter

You can't resist leaning in

And he lets out a fake groan like he hasn't been dying to kiss you since he first saw u snotting all over your notes

Yep he liked you then.

And the lean in was so slow, but when your lips met it was worth it

And the coffee taste.... wasn't so bad anyway

#nct #jaehyun #jaehyun scenario #nct scenario #its 3am #wowo #no proof resd #yikes

[blueandgoldstella]

Hello everybody! I’m Sarah, I am 23 years old, and live in EST. This is my beloved OC, Stella. She happens to be one of my all time favorite characters of mine and I hope that y’all love her as much as I do. Below the cut is all the information you should know about her! I will say, there is some potentially triggering content so please be noted of that!

[ LAUREN JAUREGUI ] ( ✶:･ﾟ♦ — ▓ hey, guess what - i just saw STELLA VALDEZ by sweet water river, you know they’re SIXTEEN and a HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT who identifies themselves as FEMALE i sometimes hear people describe them as RECKLESS and STUBBORN but others say that they’re LOYAL and ADVENTUROUS . me personally? i’m wondering what they were doing at the scene of jason blossoms murder, alone.

TW: child neglect, child abuse, gang violence, murder, alcoholism, drug abuse 

 Alright, to start off firstly - Stella is what I’d like to consider a mixture of Kat Stratford and Fiona Gallagher. She’s also totally the mom friend and momma bear of the younger serpents lbr

FAMILY UPBRINGING/DYNAMIC:

 She is the oldest out of six children. Yes, six children. She has three brothers and two sisters.The birth order of the Valdez family is as follows: Stella (16 years old), Nick (13 years old), Avery (10 years old), Serenity  (7 years old), Evan (3 years old) and Rowan (4 months old).

The Valdez family has ultimately been labeled as that family on the Southside that ‘never stops growing’.  Basically, you blink - and there’s another member of that family.

Growing up, Stella has never came from a life of privilege. She’s never known of the concept of a trust fund or a comma in her bank account. For her, it always too small of clothes. Too cold of nights.  Too hungry of mornings. To be frank, she’s dirt poor. Always has been poor.

A majority of her younger years consisted of moving around, quite a bit. The places she grew up and lived in prior to Riverdale were not great by any means. They hardly had any furniture or personal belongings. They often consisted of a two bedroom apartment (if they were lucky) where Stella would find herself sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag because her family couldn’t afford actual beds. She wouldn’t actually have her own bed to call her own until she was over 10 years old.

She is of Cuban decent, having been born and spending the first years of her life in Miami, Florida.

Her parents grew up in the same neighborhood with one another, becoming close as teenagers, eventually starting to date once they were at the age of 16/17.

Her dad has had a criminal record ever since he was a young teen. Having been in and out jail throughout his life, even when he was a juvenile. He joined a gang within Miami when he was around the age of 13/14. As he grew older, he’d become more engulfed into gang life and what it involved.

Contrary to popular belief, Stella’s dad wasn’t always a terrible person or father. Yes, he has always done sketchy things but it was always because he needed to feed his family and provide for them.

When Stella was 5 years old and Nick was around the age of 3, they’d kiss Florida goodbye. One night, seemingly out of the blue, her dad came home late, extremely distressed, physically in bad shape, and shaken up, Stella and Nick had no idea what was going on, but they were told by their mom and dad to pack up enough things that would fit in the van and that they had to go. Completely fleeing the place they had been living at.

Unknown to them, their dad had an altercation with a rival gang that turned deadly. The rival gang members were trying to jump one of his ‘boy’s and Stella’s dad wasn’t going to have it. Having grown up with his fellow gang members, he had to be loyal to his guys. He ended up killing one of the members in the rival gang. Being afraid that his actions would put him and his family at risk, he had no other choice than to flee.

The death of the rival gang member eventually lead to her father becoming an alcoholic. This was a turning point in not only his life, but his family dynamic. This was a point in Stella’s life when she knew something changed and her parents weren’t truly her parents anymore. To this day, Stella still doesn’t know her dad killed a man.

When they fled Florida, they had little to nothing with them. They had very few belongings and no home. Their financial situation was at an all time low and for the next almost 3 years of her life her family was basically homeless; living out of the Friday van. She had dealt with temporary homelessness before, having to sleep in the family van for a few days or weeks at a time at the most. But, this would soon become months at a time. Stella had no idea where they were headed, but she knew Florida would never be their home again. They were lucky if they could spend a few nights at a time at homeless shelters and such. During this period in her life, she’d go days without eating full meals and the food she did have, she’d find giving to her siblings.

Before finding their way to Riverdale, her parents would fall into addictive tendencies, not putting the needs of their kids before that. This was a turning point for her when she came to realize that nine times out of ten, her parents were going to put their addictions before themselves. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to provide for herself and for her younger siblings.

She has learned to become a humble person and be thankful for the things that she does have. Even if it might not be much, she knows there is probably somebody way worse off than her. Living in the Sunnyside trailer park feels like luxury compared to the living conditions she was so used to during her childhood. 

Nobody knows much about Stella’s past prior to moving to Riverdale. It’s not like she’s ashamed of it, she just doesn’t want to remember that low point in her life, or for people to take pity on her. (Of course, I HC that some people would obviously have to know about her troubled upbringing, but I can’t imagine it would be all of Riverdale, nor the Southside).

Officially moved to the Southside of Riverdale when she was 9, almost 10.

Throughout her childhood, her parents have had on and off custody of her siblings. CPS has had to step in and turn her family upside down more than once. With her mom being an on and off drug addict and her dad having drinking issues, it has only created chaos.

As of right now, her mom is currently not in the picture. She ditched her family shortly after the birth of her sixth child. Her dad’s drinking habits has increased due to her absence (they were under control for a bit, long enough for him to find stable work within Riverdale. Now, they are getting out of hand once more, him on the verge of loosing the job he currently has). Also, her dad’s anger has worsened and he has chosen to take it out on his oldest daughter while he is strung out. Currently no one knows about the abuse she is suffering at home and Stella wants to keep it that way. If anybody were to get too involved, that could mean the kiddos getting taken away from her.

OTHER INFORMATION:

Stella is actually extremely smart and a borderline genius. She has always done well in school without trying hard. It’s all come natural to her. She has a 4.0 GPA in school and her teachers have high expectations for her.  

Stella has found ‘creative’ and ‘different’ ways to make money for her family. This includes doing other people’s homework/writing papers for them,  pick-pocketing, stealing, and scamming people out of money (with the help of her adorable little siblings). The ways she sees it - when you’re poor, the only way to make decent money is to steal it or scam it.

The girl, over the years, has found herself developing a love for cooking (mostly baking).  Aside from her non-conventional ways of making money, she works part time at a bakery on the Southside. It’s a job that she actually enjoys and she gets to score free bread and sweet-treats for her family. 

Along with baking, she loves to read. This girl can finish a book in what seems like seconds. She’s not really picky with genre's, ultimately just loving the escape that books bring to her. You can usually catch her reading a book in the mornings on her front porch of her trailer, cigarette and coffee alongside with her. 

She has dreams of possibly going to college and ultimately doing some good with her life. Either wanting to become a lawyer, working in the foster care system, or going for a business degree to open up her own bakery. But, even though she could get into some good colleges the thought of doing anything after HS doesn’t seem like a reality for her. She doubts she’ll be able to leave the Southside, as sad as it sounds. Plus, she has had the lingering thought of when she officially turns eighteen, becoming an official guardian (or possibly fighting to fully adopt) her younger siblings. She vowed to herself a long time ago that her family was going to come before anything, including herself. Her siblings future and well-being are more important than her own. All she wants is for them to have a wonderful future as they grow older and she is willing to do whatever it takes to do so. Even if it means putting herself on the back burner and not doing the things she, deeps down, desperately wants to achieve and accomplish for herself. 

The Serpents have became the family she never knew she needed. She’s always been close to her southside neighbors and such, but eventually found herself joining when she was a young teen (age 14). She’s fully involved with them now and would do anything for her fellow Serpents.  She’d literally take the shirt off her back for her Southside family (but especially the Serpents). Even if her trailer may be tiny and always chaotic, her door is always open for a place to crash, to eat, or the such.

She’s never ‘too’ fond of the Northsiders due to have always been judged by them due to her lack of money and large family.

She drives an extremely old and beat up ‘mom van’ that she named Clifford. She can be seen toting around her younger siblings in it with pride. Please note though: Stella is a terrible, terrible driver. This bitch is constantly running over curbs and such. It’s a shock she passed her driving test in the first place.

#bghq.intro #( intro ) #( about ) #tw: child negelct #tw: child abuse #tw: alcoholism #tw: drug abuse #tw: gang violence #tw: murder

[jennycalendar]

honesty’s the best policy

read it on ao3!

“You know that spell that Buffy and Giles got hit with last night, but there were no weird effects so we just brushed it off? They’re saying whatever comes into their heads.”

(set mid-s2, before surprise)

an old wip that i polished off tonight!! mostly i just used this as an excuse to write about buffy and giles, giles and jenny, and the oft-neglected relationship between giles and xander. read for scooby shenanigans, giles and jenny being ridiculous(ly in love), and heartfelt conversations.

“This is the worst,” said Buffy. “This is the worst. This is worse than that time I got that gluey demon blood all over the physics homework I spent two hours doing, and worse than the time I almost got eaten by a snake demon—Giles, do you know what I said to Angel, Giles, I said I wish you’d feel me up sometime and then I had to go run away—”

“Buffy, your incessant chattering is comforting in its normalcy but unhelpful when I am trying to read,” said Giles thinly. “Though it’s utterly pointless, reading, seeing as every bloody thing I think comes directly out of my mouth.”

“You guys are being so dramatic,” said Cordelia, rolling her eyes as she idly flipped through a heavy volume. “What’s so bad about saying exactly what you mean?”

“I told Angel I want him to feel me up,” said Buffy, and face-planted into the book with a loud, mournful groan.

“Yes, well, that’s much better than what I am sure will happen when I see Jenny,” said Giles. A truly frustrated look crossed his face. “God, I hate this,” he muttered.

“C’mon, Giles, no secret can be worse than that one time we found out you raised demons in college,” scoffed Xander. “Buffy’s the one who’s really suffering. If I told Angel about how I wanted to feel him up, I’d be pretty messed up too right now,” and then he turned bright red and hurried to busy himself with the book he was reading.

“Well, I’m glad it’s just you two who got hit by that weird demony thing,” said Cordelia matter-of-factly. “It’d totally suck to just never shut up about—uh—” and she turned bright red, scooting her chair almost unconsciously away from Xander’s.

“What happens if we never break this thing?” Buffy said into the book. Her mind was still running a mile a minute, only now her mouth wasn’t having any trouble keeping up. “What happens if we never break this thing and I end up telling Angel about that time I dreamed he and I were—”

“Buffy, that is not something a parent needs to hear!” said Giles very loudly.

The library went dead silent. Buffy’s mind went completely blank, for a second, as she looked slowly up at Giles. “That is not something a parent needs to hear,” she echoed, a little shaky, playing it back. Then she smiled.

“Oh, don’t—” said Giles helplessly. “I’m not your father,” he said. “I’m not. I won’t ever be. It isn’t possible.”

