#i don't think it even looks that good here lol

[lesbian-sunshim]

with few exceptions i don't ship any of the m6 with any of the princesses but I wanted to challenge myself and do exactly that; I combined a bodyguard au and an arranged marriage au and came up with this! - an au where bearing an element of harmony comes with a union to one of the princesses, and serves functionally as both a spouse and/or adviser, and a bodyguard.

been calling this either the harmony marriage au, or the elements of marriage lol

Rainbow immediately addresses the elephant in the room and all but volunteers to form a union with Luna; something she does partly to prove she isn't afraid of anyone or anything, but also because… look man she said she was sorry and she's gonna start her new rule with everyone against her - someone has to be there for her. Celestia especially approves of this union, as, even if these marriages are largely political, the element of Loyalty would make a true companion for a pony like Luna. Despite that, I think their start would be difficult, given all the ways the two are opposites… but ultimately flying by moonlight is just as nice as flying during the day, and the long stretches of peaceful nights give them plenty of time to get to know each other.

Cadance solves the unbalanced issue and forms a union with both Pinkie and Fluttershy. There's no limit to virtues that are compatible with Love, but Laughter and Kindness just have that little something extra that catches her attention, nevermind how stinkin cute they are. All three take to their new marriage well. It’s especially helpful that Pinkie and Fluttershy have a pre-established friendship that could easily remain platonic, or turn romantic or queer-platonic; there’s also the fact that Cadance herself was once a humble pegasus raised by earth ponies before being thrust into this royal life, which could be why they caught her eye in the first place. 

(Shining is still here, as someone needs to train these girls in the art of guarding, and their relationship is still active (although PinkieShy would not be considered his wives); bc if there’s one thing I’m going to do with the princess of love, it's show off some poly pride!)

Twilight would, at this point, ““have her choice”” between Generous Rarity or Honest Applejack; either would be fitting for her new title as the princess of Friendship, and both are good ponies who she could rely on. However, given just how much Twilight’s life is about to be upended with new, well, everything - ultimately Rarity turns out to be her best match. She’s generous with her patience and tact in a way AJ isn’t quite, and more importantly she understands the ins and outs of the high class, making her a real asset in Twilight’s transition to royalty. Nevermind that the two were maybe already a little smitten before their union even took place…

This leaves Applejack sort of “auto-paired” with Celestia. At first Applejack seems like a horrible choice for a princess who is practically a queen, given how very little she knows about this life, and the way the upper class look down on her, but it ends up that her more open/harsh honesty that would have maybe been too much for Twilight in her new role is actually perfect against Celestia. It takes Applejack a bit to learn how to hold her tongue in royal public but she learns to play the game in her own way, and her willingness to speak openly and bluntly with Celestia - in private - is so refreshing to Celestia, who hasn't had a pony tell her like it is in ages. That said, i think this learning curve takes quite some time to even itself out, and in the beginning they spend a lot of their marriage clashing with each other, though ultimately i see Applejack as a respectful enough horse that her southern charm does just that, charming the princess in a way she couldn’t expect.

The six are still all friends with each other, although given the sister pairs some of them see each other more often; Twilight, Rarity, Pinkie, and Fluttershy are a bit closer in that sense, while Applejack and Rainbow consider each other best friends. I’d be willing to say maybe something is going on between them, if i didn’t think that went against what the element of loyalty stands for, but there’s definitely rumors…

[merafanbrainthatmerafans]

💞✨️HIII💞✨️

That ds reaction for y/n stealin their trinkets to remember em was real cute👁👄👁🌺✨️💞💕

Could you do opposite one? What trinkets would demon slayer characters swindle and what would their overall attitude would be to it? Love ur stuff AAA HAVE A NICE DAYYY✨️💞💗💕💓💗💕

🏮 DEMON SLAYER MEN STEALING Y/N'S TRINKETS 🏮

Hey! I honestly might be too old lol cuz I don't remember making a post like that but here's what you requested <33

"Because love isn’t just about words—it’s about shamelessly stealing your belongings and pretending it never happened. 💖" - Merafan

🔥 HASHIRA EDITION 🔥

🔥 Rengoku Kyojuro – Hair Accessories Enthusiast

100% steals your hair ties, ribbons, or cute hairpins. If you own it, it will mysteriously vanish. And when you ask him? He’s all wide-eyed innocence. "A hairpin? No idea where it went!" (It’s literally in his uniform pocket.)

🌊 Tomioka Giyuu – Sentimental Softie

Steals your scarf or anything soft and comforting. He doesn’t even try to hide it. If you catch him, he just stares at you while gripping it like it’s his last lifeline. "It smells like you." (SIR???) Also, expect him to sew a piece of your haori into his own. 😭💙

💨 Shinazugawa Sanemi – Snack Bandit

Steals your food. Has zero shame about it and will gaslight you if confronted. "Well, you should’ve eaten it faster." BRO. YOU JUST TOOK IT RIGHT OUT OF MY HAND. 😭 Also, he steals everything that’s not rightly placed. Pens? Gone. Feathers? Gone. He'd probably even take chewed-up gum if he saw you spit it out. 💀

☁️ Tokito Muichiro – Absentminded Hoarder

Takes the most random objects. A button? A leaf you once touched? A literal rock? It’s his now. Doesn’t even realize he’s stealing. "Huh? Oh… cool." (Sir, that’s my pen.)

🎭 Uzui Tengen – The Luxury Thief

Steals your jewelry, perfume, and makeup—AND FLAUNTS IT. "This shade looks stunning on me, don’t you think?" 💅 (Also, fun fact: he’s the one who bought it for you.)

💖 Kanroji Mitsuri – The Matching Queen

Doesn’t really steal—instead, she asks you for stuff and then never gives it back. "Can we wear matching socks?!" or straight-up buys matching outfits just to match with you. 💗

🦋 Kocho Shinobu – Hair Clip Thief

If you have cute hair clips? Gone. You wear a new butterfly accessory? Stolen immediately. "Oh, this? I thought you left it for me!" (Ma’am, I just bought that yesterday.)

🗿 Himejima Gyomei – Sentimental Collector

If you make bracelets, necklaces, or anything handmade, he treasures them. Steals them with pure intentions, though. "You put your heart into this creation… It deserves to be cherished." 😭💖

🐍 Iguro Obanai – Weapon Hoarder

Steals your actual weapons. Your katana? Gone. Your knives? Gone. When confronted, he just shrugs. "I couldn’t find mine." (Bro, you have five katanas.) Returns it just so you can use it before he steals it again.

👹 UPPER MOONS & MUZAN EDITION 👹

👑 Muzan Kibutsuji – The Scent Thief

Somehow, he steals your scent. You wear perfume? Suddenly, he smells exactly like you. "Coincidence." (IT’S NOT.)

🎭 Douma – The Makeup Artist

Steals your lipstick. AND USES IT. "Look! Now we match!" 💄💖 Or worse—he steals your entire makeup bag and straight-up cosplays you. 😭

🥊 Akaza – Protective Gremlin

Steals your hand wraps, gloves, or anything combat-related. Then acts smug about it. "You don’t need these, weakling. I’ll keep them safe." (Sir, that’s my favorite pair???) Secretly treasures them like a lovesick puppy.

🔥 Kokushibo – Hairbrush Menace

Steals your brush. Doesn’t even tell you. Just sits in his room, brushing his long ass hair with your brush. Then has the audacity to return it… without cleaning it. 💀

💥 MAIN THREE & GENYA EDITION 💥

🍃 Tanjiro Kamado – The Charm Collector

Steals your earrings, lucky charms, or anything sentimental. "It’s for good luck! 😊" (He’s keeping it forever.) Also, he loves when you make matching bracelets for him. Don’t be surprised if he steals your bobby pins. "They help hold my hair up for training!" (No, you just like having a piece of Y/N with you, Tanjiro.)

⚡ Zenitsu Agatsuma – Pillow & Blanket Thief

Steals your pillow or blanket and refuses to sleep without it. "I CAN’T SLEEP WITHOUT IT, Y/N!!!" (Baby behavior.) Pretends it’s you when you’re not around. "IT’S FOR WHEN YOU’RE GONE!" "Zen, it’s literally a tiny pillow." "IT’S YOU!!!!"

🐗 Inosuke Hashibira – Shoe Snatcher

Steals your shoes. No reason. No explanation. Just runs away with them. And when you take them back, he has the audacity to be offended. "EXCUSE ME? THOSE ARE MINE NOW."

🔫 Genya Shinazugawa – The Awkward Thief

Steals a piece of your uniform/clothing and turns bright red if you catch him. "SHUT UP, IT’S MINE NOW." And then he locks it away like a greedy little dragon hoarding treasure.

CONCLUSION:

They don’t need a reason. They don’t need an excuse. If you own it, it’s theirs now. Deal with it.

[waynes-multiverse]

You already know how fucking much I loved this haha (and this is only Part 1 lol 👀 – Part 2 had me gasping, screaming, crying, laughing even more... all the things!!) ❤️‍🔥

Dean setting his life on fire in this fic 😆:

First of all, I loooove Fools Rush In and haven't watched it in ages! You've been reminding me of all the good 2000s rom-coms lately 😎💕

And "I Can't Help Falling in Love" was my wedding song (but the twenty one pilots ukulele cover). Since we got married in Vegas, I didn't want to go too Elvis, but still give a nod to it 😆

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren’t the “strippers and coke” kind of party couple. They’re more the “wine and brie en croute with pickled olives” on the expensive crackers you can’t afford—kind of couple. They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness.

This was such a vivid image, btw. Instantly tells you everything you need to know about the bride and groom, and I'm fully agreeing with Dean's toast skills 😂

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

He's the devil lol. Sam should've locked him up 😂

And all her rambling made me realy fall in love with her! She's so sweet and a genuinely good human through and through ❤️

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

This is such amazing foreshadowing btw 😂😂

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

This was my first heart drop lol. I knew after that, they'd never get back to it 🙈

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

Sam went full bitch mode. It's my favorite Sam 😆

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.” “So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

I fucking SCREAMED during this! You don't know how much. I wanted to shake that stupid boy till the earth trembled 🤣🤣

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say.

