#i’m not even sure if i’m articulating this right

[communistkenobi]

struggling to reconcile my dislike of the use of “choice” in relation to transgenderism. sex assignment itself is not a choice and I don’t find it meaningful or helpful to think I “chose” to be transgender. in fact there were many things I “chose” to do prior to transitioning to make this feeling go away and it did not. Choice is further wrapped up in intentionally de-politicised ideas about social action and agency, constantly positioned in opposition to “structure” or “social pressure” or what have you. “Choice” is what happens only in the absence of domination, it is the expression of the “individual” trapped within us all. What this leaves you with is a subject who appears to rise above the power of history, making decisions ‘of his own free will’ in spite of all this violence as a result of, um, well that’s not important! Let’s not look at the law or the state or history to see where these ideas of personal individual freedoms come from or how they are themselves enforced through violence. It’s just an individual acting on his desires! To “choose to be trans” in popular consciousness means to be given the privilege of being free from patriarchal social pressures. And this is a line terfs often use - trans people are reinforcing patriarchy by deluding ourselves into thinking we can “simply choose” to be another gender. I think committing to the idea of choice as a concept and all its attendant ideological baggage (overwhelmingly structured by bourgeois legal frameworks in the popular imaginary) forces you into some deeply flawed analyses of power and domination.

And I likewise hate that the other dominant framework is “born this way/born in the wrong body” because of how it naturalises the very political and violent nature of sex assignment and its embeddedness within state census data, administrative architecture, the pathologisation of sex and desire (all of which are not natural or eternal), and so on. furthermore I deeply respect the position other trans people have when they say that they chose to be transgender - outside of conversations of individual validity, I think that is a politically useful and powerful way to position yourself. Even if we were to accept that being transgender is fully a choice, people would still do it, because being trans is not disgusting or shameful. I am not a sick individual, or a tragedy, or a danger to others, I am transgender and that is an incredibly meaningful and fulfilling part of my life. To frame this as a sexual perversion or life-long condition means reinforcing the idea that transgenderism is a shameful deformity (we have much in common with our disabled & intersex comrades in this regard), that the cissexual body is the exclusive site of beauty and authenticity.

And so this is where I find the idea of autonomy much more useful - while ‘choice’ is situated as a thing that individuals do, autonomy is power that is granted to you. I can’t meaningfully demand choice as a political goal, but I can demand autonomy. I don’t want choice, I want the autonomy to act on my desires, and the way that will happen is through the state provision of free hrt, surgery, name and gender marker changes, and so on. Autonomy feels like a much more productive articulation of “choice” because it necessitates that we think about who and what grants autonomy, for what purposes, in which contexts. Who gives a shit about choices! Transgenderism is not a social position an individual can have in society, it is produced through cissexualism, through state and medical sex assignment, through coercion and pathologisation and violence - all of which can be changed.

As a direct comparison, I don’t think people should be given the “choice” to have an abortion, but the autonomy to do so - sure you can choose to get one, but unless there is the medical, financial, and social infrastructure available to you to act on that decision, then that is not a meaningful choice you can “make.” Abortion being legal (and therefore an action you are granted the ‘choice’ to take) doesn’t mean it is actually realisable as a decision, it just means that whoever already has the power & resources to act on that legality will, and those that don’t, won’t. Who decides which people have those resources and which don’t? Well let’s not worry about that, the important thing is that people have choices!

[quillyfied]

(Anyway I think Lucifer might die in Hazbin Hotel so I’m gonna just sit in that sadness and contemplate it for a while.)

[kisakunt]

BABY TRAP? LIKE THE MOVIE WITH THE TWINS?

description… you two are meant to be. sealed by fate, star crossed lovers. you’ll keep each other around however you need to.

warnings… dark content! baby trapping! noncon! obviously they’re being baby trapped they say something trying to stop it. consensual sex. full penetrative sex.

a word from the writer… i’ve had this in the drafts for aWHILE. it’s about time. do yall still read dc? i’ll never stop supplying… are we too woke now?!