But the way he said it sounded more like rapid-fire justifications than something that he genuinely wanted to impart on her. Buffy knew Giles’s Lecture Voice, and Buffy knew Giles’s I-Don’t-Believe-This-But-Five-Hundred-Old-Guys-Before-Me-Did Voice, and this one fell very solidly in the latter category. It took her a moment to realize that she’d just said all this, and another moment to realize that Xander had looked at them both, pushed his chair violently back, and stormed out of the library.

Xander nearly bumped into Ms. Calendar. “Xander!” she said reprovingly, then, “Xander,” in a very different tone of voice, a softer one that she usually used only with Willow and sometimes with Giles when she thought no one was paying attention. Gripping his elbow, she steered him into her classroom. “Sit,” she said.

“It’s nothing,” said Xander roughly, sitting awkwardly in Ms. Calendar’s desk chair. “It’s whatever.”

“Did Rupert do something stupid?” said Ms. Calendar, mouth twitching upward. “He’s good at that.”

“He didn’t,” said Xander. “You know that spell that Buffy and Giles got hit with last night, but there were no weird effects so we just brushed it off?”

“I do,” said Ms. Calendar. “That’s what I was referring to. I spent three hours trying to convince him to research any side effects but he was so sure—” Off Xander’s look, she cleared her throat, looking a little embarrassed. “Um. Putting aside my professional frustrations—” this was pretty funny coming from someone who played professional tonsil hockey with Giles on the regular, but Xander let it slide, “—what exactly happened?”

“Giles and Buffy are saying whatever comes into their heads,” said Xander, “and they can’t stop it, and Giles thinks of Buffy as his kid.” He didn’t know why this made him so upset, just that it did. “So, see, he didn’t do anything stupid exactly. You know. Except for the whole not-researching-side-effects thing.”

Ms. Calendar sat down on the edge of her desk, looking at Xander with an uncomfortably assessing expression. He looked away. “Xander,” she said, “you know Rupert cares about you, don’t you?”

“Sure,” said Xander. “He loves it when I put my feet on the desk and get chocolate on the books and make too much noise while he’s reading. You know, he’s been under this spell for three to five hours, and that’s the only stuff he’s said to me? He said Willow’s a remarkable girl and he even said Cordelia was surprisingly tolerable, on occasion—”

Ms. Calendar’s eyes had narrowed and she was looking a little bit scary. “You know what?” she said. “Let’s go talk to Rupert.”

“Ms. Calendar, I don’t want—”

“No,” said Ms. Calendar. “He means something to you, and I know you mean something to him, and if you two weren’t busy being such men, you might actually get things done.” She pulled Xander back up from the chair, tugged him out of her classroom, and stepped into the library. “Rupert—”

“Oh, Jenny’s here, I love Jenny so much,” said Giles, and then looked horrified, but didn’t stop talking. “She does look extraordinarily pretty today, though that certainly isn’t out of the ordinary given that she always looks pretty, but of course her looks alone aren’t why I’ve spent this year falling madly in love with her, not when she’s so intelligent and compassionate and incisively witty—”

Ms. Calendar didn’t react in the way that Xander was sort of expecting, which was either to throw herself at Giles and start kissing him or start yelling at him for confronting her about his feelings in front of everyone. Ms. Calendar, who had gone ashen, turned and ran.

Giles was still talking, a truly panicked look in his eyes. “—and she’s really the only thing that occupies my mind when she’s in a room, I love her smile almost as much as I love making her smile and good god I cannot stop thinking about her now that I’ve started, would someone please knock me out and figure out how to fix this bloody spell before I ruin more of my important relationships, romantic or platonic—”

“Giles,” said Xander suddenly, “what do you think of me?”

“Xander, now really isn’t the time,” said Giles sharply.

Something about that cut, hard. Xander leaned against the checkout desk and stared up, tilting his head back; it was his old trick from when his dad would say something and it would make him want to cry. He wouldn’t, though. He never did.

Willow tracked down Ms. Calendar in the faculty room. Ms. Calendar had this habit of making coffee when she was stressed and then not drinking any of it, and by the time Willow had gotten there, Ms. Calendar had poured out seventeen cups and was just staring at them like she wasn’t quite sure how they’d accumulated. So that was probably bad. “Ms. Calendar?” said Willow hesitantly. “Is Xander okay?”

“What?” said Ms. Calendar, staring at the cups.

“Is Xander—what happened? You talked to him, right?”

“What?” said Ms. Calendar, and Willow noticed for the first time that she was clutching a book to her chest. A copy of A Room with a View, old but well-maintained, and her knuckles were white around the binding.

“O-kay,” said Willow. This seemed sort of like something that Giles should handle, but then Ms. Calendar had bolted the moment Giles had started talking gooey love nonsense, so maybe this one would have to be on Willow. “Um, Ms. Calendar, do you want to talk?”

“Willow, do you want coffee?” asked Ms. Calendar a little too loudly, and then turned and left the faculty room at a brisk, directionless pace. Willow watched her go, turned back to the seventeen cups of coffee, and started really hoping that someone would figure out a way to break the super-truth spell. Like, soon.

Giles had locked himself in his office, though his panicked soliloquy was still faintly audible, most of it pertaining to how he hadn’t wanted to upset Jenny and he loved Jenny and he wanted to kiss Jenny until she wasn’t scared anymore. Buffy, who reallydidn’t want to listen to Giles panic over Ms. Calendar (like, sheesh, she’d already seen him practicing pick-up lines on the chair), walked over to Xander. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” said Xander to the ceiling.

“You know, I kinda wish you had that truth spell on you,” said Buffy, grinning wryly. “At least stuff would be a little more out in the open, then.”

Xander exhaled. Then he said, “Do you think Giles thinks I’m a waste of time?”

Buffy sort of wished he hadn’t asked something that she needed to do so much thinking for, because now all the words were spilling out of her head. “I don’t know what to tell him,” she said aloud, wincing a little. “I don’t want to tell him that sometimes Giles does seem a little too hard on him, but then again Giles is hard on me so I don’t really know—I mean, Giles loves all of us, right? I think he loves all of us. I hope he loves all of us. God, that’s stupid, hoping he loves all of us, it’s just my dad sucked and he keeps on forgetting about weekly calls and visits and I miss him so much but I don’t miss him as much when Giles says stuff like he wishes he was my dad, I mean, I know that’s not what he said—"

“Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” said Xander. He was smiling a little.

Buffy wasn’t entirely sure how she’d helped, but she apparently had helped, so that was good. “You’re my Xander-shaped friend,” she said. “Maybe Giles thinks you’re a waste of time, sometimes, but Giles thinks pretty much everyone is a waste of time sometimes. He thought Ms. Calendar was a waste of time, remember? Look how that turned out.”

Xander shuddered. “Uh, not really looking to lock lips with Giles anytime soon, but—”

“God, is sex all you think about?” Buffy whacked his shoulder, gentle for a Slayer but edging on painful for Xander. At his wince, she winced too. “Sorry. Just—he cares about her, Xander. And I’d bet a whole bunch of money on him caring about you.”

“Might take you up on that,” said Xander quietly.

Giles stepped out of his office, still talking rapid-fire about Ms. Calendar. One of his hands was clamped over his own mouth. Feeling a mixture of sympathy and exasperation, Buffy said, “Giles, Xander thinks you don’t care about him,” then cringed.

“Why would you tell him that?” Xander demanded.

“Um, it’s not like I can choose what to tell anyone right now!” Buffy shot back. “And besides which—”

“Xander, don’t be ridiculous, of course I care about you,” said Giles, lowering his hand from his mouth. He still looked a little annoyed, but his expression was softening as he took a second look at Xander. “Do you really think I don’t?”

“You don’t bring it up all that much,” said Xander awkwardly. “And it’s not like I’m all that useful, most of the time.”

“Xander, you’re a seventeen-year-old boy,” said Giles. “Not being useful is practically part of the job description at your age.” He winced. “That came out wrong. What I’m trying to say is—”

But something in Xander’s face had relaxed. “I get it, man,” he said, grinning. “Don’t twist yourself into knots trying to find the right words.”

Jenny was very maturely hiding under her desk, Rupert’s book clutched to her chest and a terrible, clawing feeling overwhelming her. As long as this wasn’t a serious thing, as long as they weren’t in love, she didn’t have to tell him about Angel. And she knew, logically, that she hadn’t done anything wrong, but Rupert wasn’t going to see it that way. Angel was Buffy’s boyfriend, and Jenny was from the family that wanted him to suffer, and what if Rupert thought she was trying to get to Angel through Buffy? What if Rupert thought she was the kind of person who would lie and manipulate him and his kids for the sake of vengeance? She hadn’t known he was a Watcher; she’d known nothing about Buffy. All she’d known was that she had never been looked at like she was precious, and that Rupert’s gentle touches made her chest ache with longing.

It was love, what she felt for him. And that scared her. Because the moment he found her, she was going to have to tell him, and then she was going to run the risk of losing the first person she had ever really loved.

There was a knock on her door. “Jenny?” Rupert called, and Jenny heard the door open, followed by the sound of Rupert stepping inside. He shut the door behind him. “Of course you’re not in here,” he mumbled, a tired, bitter laugh in his voice. “Thank heavens. I don’t think I could handle embarrassing myself like that again.”

Jenny’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t considered that his thought might have been just that—a thought. She thought ridiculous, inappropriate things sometimes, things that weren’t technically all that true, and—

“I do love her,” said Rupert, his voice softening. “That’s a bit easier to say to an empty classroom, whether or not I can control it. I love her so much. She’s clever, and kind, and a rather incredible teacher, and she stubbornly refuses to be cowed by authority. I love her and I respect her, which is an unusual feeling.”

Jenny was holding her breath, because she knew she might cry if she let herself breathe.

“I hate the thought that I’ve upset her,” said Rupert. “I wanted to tell her on, on Valentine’s Day. I could have played it off as a joke if she looked nervous. She’s never struck me as the sort to appreciate long-term commitment, a-and I’ve never really minded that, but I worry I’ve overstepped my boundaries with such a declaration.” The desk shifted, and Jenny realized with horror that Rupert was now sitting on the desk, his legs inches away from where she sat. “I think—when I see her—I shall tell her that my love is in no way something she should feel a need to reciprocate,” and oh, Jenny could hear the tired sadness in his voice, “and that however she wishes our relationship to continue will—”

“I love you too,” blurted out Jenny from under the desk, saying it in the same, desperate moment that she thought it.

Rupert jumped, and fell ungracefully off the desk, landing in a sprawling heap in front of Jenny. “Jenny!” he gasped, now blushing furiously. “What—”

“I love you too,” said Jenny again, unsteadily, and reached a hand out to him. “And I think I have something to tell you.”

Giles and Ms. Calendar came back into the library, both of them looking kind of exhausted. But they were holding hands, which Buffy noted with relief and then (mortifyingly) aloud. “You’re holding hands!” she observed, then made a face. “Ugh. God. I will die of embarrassment if I admit you two are a ridiculously cute couple.” At that, she buried her face in Willow’s shoulder and said, loudly, “FIX THIS, GILES.”

“Actually, the fix is rather simple,” said Giles. “I really should have listened to Jenny.”

“Oh, really?” said Ms. Calendar, and kissed him.