And I hated her for lying here instead of downright saying "Hey, I don't do casual. This was a one time exception for me" because then Dean could've said "Oh no, I meant a real date." This story is an amazing accumulation of what ifs. My mind was spinning 😅

he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since.

“Well aren’t I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

Aww, Benny, we truly don't deserve you 😭😭

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

But he reacted in full Dean fashion. I never doubted he wouldn't be there for her ❤️ (Although not breaking up with Lisa was so incredibly idiotic. The frustrations that came from this gaaaah 😂)

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

He was so sweet here 😭❤️ My heart burst. And again, I just wanted him to dump Lisa and fucking be with reader grrrr

Oh, he remembers all too well.

Dude, fully triggered a Swiftie here at the end 🤣

But honestly fitting since this entire story pretty much has the drama and angst of a ten minute break up song 😆❤️

With that, I leave you till the next part where there will be just a row of gifs with people screaming and sobbing 🤪

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind… 

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath. 

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there. 

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases. 

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more. 

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously. 

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now? 

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try. 

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since. 

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled. 

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red. 

Today, you’re absolutely stunning. 

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

��What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN. 

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float. 

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don��t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

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[avelera]

Do you have any tips in how not to end up with Therapy Speak? I had the immense luck to be diagnosed very early (sarcasm) and so was in therapy pretty much my entire life, which means that Therapy Speak is very natural to me and I struggle with thinking into how normal people would speak about this.

(I started writing one version of my answer and it got REALLY LONG so I'm going to try to keep it high level this time lol even if it is still pretty long)

Really, this question comes down in general to, "How to write realistic dialogue," on the one hand but also, "How to write dialogue that propels my story," on the other.

And let me just level-set by saying how I view "therapy speak" when I discuss it here. I see therapy speak as:

A character using clinical terms to describe their state of mind, emotions, or reasons for certain kind of reactions. E.g. "depression" "anxiety" "overwhelm" etc.

A character exploring their emotions in a clinically-aided manner during conversations and/or to resolve interpersonal conflicts or perceived misunderstandings. E.g. "Sorry I lashed out at you yesterday, my anxiety got the better of me but you didn't deserve that. I'm sorry."

1 ) Consider your setting and characters.

A Medieval Knight Would Not Say That. <- This is a basic tip and I think an obvious one. If your character doesn't live in a time period or world with access to or knowledge of therapy or good mental health practices, it will take your reader out of the story if they suddenly bust out with, "Sorry I overreacted yesterday, I was feeling overwhelmed because of my anxiety."

Frankly, if a story is set anywhere that isn't after the 2010s in certain therapy-friendly population centers in the US, for example, (the US is pretty unique in its widespread access and favorableness to therapy, even compared to Europe and Asia let alone other parts of the world), therapy would still be rare enough that you'd need to tell my how and why this person had access to it and how and why they expect the person they're talking to to also be versed in this sort of framing of conflict resolution or self reflection.

That said, there's still a lot of places in the world and a LOT of demographics where access to therapy or even exposure to it enough to have an understanding of it is pretty rare and even in the US it's very determined by demographics. For example, a 50 year old male school teacher might be open to it, but a 50 year old male truck driver might look at you like you have two heads if you suddenly start talking about your feelings to them in an open and clinical manner.

Then again, real people are varied and nuanced so it's perfectly possible that your grizzled 50 year old truck driver might be binging self-help podcasts on his long drives and be surprisingly very well versed! It could be a really delightful story beat, but you do have to kinda explain to me as the audience how he came across this knowledge since it would be unexpected for him to have it.

Now, this is not to say that no one outside of those exposed to therapy speak has any exposure to introspection or access to their emotions. But, they might not be armed with the clinical terms or techniques.

2 ) Consider what people would say instead.

And when considering what someone would say, consider:

Do they have the clinical terminology to describe what they're feeling?

Do they have the tools to manage their emotions even if they don't have the terminology?

Do they have the tools, terminology, or even the interest in resolving the conflict?

"I'm having a panic attack!" -> "I feel like a giant fist has closed around my lungs, I can't seem to breathe!" - This could be something said by someone who can describe the feelings of a panic attack but doesn't have the knowledge or tools to know what they're experiencing. This could be a Medieval knight speaking or even a totally modern person who doesn't know what a panic attack is or can't believe that a panic attack could happen to them.

Note 1: If you're writing a period piece, plenty of other eras had ways of describing certain feelings, so a Victorian era person might say "melancholia" and mean clinical depression, or a Medieval person could be bipolar and think, idk, maybe that they're possessed or bedeviled by demons. You should inquire into the tools people would have at their disposal, even if they're inaccurate to our modern understanding.

Note 2: Even when people know about clinical terms they might be unable or unwilling to admit clinical things can happen to them. Admitting you have, say, clinical depression can be very scary for people. It could represent a huge change in their life or their self-perception. So they might say something like, "I don't know, I've just been in a very dark place for months and months now." They might be scared to admit this to anyone at all, not unless it's someone they really trust, and even if they trust this person, they might still lash out if they're told, "Uh, buddy, that's depression. You need help." because of what a big shift this might represent to their self-perception. People don't like to hear there's something "wrong" with them or admit it to themselves. Hence, they might be reluctant to admit this at all or if they do, they might downplay it.

"Sorry I lashed out at you, I was overwhelmed and I took it out on you and that wasn't fair." -> "I don't know, it just felt like everything you said kept pissing me off and now I'm pissed off that I yelled at you when it wasn't your fault, which pisses me off even more!" -> This could be someone who doesn't understand the clinical terms AND doesn't have tools to manage their emotions but DOES have an interest in resolving the issue with the other person, albeit not in the calmest manner. This might apply to, say, an angry anime protagonist lol.

"You're the most beautiful girl in the class and I'm not sure if I want you or want to be you, but I haven't come out yet to anyone including myself, so all I have inside me are these big confusing emotions of desire and fear and admiration all mixed together, leaving me unsure of what to do or how I feel about you. I just wish these feelings would go away somehow." -> *Passes crush a note that says*,"Get the hell out of my class!" -> This could be someone who doesn't understand their emotions, doesn't have the tools to express them AND doesn't have an interest in resolving the conflict in a constructive way.

3 ) Consider if resolving the conflict constructively is even good for the story you want to tell.

Stories thrive on conflict. Conflict doesn't need to mean interpersonal drama or screaming arguments or saving the world. But two people sitting down and hashing out all their emotions can act as the climax of the story, in that it resolves and airs out a lot of the simmering tension that could be otherwise used to propel a story further.

For example, a "will they/won't they" love story is resolved when two characters sit down and hash out that they have feelings for each other. That could mark the end of the story entirely. If you feel you've written yourself into a corner, maybe it's because the characters used therapy speak to get everything out there in a constructive way too clearly or too soon and now you've written yourself into a corner if you wanted the story to continue.

(Of course, infinite variations are possible. You could have two characters thoughtfully work out that they DON'T have feelings for each other, only for one to walk away and realize they DO have feelings and now they're worried about revealing those because the other person just laid out so thoughtfully and rationally that they don't have feelings back. Just because people DO communicate doesn't mean the situation can't CHANGE.)

But in order to have characters realistically hold things back, you need to think about the other pressures there might be in their life that would keep two people from sitting down and hashing out every little nook and cranny of thoughts and feelings they might have.

For example, pride or fear - society tends to look down on people, especially male-socialized people, when it comes to openly expressing their emotions. (Or, if you want to divorce it from gendered considerations, let's say a warrior society might or might not be ok with free expressions of emotion that might be considered "weakness".)

Even crying during moments of horrible pain or stress can and has been a source of mockery for many men (and women!), so they could very likely have been socialized out of openly expressing emotions that make them feel vulnerable as a matter of maintaining their pride.

Even if they want to express those emotions, they might fear the negative reaction of the person they're talking to (who could tell them to "stop being a baby!" or "man up!" or "go cry somewhere else!" etc.). This can be especially true for big moments of self-reflection like coming out, or expressing romantic feelings for someone, or expressing that they've been struggling with and masking negative emotions for a long time and are reaching a desperate limit. These are things that can change other people's perspective of you, not always for the better, and the fear of that can prevent people from being open about their feelings.

Personal Note: Too often in fanfic-land, I see fics always coming down on the side of "These fears were silly, the person they're talking to was always going to be understanding and accepting!" which isn't reflective of the real world! Sometimes people, even well-meaning people, might be put off by powerful displays of emotion, or not interested in a relationship through no fault of their own and it DOES make it weird if a friend confesses feelings, and then sometimes people aren't well meaning!

It can be refreshing to see a story that expresses that sometimes these fears of being open and honest about big emotions are valid. Not all family members are cool and understanding about coming out (unless that's the catharsis your story is going for!). Not all people are ok with having someone confess their love for them. Not all people are comfortable with a friend or a comrade in arms saying they're coming close to cracking under the strain.

So these are valid, real life fears, that can serve as valid, real life barriers for why people might not open up to another person and lay out everything they're thinking and feeling as if this person is their therapist.

Generally speaking, the best stories (to me) are the ones that give multiple in-universe reasons why someone doesn't tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in an open, rational, and clinical manner about how they're feeling. The more outside pressures you can layer on, the less visible the hand of the author is, the better. For example:

Time - the characters didn't have time for a long sit down about their feelings. The world is ending/ the big THING is about to happen soon .They had to make the conversation brief.

Not wanting to lose a friendship - Sure, being in a relationship would be great, but losing the friendship if the love confession makes things weird would be terrible.

Not wanting to lose the position/prestige/job you wanted - a warrior or even an office worker might be cracking under the strain of their mental health, but if they ask for help, they could be fired, or shunned, or removed from the mission. They want to keep their position more than they want help, so they'll speak in circles around or minimize the struggles they're facing.