TRAPS YOU

you’re hot under him, and he’s making that face he always makes right before he cums. it’s like repetition; eyes blanked out, mouth ajar but not fully open, brows furrowed like he’s desperate— and it’s scary.

“baby,” the word is cut in two with how fast he’s going, tease of pain as he hilts into your cervix with every thrust. “baby, you’re not wearing a condom.” your voice is uneasy, shaky from the movement and pleasure and build up. you think, in a way, the way you have sex is unfair. he gives you so much, orgasm after orgasm, rubbing your clit as he drills you to the point you go fucking stupid.

you feel safe with him. sex is sacred with him, no matter how sick it gets. but right now, with your calves pressed into his shoulders, his hands pushing your thighs impossibly back, you feel uneasy.

“baby, baby, pull out.” he gasps, sweat dripping down right near your eyes as a shaky groan escapes him.

“fuck,” a chaste kiss to your forehead, a shakiness in his movements, an unmatched rhythm as he gets closer and closer. “fuck. oh my, god. you feel so fucking good— so fuckin’ good.”

and so does he. but you’re scared.

“you’re gonna make such a good mommy, gonna be such a good mama. gonna— gonna give you my babies. gonna get you pregnant, gonna make you mine.”

“hey, wait,” your hands raise to his chest but he hits that angle that makes your eyes roll and they fall back. it feels so good you almost don’t care. “baby, baby, baby stop. baby, you gotta pull out.”

“you’re gonna be such a good mommy. gonna give you my kids. gonna give you my kids.” and it’s instant. it’s before you can even think— if you could anyway— it’s pressed so deep in you you betray yourself and cum, too.

he places his head to yours, kisses you greedy and whole, and whines into your mouth. it’s him, it’s real, it’s love. but— and you know this— it’s something so wrong.

“did you just…?” and before you can finish your question, he’s regaining his rhythm, fucking his cum into you with a half hard dick. it’s precise, it’s calculated, it’s intention.

he looks at you, eyes wide, breath heavy, and gives you a little grin. “gonna keep fucking you even when you’re pregnant, baby. gonna make sure i can keep you all to myself.”

GOJO, GETO, SUKUNA, YUJI

GETS TRAPPED

your legs hurt. you’ve been on top for all of thirty minutes, which you have no one to blame other than yourself. you love to edge him, love to get him so close and then take it all away from him. you think it gets him a little addicted.

but right now, as he squirms under you, losing every ounce of masculinity he’s ever had, something takes over you.

“gonna cum,” it’s breathless, short and sweet. “oh shit, i’m gonna cum.” you think he must think you’re edging him again. you think he’s expecting you to slow down, stop all together, pick up off him fully for ten or so seconds and then slam back down.

but you pick up the pace, grinding your hips into his, hitting his pelvic bone with your own as your hands grip at his pecs.

“wait, are you—” he falls apart under you, voice failing him, body failing him, hands only finding the strength to grip at your hips. “baby girl, i’m gonna cum.”

it’s melodic, tactile and articulate, a steady flow of bounces while your squelch fills the room.

“sweetheart, you gotta stop.” your right hand lifts from his chest to his mouth, shoving your fingers between his lips while he groans. he’s so easy to you, for you, because of you.

and then you feel it, milk it, relish in it— the way he comes undone at your touch, loses himself deep inside you. you don’t say a word about it, don’t think about it too much as you press your wet fingers to your stomach.

it’s a quiet giggle as reality washes over him. he looks cute, you can’t help but realize, panic and flushed under you. you’re sure of it then; he’s gonna be a sexy dad.

MEGUMI, NANAMI, CHOSO, TOJI

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Bucky’s Quiet Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader

Summary: After a painful breakup, Bucky offers quiet comfort and unconditional care, showing you a love that's patient and gentle. He mends the ache in your chest and reminds you that you deserve so much more.

Word Count: Roughly 1.3k 

Warnings: A smidge of angst (super tiny, barely there), references to an emotionally draining relationship, toxic relationship dynamics, obviously fluff (because who I am without it?), thoughts of self-worth, slow-burn.