Buffy should not have been able to tell that Ms. Calendar was kissing Giles from the noises alone. Raising her head to inform them this, she was caught off guard: Ms. Calendar was pulling back, and Giles was looking at her, and they were both glowing. “Uh, guys?” she said.

“I love you,” said Giles.

“I love you too,” said Ms. Calendar.

“Did you miss the part where we need this fixed?” said Buffy very loudly.

Giles blinked, sort of shook himself, and turned apologetically to Buffy. Ms. Calendar was grinning. “There’s a counter-spell I found online,” she said. “I’ll go print it out.” Patting Giles’s shoulder, she hurried out of the library.

Giles turned to Buffy. “Buffy, Jenny informed me of something she wishes to pass on to you,” he began.

“So let her do that,” said Buffy hastily before he could keep going.

“Right,” said Giles, looking relieved. “Yes. Um.”

“Can we talk about the parent thing?” said Buffy shyly. Which was something she never would have done if not for the stupid spell, but as she began to blush, her mouth kept going. “You know I don’t have a great dad, right? I mean, obviously you know, you met him that one time and only that one time ‘cause he hasn’t been coming by anymore, and you’re always here, and I guess what I’m saying is I think you’d make a way better dad than my dad, especially since you’re basically everyone’s dad at this point even if none of us talk about it at all—”

Giles very firmly put a hand over Buffy’s mouth. He opened his own mouth, very clearly about to give Buffy some really painful Watcher speech about how Slayers couldn’t have Watcher dads, but then stopped, a half-frustrated look on his face as he studied her. “I do love you very much,” he said quietly, and in a way that suggested he might have said it whether or not the spell was making him.

“Mmf,” said Buffy pointedly.

Sheepishly, Giles removed his hand.

“You’re not very subtle about it,” said Buffy, and grinned up at him. “You helped me study for the PSATS, remember? Merrick said I should focus on vampire-killing and not my college applications, especially since most Slayers don’t make it past eighteen.”

“Well, this Slayer will,” said Giles, “if I have anything to say about it.” And then he sort of awkwardly patted Buffy’s shoulder, which somehow felt just as big and important as it might have if he’d swept her up into a big hug.

Buffy smiled, leaning into his hand, and then—screw it. Looping her arms around Giles’s neck, she pulled him down into a big hug, completely ignoring how totally bad he was at hugging her back. “You’re gonna have to get used to the hugging, Dad,” she informed him.

“I am never going to live this down,” said Giles, but it was in the same voice he used when Ms. Calendar made a really good point in an argument—kind of reluctantly proud, even if he was also a little annoyed. So that was cool.

“Do we get hugs too?” Willow asked hopefully.

“Fine,” said Giles, who was clearly trying to pretend to be a Repressed British Librarian while still hugging Buffy back. He sort of opened one arm, said, “You too, Xander,” and then made the face he’d been making every time the spell made him say something he’d only meant to think.

Xander blinked, then gave Giles a soft, wide smile, following Willow almost shyly over to join the Scooby cluster.

“Oh, wow, I am seriously regretting tossing that old digital camera,” said Ms. Calendar as she entered the room. “This is the kind of thing that would make excellent gossip material at faculty meetings.”

“Better gossip than that one time you dragged me out of the classroom to shag me in a broom closet?” said Giles, and then clapped both hands over his mouth, turning bright red.

Buffy, Willow, and Xander all leaped back.

“GILES!” shrieked Willow, horrified.

“I think my brain is broken,” said Xander weakly.

“Ms. Calendar, fix this now,” said Buffy. “I am not hearing more about that broom closet.”

“Yep,” said Ms. Calendar, blushing a little bit herself, and hurried to set up the spell.

Jenny’s fears of his leaving her were not only unfounded, they were ridiculous, and Giles made sure to emphasize this fact to her through excessive affection. Though her omissions had initially thrown him for a loop, he loved her, and he knew she would never have lied about loving him. He had been delighted to learn more about vengeance curses and their effects on vampires, sending an extensive list of questions to her uncle regarding Angelus and the ritual that had ensouled him. And that had brought up some extremely unnerving news about Angel—news that had absolutely everyone infuriated, Jenny included.

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me Angel could lose his soul,” she was complaining, filing books with a particular vengeance (though all perfectly in order). “Like, what did he think was going to happen?”

“To be fair,” said Giles, “you didn’t mention Buffy.”

“Also, you kind of suck at the whole vengeance thing,” said Buffy. “Which is definitely a compliment.” She hesitated, then said, “But Angel can still feel me up, right?”

“Does it make him happy?” said Jenny, continuing to file.

A goofy grin spread across Buffy’s face. “Yeah,” she said.

“Can you two not have this conversation while I’m here?” said Giles with some exasperation.

“So is there a way to magically protect him from losing his soul if things go past a little friendly groping?” Buffy asked Jenny hopefully. “Not that things necessarily will, but it’s nice to have that as an option—”

Giles started knocking over books in an attempt to drown them out.

“Ooh, careful, that one looks antique-y,” said Jenny, and Giles visibly saw her mouth twitch. “Buffy, do I need to give you the safe sex talk?”

“Yes,” said Buffy emphatically, giving Giles a sidelong look. “Please. In detail.”

“You two are deliberately attempting to ruffle me,” Giles realized aloud.

“Your fault for sitting in on a private conversation,” said Jenny.

“This is a school library—”

“So shh!” said Buffy, and started giggling when Jenny high-fived her.

And a thought came to Giles, leaving him almost without his permission. But it was different than a spell, because it was something that he wanted to say. “I think I’m very lucky to have met you both,” he said, and gave them a small, shy grin. “I think it’s made my life a richer one.”

Jenny smiled—the new, openly tender smile she had begun to give him, now that they were in love—and said, “Ditto, honey,” then turned back to filing books. Buffy smiled too—the tentatively happy smile that Giles was only now getting used to seeing—and hopped off the table to unceremoniously tug him into a hug.

#fic #calendiles #buffy and giles #also some background buffy/angel #anyway!!! i had so much fun writing this

[mooneec]

The Parentified Child: How It Contributes to a Depressed, Angry, and Resentful Adult

Were You a Parentified Child?

When you were a child, did your mom or dad turn to you for comfort and advice when they were struggling with problems at work, in their marriage, or with finances?

Did you share a special bond with that parent because you were their confidant and caretaker?

Did you forgo hanging out with friends, joining teams and clubs, and just being a kid because you were busy attending to your parent?

Do you now feel resentful because you missed out on a happy, carefree childhood?

If responding “yes” to these questions, you were a parentified child. As a result, you may be struggling in adulthood with sadness, anger, and depression. Don't give up hope, though, because recognizing the root of your problem gives you an opportunity to heal. You can find ways to make up for the joy you missed as a kid.

What Does It Mean to Be Parentified Child?

Parentification happens when a child switches roles with her mom, dad, or both, becoming the caretaker in the relationship. She may become this in an emotional way—listening to the parent's problems, giving them comfort, and offering advice. She may also do it in a physical way—cleaning the house, taking care of siblings, making meals, and even paying bills. Youngsters often become parentified when mom or dad is an alcoholic, a drug user, disabled, divorced, or mentally ill.

How I Became a Parentified Child at the Age of 12

My parents' marriage started to fall apart when I was 12. My mother suspected my father was having an affair with a woman at work. She and I would take hour-long walks every afternoon when she'd confide in me her worries, criticize my father, and even talk divorce. I'd listen intently, flattered she was trusting me with these grownup matters and offering what advice I could. Even though I was just a kid with little experience in relationships, she'd compliment my wisdom, saying I would make an excellent psychologist some day. Listening to her problems and giving counsel was how I got her attention and validation.

As a kid, I didn't think too much about this dynamic between my mother and me that lasted until I went off to college. I was just happy to spend time with her and be her confidant. It wasn't until I became a mother myself that I realized how horribly wrong it was to burden me with these adult issues, turning me against my father and making me cynical about marriage. I began to understand how she used me and robbed me of my childhood. I also learned that what she did wasn't that uncommon and actually has a name: parentification.

Parentification Can Cause Long-Term Problems Including Depression, Isolation, and Anger

Dads and moms who parentify a child often don't realize they're doing something incredibly harmful. My mother was going through a midlife crisis at the time she turned to me for comfort and support. She was unhappy in her job and feeling lonely because my dad was working long hours and traveling for business. When people at my dad's office began gossiping about an affair between him and a much younger subordinate, she was understandably embarrassed and upset. It tapped into her deepest insecurities as a woman and wife and caused her to think and act irrationally at times.

Instead of seeing a therapist or talking to a friend, she turned to me in her time of need. This proved to be a critical mistake, forever damaging the relationship between my father and me and leading to severe problems later in my life. After focusing on my mother's inner world for so many years, I felt unworthy of any attention being directed at me. I didn't know how to advocate for my own needs and desires. The consequences of being a parentified child finally caught up with me as an adult when I struggled with depression, isolation, and anger.

Bethany Webster deals specifically with mother-daughter relationships in "When Shame Feels Mothering: the Tragedy of Parentified Daughters." She writes, "A daughter is being exploited when her mother gives her adult roles, such as surrogate spouse, best friend or therapist...When a daughter is asked to be an emotional prop for her mother, she is unable to rely on her mother enough to get her own developmental needs met." As a result, the daughter can grow up to be an emotionally stunted adult with little self-confidence.

Depression

It's not unusual for a parentified child to become a depressed grownup. I struggled with extreme sadness most of my adult life, taking anti-depressants to numb the pain and going to therapy to get at the root of my heartache. My life transformed when an astute doctor gave me an aha moment, explaining that I had been parentified as a youngster and was suffering because of it. Until that moment, I had never heard of parentification. Having a name for what I experienced as a kid made me feel much better.

During the six years I acted as my mother's emotional caretaker, a tremendous burden was put on my shoulders even though I didn't realize it at the time. I dealt with adult issues that I didn't understand—marital infidelity, a midlife crisis, jealousy, insecurity, and rage. I worried my parents would divorce. I worried we'd have to sell our home and move away from the neighborhood I loved. I worried about our financial outlook and how we'd cope without our dad. I worried how my younger siblings would be affected. I worried about my mother's emotional stability and how I could make her feel better.

My decades-long battle with depression finally ended when I mourned the loss of the happy, carefree childhood I never knew. Kati Morton, a licensed marriage and family therapist, says the grieving process is key to healing. She says it includes acknowledging that what happened to us was not okay coupled with the motivation to move forward.

I started to nurture the little girl inside of me who didn't get the love and attention she craved. I began to enjoy some of the fun and frivolous activities I wanted to do as a kid but was never given the chance: going to a circus, roller-skating in the park, visiting Disneyland, and even having a sleepover with some of my friends.

Isolation

A parentified child can also grow up to be a lonely and isolated adult. During my teen years, I desperately needed a parent to give me advice and listen to my concerns about friends, dating, school, teachers, homework, my hair, and my makeup. My mother, though, couldn't see beyond her own problems to help me. My father, knowing that I was now my mother's confidant, largely avoided me even though we lived under the same roof. I spent too many hours alone in my room, feeling sad and scared. Instead of having the normal adventures of a teen—going to football games, hanging out with friends, and joining clubs and teams—I stayed close at home, feeling responsible for my mother's well-being.