Other stuff gets in the way - when the world is ending or the external events are piling up, it might just not be the right time or place to discuss your innermost feelings. It might be inappropriate to do so if other people are suffering or even dying all around you. Heck, admitting you feel depressed when the person you're talking to just lost a loved one and is in an even darker place might feel deeply inappropriate. So if you've got a lot of characters running around dealing with a LOT of events, sitting down for a therapy-speak conversation might even feel ludicrous to indulge in as many people tend to put their emotions and wellbeing pretty far down on the list of important things to deal with, especially if they haven't been trained or socialized to prioritize them.

Without getting into a more specific story it's hard to give more specific advice. And there's the eternal caveat to all of this that sometimes an open conversation about emotions that is aimed at resolving a conflict or misunderstanding is the point of a story, especially in fanfic which often likes to explore things that canon doesn't do.

Everything should, in the end, be in service to the story you want to tell. This is just my view on some things to think about when trying to write more realistic dialogue. And of course, as always, when in doubt about dialogue, listen to real people and read your dialogue aloud to see if it sounds natural, if natural dialogue is your goal.

[shadowkoo]

Visiting Hours

→ Summary: In the dimly lit conjugal room, Yeonjun finally has you. You’re soft, warm, and completely at his mercy. A year of pent-up hunger has festered into something darker, something filthier, a craving that only you can satisfy. Shackled by time, he intends to make every second count, to lose himself in the heat of your body, the sweetness of your surrender. Nothing else exists, just you. Every sigh, every moan, every blissful moment is his to claim. And when you unveil the sinful surprise he craves, nothing will stop him from devouring what’s his.

↠ yeonjun x f.reader | 3.1k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, pwp, prisoner au, established relationship

→ Warnings: swearing, really brief mention of murder at the beginning, unprotected sex, period sex, blood play, blood kink, pain kink, scratching, marking, hair pulling, breath play, choking, size kink, cockwarming, creampie, begging, semi-public conjugal visit / fucking with guards standing watch outside the door, nipple play & biting, also biting in general, panty sniffing, yeonjun likes to say the filthiest fucking things but also calls you princess and babygirl, daddy kink, needy!yeonjun, desperate!yeonjun, possessive!yeonjun (you’re welcome)

→ Networks: tagged below

@ksmutsociety @k-vanity @lapydiaries @keopihaus @dove-net

→ Author Note: thanks to sevń @aaagustd for helping me come up with the title for this! this idea was haunting me until i brought it to life. i hope y’all enjoy it! this isn't edited so if there are mistakes...don't tell me LOL as usual, all likes, reblogs, & comments are much appreciated! this has been crossposted on ao3 here if you prefer to read there :)

Two guards cuff Yeonjun’s hands behind his back, the metal cold against his skin. It’s a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his aching body. His pulse increases with each step, adrenaline seeping into his bloodstream like a drug. A volatile mix of electricity and something darker.

As they march him out of general population, two more guards fall in step behind Yeonjun, just in case he misbehaves. It’s a bit overkill. Then again, maybe not. He did slit a few people’s necks to land himself here. But honestly? He could probably take the guards; at the very least he’d get a few solid hits in before they tasered him.

Not that he’s stupid enough to try it. Not today.

They stop outside the conjugal visit room, affectionately dubbed the ‘Pound Pen’ by all inmates who’ve been granted access.

“I’m going to uncuff you now, Yeonjun. If you even think about doing something dumb, you won’t even get to look at that fine piece of ass waiting on the other side of this door. Understood?”

His jaw tightens. He hates the way they talk about you like you’re just another perk of good behavior. He considers slamming his knee into the smug guard’s balls, but that would be stupid. Really stupid, especially after three months of playing nice and kissing ass just for this moment.

It’s his first conjugal visit since getting sentenced. Over a year since he’s been inside you. And if he’s being honest? He’s fucking desperate.

Yeonjun gets one hour with you, and he plans to spend every second buried deep inside you, making up for lost time. His body is already thrumming with anticipation, every muscle coiled tight, every thought consumed by the need to touch you, taste you, ruin you.

The guards uncuff him, their rough hands roaming over his body in a thorough search, pressing into his ribs, sliding down his legs, patting every possible hiding place. He stands still, barely tolerating the routine violation, his jaw clenched, his patience razor-thin.

Satisfied, they step back. One of them cracks open the heavy metal door, and finally, his eyes land on you. The sight alone sends a fresh surge of heat through his veins, hunger tightening in his gut. It’s been too long.

You stand in the center of the small, lifeless room. Yet, you make it feel brighter, somehow softer. Dressed in a light green dress and a cream-colored knit cardigan, you look effortlessly beautiful. But as breathtaking as you are, his eyes settle on the one thing that means more than anything else.

The diamond ring sparkling next to the wedding band on your finger.

His favorite thing you’ll ever wear. His proof that despite the walls, the distance, and the time stolen from you both—you’re still his. Always his.

The room is probably similar in size to his cell; the walls are bare except for years of grime, faded stains, and the inevitable wear and tear of too many conjugal encounters. And the air is stale, tinged with bleach and something less pleasant, but none of that matters. Not when you’re here.

A twin-sized bed sits against the wall, a set of clean sheets hastily thrown over the thin mattress. But Yeonjun wouldn’t let your body touch that thing if his life depended on it. You’re too pure for that.

The guards linger just long enough to remind him they exist. One steps in after him, pointing out the panic button on the wall to you. As if you’d ever need it. As if you’d ever want this to end early.

They exit shortly after, but Yeonjun knows at least one, maybe two, are stationed just outside the door. It doesn’t matter. The moment they step out, the second that locks clicks into place, he’s on you.

You barely have time to breathe before he’s pulling you into his arms, his body radiating heat, his grip firm.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, your breath warm against his skin, teasing, inviting. “Long time, no see… or touch.”

A low, guttural sound rumbles from his chest. “I’ve fucking missed you,” he groans, his voice thick with hunger, roughened by restraint.

Yeonjun’s lips crash onto yours, desperate and claiming, making up for all the lost time. He swallows the gasp that slips from your mouth, his body reacting to the mewls that follow. Every sweet sound and trail of your fingernails across his scalp has his cock twitching, it weeps for your attention.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needs to feel every inch of you to believe this is real. His tongue parts your lips, pushing inside, tasting you.

How the hell did he survive a year without this? Without you?

Your lips trail along his sharp jawline, pressing soft, teasing kisses down the column of his neck. Each touch sends a ripple of heat through him as he debates what’s the lesser evil.

Pinning you against the grimy wall, where years of sweat and filth linger, or letting your body anywhere near the well-used mattress? Either way, this room is a damn disgrace. They could’ve at least thrown a damn chair in here.

Fuck it.

With a low growl, he moves, dropping onto the edge of the bed, his grip firm as he pulls you onto his lap. His hands waste no time, roaming over your body, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s making sure you’re really here. Really his.

“Princess, I’m sorry about all of this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need as your hips grind against his, your knees planted on either side of his waist. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you close, but his gaze flickers with something almost regretful.

“You deserve a night in a penthouse suite,” he continues, his breath warm against your lips, “spread out on silk sheets, worshipped properly in a king-sized bed. A bubble bath after. Room service. Just like our honeymoon.” His jaw tightens as he glances around the dingy room, his grip on you tightening. “Not a rushed, one-hour fuck in a room that’s already seen too many couples today.”

But as his hands slide up your back, pulling you impossibly closer, his lips brushing against yours, his voice drops to something darker, hungrier. “Still,” he rasps, “I’m gonna make every damn second count.”

Little does he know, the universe has handed you the perfect surprise. Not that you planned it, but fate seems to be on your side today. Your period started earlier, and if there’s one thing that drives him wild, it’s period sex and the raw, primal mess that comes with it.

“I have a surprise for you,” you purr, watching his hands slide up your thighs, hiking your dress higher and higher. The second his eyes land on the familiar logo on your panties, a brand you only wear during one particular week, his breath catches.

Desire flares in his gaze, dark and hungry.

“Are you happy?” you tease, voice dripping with amusement.

He exhales sharply, pupils blown wide as his fingers trace the waistband of your panties.

“Absolutely euphoric, baby girl.”

He rips off his shirt in one swift motion, tossing it beside him. Then, with a care that contradicts the raw hunger in his eyes, he helps you slip out of your panties, his fingers trailing down your thighs as he peels the fabric away.

But instead of discarding them immediately, he brings them to his face, inhaling deeply. The rich, metallic scent floods his senses, making his pupils dilate, his cock twitching in his pants. A low groan rumbles from his chest, primal and needy.

“Fuck,” he exhales, his voice rough. “You smell so damn good.”

His gaze snaps to yours, “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

He tosses your panties onto his shirt, trying his best to keep them as far away from the filth of the room as he can. Even in his desperation, he refuses to let anything dirty touch what belongs to him.

Yeonjun reaches for you again. “I’m gonna ruin you,” he murmurs, lips ghosting over yours. “And you’re gonna let me.”

His words send a wave of heat straight to your core, your body reacting instantly to the dark promise in his voice. A shiver rolls down your spine, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach as you press down hard against his thickening length below you, desperate for friction.

He notices. Of course, he does.

A wicked smirk tugs at his lips as his hands find your hips, gripping them firmly. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Already so needy for me."

His fingers trail down, teasing along your inner thigh, just close enough to drive you insane but not enough to satisfy. He watches you squirm, drinking in every shaky breath, every flicker of desperation in your eyes.

"Tell me, baby," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "How badly do you want me?"

“So fucking bad, daddy.” Your hands move down his tattooed chest, trailing the inky design down until you slip past his waistband, finding his thick length. You stroke him just the way he likes, teasing the sensitive spot just beneath his throbbing head. His breath stutters, hips twitching into your touch.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice strained, desperate. “I’ve missed your touch.”