Author's Note: Based on this request + I worked in some Valentine's Day things and a lil poem just because :)

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Divider by: @strangergraphics 

Love is not always loud,

Not fiery, sharp, or proud,

The Tower was quiet when you got back. 

Your eyes were downcast, the weight of tonight, the last year, weighing on you so heavily that you wanted to crawl into a hole.

You didn’t want to talk to anyone immediately; your mind was consumed with flashes of every rough patch, fight, and the breakup itself tonight. The words that echoed from your ex’s mouth were like a cruel stab to the heart:

“You always made things so complicated. I’m not the one with the problem here; you are. You were always so needy, always wanting more. I’m actually relieved it’s over. You were ruining me. I’m sure you’ll find someone else who can tolerate you. I’m just better off without all your drama.”

You had poured your heart into a relationship that never seemed to give back, where your love was only met with the bare minimum effort. You were always left wanting, always feeling like there was something more to give, but he couldn’t wouldn’t supply it.

And the icing on the cake, or in this case, salt on the wound: you found out that he had been seeing someone else the day before Valentine’s Day, 

The betrayal stung, but there was also a deep sadness. 

You knew you deserved more, but a part of you kept hoping he’d see you, really see you. You wanted to be enough. You craved his validation, his attention, his touch, his love.

But that never came. 

He drained your happiness.

Till you felt hollow.

It doesn’t need to shout its name,

Or spark an endless, burning flame.

When Bucky saw you standing there, looking small and broken, his chest ached. He knew. He always knew. 

His deep blue eyes were the ones that had always seemed to understand you, even when you couldn't quite articulate how you were feeling. 

And right now? 

You couldn’t describe how you were feeling. 

Exhausted? 

Shittty? 

Overwhelmed? 

All of the above could be a more than adequate description.

You didn't even have to look up to know Bucky was there. His presence, that unspoken comfort, was enough. He'd been waiting for you. You could feel it, feel him, even before you saw him.

Bucky had always been the one who understood when things were left unsaid. You could talk to him for hours or simply sit silently; it would always feel like home. But tonight? Your heart was broken tonight, and nothing would ever feel like home again for a while.

You felt the sting of tears behind your eyes as you walked toward him. You didn’t try to hide that your eyes were glossed over or that you were visibly tired.

He stood up from the couch and was pulling you into his strong arms before you could even say a word. 

You buried your face into his sweater, letting the tears fall. His embrace was the first real comfort you’d had all day, and you crumbled into him. The last week had been a blur of fights, loneliness, and betrayal. Your ex had been giving you the bare minimum for months, only fulfilling the things that kept the relationship afloat. 

Bucky had seen the way you smiled for him, how you tried to fill the empty space in your relationship with kindness, how you were always the one to bend, to give.

And it killed him.

"I’m so sorry, sweetheart," Bucky’s warm breath against your hair as he held you close, pressing his lips to your head. "I’m so sorry that happened to you."

You let out a shaky breath, nodding, unable to form words. 

Bucky’s arms around you felt like the safest place you’d ever been, and it took everything not to collapse into him completely.

"You’re safe here," Bucky said softly. "Don’t stress this. I’ll be here. Always."

You nodded again, pulling away slightly to look up at his face. His eyes softened at the sight of you. You could see the worry in them, the concern.

"I’m sorry," you whispered. "I just...I don’t know what is what anymore. I don’t what to do with myself."

Bucky wiped a stray tear from your cheek, his thumb brushing over the softness of your skin. His touch was gentle and caring. He was always so careful with you, treating you as though you were the most precious thing in the world. But right now, you felt broken, like you weren’t worthy of the love he offered so freely.

"You’re gonna be okay," he murmured as he gently squeezed you. "You’ve been through something really fucking tough, but you’re not alone, okay?"