Some therapists even consider parentification a form of child neglect. Because the youngster misses out on basic childhood experiences, her development is seriously impeded. This was certainly true in my case. I didn't get to enjoy the fun and frivolous activities that shape a teen's life. My role as my mother's confidant and emotional caretaker set me apart from my peers. Because we didn't have shared experiences in common, we didn't have much to say to one another. I had few friends and no social life.

Anger

According to Maggie Olivares, a social worker who's dealt with many parentified kids, anger is another byproduct that comes from missing out on a carefree childhood. When they become adults, they look back on all those years when they had too much responsibility and not enough fun and are resentful and bitter. They struggle to maintain a relationship with the mom or dad who parentified them and may even choose to end it.

To this day, I have tremendous anger toward my mother for using me that way. It turned out that my father was never having an affair and it was all in my mom's head, triggered by her deep insecurity. When my dad and her grew closer again after years of being distant, she unceremoniously dumped me. I was no longer needed as her confidant and ally. My relationship with my dad had been annihilated years before that, and I was left with nothing.

Fortunately, I've forgiven my mother and moved on with my life, but I still find it difficult to trust people. In the back of my mind, I'm worried about being used again. I often see friendships as depleting rather than energizing. While my mother has apologized for talking badly to me about my dad, she certainly hasn't owned up to how she turned me into a parentified child and caused disastrous effects in my life.

Final Thoughts

If you were parentified like I was, missing out on a carefree childhood, it's easy to spend your adult life feeling sad and resentful. In Bad Childhood, Good Life, the author encourages us to understand how our past affects our present but discourages us from making it our identity. Just because we were parentified as kids doesn't mean we have to wear the badge of perpetual victim. We can put our early years in perspective and move forward, knowing we're now in charge of our destinies. We can feel empowered and hopeful, building a happy and meaningful adult life even though we missed out on a lot during childhood. We deserve it.

#McKenna Meyers #parentified #parentified child #depression #anger #isolation #resentment

[goswagcollectorfire]

CARL’S BLOG: ARKANSAS HILLBILLY

12-26-20, Barger’s Do not Quit, PART 1

 As part of my work-study program at Arkansas Tech, I had

to report one week earlier than the actual starting date for

regular students. The cafeteria was responsible for feeding the

football jocks, who reported one week earlier as well.

I was assigned to Wilson Hall, one of the largest males

dormitories at Tech. It did not take me long to realize there was

only me and one other male student and our dorm mom, Mrs.

Helen Hays, residing in Wilson Hall at the time.

It was on the first day at Tech that I met Robert Martindale,

the other male occupant of Wilson Hall. He preferred to be

called Bob, so Bob it was. We were not roommates but spent a

lot of time together that first week working in the cafeteria and

getting oriented to Arkansas Tech and the city of Russellville.

Bob was from Hot Springs, a much larger town than Quitman.

He was playing in the Tech band on a scholarship. Between his

band scholarship and work study, his tuition and room and board

were covered. Bob was poor, like me, but highly intelligent. He

laughed at my imperfect enunciations.

I would say, “all right, hot shot, I want you to pronounce

that word?”

Bob and I became exceptionally good friends, and, although he

presently lives in San Antonio, Texas, we still get together,

along with our wives, two to three times a year.

When classes started, I found I was not nearly ready for

college work. I did not possess the study skills I needed. I spent

too much time playing tennis, intramural football, and basketball,

and doing other things instead of doing homework.

Near the end of the first semester, I was summoned to

Dean Creigbough’s office. Being summoned to the office of

Education and Student Affairs was a serious matter, so I was

pretty nervous.

“Come in, Carl, and have a seat. How are you doing?”

“Good,” I said.

“Well, Carl, I’ll get right to the point. Currently in the first

semester, I must bring students in my office and give them a

little pep talk. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes, Sir, I think I do.”

“Carl, I’ve been looking over your current grades, and what

I am seeing doesn’t look good. Do you really want to go to

school here at Arkansas Tech?”

“Yes, Sir, I do.”

“Well, Carl, we’d like to keep you here, but you’ve got to do

better on your grades. You need to start right now studying for

your finals. If you do not, you may flunk out.”

“Yes, Sir! I must confess, I’ve been neglecting my studying.”

“I can see that Carl. But now that you know you are in

trouble, I expect you will do better, won’t you?”

“Yes, Sir, I’ll do better!”

“I’m going to count on you, Carl. If you pass your finals, I

believe you will be back next semester. Your grades in physical

education and history are good. You must be majoring in

physical education or history?”

“Yes, Sir! I am majoring in physical education and minoring

in history. Someday, I hope to coach basketball and teach

history.”

“Well, Carl, do you know anyone who could tutor you a

little in math and English?”

“Yes, Sir, I do.”

“Well then, it’s my recommendation that you get some help

in those areas where you are falling behind. Carl, Dr. Billy

Burt Baker speaks highly of you. He thinks you have a great

personality and wants to see you succeed. He thinks you have

potential to be successful in life. Please do not let him down.

He’s your friend!”

Dean Creigbough had given me my wakeup call. I decided

to start using my time wisely by studying. Bob was good

in English, and he agreed to work with me on my grammar and

writing. Another friend agreed to help me with math. I stopped

all my physical activities and started studying. I really did not

want to flunk out of school. What would my pa say to me if I

did that?

The first semester finals came, and I was better prepared than

ever before. I waited until all the grades were posted before going

home for Christmas. I could not stand knowing if I had flunked

out. As I went from building to building checking my final

grades, I found I had made Cs in English and math. My prayers

were answered! My grade point was not anything to brag about,

but I had passed. God had given me another chance to succeed at

college, providing I wanted to continue to go to college.

On my way home for Christmas break, I found myself

getting depressed. Even though I had passed all my courses, I

begin to wonder if I was cut out for three and half more years of

studying to be a coach and history teacher. For the first time in

my life, I was uncertain. I had never been depressed in my life.

I questioned whether Pa was right. Maybe I should go back to

St. Louis and find a good paying job. Maybe I was not cut out

for college work.

[alextriestowritestuff]

My 2018 Writing Goals!

Hey guys! Currently, I have quarterly goals that I create for my writing.  These goals will be incorporated into those quarterly goals but in more deadline specific, manageable chunks. These 2018 goals are a broader scope of what I hope to get accomplished in the next year. I highly encourage you to post your writing goals as they can be a great motivator to get writing done. At the end of 2018, I will revisit these goals and give you guys on update on whether I completed them. Here are my goals for the upcoming year:

1. Get The Island up to publishing standards. I know what half of y’all are thinking, didn’t you just finish the first draft this month? And yes, I did. I’m hoping the next few drafts will go faster since the foundation is finished. This is a goal I’m not sure can be accomplished because it involves other people. I’ll definitely have to go through the beta readers process at least once, if not twice. I will give them a deadline to return the manuscript but it’s not guaranteed that I’ll get it back in time. That being said, this goal isn’t the most urgent because I’m not sure if I want to publish The Island. I do want to be published someday, yes, but I wrote this book for me. I wrote it to see if I could create an original world with my own characters and I did. It’s more of my guinea pig than anything else. I’m still going to revise it though just in case the end product is something I’m interested in publishing. But for now, I’m just going to focus on getting the story all cleaned up.

2. Draft Knocking on Death’s Door. This is the first book in my quasi-immortals series and it’s ready to be outlined and drafted. I’m actually hoping to draft one more story next year but for now, I’m not trying to bite off more than I can chew. 

3. Write five short stories. Next fall, I’ll be enrolled in a fiction writing class and I’ll have to submit three short stories so this goal will be somewhat done. I tacked on two more stories because I have a running list of short story ideas that I want to get knocked out. 

4. Read ten books, two must be on writing. I wish I could be like those people who read fifty or eighty books in a year but my life won’t let me haha. I’m a full-time college student with two jobs, so it’s not smart (or time efficient) of me to read anything that’s not school-required. I’ve been meaning to read some books by Rick Riordan and he tends to write series so it’ll be easy for me to complete this goal. I used to be an avid reader and I still adore reading but I can’t set down a book until I’ve read it completely. So if I do it during the school year, I will neglect all my homework and stay up reading. That’s not good so I set myself a goal of ten books so all of my time won’t be sucked up. I want to improve my writing so I’d like to read some books on proper grammar and sentence structure.

5. Beta two WIPS, one short story every three months. I like to beta read occasionally and it’s helped me notice mistakes in my own writing. Also it’s fun to read things before they’re published because it’s kind of like seeing the “before and after” of a novel. I don’t get paid for it, but I still think it’s fun. I’ve already promised a friend I’d beta their WIPs so half of this goal is done for me. I could beta one short story every month but I have a feeling I’ll forget about this goal so every three months might work out better.

6. Finish my unfinished fan fictions. Honestly, I don’t want to do this goal. Mostly because it involves correcting my bad writing from years ago and it’ll be so cringey to edit that. But I don’t like having unfinished business so I’ll just finish it once and for all. This next semester is going to be easier than most so I need to get this done because if I don’t, it’s going to be another four years until I even think about revisiting ye old fanfic. Trust me. 

7. Try to publish Ephemeral. This is a short story I wrote for my creative writing class this year. It needs about three more rounds of editing and another run-through with betas. I tried to submit to my school’s literary magazine but they’re not taking any submission right now so I’m looking towards my town’s newspaper. Again, this goal depends on other people so it might not come to fruition but it’s worth a shot. And if doesn’t get published then I’ll share with you guys! Basically, it’s a candid conversation between a mentally fragile cop and a dying girl. Also, there’s a bit of a plot twist at the end.

If any of the stories I mentioned sounds remotely interesting, feel free to check out my WIP page! Happy Holidays everyone! Stay warm and gear up for another great year of writing! 

#alextriestowritestuff #wip #myoc #beta reader #betas #short story #Ephemeral #fanfictions #pjo #rick riordan #novel #mywriting #reading #books #Knocking on Death's Door #Quasi-immortals series #The Island #drafting #outline #2018 Writing Goals #writeblr #teen writer #college #amwriting #spilled ink #Happy Holidays #christmas #writing

[bulletproof-fantasies]

Post Its (Jimin Oneshot)

Pairing: Jimin/Reader

Idea Started: September 2016

Words: 3285

Posted: August 31st 2017

Author’s notes: For Megan, because I know how much you love your dorky boy in his big sweaters. I hope Seoul is amazing for you. <3 @jiminlush 

In your own experience, college could be summed up in a matter of six statements...

1) Too much alcohol and not enough studying.

2) I could buy a salad but cup noodles are only 99¢.

3) What day of the week is it again?

4) Wait, this isn’t my class…

5) I thought that assignment was due next week...fuck.

6) I haven’t slept in three days.

No matter how used to the college environment you had become these statements rang true every year and throughout the year. Rather it was that you made the choice to go to a Friday night party at some guy’s house (who you only vaguely remembered being introduced to in chemistry) or it was that you had a grand total of $9.57 in your bank account and skipping a meal looked wise. It didn’t matter which scenario it was, every year was the same. Every year you survived off of the worst processed food imaginable and forgot assignments were due. Every year, at least once, you would walk into a class, sit down and realise that you were actually not in that class. And then you’d realise you were in the entirely wrong building but you hadn’t noticed because you hadn’t slept in two days. The only difference between your first year and this one was that eventually along the way these things became less embarrassing and more natural. And that happened for everyone. It was just a factor of the environment.