One of his hands dips between your bodies, fingers brushing through your slick folds before pushing inside, stretching you open. His forehead presses against yours, his lips brushing over yours as he breathes you in.

“But I’ve missed touching you even more.”

His fingers curl inside you, finding and pressing against that perfect spot that has those naughty little moans spilling past your lips.

Your mouths collide again in a feverish kiss full of hunger, a clash of need and longing. It’s as if you’re both trying to devour each other like this could be your last time.

When he finally pulls his fingers from your heat, he brings them up between you, admiring the deep red staining his skin. His tongue flicks out, tasting you for just a second before his other hand wraps around his cock, spreading your slick and blood along his length as he strokes himself.

“Mmm, you have no idea how fucking beautiful you are like this,” he hums, his voice thick with lust as his wild eyes rake over your body.

With his clean hand, he grips the front of your dress, yanking it down in one swift motion. Your full, perfect breasts spill free, just like he’s imagined in every lonely, agonizing night without you. The sight alone makes his cock throb in his other hand, the sheer reality of you nearly overwhelming after so long.

He guides himself to your entrance, rubbing his swollen, aching tip through your slick folds and coating himself in your arousal. But instead of pushing in, he pulls back, watching with a deep, guttural groan as your blood dribbles down his shaft, staining him in the most sinful way. The sight sends a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to his cock, making him twitch against you.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging down his back in long, red streaks, marking him just as much as he’s about to mark you. Your hips push forward, desperate for more, for him.

“Quit teasing me,” you whine, your voice breathy, wrecked with need. “I need it so bad.”

Yeonjun grins, dark and devious, his grip tightening on your hips as he lines himself up again.

“Oh, princess,” he purrs, his voice dripping with filth as he thrusts himself into you, “You’ll always get what you ask for.”

He tightens his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest as his lips move against yours in a slow, intoxicating rhythm. Meanwhile, his hands roam your body possessively, fingers tracing the curve of your spine before one hand tangles into your hair.

With a sharp tug, he yanks your head back, exposing the delicate column of your throat to him. A shudder rolls through you as your back arches, pushing your breasts out and offering them like a feast for Yeonjun to devour.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he dips his head, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His tongue flicks over your pulse before he bites down just enough to make you gasp. He soothes the sting with his tongue before moving lower, capturing one of your pebbled nipples between his lips, sucking and nipping until you’re trembling in his arms.

“Damn, baby girl, I can feel your blood dripping onto my thighs,” he groans, his grip tightening on your hips as he rocks you against him, slow and deliberate. His touch is controlling yet he savors every second of sinking into you as his hips arch up to meet yours, of feeling you stretch around him. He wants to take his time, to make love to you before completely unraveling. Before fucking the life out of you.

“You were made for me,” he rasps, his head falling back as he watches the way your body takes him so perfectly.

But the slow drag of pleasure soon turns into unbearable need. His patience snaps.

With a low growl, Yeonjun stands abruptly, keeping you wrapped around him as he presses you hard against the wall. The cool surface contrasts with the heat radiating off your bodies, sending a delicious shiver through you. His hands slide down between you, fingers dipping into your slick folds, collecting the mixture of arousal and deep crimson spread around your inner thighs.

A shudder runs through him as he brings his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean, groaning at the taste of you. “Shit, I’ll never get enough of fucking this tight little cunt of yours.”

Then, restraint gone, he grips your ass and slams into you, leaving bloody handprints smeared against the wall as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the small room, each thrust deeper, harder, desperate to claim you completely. To remind you that he’s worth waiting for.

You can see your lower stomach bulging slightly with each deep, brutal thrust of his cock stretching you open. The way he fills you so completely, claiming every inch of you, has you trembling in his grasp.

“F-fuck,” you cry out, your brows furrowing, eyes rolling back as pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave. It’s too much, the intensity of him, the way he owns your body so effortlessly.

Yeonjun hisses sharply, the sound low and guttural, vibrating deep in his chest. The thought of the guards outside hearing every sinful moan, every filthy sound echoing off these walls barely even registers in his mind.

Let them listen. Let them know exactly how good he’s making you feel. Right now, the only thing on his mind is you—the way your body clings to him, the way you tremble beneath his touch, completely and utterly his.

Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines in their wake, but even that isn’t enough to ground you. Overwhelmed, desperate to hold on to something, you sink your teeth into his shoulder, biting down hard to muffle the broken cries spilling from your lips.

His hips stutter just for a moment before a dark chuckle rumbles from his chest. His grip on you tightens, his hands flexing on your ass as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“Oh, baby,” he rasps, his voice dripping with hunger and amusement. “You really do want to be ruined, don’t you?”

Before you can even gasp, his forearm presses firmly against your throat, pinning you against the cold wall. The pressure is intoxicating, just enough to steal your breath, to send your mind floating into a hazy abyss where nothing exists except him. The lack of air sharpens every sensation, making your body hypersensitive to his every touch.

His free hand snakes between you, fingertips gliding through the slick mess between your thighs before finding your swollen clit. A wicked grin tugs at his lips as he pinches the bundle of nerves, dangerously rolling it between his fingers. The sudden jolt of pleasure mixed with the delicious restriction at your throat sends a violent shudder through you.

Your walls flutter around him, gripping his cock like a vice, your body teetering on the edge of oblivion. The euphoric rush of oxygen deprivation mixed with his relentless touch turns your pleasure into something almost unbearable, so intense it borders on pain.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, his grip tightening just slightly. “You love this, don’t you princess? Being completely at my mercy? Come for me. I know you're close. Be a good little slut and come violently all over me.”

Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train, stars burst behind your eyelids as your body locks up. You can’t breathe, can’t think, only feel as he pounds into you with reckless abandon, groaning at the way you squeeze him so tightly.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, watching your face contort in pleasure, his free hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “You’re so fucking perfect when you come for me.”

Yeonjun isn’t far behind you. The way your body clenches around him, milking every inch of his cock, sends him spiraling into his own release. His abs tighten, muscles flexing as a deep, guttural moan rips from his throat. His grip on you turns bruising as he buries himself to the hilt, his milky seed spilling deep inside you in thick, hot ropes.

But he doesn’t move—not yet. He stays seated inside you, basking in the raw, electric aftermath, his forehead pressed against yours as he catches his breath. His lips find yours again, soft and lazy now, his tongue teasing past your lips in a slow, intoxicating dance.

With a satisfied hum, he shifts, keeping himself buried in your heat as he lifts you effortlessly, guiding you back toward the bed. His movements are fluid and controlled, like he owns your body, like you were made to fit against him like this.

He sits down, pulling you onto his lap, never breaking the kiss. A shiver rolls through you as his cock twitches inside you, still hard, still needy. You gasp at the sensation, your body instinctively clenching around him, a small whimper escaping your lips when the slightest accidental brush of his pelvis sends a spark of overstimulation straight to your core.

Yeonjun grins against your lips, his hands running up your back, savoring the way you tremble against him. His eyes flick up to the clock on the wall, amusement dancing in his dark gaze.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, his fingers ghosting over your hips. His grin turns wicked as he rolls his hips up, making you gasp.

“There’s still enough time for round two.”

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©shadowkoo 2025. All rights reserved.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"ARE YOU SURE, DOLL?"

I WROTE A NEW FIC WITH BUCKY because I (need him sm it's not even funny anymore) love him (he's my boyfriend, only he doesn't know it yet lol)

I hope you like it! 😊🖤☝

WARNING: EXPLICIT SMUT UNDER THE CUT

You'd been in love with Bucky for quite some time.

Everyone in the tower knew it, except Steve, whom you hadn't wanted to tell due to his closeness to the man with the metal arm.

That day, the tower was empty because, according to Tony, they had an important mission to complete, and someone had to stay behind to make sure they didn't have any unexpected company, so he left you alone in charge.

Or so you thought. You entered the living room and headed to the bar there to grab a bottle of water when you felt a strong presence in the room.

Your powers weren't too extraordinary, as you basically just had heightened senses, but when you smelled a strong scent of leather and metal, you knew Tony had lied to you.

You turned to see Bucky sitting on the couch in a relaxed posture. His gaze firmly focused on yours before he nodded politely.

You internally cursed the billionaire, as this was clearly a setup to get you and the super soldier alone. He could have left you with Vision, but instead, there he was.

"Bucky," you murmured when you found your voice. "What are you doing here?"

"The Tin Man asked me to look after you." He raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing at all," you replied, taking a swig from the bottle in your hand.

"You're lying," he whispered, causing your eyes to widen.

"Excuse me?"

"It's a lie," he repeated. "That nothing's wrong with you," he clarified. "I know you, and I know when your mind is calm and when it isn't, and right now it isn't," he decreed, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. "Why don't you tell me what's going on in that little head of yours, Princess?"

His voice grew hoarse at the name, making you shudder from head to toe. Before you had time to think about what you were doing, you found yourself walking over to him and sitting where he'd told you to.

"That's it," he praised, flashing a lopsided smile. "Good girl," he whispered, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Go ahead," he encouraged. "I'm all ears."

"Maybe…" you began. "Leave it alone. It's stupid. I don't know why I'm even telling you this…"

"Hey," he said. "Nothing you do will ever seem stupid to me or anything," he whispered, making you give a grateful smile.

"I beat a boss in a video game I'd been trying to kill for two weeks." You shrugged. "See how stupid that was?"

"I don't think so," the sergeant replied, looking at you closely. "I know how hard it is for you to play those kinds of games." He smiled. "I'm very proud of you."

"That's… very thoughtful of you," you murmured shyly. "Thank you, Buck."

"My God, you're adorable. You know that?" He laughed, his gaze shifting from your eyes to your lips.

You felt your breath catch in your throat. Was this really happening? Was Bucky Barnes shamelessly flirting with you? You didn't think you'd live to experience it, but there you were, trying to maintain your composure.

"No one's ever said that to me before," you confessed. He frowned in surprise.