Bucky led you to the couch and you sighed, sinking into the furniture. He searched for the softest blanket he could find, wrapping it around your shoulders. He just sat beside you, as you tried to find your grounding. A gentle hand continually stroked your hair as you melted into him. His quiet presence like soothing balm to your weary soul. 

Bucky had always known how to give you the needed space without making you feel alone.

You fell asleep eventually, comforted by the feeling of his presence beside you.

Some love is quiet, soft, and true,

And in that peace, you’ll start anew.

The next day, Bucky woke up with an idea. He had kicked everyone out of the Tower in the afternoon, telling them he had some private things to handle. 

You didn’t know what he had planned, but when you walked into the living room later that evening, your heart fluttered with surprise.

The lights were dimmed. The room was now softly lit with candles and the faint glow of fairy lights. A table was set for two with flowers arranged in a vase in the center: tulips, your favorite. There was no grand display, no flashy gestures, just the kind of thoughtful simplicity that spoke volumes.

Bucky was waiting by the table, dressed in a way that was casual but put together, a white shirt and dark slacks that made him look effortlessly handsome.

"You didn’t have to do all this," you whispered. 

He gave a small, amused smile.

"Yeah, I did," he said. "You deserve to feel special, especially today."

Bucky guided you to the seat, pulling out the chair for you. His eyes were soft, full of affection and care. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t pushing. He was just there, present.

The meal was simple, but there was love in every bite. He had taken the time to make it, and the care was evident in how he plated it, in the small details that made you feel seen.

"You’ve been through a lot, and you deserve better," he said softly, kissing your forehead as you both sat on the couch.

"You already give me more than anyone else ever did." The words escaped before you could think, and you met his gaze. His smile was gentle, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity that made your stpmach flip.

Bucky took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your skin, grounding you in the moment. There was no rush, no expectations. Just him. His gentle love, his patience, his presence.

He leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead once more, his breath warm against your skin. "No one’s going to hurt you again. I’m not going anywhere, okay?"

You nodded.

His lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss that told you everything: You deserved to be treated with the kindness, respect, and tenderness you’d been craving. You don’t have to beg or fight for it.

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

Not loud, not brash, but always there,

A love that shows its tender care.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

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Much love x

- Maeve

[mariasont]

Sending another thought that I can’t think of a way to elaborate on to your magnificent mind

Aaron Hotchner with his assistant who’s rambling (like every other day) about random stuff and she’s just like “I want kids someday” and Hotch is like “oh yea?” And she’s like “yea! And if I ever have kids I hope they’re just like Jack, he’s such a little angel” blah blah blah and poor Hotch is screaming in his mind like YOU COULD HAVE JACK??? BE HIS STEPMOM????

Sorry I’m absolutely feral for them ily bye

BUSINESS OF MAKING BABIES - A.H

a/n: i took this in a slightlyyyy different direction but ugh same im so feral for these two!!!! thank you for your most amazing request! i <3 you!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: references to baby making!!!!!!

wc: 0.6k

Aaron needed to get work done, but his focus was more trained on the delicate patch of skin that connected your shoulder to your neck, smooth and glowing like you'd just stepped out of the sun. You smelled delectably good, which was sending his neurons into overdrive. You were saying something, formulating and articulating thoughts from that perfect brain and through your also perfect mouth. 

He was concentrated on making sure you knew he was listening, nodding and humming every so often as you continued on your tangent, hands waving dramatically through the air, heels clanking on the floor in his office as you paced the room. His gaze moved to your thighs, only for a second, he was a gentleman after all. 

"And she's just, you know, popping them out left and right, and I'm over here like, Hello? Can I get a turn? I'm not asking for much, just a sweet guy who's willing to, you know, help me out with the whole baby-making thing."

You stopped dead in front of his desk, placing your hands atop the wood as you let out a melodramatic sigh. This caught his attention, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

"You want kids?" The words left his mouth before he could filter them. "Isn't that a bit premature at your age?"

"Okay, Grandpa," you giggled, plopping yourself down in the chair before him. "And, of course, I want babies. They'd be the cutest, hopefully just like Jack. He's the sweetest, isn't he?"