But not this year. No, this year, your final year, things were going to be different. You wanted to pull your marks up and you were going to stay on top of things, no matter how many neon coloured post-it notes it took. It was time to get serious.

You just wished your project partner had the same ambitions.

You met Park Jimin three years ago during your first semester. Unlike yourself, he was incredibly good at socialising, floating from group of friends to group of friends and never making a single person he talked with feel neglected. He always texted back. You didn’t know how he kept up. You’d forget to text back for days sometimes. And then there was his sheer amount of Facebook friends. 

You weren’t sure how, but somehow he managed to keep up with all 852 of them.  Just looking at the amount of chat conversations he had going wherever he went on the website made your head spin a bit. You didn’t know how he did it. In comparison, you sported a measly ninety-seven Facebook buddies and a good thirty of that number were extended family and friends of your family. But perhaps that is why you always liked being around Jimin. 

He was always so...uplifting. No matter what kind of mood you were in, if you talked to him, you left the conversation feeling happy. And that was probably a pretty good indication as to why he had so many friends in the first place. He was kind to his core and willing to pay for drinks. He never got irrational or jealous about someone not wanting to hang out. Jimin was the true definition of social butterfly and you were unsure if he ever had to feel lonely.  

However, while Jimin had fantastic skills in socialisation, to the point where you encouraged him to think about becoming a salesman of some kind, he lacked the same sort of skills in concentration and focus. This often led to you helping him with his assignments and homework. Acting as a guide of sorts, though there was times you were tempted to push him out of in front of the computer and write the assignment for him. You never gave into them, but you had come close a couple times.

You couldn’t deny that there was a small part of you that wondered if perhaps that is why you are friends. Maybe he likes being close with the girl who helps him do all his schoolwork. You were not sure if this was a good or a bad thing, but at least he valued you for something.

You were sure that it couldn’t be for your personality. Your other friends like to taunt you by commending that upon occasion, a wall would hold up conversation better than you did. It happened whenever you had your brain stuck on something. You tended to hyper focus and when you did that, anyone could forget trying to get your attention until it subsided naturally.

Perhaps this is why you made the perfect pair of friends. Where you lacked in social skills, Jimin made up in and introduced you to people. He even scored you a few one-night stands over the years, though the intention had always been just to introduce you to a new friend.

Where he lacked in the traditional application of his knowledge, you helped him figure out how to get the words on paper. While sometimes it had him so frustrated he’d turn into a grouch who really needed to be fed, he always managed to get to the end of the assignment with your help. The friendship had been harmonious from the beginning and it had made some of the harder parts of the year easier to bear.

However, this was your first project together. While in the past you two hadn’t traditionally shared a lot of the same labs or seminars, you managed to luck out with this time and of course he had immediately sat next to you upon the announcement of a joint assignment. Well, you figured that it being a matter of luck was subjective here because while Park Jimin had been your good friend for three years, you still hadn’t a clue how to get him in a good zone of focus. And unfortunately, unless you were to do your half and them coach him through his, you needed to. Your joint assignment was due in two weeks.

…

“We have to focus, Jimin,” you told him for the sixth time as you browsed through your notes, flipping to look for the sticky note that said some little piece of info about Niobium on it. You knew you had written it on one of neon blue post its but unfortunately there were a rough estimate of something like a million blue ones.

“I am. I’m looking at the periodic table right now.”

To be fair, he was technically looking at it. If laying upside down on your bed and glancing at the chart you had colourfully drawn onto Bristol Board whilst messaging three other people on his phone counted. But it didn’t actually count. If anything, it sort of pissed you off. How dare he sit on the bed and be comfortable while you sat amongst scattered texts on the floor.

“Jimin, this is worth ten percent of our mark, please focus,” you begged as you looked up from your book and into his upside-down gorgeous brown eyes as he smiled your way, trying to soften you up.

Jimin was beautiful in that sort of way that looked like he was outside more than he was inside. Warm sun-kissed skin and dark brown hair. He was always wearing hoodies that were a bit too big for him and soft wasn’t a generous enough word to describe him. He constantly looked like somebody’s boyfriend.

It didn’t surprise you he was popular with a lot of ladies but inside it made you feel nice that he made time to be your friend too. At least he wasn’t one of those guys who would blow you off every time he found a girl to blow him. He always made time for you, even if you called in the middle of the night because you didn’t quite feel right.

“Okay, I’ll focus. You’re hair is going to turn grey if I don’t,” he said as he have you a coy smile and moved to sink onto the floor across from you. He crossed his legs and brought one of the books closer, setting his phone aside. “Niobium, right?”

“Yes,” you said as you gave him a little smile and then mouthed him a ‘thank you.’

Another fifteen minutes passed and you eventually found the little sticky note you had been looking for. You sighed with relief and copied the information as you glanced towards Jimin to see how he was doing. He was laying on his back, his head was propped up on a pillow lying on the floor, and his feet were on the bed. You sighed as you watched him chat with one of his other pretty good friends.

“Jimin…”

He tilted his head back and glanced at you curiously. Then he gave you a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You know I have issues focusing. I went to look something up and then ended up talking to Tae.”

“I know...I know.” You sighed heavily but it didn’t change your decision. You held out your hand and looked into his eyes. “I know you don’t mean it, but I’m going to hang onto that for now.”

Jimin immediately pouted but he knew there was no reasoning with you. He moved his legs off the bed and flopped onto his side before he sat back up into the correct position again. He looked down at his phone and then handed it over to you before he opened his book again.

“Thank you. This project is important and we both want to do well,” you gave him a small and sincere smile before you began to concentrate again, tapping a pen on the surface of your book.

Jimin looked up at you some time later but you didn’t notice until you heard his voice come out softly. “Y/N, you’re really beautiful.”

You didn’t look up at him as you flipped a page in your notebook and typed the information into your laptop, compiling the basic information you needed before you began to really get the project rolling. “Thank you, but it won’t get your phone back.”

“It wasn’t why I said it...I just wanted you to know.”

You looked up at him then and he was giving you that really soft smile he seemed to turn your way a lot, the one that turned his eyes into crescents. You felt your face flush and then you bit your lip before you started to go through the notes again, mumbling out a ‘thank you.’ 

Sometimes he did this sort of thing, he’d just gave you random compliments and then that look. You wondered why, but it always seemed to be in these sort of moments when he should have been concentrating on something else. Perhaps it was just another way to distract himself.

“Can I use the post its?” He reached towards them while he asked and before you could get an answer out he was already opening your little box. His eyes passed over the mini pads of different fluorescent colours in it and he eventually picked the pink and green ones.

“Sure, but make sure you’re using them for the project, Park Jimin,” you told him in a stern tone as you glanced up at him before you began to type again.

“I am, don’t worry.”

You made a slight sound of disbelief before you began typing and outline for the assignment, which was based around conducting a few experiments. It was important you got all this done for optimal safety in the lab. You wouldn’t be allowed to proceed if your professor didn’t approve your proposal. You needed plenty of time to correct any mistakes and Jimin wasn’t really allowing for that.

In fact, despite what you told him, he was not using the post its for science. You sighed as you saw him writing little notes on them and pretty much sticking them to every surface of your room that he could. There were probably three on your mirror.

At this point you had a decision to make. You could either hound Jimin until you made him pout to new extremes and probably not get him to focus in the end or you could just do your work, leave him to his devices and then coach him through it later when you didn’t have to focus on yourself. You had to pick your battles and this wasn’t one of them.

You continued to do your work, creating the outline while he quite literally moved between every possible corner of the room. He did his his own thing; putting up post its, stopping because he wanted to try on your rings, and then making more notes to stick to unsuspecting surfaces. He even tried on a headband of yours to sate his boredom but you figured he must have decided teal and silver stripes didn’t compliment him because he took it off. When those things no longer kept his focus, he eventually laid next to you and put his head in your lap, looking up at you with his ridiculously soft brown eyes.    

“Hello, Y/N.”

“Hello Jimin,” you replied as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, not taking your eyes away from the laptop to give him your full attention. In fact, the only outward signs that you acknowledged his presence were that you responded to him and the fact that you had your arm awkwardly lifted to compensate for the position of his head while you typed.

“We should take a break,” he said as he lifted his leg to bend at the knee so he could balance the pad of post it notes there. He began to write again and then placed one on your knee, giving you a cute smile after.

Knobby knees.

You glanced down at it and then rolled your eyes a little bit. To start, his handwriting was nicer than yours. You had always been envious of the legibility of it. His lines were crisp and clear while the loops on letters such as ‘y’ and ‘g’ looked like something out of a pretty font rather than what a human could write. Your handwriting looked more like something a guy would write stereotypically.

“Really, Jimin?” you asked as you gestured to the note and quirked a brow.

“It’s true. They’re kind of dorky in a cute way,” he responded with slightly amusement leaking from his tone.

“My knees are cute…” you said as if you were thinking it over. You made a bit of a face and then shook your head as you began typing again. “‘Kay then.”

Jimin hummed to himself and then made another note, sitting up so it was easier to write. You were thankful because it allowed you to rest your arm on your thigh again instead of just holding it midair. This time he stuck it to your stomach and gave you another soft smile.

Soft tummy.

How could someone slightly irritate you but also be very cute at the same time? You adored him but this project was really important and you needed to get your half done so you could move onto helping him through his. It took time to do and so you just wanted to get this out of the way and he was being so distracting, although in a very sweet and oddly endearing way.

“Jimin, I love you, but I am trying to get work done here,” you said as you stuck your tongue out very slightly, a habit of concentration. You tucked your hair behind your ear and then flipped a page in your notebook, copying more words down.

“I know. But you look like you’re working too hard. It’s why I said you should take a break,” he explained as he wrote another note and put it on your side.

Beautiful curves.

You had one of those moments where you knew you had to choose your battles. So at this point, you just let him stick the notes to you. He had to get bored of it eventually, seeing as he got bored putting them on inanimate furniture. At least, you hoped he would. You might explode if he kept this up much longer.

“Just don’t acknowledge it. Don’t read the notes. Don’t make any moves or sounds when he puts them on. He’ll get bored,” you told yourself confidently as your fingertips danced across the keys of your laptop.

Jimin giggled to himself as he wrote another one and then put it on your butt. You tried not to let your eyebrow twitch despite the fact that you knew he was pleased with himself. Drawing in a long breath, you let it go.

Cute butt.

You were pretty sure you had sat through him putting at least twenty notes all over you. In fact, he had even grabbed the other colours just to make it look like you were trying to impersonate a neon Christmas tree. You were about to explode.

Taking a deep breath, you quietly closed the lid of your laptop. “Jimin.”

“Y/N,” he replied with a little smile. He reached forwards and puts another note right on your bottom lip, sticking it there.

“Oh come on, Jimin,” you sigh as you reach down and begin to take them off one by one.

Your actions only seemed to please him more as you glanced at them and read the words. You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks ad you read them and your gut began to squirm. It’s an anxious feeling and your brain keeps wondering if it’s possible that he’s playing a trick on you. Almost in a rush you keep peeling them off and reading the messages.

Beautiful curves, knobby knees, adorable freckles, soft tummy, cute butt, pretty hair, soft skin, beautiful neck, back dimples, pudgy thighs (that I want to bite), collarbones (I want to put hickies on), cute fingers (I want to bite them too)...