"Really?" "He inquired. You shook your head. "Then they need to get their eyesight checked, honey, because I don't know how someone like you hasn't heard that before," he whispered. "I'm glad to see you talking to me like this," he confessed, making your heart skip a beat in your chest.

"That's because you make me feel safe, Buck," you murmured. "I don't usually open up like this to anyone."

He gently placed his hand on your hip, making slow circles on your skin, making you part your lips at his touch.

"You feel safe with me because you are, doll," he whispered, licking his lips. "I'll protect you from everything and everyone." He placed a kiss on your neck, stealing your breath.

His kisses traveled from your collarbone and back to your neck, stealing several sighs from you in the process that made him smile.

"You're so perfect," he murmured against your skin.

"You're making me blush," you said, feeling your cheeks heat up.

He kissed your throat, making you shiver, a husky laugh escaping his lips.

"I should keep kissing you like this then, doll," he whispered. "I love it when you blush for me."

Your cheeks automatically turned redder than they already were, proving the soldier's point.

"Buck…" you gasped, feeling his long fingers slip under your shirt to cup your hips with his hands.

"What's wrong, baby?" he asked, pulling away from you for a moment. His blue eyes scrutinized your face, as if he could see the problem reflected in your gaze just by doing so.

"I… I have to tell you something," you said, swallowing nervously. He watched you intently, silently, without pushing you. You nodded, encouraging yourself before saying, "I'm in love with you," you confessed, he held your gaze gently.

"Is that what you really wanted to tell me before?" he asked slowly. You nodded.

"I'm in love with you too," he confessed, making your eyes widen. "It wasn't difficult for it to happen," he explained, looking at you intensely. "You're so…" he paused, thinking of the right word. "Unique," he said finally. "You're like a breath of fresh air," he continued. "You make the bad days good days and the good days even better. You're… the pillar on which my being rests. I…" He held your face in his hands lovingly. "I couldn't live without you," he whispered. "I'd rather die than live in a world without you."

"Oh, Buck," you murmured, feeling tears threatening to run down your cheeks. "Do you really feel that way about me?"

"I would never lie to you, doll." He smiled, placing a kiss on your forehead. "Can I ask you a question?" He said. You nodded. "Yes." "Can I kiss you?"

"You can," you answered quickly. "But first, I have to tell you something." You lowered your head for a moment before looking into his eyes. "I… I've never done this with anyone."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Have you never been kissed?" He asked. You shook your head, noticing how you blushed again.

"No. Is that a problem?" "You blurted out hastily. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Honestly, I should just shut up…"

"Hey, hey baby, look at me," he whispered before taking your chin in his hand, both gently and possessively. "Relax, it's okay, and of course it's not a problem," he explained. "It's just… you're beautiful," he murmured. "So I'm surprised no one's ever kissed you."

He traced the curve of your face with his index finger.

"But now that I know you haven't been kissed, I'm tempted to keep you all to myself."

"Go ahead then," you murmured, bursting into a burst of courage you wouldn't have had at other times. "I trust you."

He stares at you for a few seconds before a small, soft smile spreads across his face.

"Are you sure, doll?"

"I am."

He stares at you for a few seconds, his expression soft and almost intimate as he strokes your chin with his thumb before speaking again.

"Are you sure? I don't want to pressure you," he insisted. "I want you to be comfortable."

"I trust you, and I know you would never hurt me or force me to do anything I didn't want to do."

His smile widens at your words, his fingers slipping further under your shirt and rubbing small circles beneath your breasts, stealing a gasp from you as you feel the cold metal against your warm skin.

"Of course I wouldn't hurt you," he leaned closer to your ear to whisper, "because I'd be too busy pleasing you."

"That's a great pickup line," you commented, trying to focus your attention on something other than his damn long, masculine, perfect fingers massaging your skin.

"It's the truth, baby," he whispered, placing a kiss on your chin before staring at you.

"I know," you said, making him smile.

"Don't worry, I'm sure I can think of better ones."

"Oh yeah?" you challenged him. He gave an amused smile.

"I can definitely think of other ways to impress you."

"Like what?"

He shifted slightly, getting a little closer to you, so that your lips were practically touching as you spoke. You inhaled sharply at having him so close, since something like this had only happened in your wildest dreams.

"I could provoke you…" he kissed your neck, "to take my time with you…" another kiss, this time on the corner of your lips, "to drive you crazy with my words."

"I believe you," you managed to say between gasps.

"Then let me give you a little taste of what I could do to you," he whispered in your ear.

Suddenly, he lifted you by the hips and sat you on his lap quickly, as if you were as light as a feather, causing you to straddle him.

You felt the muscles of your strong legs beneath you, readjusting so that he was aligned with you.

He gently gripped your thighs to keep you there, while he looked at you intently, his eyes never leaving your face.

"That was unexpected," you said, making him laugh.

"Unexpected, huh?" he inquired. "Honey, we're just getting started."

He shifted slightly against you, causing you to feel him through your clothes in your most sensitive area. You'd never experienced anything like it, but almost instinctively, your hips met his, moving against him.

"That… feels good."

"Doesn't it? Do you like sitting on my lap, baby?"

"You know I do," you whispered.

He placed his hands under your knees and leaned you closer to him, so that your lips were dangerously close.

"I know," he confessed. "I just wanted to hear you say it."

"I like sitting on your lap." The soldier's smile widened, pleased with your answer.

"Is that true?" he inquired. "Do you like the way my hands feel on you, doll? Do you like these big hands touching you?"

"Especially the metal one," you blurted.

Due to the tension of the moment, when you realized what you'd said, your eyes widened and you focused on him, assessing his facial expression.

He raises an eyebrow, a small, amused gasp escaping his lips, accompanied by a lopsided smile.

"You like the metal hand, huh?" he probed; you nodded.

"Yes."

"Why?" he asked out of curiosity. "Do you like the way it feels against your skin when I touch you?"

He moves his metallic hand up to cup your cheek; his slightly cold touch makes you shiver, and he feels it as if he were the one who had done it.

"Buck…" you gasped. "Kiss me, please."

"Oh look at you," he mocked. "You poor thing. Do you want me to kiss you, doll? Is that what you want?"

"Please…" you sighed. "I need you."

Then he took your chin in his metallic hand, his lips gently brushing against yours.

The kiss was soft and delicate, yet dominant and firm at the same time. You moved against him, driven by the sensations you were experiencing at that moment.

You brought your hands to his shirt to pull it over his head. He let you, kissing you all the time, his lips covering yours with need. Then he wanted to do the same to you, and you stopped him by placing a hand on his.

"Wait, I…" you tilted your head. "Oh my God, I'm so embarrassed…"

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, baby," he whispered, placing his hand on yours. "It's just you and me." He leaned down to place a loving kiss on your lips.

"Yeah," you nodded. "It's just that being in front of another person like this… it terrifies me, you know?"

"I understand," he whispered, cupping your face, "but you have nothing to be ashamed of," he murmured. "You look beautiful."

From then on, everything went downhill without stopping.

You shed each other's clothes in a matter of seconds, leaving you a moaning, panting mess a few more later.

Bucky showed you how much he loved you, not only with words but also with actions.

Your shaky legs were proof of that.

[yuurivoice]

lowkey, I do see their point about the power dynamic. Just because there hasn't been abuse of power, doesn't mean that the concern isn't valid, and that's why there's rules against that within the workplace! BUT I feel like both shattered and bittersweet have a bunch of instances in them where, if in real life, if I was a friend of the Listener and they told me some of these things Id be like 'gurl??'

For example, when boo goes alone up to a secluded camping spot to talk to a man they just met that very obviously wasn't happy with their presence upon first meeting, and looks like he could bench press 3 of alphonse.. id be like 'What happened to stranger danger?' (love Seth, but the stranger danger assemblies from elementary school really do stick lmao)

The mysterious CEO trope is very obviously a sexual fantasy, and I think we can all agree that it would not, and really should not fly in the real world, but this IS a fictional story that was originally built off of these tropes. And as far as I'm aware we're all adults here so, you do you boo! either way, I'm sure Rook could start their own thing with the talent they have any ways. Auron is more of a sad wet cat at this point, which is strangely fitting for a seemingly cold hearted crime boss lol

I think a larger point that I think goes well beyond our little corner of the internet is that we gotta trust folks to both understand the givens like "don't try this at home" and that ultimately you're either going to suspend your disbelief and play with the Legos you're given or be responsible with what you consume.

Also the difference between critiquing the art cs critiquing the individual characters is probably also a point to make. While Auron's choices are...not great, I think him being so desperate to experience the normalcy he missed out on be it with Charlie or Rook is interesting! I think feeling like Auron sucks or is a complicated, conflicted mess is probably a good thing.

And ultimately I think it's my job to create interesting scenarios and characters, and trust that folks realize the point isn't "oh this should happen and is good" or is co-signed and encouraged etc. but I also think if you peek past the first layers you'll find in most cases that what we're working with would likely lead to some positive moral conclusions regardless.

That's the fun part about fiction, we tell stories not in the sense that they should be 1:1 depictions of reality, but because we can exaggerate to extremes outside of the norm in order to magnify certain aspects of our human experiences that we want to dive deeper into.

Which sounds way too deep for a guy who voices pretty little lads, but you get my point.

I do try to be responsible with the self insert nature of things, because there's a lot of trust involved when someone gives you the keys to their proverbial car. But for cases such as "skewed power dynamic relationship" while i do try to avoid the potholes i personally don't love or feel comfortable with portraying, it is also like...a big neon sign you see in the first 2 minutes of experiencing the story so we have that unspoken agreement that like...yep that's what we're dealing with so if you are lactose intolerant this might not be the dairy farm you want to enter. 😂

That's why I'm so adamant about Boo being an open ended listener for example, they've been that way for so long it almost feels unfair to go AND THEN THEIR FAMILY HISTORY MATTERS, OR THEIR EVIL TWIN APPEARS, OR...etc. because you probably should have had clues about that 5 years ago at the introduction of the characters.