Hotch felt his heart plummet to his stomach, jaw clenching and unclenching as he rubbed his thumb along the rough edges of his chin. "Yeah, he's pretty great."

You sighed again, a common occurrence in this conversation, as you stood up and moved around the desk before plopping yourself down on it. Your calve grazed accidentally against his thigh. You absentmindedly adjusted a wrist full of charm bracelets, creating a gentle jingling sound that should've annoyed him, but it did anything but.

"Honestly, though, who even needs a boyfriend these days? I could totally just take the whole donor route for the baby thing. Easy-peasy!"

Hotch's response came after a brief, flustered pause, during which he seemed to search for the right words. Clearing his throat, he managed to look anywhere but at you as he carefully said, "Ah, yes, I suppose you could... do that."

In an effort to regain some semblance of control over the situation, Hotch took a deliberate sip of the somewhat stale coffee sitting on his desk. However, before he could swallow, you bounded off the desk, eyes wide with sudden realization.

"You know what? You would be a great donor."

The coffee in Hotch's mouth nearly made a swift exit as he choked, trying to comprehend what you had just said.

Hotch opened his mouth, attempting to form a coherent response, but before he could broker a single word, you had both hands on his shoulders.

Your eyes were sparkling as you took in his face. "Yeah, like, you have great hair--totally not receding--perfect eyes, great skin..."

Your rapid-fire compliments left him momentarily speechless, a rare flush making its way to his cheeks.

"Well, I--" Hotch began, but your excitement had already taken the reins before he could even navigate through his thoughts.

"I can totally see it; we'd have such cute kids!" you gushed, practically dancing towards the door as if your dreams were almost tangible in the air.

Hotch watched you leave, stuck in his chair, dumbfounded and momentarily lost for words. A bemused smile formed on his lips as he realized he didn't hate the idea at all.

No sooner had the door closed behind you than Morgan appeared, looking thoroughly baffled. He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze flicking between Hotch and the door you had just exited through.

"Since when are you and Miss Pretty in Pink in the business of making babies together?"

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[gf2bellamy]

hey girl!

Just read someone talking about a tiktok where the boyfriend sits with his plushies and watches and corrects his girlfriend as she teaches him as a way of studying for exam.

Maybe a PhD!student!reader x early!season!spence with this plot and he gets all cheery and claps whenever she gets a topic right idk

Hope that made sense😶‍🌫️

Love ya! 😘

studying — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship, fluff , reader has an exam, earlyseason!spencer <3 a/n: hi hi !! this isnt the first message i've received abt this tiktok video ( i feel like i'm the only one who hasnt seen it?) but its so spencer so i just had to write this <3

You stared at the whiteboard, its surface cluttered with half-erased scribbles, bullet points, and arrows pointing in increasingly uncertain directions.

The markers were beginning to dry out, and your brain too.

You squinted at the words, trying to will them into making sense, but they just sat there smugly, refusing to reorganize into anything remotely coherent.

Behind you, Spencer sat cross-legged on your bed, half-buried in a sea of plushies that had taken up residence there during your all-night study sessions.

He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you were pretty sure he was enjoying himself.

The way your nose scrunched when you were frustrated, the way you gestured wildly when you finally connected the dots. He loved it when you taught him things, even if he already knew them.

You sighed and dragged a hand through your hair. “Okay, I give up. I’ve explained this same thing four different ways, and I’m still confusing myself.”

Spencer didn’t answer right away.

When you glanced back at him, he was gently repositioning a lopsided stuffed bear, straightening its little bow tie with delicate precision. He caught your gaze and smiled, warm and a little shy.

“You’re not confusing,” he said quietly. “You’re just tired. But I think you're explaining it better than you think you are.”

You let out a breath somewhere between a groan and a laugh, turning around to lean against the edge of your desk. “Then why does it feel like none of it’s sticking?”

“Because you’ve been at this for hours,” he said, shifting slightly and patting the spot on the bed beside him. “Come sit. Let’s go over it again.”