With every note you read, your blush got more intense and you began to feel shier. You glanced up into his eyes, almost afraid you’d see some kind of self satisfied smirk but instead you saw a very soft smile and eyes that couldn’t trick you even if he tried. Taking a deep breath, you reached for the last note on your lips and pulled it off.

Please kiss me.

“Now can we please take a break, Y/N?” Jimin asked as he reached for your hand and laced your fingers with his. He had a sort of courage to his actions that made you feel warm inside. He didn’t look away from your eyes, if anything it made you feel like he really meant the things he wrote. “I think we could focus on some other stuff for awhile.”

You swallowed and you opened your mouth but you didn’t know what to say. Overwhelmed didn’t really cover how you felt but you had the sudden thought that maybe Jimin didn’t have to look like somebody else’s boyfriend in those oversized sweaters anymore. Just maybe he could look like yours.  

As if following the direction of your thoughts, he stuck one more note to you, right where your heart would be. You couldn’t decide if it was cheesy or sweet but to be honest you didn’t care really care. The action had brought that familiar tingling sensation to your stomach, like you had just gone over the big drop on a roller coaster. You reached for it and peeled it away from your shirt, reading it slowly and letting the tingling spread.

Be mine?

To be honest, you were quite fond of the way he looked in those sweaters.

                                                             FIN

#jimin #park jimin #bts #bangtan #bangtan boys #one shot #oneshot #jimin oneshot #college au #fluff #chimchim #bts oneshot #bangtan oneshot #bts one shot #bangtan one shot

[swimmingwolf59]

Baby Makes Four

(A/N) Accidental baby acquisition is one of my absolute favorite tropes EVER so I had to write it for today's prompt! XD There are no warnings here, just pure teeth-rotting fluff. Also, this takes place in the same universe as Of BMWs and Cadillacs, in case you were wondering c: I hope you guys enjoy!!

P.S. I will be writing something for day 8, but I probably won't be able to get it up tomorrow so it'll be there for you guys on Sunday :') Until then, happy pynch week! It's been so much writing for it this year~

Admittedly, Ronan has been thinking about this for a while now.

The idea had wriggled into his head a few years ago, when he’d been coming to terms with the fact that Opal would be going off to college soon. It was like the situation with Adam all over again, except Ronan felt especially ill-equipped to handle it a second time. Four years of undergrad and two years for a master’s degree away from an integral member of Ronan’s family was enough to last a lifetime – Ronan had no idea what to do about the fact that he’d have to do it again.

It was almost harder with Opal, really. She’d been around as long as Ronan could remember, assisting him in his dreamscape and protecting him from his nightmares. While he was guiltily a little excited about having the entire Barns alone with Adam, he found the idea of Opal being gone for so long unbearable.

But he didn’t want to be in the way of her dreams either, so he knew he would have to let her go.

So then he started wondering what could possibly fill the void of Opal’s absence.

And then he started wondering what it would be like to raise a child for real.

Opal is his daughter, they’d signed the papers to make it official a while back, but she had come out of his head mostly functional and already fiercely independent. Once they’d taught her to stop gnawing on sticks and how to walk in boots to hide her hoofs, she pretty much didn’t need them anymore. She was more like another adult living in their house than anything. (Ronan had even taken an amusing snapshot (amusing to him) of Opal and Adam both hunched over their respective homework at the dining room table, sticking their tongues out in concentration in comically similar fashions.) She just needed to be calmed down from horrific nightmares as often as Ronan did and sometimes a harsh reminder not to eat the wrapper on her granola bars. It had been easy, once Opal had adjusted to the waking world.

And all of it just made Ronan wonder what it would be like to start from scratch.

For a long time, Ronan hadn’t thought he wanted kids. But hell, he’d thought he’d be alone for the rest of his life, and look where he is now. He’d just been worried that he’d never be able to control his dreams, that eventually people would come after him and attack him and destroy his family, just like his had been destroyed so many years ago.

But nobody came. Ronan and Adam have lived off the grid as far as the magic business goes for years, and no one has bothered them since the Gray Man had contacted them a couple of years back to say that he was successfully diverting attention away from Henrietta.  

So now Ronan feels safe to ponder the idea of children. He’d loved growing up in a big family, with his two brothers to tumble around with, and he likes the idea of having a big family again. He also kind of wants to prove that he can be a good dad, or at least a better dad than Niall had ever been. He’s finally old enough to acknowledge that his dad had been a shit dad, though he still holds his intense love for him, and he wants to make it up to the next generation. He doesn’t want anyone feeling neglected and insufficient just because they weren’t a dreamer, like Declan must have felt. He doesn’t want anyone to sit around and wonder if their dad will ever come back home, and then have to find out one day that he won’t ever be coming home again.

And, for a more screwed up reason, Ronan kind of finds the idea of Adam as a dad stupidly attractive.

But it’s Adam himself that makes Ronan hesitate about bringing it up. It’s no secret that Adam’s worst fear is that one day he’ll wake up and find that he’s turned into his father. It’s why he still hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol besides the occasional glass of wine Ronan forces on him when he’s especially tired and stressed. It’s why Adam still flinches sometimes when he touches Opal, like he’s afraid he’ll somehow accidentally hurt her.

Ronan doesn’t want to make him feel pressured to overcome that fear just because he so badly wants another child. He and Adam decide things together, with no one’s opinion meaning more than the other’s. He figures that the safest option for now is to just leave things be. Their life is good right now – there’s no need to add a sudden change.

Which is great, until it suddenly escalates out of his control.

The way it starts is rather ironic, as they do have sex right before. Adam had gotten home late and angry because someone on his team had made critical mistakes in their math and he’d had to stay late at the office to correct them. He has deep bags under his eyes, his usually perfect tie is crooked, and he’s in a horrible mood.

Ronan has learned that the best approach to dealing with an angry Adam is to say nothing at all. Probing at him only makes him explode in his face. So he just wordlessly slides a cup of black coffee over to him when he sits down at the kitchen table with an irritated sigh. Adam downs the whole thing, wordlessly demands another, and then launches into an hour long rant about how shitty everyone at his work is.

“And don’t even get me started on that fucktard Scott; he always does everything wrong and yet somehow still gets away with—why are you looking at me like that?” Adam’s eyes are suddenly piercing into Ronan, who realizes he’d been unsuccessful at hiding his amused smirk behind his cup.

He quickly wipes the smirk away, leaning back against the counter. “No reason.” And then, against better judgement, “You’re just hot when you’re mad.”

“Of all the—!” Adam looks about ready to detonate, but after a second his shoulders loosen and he rolls his eyes. Ronan would be richer than he already is if he had a dollar for every time Adam has rolled his eyes at him. “You’re impossible.”

Ronan grins wolfishly. “At least I’m better than fucking Scott.”

It’s the right thing to say. Adam grins before standing up, abandoning his half-finished coffee and walking over to Ronan. He stops when their chests touch, wrapping his arms around Ronan’s neck and leaning in for a sweet kiss. Ronan hums, settling his hands on Adam’s hips as he kisses him back.

He’s survived this round.

“How was your day?” Adam asks between kisses.

Ronan shrugs, moving down to kiss Adam’s jaw. “Fine. Just farm stuff. Set up at the farmer’s market. Sold some shit. Nothing eventful.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively at Adam. “Yet.”

Adam snorts, but he also tends to be in the mood for sex when he’s had a bad day at work so he leads Ronan up to the bedroom anyway.

Once they’re done, spent and happy once more, Adam gets up to let the dogs into the room before trotting back to the bed and opening his book. He always reads before bed, so Ronan, as always, tucks his arm around his waist and rolls onto his stomach, getting comfortable for an attempt at easy sleep. He goes to bed earlier now than he did as a teen since he has to get up early for farming work.

Just as he’s sinking into his pillow and Adam’s warmth, however, their three hounds climb onto the bed and immediately flop onto his back.

“Fucking…! Your dog-children are suffocating me!” Ronan groans under the weight. Misty, their Australian Shepherd, licks at the back of his neck, making him shiver violently. He tries half-heartedly to roll her off of him, but Ray the golden retriever and Chip the husky have dutifully pinned down Ronan’s legs.

Adam snorts and doesn’t even look up from his book as he reaches out to scratch Misty’s ears. “They’re your dog-children, too.”

“So when a gay man and a bi man love each other very much…”

Adam chokes out a laugh and shoves a pillow into Ronan’s face. “Apparently they make three dog-children. But the real question is: who gives birth to them?”

Ronan laughs so hard his sides hurt. God Adam is the most amazing human being he has ever met in his entire life. Pushing the dogs off of him, the action easy now with his sudden surge of motivation, Ronan scrambles over to tackle Adam down onto the mattress. Adam lets out a surprised yelp, his book tumbling onto the floor as Ronan nuzzles into his neck. “Hey! You made me lose my page!”

“Oh please, you have the whole damn thing memorized anyway.” Ronan rolls his eyes and leans back to press a soft kiss to Adam’s lips. He lets himself smile a little, lost in the shining amusement in Adam’s blue eyes. “I love you.”

Adam reaches up to stroke his cheek. “I love you too. Even if you did give birth to three dog-children.”

“Hey, who’s to say it wasn’t you?” Ronan growls, but he’s laughing again as he rolls over to lie next to Adam. He watches his husband, mesmerized by the way his dimples show when he laughs.

Adam smirks and shoves his cold feet in between Ronan’s legs. “Because I think I would remember something like that.”

“They say some women don’t remember the pain of childbirth,” Ronan says as he wraps his arm around Adam’s waist and pulls him in tighter.

Adam raises a playful eyebrow. “Yes, but they don’t say that some men don’t remember the pain of dog-childbirth.”

“God I fucking hate you!” Ronan laughs, but he’s happy and warm and still hopelessly in love. He falls asleep staring at Adam’s smile and rubbing lazy circles into his hip.

As usual, he falls into a dream. With all of the thoughts and discussions of children and birthing lately, Ronan is only mildly surprised when he walks around a tree in Cabeswater and stumbles across a crib. His breath still leaves him though, and for a long time he just stands there, staring at it. He knows he shouldn’t go over to it, that if he does he won’t be able to stop himself from doing something irreversible.

And yet he finds himself walking over anyway, like something is drawing him forward. There’s a soft crying now, and Ronan can see the gentle flailing of tiny limbs over the lip of the crib. He catches a glimpse of one of the baby’s limbs before it falls back down again.

A pale, freckled arm.

Ronan curses his overactive brain for doing this to himself, but by now he’s already standing next to the crib. He tries not to look in, he really does, but the freckled arm had attracted his attention and now he can’t not look in at it.

Just one peek. That’s all.

It’s a mistake.

Ronan doesn’t even remember grabbing the baby, but when he wakes from the dream there is loud, shrilling crying in his ear and a hand violently shaking his shoulder. “Ronan, Ronan! Ronan, wake up!”

Ronan is awake, but he can’t do anything to prove it. He can’t move a finger, his body paralyzed from bringing the little bundle in his arms out of his dream. He wishes he could move, though, because he can roll his eyes around and see that Adam is panicking and that the bundle in his arms is actually what he thinks it is and that he has royally fucked everything up.

When he can finally move again, he rolls over with a groan, clutching the bundle tighter in his arms. Adam can most definitely see what he’s brought out now, and his eyes are as wide as saucers as he stares at Ronan like he has three heads. “Ronan, that’s—!”