Anywho, that's all the yapping I've got in me, I've somehow managed to get even more sick dealing with my vertigo shit. 😵‍💫 So I hope this was all somewhat coherent. Thanks for reading. 💖

[fiamat12]

How do these random profiles end up with Nic and Luke pics? I guess she caught him somewhere on the way to work lol Is this a purposeful nugget to show the pap pics were old?

https://www.instagram.com/stories/__coco__.__/3591754190245986030?utm_source=ig_story_item_share&igsh=aHR2anJhYmoxZDQy

Good question. Seeing him look alive again so to speak does make me think he was deliberately trying to look run down in the pap pics w/ A.

I can't tell if he has more color in his face or if it's the quality of the pic. The sideburns do appear a bit shorter, but I'd rather have more of a side profile to compare. We don't know if he was trimmed up for filming or if it's even a photo from today.

Regardless, I don't think the date of the pap pics necessarily matters. We know the appearances are always put on to give A agreed upon PR, which means his obligations aren't done. I'm still hopeful that her sm clean up is signaling that things are winding down.

Anyway here's Lukey...

[placingglaciers]

What do you think of the trailer? Luke playing Rambo lol. June kissing Luke and Nick. I'm afraid Nick will be used by June for her own ambitions like in season 5. 🤔

Hi!!! This show has become my new hyper-fixation, so I basically saw the trailer like, seven times already lol. I know you didn't specifically ask for a breakdown, but here's my take anyway.

Serena: So something happens with the train, separating June and Serena, finally. We actually don't see them together in the trailer except when they're trying to leave the train, so either there's a big scene with them at the end or it's all over between them, which I doubt. Eh, I'm not really interested in this storyline. Serena is gonna do her pageantry with the wedding and New Bethlehem. I hope she gets what she deserves this season.

Moira: We see Moira talking with Mark Tuello, wanting to fight back. This will probably involve Luke and June, joining the Handmaids. I hope she's safe. We haven't seen much of her in the past few seasons, so I hope she gets a moment to shine. I really like her!

Commander Lawrence: Did he get new glasses? That's all I can say lol. I couldn't stop looking at them.

Janine: I loved the scene with Aunt Lydia and her at Jezebels. I hope she finds her freedom. I think June ends up there in some way or another, so we'll get to see them together and have her join the rebel Handmaids, too. She's also on my "Do Not Kill" list!

Luke: Alright, we have to talk about him. Luke gets out of jail somehow and wants to join the resistance. And you know what? Good. It's better than making a scrapbook or something lol. He doesn't have much experience fighting Gilead, so maybe he'll end up doing something really risky (perhaps with that grenade?). And that kiss. It felt more like a "goodbye" than an "I love you let's stay together forever" sort of thing. I'm not gonna worry about it.

June: I have no idea where the heck she is in half this trailer, lol. What is going on? I don't know what she's up to nor how she's gonna pull all this off, but I'm intrigued. Clearly staying in Canada is not what she wants anymore. Whatever she does, we know she ends up surviving, I just hope she finally gets what she wants. Gilead is still Gilead in The Testaments, so hopefully her rebellion doesn't end up in vain. I just want her happy and at peace finally. Also, is that June's mom we see with her at the Boston Globe??

Nick: I've read that this season is gonna test his character, and boy does it look like it will. He talks with two important men: Mark Tuello and this new Commander dude who ends up marrying Serena. So he's a double agent, basically. He has a lot of years and experience with these types of people, so I'm confident he'll ace these tests. I find it funny how some people want to make him a villain and I'm like, "Are we even watching the same show??" His allegiance is with his family, period. We see him a lot in this trailer, so I'm excited! People think he's gonna die and blah blah blah, nah. No way. Go read the sequel (it's really good so far, btw!!).

Speaking of family, Rose looks unhappy with him. No surprise. It seems like they're in New Bethlehem now, navigating that sort of life. What happens with the baby? What happens with their marriage? That's what I want to know. Ugh, this is so messy.

You mentioned Nick being "used" by June. I don't know how I feel about this sentiment. I hate to say it but Nick delivers, plain and simple. He's tried to get June out of Gilead multiple times, he gets the Handmaid letters out to Luke, he gives Commander Waterford over to June to be murdered, he gives her all the info he has on Hannah, etc. Perhaps his love language is "acts of service" idk. June has thanked him and is concerned for him and his safety. Last season, she said she didn't want to cause any trouble or anything. Nick wants to help and he does have the power, knowledge, and experience to get the job done. This might a hot take in this fandom, but to me, Nick is useful, but I don't think he's being taken advantage of. Again, what has Luke done before this new season?

Osblaine: We see them like, four times together in the trailer? Incredible! They always find their way back to each other, finding strength and hope, two virtues you need in a rebellion. Nick's, "Sometimes I think you're the only good thing in my life," hit me hard. To me, this expresses his feelings for June more than any "I love you" can. I hope June's response to this is just as important and honest, leaving no doubt where her heart lies. Also, we got a kiss in every season! (I don't care if season five was imaginary, let us have this!) Finally, we see them in the woods at night, referencing when Commander Waterford is absolutely obliterated by the Handmaids. Nick looks more like a Guardian this time for some reason, rather than a Commander. Is this their chance to "run away"??

Hannah and Holly/Nicole: Just throwing them in because they're not really mentioned in the trailer and I'm wondering what will happen to them. I want to see how they transition them into the new series. I hope Nick gets to see at least one of them one last time. I know he would be the best dad. :(

Anyway, life has been downright terrible, so I'm not gonna listen to all the negativity or doubts about this final season. Let's manifest for a great finale!! 🕯

[your-ne1ghbor]

Now...we can't have a anniversary if we don't have funny shenanigans going on (Featuring the Evil Royal Couple)

(Technically part 1 ig lol I did the asks first :3)

(How Agatha and Magnus met basically in a nutshell)

You thought Magnus pulled Agatha? Nah, Agatha pulled him 👹

Them Before the Incident is pretty much:

"Do you want to get into some Tomfoolery together?" as they look at each other like:

And then they got into Tomfoolery:

(ignore mag's color pallet i was messing around)

And Ofc, I cannot forget their fear of stars-

(DW Asha will get her own post lol)

Btw it does not matter if your star wont hurt a fly. Their extreme paranoia says: Star = destroyer of Worlds = will eliminate kingdom, must stop it (or panik before)

They have came a long way from...well whatever the fuck I was doing back in the begining where I was just sharing ideas and brainstorming early on-

(Their reaction to that script I never finished storyboarding)

Also I kid you not, draft (or the Magnifico you have seen from my older posts which aren't that cannon anymore possibly) MAGNUS IS LIKE A FUCKING TERRORIST-

Meanwhile, Magnus now is just: "And all I hear are screams......."

Needless to say, Terrorist Magnus would find it a massive skill issue As Magnus now would toss him off a cliff-

What is also pretty funny for comparison is that draft Magnus was pretty similar to WoaS Magnifico as Draft WoaS Magnifico was pretty close to Magnus now. How is that even possible? I will never know-

Now for Agatha, I can pretty much say not much has changed, other than depth to the character, and putting more thought into how I want to present her. However I'd say draft Agatha's design was horse crap. Its so bad like what the hell is this outfit? OUTRAGEOUS

That's why her redesign is better. She is a slaying queen ✨(in both ways of the term)

However I MIGHT have to update her outfit since I her to be able to access her potions more easily instead of it being on a belt, so Im deciding between a cape that holds her potions or another part of her dress that stores them. Im not doing it now, since I still like the outfit and I like drawing her in it, but I might have to for functionality lol.

As Magnus design...look I'm not sure how I want to design it, other than it being very similar to this concept art:

(which funny enough is my fav outfit of him lol)

Anyways uhhh yeah-

Well then lets drop some random facts about them with no context whatsoever:

Magnus still has self taught himself Magic.

Agatha has self taught herself Alchemy (which is just...imagine evil scientist in the basement conducting devilish experiments lmao).

Magnus is fairly good with swords, but excells with spears (since his staff somewhat opperates like one I'd imagine).

Agatha was a great Archer (empathize on was.)

There are reasons for why Magnus/Agatha are assigned to these weapons, since it ties into their character.

Magnus/Agatha are secret nerds.../hj

Mention History/Herbology to them, they will yap to you for hours.

Okayyyyy time to move onto the next post B)

And now take some silly angst/i think there was always something wrong with them/short king reveal

.........my shayla.....

...there is something wrong with them I tell you what-

(concept)

omg height reveal (im between 5'11 and 6'0 ft as Agatha is Basically close to Cannon Mag's height lol)

Okay I'mma go to sleep its 12:20 am bru but I'll be back 😈

OLD STAR BOY PIC WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE....but it matches my mood rn sigh

[bambisturns]

Sbsf!chris x reader first time.

Beach vacation

Warning: contains smut (a little bit bc its my first time n im shy 🙈), pnv (unprotected dont do this stay safe yall! Reader is also on pill!), name calling (i think just slut tbh) idk lmk what i forgot lol

It was like a ritual at this point, every summer before the new school year your families joined together into going to the beach house in Key West. Both your parents and the triplets parents putting so much money onto buying something that you guys could have and maybe eventually take your own kids one day.

Since it was your last summer with your parents before heading off to college to join your sister and the triplets, everyone was there. Even chris who last year skipped out because it was quote in quote “getting lame”. Today was like any other day. Waking up at 9am and spending most of the day out on the beach, but it was the last day and you were sexually frustrated and sun drained.

You felt awful you knew your parents wanted to have a group dinner together but you havent had alone time in 2 weeks. The frustration building up over time, so while everyone is getting dressed, your still in bed. Your mom knocks on the door “honey, can i come in?” She asks “yea come in.” You say while staring at the ceiling “hey… why arent you dressed?” She asks in a soft manner. Thats the thing with your mom she was so soft spoken it almost made you feel more guilty for the lie you were about to tell.