Ronan closes his eyes and heaves a big sigh. “A fucking baby. Yeah.”

-- 

Adam is mad.

“I can’t believe you didn’t consult me about this!” he fumes, though the effect is immediately canceled out by the little baby boy cocked on his hip. Ronan is melting.

“It’s not like I brought him back on purpose!” he whispers back, not wanting to alarm the baby as he steps forward to ease a bottle of milk to his lips. The baby drinks eagerly, to Ronan’s relief. “I was going to talk to you about it! I’ve just been thinking about it a lot lately, and when I stumbled across him in my dream…”

He trails off, still uncomfortable with stating his feelings outright. About how he’d fallen in love with the baby on first sight. About how he’d seen Adam’s blue eyes and his own curly hair on that little baby and couldn’t just not pick him up.

Adam scoffs and rolls his eyes, but his expression is softer now, more understanding. “I know you didn’t bring him back on purpose, but I would’ve still liked to be part of the process. You should’ve told me when you first started thinking about it.”

Ronan looks away. He should’ve, but he’d thought Adam wouldn’t want to. Adam has trouble seeing how good he is with Opal, no matter how much Ronan tries to show him, no matter how well Opal has turned out because of him. Adam obviously loves Opal, and Opal obviously loves him, but it’s apparently not enough to fully dissipate Adam’s fears. Ronan hadn’t brought it up with him because he hadn’t wanted to get into a fight over it.

The idea seems stupid now.

“I…I didn’t think you’d want to…” he admits, rubbing a hand over his head. It’s still a habit, even though he actually has hair now to get caught in his fingers.

“You’re an idiot,” Adam says bluntly, and Ronan flinches. For a moment, he feels angry. Why does he always get in trouble for trying to do the right thing? It’s like he’s just one big fuck-up no matter what his intentions are.

But then Adam walks closer to him, shifting the baby into Ronan’s arms. Ronan hugs him tightly, so he won’t fall. He’s staring so intensely at the little boy, awestruck, that Adam has to place his hands on Ronan’s cheeks to force him to look at him. It’s the first time in over twelve years that Ronan has to be made to look at Adam, and the idea amuses him slightly.

“The truth is, I’ve…been looking into adoption,” Adam says quietly, running his thumb down Ronan’s jaw.

Ronan just stares at him. “Adam, I love you, but we have three dogs already – you seriously want to get another one…?”

“No you idiot,” Adam snaps, but a smile is twitching at the corners of his lips. Ronan grins back. “Human adoption. I’ve been thinking about getting a baby too, Ronan.”

For a moment, the words don’t even process. Ronan just blinks at Adam in shock, convinced he hasn’t heard right. “Wh-what? But I thought—?”

Adam suddenly seems embarrassed as he stares down at the baby, a small smile gracing his lips as the boy reaches for him. Adam hands him a finger in return, and when the baby grasps at it with a cry of delight Ronan nearly explodes from the cuteness overload. “Look, I know I’ve been…hesitant for a long time about this, and God I’m still terrified, but…You’ve always wanted kids. You love Opal, but she was never going to be enough for you. So I thought…I thought we could give it a try… And before you say anything, I want this too. I want…I want to try having a family with you, Ronan.”

Ronan is gaping for a completely different reason now. He never realized how…known he is. He always seems to forget that Adam can see right through him, that he doesn’t even have to learn to be comfortable with stating his feelings out loud because often Adam just knows. Ronan can do the same for Adam, but now he’s starting to realize why Adam was always so freaked out about it.

It’s scary being so transparent, even to the man he’s been together with for ten years.

Adam is looking at him again, and he looks so terrified that Ronan wants to wrap his arms tightly around him and never let go. “You’ll stop me if I ever try to hurt them, won’t you?”

“God, Adam,” Ronan murmurs, shifting the baby to one arm so he can cup Adam’s cheek with his palm. “Listen to me – you will never be like that piece of shit, alright? I’ve seen you Adam, we’ve lived together for ten years; I’ve seen how good you are with Opal. Who was the one who sat up with her and helped her with her homework? Who was the one who made her a makeshift sling and called the ambulance while I did nothing but freak the fuck out when she broke her elbow? Who was the one who toured colleges with her, made sure she had all of her shots, made her wear her safety gear when we went spelunking, combed and braided her hair all this time?”

“Me,” Adam says quietly, but it comes out cracked. He leans into Ronan’s palm and reaches up to cover it with his own; Ronan can feel his hand shaking. “But just in case—”

“You would never hurt them,” Ronan says firmly, leaving no room for misunderstandings.

But Adam is still shaking his head, looking very much like he’s trying not to cry. “You don’t know that—”

“I do know that,” Ronan interrupts. “And you wanna know why? Because I’ve been staring at your dumb ass for twelve years and you have never hurt anyone. Because you love Opal so damn much that you flew all the way to Seattle just to help her move into her dorm. And you hate flying.”

Adam laughs a little before that beautiful small smile comes back onto his lips. A stray tear runs down his cheek, and Ronan swipes it away with his thumb. “I can’t believe you’ve been staring at my ass for twelve years.”

Ronan scowls before playfully swatting at Adam’s head. “Be flattered you shit.”

“Thank you, Ronan,” he murmurs quietly, suddenly serious.

Ronan hugs him tightly with his free arm, and doesn’t even comment on the tears he can feel soaking into his tank. “You’re going to be the best damn dad anyone has ever seen.”

-- 

“Daddy, I wanna lick the bowl!” Ken Niall Lynch-Parrish, barely 5, says, holding up his chubby arms towards Adam. Adam is more the baker of the family, Ronan prefers cooking dinner-type foods, and he stands at the counter mixing a cake. It’s Ken’s birthday, and all of their friends and family are coming over that night to celebrate. Even Opal is flying home from Seattle, though her quickly approaching finals means she can’t stay for more than two days.

But it’ll be alright. Ronan is just happy to have all his kids in the same place again.

“It’s bad for you, Ken,” Adam chides, but when the toddler’s face falls he rolls his eyes fondly and stoops down to pick Ken up in his arms, holding him so that he can reach the bowl on the counter. “Only because it’s your birthday.”

Ken squeals with delight as he reaches for the bowl, grasping the spoon and licking from it eagerly. Ronan, seated at the table, can’t stop grinning. It’s been five years of raising their boys, and he will never get tired of watching Adam be a dad. It’s his absolute favorite thing.

“Papa?” A small hand suddenly tugs at Ronan’s pant leg, and he looks down to find their dream boy, Jerome Noah Lynch-Parrish, also 5, staring up at him. His fist is clenched tightly, as if holding something in his hand.

“What’s up, squirt?” Ronan asks, pulling the boy into his lap.

Jerome looks down shyly before opening his fist and offering the object to Ronan. “Papa, I think it turned out right this time…”

Inside the toddler’s palm is a toy car, one that suspiciously looks like Adam’s Cadillac. When Ronan spins the front wheel, a familiar song begins to play: “Squash one, squash two—”

Ronan quickly stops the wheel, muting the tune. He glances sharply up at Adam, but his husband is too busy helping Ken clean off the rest of the bowl that it looks like he hadn’t heard anything. For once, Ronan thanks the fact that Adam is half-deaf.

Grinning, Ronan places a messy kiss on Jerome’s temple. “It’s perfect. Why don’t you go give it to your Daddy?”

“Okay!” The toddler grins before carefully climbing down from Ronan’s lap and running to Adam.

Jerome is unique in the fact that he is both a dreamer and a dream. Ronan hasn’t noticed anything other than that that differentiates him from non-dream babies, like his brother Ken who they had adopted from Japan, which had been a relief for both him and Adam. While they would’ve loved him either way, it’s just easier on Ronan not having to dream up all of his pairs of shoes and such like he has to do for Opal. He also hopes that someday he’ll be able to work with Jerome to improve Cabeswater and find a more permanent solution for dreams that no longer have their dreamer.

It’s of even more importance now that they find the answer.

But that’s a long ways away. For now, Ronan is content to sport a shit-eating grin as he watches Jerome tug on Adam’s pant leg. “Daddy, I dreamt this for you!”

“Oh?” Adam has to set Ken down to accept the car from Jerome, and Ken crowds next to his brother to also get a look at what he’d presented Adam.

“No fair Jerome, where’s my dream present? It’s my birthday!” Ken whines.

Jerome, a surprisingly gentle-natured child considering he’d come out of Ronan’s head, smiles and says, “I already dreamed your present! Papa just won’t let me give it to you until Aunty Blue, Uncle Dick, Uncle Henry, Uncle Declan, and Uncle Matthew are here.”

Ken sulks, but the answer seems to satisfy him. Ronan counts it a mental win that his son had called Gansey ‘Dick’ instead of ‘Gansey’, but he doesn’t bask in the glory of it for long. Right now he has more important things to witness.

Adam smiles as he inspects the tiny model of his own car, obviously touched. It makes Ronan feel a bit bad for what he’s about to do to him. “Thank you, Jerome! It looks just like our Cadillac.”

“Spin the wheel!” Jerome chirps, a huge grin on his face. Ronan has to bite his lip to prevent himself from barking out a loud laugh.

“Alright…” Adam, obviously having no suspicions whatsoever, spins the wheel.

“Squash one, squash two—”

Adam stalls the wheel on his palm immediately before whirling to face Ronan, comically furious. “Of all of the beautiful and innovative things you could be teaching our son how to make, why did you decide to teach him how to make this?! This song died ten years ago!!”

“That song is a fucking classic!” Ronan barks, leaning back in his chair and roaring with laughter. Adam looks ready to strike back with a scathing retort to that, but their son interrupts him.

“You don’t like it, Daddy?” Jerome asks, the poor boy sounding absolutely crushed.

Adam falters. “No, Jerome, it’s great! Thank you. You’re getting so much better at controlling your dreaming.” Ronan snickers at the fact that he got Adam to admit the Murder Squash Song was great, and Adam points at him in a scarily accurate imitation of Gansey. “This isn’t over, Lynch.”

“That’s Lynch-Parrish to you!” Ronan says cheekily, and just laughs as Adam throws a dish towel at him.

Later, when the rest of their crazy family is all together and watching Ken open his presents, Ronan is suddenly struck with how amazing this all is. That he, Ronan Lynch-Parrish, is lucky enough to have stumbled upon such an incredibly strange and incredibly amazing group of people who make him feel loved and accepted every day. It’s a long cry away from where he was as a teenager, and honestly it’s a goddamn miracle.

He even has a soft smile on his face as he watches Ken unwrap the little stuffed animal that Jerome had dreamed for him, one that lights up like a night light in all sorts of fantastical colors. Ken absolutely loves it, and he’s grinning from ear to ear as he tackles his brother in a hug.

As if reading Ronan’s thoughts, Adam squeezes his knee and leans over to whisper in his ear, his breath warm on his skin, “Can you believe this is our family? Our family??”

Ronan breaks his gaze from their sons for a moment to grin fondly at Adam. He cups his cheek gently before leaning in to leave a quick peck on his lips. “Not at all, no. It’s like a goddamn dream.”

Adam grins at him, happy and awake and finally filled out in his form, and kisses Ronan back. “Well, if it is, then I never want to wake up.”