“Yea im sorry mom, i know how important this dinner was for everyone but im so tired i dont feel good i think im running a fever and i dont want to get anyone sick” you say giving her puppy eyes. “Oh sweetie why didnt you tell us sooner? Let me go let everyone know you wont be joining us. Get some rest okay. And dont forget to finish packing we leave in the morning. I love you.” She says while tucking your blankets around you more and walking out of the room. You let out a sigh of relief.

Its been about 45 minutes since everyone left and you had just got done having the best orgasm of your life. Thank god you were smart enough to pack your rose toy. You get out of bed only wearing a oversized white tee that barely covers your skimpy lacy panties, walking into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, closing the fridge door you turn around see Chris sitting on the couch scrolling on his phone chocking on your water you stare at him with wide eyes “how.. how long have you been here?” You ask feet glued to the floor in fear of his answer.

“Long enough. Don't sound sick to me kid” he says looking over at you eyes trailing down your legs. You tug at the bottom of your shirt moving to stand behind the island counter. “You… fuck, you didnt like hear anything did you?” You ask him again this time avoiding his eyes as he stands up from the couch slowly making his way towards you. “Hear what? You moaning and whimpering like a lil’ bitch? Didn't think you had it in you kid” he says standing across from you. Your cheeks now dusted a rosey color as you lean forward and place your head down in your hands in embarrassment.

“This is so fucking embarrassing” you say still loking down. There is a silence and you hear chris moving. Looking up you see hes beside you “s’not embarrassing kid, s’human nature.” He says looking down at you. ‘God he looks so good’ you thought to yourself. “Pretty embarrassing not gonna lie. Didn't think anyone was home.” You say taking a sip out of your water. “Could tell. You were pretty loud. You know if you fantasize bout me kid least you could do is say sum bout it”

You dont know you got here bent over the island getting your back blown out your mind is completely blank. Chris fucking you from behind has you seeing stars. “Ahh fu-fuck, right there!” You moan out. Trying to find something, anything to grab onto resulting in to you gripping the edge of the counter. “Yea, y’like that? Fucking slut, fantasizin’ bout your sisters best friend?” He grunts out thrusts getting faster. Chris grabs a fist full of your hair yanking you up, back meeting his chest.

“Fu-fuck Chris! Dont st- stop” you ramble on. This is better than any toy any other guy youve ever been with. “Yea? Got you goin dumb on my dick huh slut?” He asks picking up his pace “mmm I-“ you cant even form sentences anymore. Because hes right. Hes literally fucking you stupid. “Shit shit Chris gon- gonna cum!” You sqeak out as he ruthlessly hits your g spot over and over. “Go ‘head cum for me baby” he says keeping his ruthless pace. The coil in your stomach snaps and you release soaking his cock with your orgasm. Going limp against the counter “fuck gonna fill this pussy up. After this your mine you hear me?” He says wrapping his hand around your throat pulling you back to him again.

“Answer me.” He spits out. “Yes! Yours all yours!” You moan out. His pace starts to stutter. With one last stroke he releases inside you painting your gummy walls white. You both stand there for a while trying to catch your breath as he slowly pulls out earning a little hiss from you. He looks down and sees a mixture of both your releases spilling out of you he scoops it onto his finger pushing it back inside. “You better not get pregnant bro.” He says pulling his fingers back helping you pull your panties up.

“Ha ha how are you gonna say that AFTER fucking me? But i wont. Im on the pill.” You say while rolling your eyes and shaking your head. Walking to your room to put some sleep shorts on. You head back to the living just as everyone walks back in from the dinner “oh y/n sweetie what are you doing up?” Your mom asks setting her purse onto the counter. “Oh i just woke up. I was just seeing if Chris was out here because he messaged me saying you asked him to stay back.” You say looking over at Chris who took his seat back on the couch. “Oh yea I’m sorry sweetie i should have told you.” She says looking at you smiling.

“I hope he was a gentleman and helped you with whatever you needed” Marylou chimed in looking over at Chris with a stern look on her face “Dont worry mom I made sure to help her with whatever she needed” he responds, and while no one is looking he shoots you a little smirk. What a fucking tease.

a/n: first time writing smut (a lil bit) idk how i feel ab this ngl 😭

🏷️: @grace-sturnz , @matts-girlfriend , @courta13 , @r0set0y , @thecrawlys

[pluckyredhead]

You know, I’ve heard for a long time now about how Devin Grayson tried to adapt Daredevil Born Again to Nightwing while missing the whole point of it (something about ignoring all of Dick’s connections in the hero community?). Is that more fandom slander?

It's hard for me to answer this without knowing exactly what people are saying about Born Again, but sure, you can look at Devin's run as a riff on Born Again, I think that's absolutely fair. But it was Chuck Dixon who turned Blockbuster into a Kingpin-esque villain to begin with, so to blame her for riffing on another storyline and not him is...well, it's the same "men get a pass but Devin Grayson MUST be canceled" shit all over again.

Also, again, I don't know exactly what argument people are making here, but Born Again is definitely not about Daredevil's connections in the hero community! That man doesn't have friends lol. But more to the point, Born Again is very much about how Matt is strategically isolated by Kingpin, and Devin's Nightwing arc is also deliberately about Dick's isolation, first because uhhhh Blockbuster kills a bunch of his loved ones and then because of the shame and trauma of Blockbuster's murder and the rape. Like, the story is very much about how sexual assault can cause the victim to feel isolated. That is the point.

Also, the fact that Dick was constantly calling Babs and the Titans to solve his problems for him was in fact one of the major weaknesses of the Taylor run. It doesn't make it seem like he has friends, it makes it seem like he's incompetent - just like if Batman called Superman to help with every Arkham breakout, those would not be good Batman stories.

Anyway, superhero comic books have been around for nearly 90 years, and there is a finite number of potential plotlines, so I don't actually think it's a problem to riff on a previous one. Hell, there's a long history of both DC and Marvel literally reusing stories panel for panel because they figured the original readers had all grown up and moved on, so they could get away with it. However, I think it's worth looking at whether the riff has anything new or interesting to say that sets it apart from the previous one, and when I look at those three stories, I see:

Frank Miller: "What if the villain finds out the hero's secret identity and uses it to destroy his life, breaking down his sanity in the process, but the hero finds the inner strength (and arguably Jesus) to come back fighting and save the woman he loves?"

Devin Grayson: "What if the villain finds out the hero's secret identity and uses it to destroy his life, breaking down his sanity in the process - and what if the villain's 'defeat' just makes everything worse, and the violation of the hero's moral code becomes entangled with the violation of his body, leading to a further downward spiral that no one around him can understand, because he's too traumatized and ashamed to tell his loved ones what happened?"

Tom Taylor: "What if the villain finds out the hero's secret identity, but nothing bad happens because of it, and the hero gets beaten up but not fundamentally broken down in any real way and can still totally win a fist fight, and then someone else kills the villain but not in a way where the hero has to feel bad about it, and so the hero never has to make any hard decisions or experience loss or failure, but in exchange is not the agent of his own salvation or that of his city? Also, what if when you hit Dick Grayson hard enough his mask goes SPLOOT and flies off?"

And look, the Devin version is dark. It's not for everyone and that's fine. I personally prefer the Miller version as a story. But the Taylor version is infuriating to me, because it feels like such a waste of my time.

AND FINALLY, even if you (not you personally, anon) want to accuse Devin Grayson of copying Frank Miller, Tom Taylor is therefore copying Devin Grayson copying Frank Miller, which is surely worse? And as the post I reblogged from @dickgraysonsptsd pointed out, Taylor got all sorts of awards and accolades for his toothless writing (elevated by the artistic brilliance of Bruno Redondo, who deserves so much better) while Devin still has people accusing her of all sorts of buckwild nonsense 21 years later.

[havenesc]

hello HELLO!! I am OBSESSED over your rancher AU,, you have such a big brain!! If youre in the mood to yap about it, i am sooo interested in hearing more!!

WOAH HI!!! thank you so so much, that means quite a bit!! I love this AU and it has been quite a joy to work on when I'm stuck in my office job or away from my own horses so :') Always happy to indulge and yap and this........ is a very long yap LOL.

I am writing a frankly ridiculously long fic about it, but this whole shit really started with ""i like jason and i like horses and i keep listening to lord huron's way out there on repeat." so here we are. rotting it out. <3 <3

I think physically removing Jason from Gotham, or from any major metropolitan area containing capes, is a really interesting idea. He lives and breathes and is born from this city. (Where's that one post calling it his wire mother?) Jason is so deeply interconnected in the machinations of the city and how she operates that by removing him, by forcing him into a situation where he cannot go back for the time being and instead has to live among people he perceives as "regular," he gets to breathe outside of the walls that Gotham and Bruce have defined for him. He gets to explore who he could be, really, beneath the masks and the death and the failed legacy of a kid who just wanted to be magic, who isn't living with his mental/emotional triggers sitting on his bedside table like a loaded gun. For once, even under a fake name, Jason Todd gets to be something other than a tombstone or the face of a tightly-run crime syndicate. Jason doesn't even bring that dying shit up all the time, but everyone else seems to hold it against him. (Probably due to rationalizing all the murder.)

He's like a shelter dog following the 3 Rules of Decompression. This guy gets a horse and gets some friends who don't really know what to make of him at first but he's a hard worker and a fast learner and he wants to work as a team, no matter how prickly and weird he is at first.

Additionally, I think it's also fun to explore what his absence does to Gotham, and how the city would react to not having an enforcer. The Batman and his brood exists, obviously, but there is an ecosystem that Red Hood understands intricately in a way that the Batman cannot and will not. He has the uniqueness of being one of the only Robins to both live poor as fuck and also experience it from Bruce's perspective -- the only other one really being Stephanie -- and he knows how to weaponize this for max efficiency. Red Hood is the wolf introduced to keep the deer population down. How does the crime scene change, how do the Bats have to navigate adapting to that radical change? When it breaks that the Red Hood is out of business, who takes charge? And at what point do you look at yourself in the mirror, say, "Yeah I fucked this one up, bring that guy back?" And what the hell do you do when you find out you can't?