#pynchweek17 #pynchweek #pynch #ronan lynch #adam parrish #day 7 #accidental baby acquisition #OCs #my writing

[chan-chanyeol]

reticent

i thought about writing something like this for a while, 2.5k words, chanyeol

You don’t normally do this kind of thing.

 Hell, you hardly ever get invited to these events, but you figured this time was special. This would, hopefully, be the last of these events you get invited. You figure that it will be, after what you just did. Nobody will ever want to talk to you after this. Well, nobody except him, which is all that really matters. He’s all that matters, so the curse words and evil glares that were thrown your way are very worth it.

>

You couldn’t contain your laugh, and you breathed in wrong trying to, and choke, causing him to snort and burst out in a fit of giggles.

“Are you suffocating?” Chanyeol wheezed, eyes bright and voice airy. He finds you so endearing, especially when you mess up something as simple as laughing. “Are you okay?”

You both were lounging on his bed, a nice full sized big enough for you two, even with all his long limbs. You huffed and sat up, crossing your legs and pulling a pillow of his into your lap. “Yes,” you croaked out, your voice shaky from the number you just did on your throat trying to not laugh. “I’m fine. I’m not gonna give your stupid jokes the benefit of a laugh from me.”

Chanyeol rolled onto his back, his head landed near your knees, and he just stared up at you with those big puppy eyes of his. His lopsided smile-borderline-smirk still plastered on his face as he blatantly stared at you. “You know you think I’m hilarious.”

You granted a smile at the very least, and leaned down enough to give him a kiss on the forehead. “I guess you’re kinda funny.”

>

It was truly like any other day, you got to wake up on Saturday without an alarm, with the light filtering through your curtains and birds chirping to greet you. The only thing different was the pretty little outfit you had to put on, the different makeup you applied, and the short heels you put on. It was bright outside, and with the springtime breeze you smelled the different flowers that were beginning to bloom as you walked to the location. You always liked the spring a bit more than the other seasons, getting a nice blend of everything except the annoying snow.

You have your invitation in one hand and your phone in the other, ignoring the buzzing from texts from your friends that you know all say not to go through with this. But what kind of person would you be if you let this happen?

You entered the venue, it was quaint and low key, which you weren’t expecting. Well, on the outside it was simple, but as soon as you passed the french doors that separated the entrance from the actual gathering room, you were bombarded with colors. A mishmash of pinks and blues and reds that didn’t compliment each other greeted you, and as you were trying to find the connection between the orange sashes adorning the seats and the cyan seat covers, somebody comes up to you.

“Were you invited?” She asks, and your focus is tossed to her, who’s giving you such a disapproving look. Judging by her pastel dress, she’s in the ceremony. You hold up your invitation, which she promptly snatches from your hand with two manicured fingers and examines it.

You smile when her face contorts and she hands it back to you. “I can’t believe he invited you,” she says, clicking her tongue.

“Personally,” you tack on, which she rolls her eyes at before walking away, an exaggerated sway to her hips.

People are filing in, finding seats here and there, regardless of who they came for. You stick to the old tradition and go and sit on the right, somewhere in the middle so you eventually get surrounded by people who were much more kindly invited.

>

Chanyeol, at least, has the manners to knock on your door before he enters anyway. You were sitting at your desk, getting some homework done, writing a page or two of your thesis paper when he placed a takeout container on your notebook.

“Don’t you know you’re supposed to take breaks?” He asked, not waiting for an answer before continuing. “You’re supposed to, like, take a break that’s twice as long as you worked, or something.”

He went and sat on the edge of your bed, his mouth half full of his own takeout before he even entered your room. You rolled your chair back a bit from the desk and opened the takeout.

“I think something’s wrong with your math,” you commented, opening the wooden chopsticks and chowing down.

He just stared at you while you two ate in silence, five feet apart, like this was some common occurrence. And it was, in a way. You wondered how you became so lucky that you could have a lover who was more than willing to be a subplot in your life when things got busy. You guess that’s true love, being understanding when you can’t be the number one priority.

Once you finished your takeout, you sat it back on the desk and went and joined Chanyeol on the bed. It was only two in the afternoon, and you had been neglecting him for a few days. He was still eating, so you snaked your arms around his middle and rested your cheek on his shoulder.

“Wanna nap with me?” You asked.

He nodded, mouth full of chow mein so he couldn’t reply.

“Then chill while I write some more of my paper?”

He nodded again.

You hugged him a little tighter. “Thanks for hanging around with me. I love your company.”

He took a few seconds to chew and swallow. “I love you.”

>

It’s achingly slow. You hate waiting. Chanyeol is so far away from you, and you don’t know if you prefer it that way or not. Would you rather he be close so you could whisper your intentions to him, only from him to get flustered and give you a lame excuse to not go through with it? You decide you rather him be far way. You’re skillfully blended into the crowd, you doubt he knows you’re there. There’s so much talking and talking, and then the song plays. It vaguely reminds you of a death march, and as you’re musing on that thought, you almost forget to stand.

But you don’t look back with the rest of the people, you stare forward and crane your neck to catch a glimpse of Chanyeol. And you do, and for a moment his eyes flit over to you, you hold his gaze and try to decipher his wide, worried eyes before focuses back, and you’re forced to join the crowd in watching. The crowds sit and you know it’s only a matter of minutes before nearly everyone in this room will excommunicate you.

>

You two met in a required creative writing class and both sat at the front of the class, only because you both always came in late and didn’t want to sneak all the way to the back. Then, you two always partnered up for editing. Then, you two hung out to study together. Then, you started dating. Your third year of college was really something spectacular, thanks to Chanyeol. A bright ball of energy and empathy, always mirroring the emotions of those around him without knowing, and it just so happened that around you he was always so excited and happy. Because, well, you were excited and happy around him, and he fed off of that energy.

And he liked you, of course. He made that very clear. And you liked him.

So much, in fact, that you invited him to a friend’s sorority party so you could get drunk together, but for some reason he had morals that night and babysat you while you got so far gone the only things you remember are checking your phone when you arrived at 10pm and again at 5am. (And puking in the bathroom while Chanyeol held your hair.)

If he saw you at your absolute worst and didn’t ditch you immediately, he’s a keeper.

At 5pm the day after the party, once you’ve puked up all the alcohol and slept off the majority of your hangover, you scurried out of your bedroom to assess the damage.

Chanyeol was lounging on your couch in your shitty one room apartment, working on what you assumed was homework. You peeked around the wall to see him, and it’s like he sensed your presence because he promptly looked up at you, smiling.

“Feeling better?” He asked, looking back to his paper and underlining something.

“Yes,” you mumbled, shuffling out to sit by him on the couch. You made sure to brush your teeth for five minutes and gargle half the bottle of mouthwash before even daring to breathe in his direction.

He set down his paper on your coffee table, which was two milk crates and an old art desk top. (You said it was rustic, Chanyeol said that recycling is very efficient.) There was a comfortable silence between you two as you tried to figure out how to thank him for saving you from alcohol poisoning and drowning in your own puke.

Instead, he leaned over and placed a kiss on your cheek.

You raised your hand to cover the spot, hoping that maybe you can catch the kiss and let it melt into your skin. “I know after everything you saw last night you won’t want to kiss me, but I want to kiss you. In thanks.”

Chanyeol laughed and shrugged, and you were immensely confused at how close and domestic you two had grown in the three months you had known each other. You let your hand fall away from your face, and he leaned in again and kisses you properly for the first time.

“You wanted to kiss me last night, too,” he mentioned when he pulled back. He let his eyes flutter closed and you grew envious of his long lashes against his cheeks. “But I wanted you to remember it.”

You smiled, but his eyes were still closed, so you placed a hand behind his neck and pulled him in for your second kiss together.

>

You space out for the majority of it. Your head is up in space at the moment, and you really can’t blame yourself. This will be the biggest moment in your life, bigger than graduating high school and college, and your first and last dates with Chanyeol. Who, looking dashing as always, also looks extremely out of place up there by the altar in a tux. You always loved it when he dressed fancy, but you loved him more in sweats and a t-shirt on those lazy days during your senior of college while you two did homework.

Then, you’re thrown out of your own thoughts when you hear your cue; “Speak now.”

You stand before you know what you’re doing. All the words in your head align, the script you’ve been repeating to yourself is clear as day, but you look up across the chapel towards Chanyeol, and you make the mistake of glancing to the left.

His bride-to-be is red in the face, and if looks could kill, you would’ve been vaporized. But, you look back to Chanyeol, who seems more relaxed than you, and you clench your shaking fists.

“So,” you start, voice not trembling like you expected. “We know— well, I know, how much of your life you planned out. Which, isn’t a lot, but— I know that you don’t want to do this. She wants to, and you always to please everyone around you, but— “

There’s grumbling throughout the whole chapel, and you notice the bride turn to the preacher to harshly whisper to just continue the ceremony. But you look back to Chanyeol, who raises his eyebrows and urges you with his puppy eyes to continue.

“So don’t say yes,” you breathe out, and there’s a couple of loud voices in the chapel telling you to sit down and shut up, but you keep looking at him. “You don’t love her enough for this. I know you, and you don’t want this. So don’t say yes.”

You look around now, to everyone that’s staring at you with the most horrified looks. You know none of them ever expected a moment like this to happen. You clear your throat and shuffle your way through the pew, crossing over people’s feet to get out, and you walk back down the aisle to the door to leave since you’ve said everything you needed to.

Those french doors are closing behind you and muffling the loud commotion from inside, separating you from the yelling and crying and outright anger that’s brewing and festering in there, all because of you, because of your selfishness and stubbornness and downright empathy for your college love.

And you’ve just set foot on the sidewalk to head back to your less-shitty apartment when there’s loud footfalls behind you, and you ignore it, hoping that if it’s the brother of the bride ready to knock your lights out, he at least hits somewhere you can cover with makeup.

But there’s a hand on your shoulder, pulling you around and into a tight embrace, and you freeze in the strong arms that are oh so familiar, but on a whole different level that you hesitate too long to return the hug.

“Thank you,” he sighs, voice cracking. You look up once he releases you, seeing Chanyeol, face flushes and eyes bright to match his smile. “Thank you.”

You nearly cry, or maybe you do, maybe you let a few stressful tears fall from your eyes. “I don’t want to you regret something like that,” you say, and he hasn’t taken his hands off of you. People are flowing out of the church to follow the supposed-to-be groom to see him holding his ex on the sidewalk in front of the chapel he was supposed to get married in.

But Chanyeol doesn’t care. He’s still smiling. “Everyone told me I wouldn’t regret it, that it was time, but nobody wanted to listen to me. But you always did. You always listened to me. I’m so happy you came. Thank you so much.”

His hands drifted from your shoulders down to your waist, a soft caress on your arms as he pulled you closer, and for a moment you feared he’d kiss you. But he didn’t, at least, not on your mouth. He gave you a chaste peck on the cheek, which is the most physical affection you’ve gotten in the year since you two broke up at graduation, and you wrap your arms around his neck to return the hug this time.

“Can we start over?” He murmurs into the crook of your neck, quiet enough that the gathering crowd can’t hear, and you look over his shoulder to see his fuming fiancee.

“Yes,” you say, closing your eyes to bask in the memories of him holding you. “Let’s not regret anything this time.”

#chanyeol #exo #chanyeol scenario #exo scenario #writings #drabble #yeah this was inspired by a taylor swift song but shhh