Anyways! I love thinking about how vital Jason is to the Gotham Social Fauna. I also love thinking about how his blue roan gelding, Blue, is a descendant of Doc Bar. I love thinking about the plates in McLaren's tibia because he got nailed by a bull in the exact perfect spot for the damn bone to split in half. I love thinking about Jason experiencing nature, and Glacier Park, and for once in his life feeling so small and insignificant in the world that his problems actually feel the distance they are from him. I love thinking about him finding the connections with people who have always been receptive to him in some way, even when he's a bristling scared snarling dog, because even if Jason Peter Todd is convinced that he is unlovable and irredeemable, nobody else knows that shit. So you might as well put your foot in the stirrup and come along because we need you and your resilience and your strength and your laughter and your good-heartedness to get through another twelve hours in the saddle together.

Also, these two songs in order on my fucking jason rancher au playlist are very jason and dick coded and listening to them makes me want to lay on the floor and stare at my ceiling for about three hours. Actually this whole thing is a love letter to lord huron.

[greenesmyfavcolor]

Just popping in to say that I love your blog so much and that I always find myself scrolling through it when I catch a bad case of Little Shop brainworms <33 thank you for truly being the backbone of this Tumblr community ^^ Also!! Do you have any aspect of LSOH (either film or stage show :)) you LOVE a ton but don't see enough people talk about or praise?? Or just an underrated aspect of it in general?? Hope that question makes sense lol and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day/night :D

Aw thank you so much! Means a lot to know that I'm contributing something worthwhile to this small but passionate fandom on here!

Anyhoo, that’s a good question. Just about everyone I've seen has covered everything about Little Shop down to the nitty gritty details and I absolutely love that. However, if there’s one thing I think deserves more love and tends to get overlooked, it's Lee Wilkof, who originated the role of Seymour on stage.

He tends to get thrown under the bus a lot by some people and I have absolutely no idea why. I've heard people criticizing him saying that he was too old for the role at the time, but he was only 31 when the show first opened and is actually slightly younger than Ellen Greene but no one seems to be saying that she was too old for her role. That, or either he doesn’t look the part, which I don’t understand how he couldn’t look like Seymour when he was the first guy to play Seymour on stage. If it's about him balding prematurely at the time, who cares? Seymour's not supposed to be this conventionally attractive guy anyway so why should there be a set standard for how he should look? Those complaints are just a bit silly to me.

Besides that, he also gets completely upstaged by Ellen (which is understandable 😂) so most people tend to remember her more when it comes to the original off-Broadway production. I mean, she even got top billing over Lee who was the lead which is kind of insane when you think about it (but again, iconic for her).

And then later, he got even more overshadowed by Rick Moranis, which I also get. He played Seymour in the movie which was most people's first introduction to the character so I understand that there's going to be some sort of bias present.

Basically, everything was not in his favor which sucks cause I really love him as Seymour. He added a lot of grit to the role, which I typically don’t see a lot of Seymours doing. Most people play him very passive or overly timid, which is fine, but Seymour's a very morally grey character that isn't all good or all bad. He's cute and insecure, yes, but he also indirectly murders people and feeds them to a plant lol. There's gotta be a balance and Lee gets that. He really nails all the anger, guilt, distress, etc. that Seymour goes through throughout the show. The Meek Shall Inherit and Death of Seymour in particular are when he really gets a chance to pop off. And he's of course able to be sweet and sincere when needed such as during Suddenly Seymour or basically anytime he interacts with Audrey. His singing is also amazing! I primarily listen to 1982 cast album just for him (and Ellen I won't lie haha). I especially love his vibrato and how hard he goes in some of the songs like Feed Me and Now It's Just The Gas. And he has great chemistry with Ellen! What's not to love?

I also appreciate how he’s still very much involved in Little Shop whether it’s doing an interview, like recently with Little Shop of Audrey, or showing up for Little Shop related events, like the 2015 Encores opening night afterparty. Not a lot of actors do that especially so long after their show has ended so I can tell the role and Little Shop as a whole has meant a lot to him. I mean, he met his future wife while working on the show so you can’t say it doesn’t mean something to him lol.

While I have said in the past that Rick is my favorite Seymour, Lee is for sure a close second. He played an essential part in making Little Shop what it is today by laying out the foundation for Seymour which is very respectable.

So yeah, give him some more love! He's great!

And thanks for the ask! Have a wonderful rest of your day/night too <3

[halfbaked00q]

ooh this is a topic I love gnawing on, it's a topic that has a LOT of bite to it.

To me, Bond is an interesting study in contradictions that you may even see as having contradictions within themselves. Cuz like. *points to the internal narration above* I think it's easy to see that and call it "self-loathing," but I think for me, that's not quite what it is + it's more complicated than that.

I think for me, Bond has more of, like. a readiness to discard or put aside himself? Which is sth that def many fics have put in that way, the idea that agents are trained to & also by necessity do discard a lot of their selves for missions esp undercover ones (Smokes & Mirror yes the like situational forcefemming fic lmao- has a great line abt this- that's kind of what I have in my mind rn). This can look a lot like self loathing, cuz there's a similar minimizing of(/callous disregard for, ungenerous dismissal of) the self/one's feelings, but I think the impulse behind it is different, it comes from a different place and at it from a different sort of direction, even if the result can be similar.

The problem with this, like. Setting-aside-of-the-self for "practical" reasons is that it then translates to the like emotional/cognitive level beyond just "as a technique you employ" (use it enough and it becomes habit- it's the like dark mirror of the "if you start saying something ironically then it's inevitable that you will one day start saying it reflexively lmao, so be careful of the bits you adopt"), and esp how it translates outside of missions.

Cuz, in a parallel to like abuse situations, the techniques & coping mechanisms one develops which are very good for helping one Survive, are unfortunately rather maladaptive outside of the field. (Off the Books is a great example of this imo, I think about her (Bond from this fic) a lot, and the like. look inside his head we get in this fic. I have at least couple of other posts where I sort of go into this more I think? Tho here's the other one I can think of right now lmao,)

But yeah basically... I think for me, I don't see Bond as self-loathing, not as a sort of like. baseline default anyway. I think he can have moments of it, and he definitely has a very deep well of Disambiguous Issues lmao :')

Like, I see him as definitely hating the job, and maybe even sometimes if he gets introspective(/maudlin) about it, hating what it's made him (esp if we do a he thinks abt his childhood/who he was and wonders what his kid self would think of him now- there was a fic that had a moment where Bond was thinking sth like how he felt like somehow he'd betrayed that boy, and ouu)

But like... just like how regret is unprofessional, I tend to think self-loathing is too, lol. And actually, Bond's Disambiguous Issues are probably harder to meaningfully address and try to shift than just a straightforward-in-comparison self loathing complex lol :') But also on the other other hand... Bond's flaw is also kind of his strength, like,. this ability to discard parts of self could also be thought of as adaptability, and he's good at nothing if not shedding his old skin. I'm sure like a lobster, after a few sheds, he'll start growing back the parts he's lost, esp if in this analogy I guess I'm seeing to the end now, you've got Q coming in with some pliers at the barnacles on his shell.

“Just because —” Bond stumbled, unsure how to complete that sentence. Just because I manipulate people on instinct? Just because I’m a whore for my country? He settled on an inarticulate frustrated gesture of his hand, plowing forward regardless. “It doesn’t mean that — that I’m not sincere. That I don’t really mean it when I say that I want to try, with you. You know every damned thing about me, Q. How can you not know that by now?”

- Bittersweet by dr_girlfriend

I loooooove to torment myself by thinking about how little Bond thinks of himself, how ready he is to throw himself in the line of fire for Q&C... and fics like this deliver on it time and time again <3

[inkskinned]

it is all chaos and entropy. the thing is that the chaos and entropy make it beautiful and lovely.

yes, it's true that nature and the universe are uncaring and unspecific, and that is terrifying. i have lived through some of the unfairness - i got born like this, with my body caving into itself, with this ironic love of dance when i sometimes can't stand up for longer than 15 minutes. i am a poet with hands that are slowly shutting down - i can't hold a pen some days. recently i found a dead bird on our front porch. she had no visible injuries. she had just died, the way things die sometimes.

it is also true that nature and the universe are uncaring and unspecific, and that is wonderful. the sheer happenstance that makes rain turn into a rainbow. the impossible coincidence of finding your best friend. i have made so many mistakes and i have let myself down and i have harmed other people by accident. nature moves anyway. on the worst day of my life she delivers me an orange juice sunset, as if she is saying try again tomorrow.

how vast and unknowing the universe! how small we are! isn't that lovely. the universe has given us flowers and harp strings and the shape of clouds. how massive our lives are in comparison to a grasshopper. the world so bright, still undiscovered. even after 30 years of being on this earth, i learned about a new type of animal today: the dhole.

chance echoing in my life like a harmony between two people talking. do you think you and i, living in different worlds but connected through the internet - do you think we've ever seen the same butterfly? they migrate thousands of miles. it's possible, right?

how beautiful the ways we fill the vastness of space. i love that when large amounts of people are applauding in a room, they all start clapping at the same time. i love that the ocean reminds us of our mother's heartbeat. i love that out of all the colors, chlorophyll chose green. i love the coincidences. i love the places where science says i don't know, but it just happens.

"the universe doesn't care about you!" oh, i know. that's okay. i care about the universe. i will put my big stupid heart out into it and watch the universe feast on it. it is not painful. it is strange - the more love you pour into the unfeeling world, the more it feels the world loves you in return. i know it's confirmation bias. i think i'm okay if my proof of kindness is just my own body and my own spirit.

i buried the bird from our porch deep in the woods. that same day, an old friend reaches out to me and says i miss you. wherever you go, no matter how bad it gets - you try to do good.