You hesitated, eyeing the whiteboard one last time like it might suddenly throw you a bone. It didn’t.

You had discovered early on in your relationship that Spencer was an excellent study partner—not just because of his eidetic memory, but because of the way he listened. He absorbed information like a sponge, but more than that, he made you feel heard.

When you explained concepts aloud to him, it forced you to articulate them clearly, and his occasional corrections (always gentle) kept you sharp.

With a reluctant sigh, you crossed the room and dropped onto the bed. A stuffed alpaca flopped sideways onto your lap, and Spencer gently rescued it before it fell off the edge.

“This one likes to supervise,” he said with a grin, setting it back beside you like it was part of some official plushie committee.

You couldn’t help but smile. “He looks judgmental.”

“Motivational,” Spencer corrected with a soft laugh. “He believes in you.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your shoulders relax for the first time in hours. He turned toward you, expression open and attentive.

“Okay. Tell me again about the difference between quantitative and qualitative methodology. As if you were explaining it to someone who knows absolutely nothing about it.”

“You do know something about it,” you teased.

“Humor me.”

You exhaled slowly, gathering your thoughts, and launched back into your explanation.

As you spoke, Spencer nodded, asked the occasional gentle question, and—when you got slightly off track—interjected with the quietest correction, always phrased like a suggestion instead of a critique.

It didn’t hurt that he looked at you like you hung the moon.

Every time you nailed a concept—delivered a term with confidence, or remembered an example from your research—he clapped.

Actually clapped.

Not loudly, not obnoxiously—just a few soft, sincere rounds of applause, the kind that made your cheeks flush and your heart squeeze in your chest.

“Well done,” he said softly, his eyes glowing with pride. “You’ve got it.”

You chuckled and glanced at the plushies around him. “I think they’re helping. You’ve got a whole committee of motivational support there.”

Spencer paused, then grinned sheepishly. “Well, they are great listeners.” He reached down to adjust a stuffed elephant’s little bow tie, his eyes gleaming with quiet joy.

You continued explaining. Eventually, your words started flowing smoother, more confidently. You stopped stumbling over the terminology.

By the time you reached the end of your explanation, you felt like maybe—maybe—you actually understood what you were saying.

You stood up again, feeling the need to walk around as you grabbed another marker and began scribbling new diagrams on the whiteboard.

“And then… that’s it,” you said, your voice more certain now as you stared at the board, watching the last piece of the equation fall into place. You took a deep breath and turned back to Spencer.

His expression was pure warmth—bright eyes, a grin so wide it almost seemed to take up half his face.

"Exactly," he said, his voice soft with admiration, before clapping again—this time with more enthusiasm.

You couldn't help but grin back, your heart swelling with a sense of accomplishment and gratitude.

That smile of his, so genuine and so full of pride, made all the hours of frustration feel worth it. He didn’t look tired—not even slightly. Not after hours of watching you scribble, re-explain, stumble, and try again.

Spencer didn’t show a hint of impatience, and that made you appreciate him even more.

In fact, he looked downright adorable sitting there—cross-legged on your bed, surrounded by plushies, still so full of energy and enthusiasm.

You let out a breath, feeling the weight of the night lifting off your shoulders. You had done it. You got it.

“I think… I might actually get some sleep now,” you said, laughing a little as you leaned against the whiteboard for a moment, suddenly exhausted.

Spencer chuckled softly, setting down the stuffed elephant he’d been gently adjusting for the past few minutes, his eyes twinkling. “Sleep sounds like a good idea. But if you need to go over it one more time, I’m happy to help.”

You shook your head, a fond, tired smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “I think you’ve helped enough for tonight.”

He shrugged lightly, an endearing gesture that made you feel like he was constantly giving you more than you could ever ask for.

"Anytime," he murmured, voice warm like the tea he'd made you three hours ago that now sat cold and forgotten on your nightstand.

You turned back toward the whiteboard, eyeing the chaotic scrawl of diagrams and notes that had once felt like your mortal enemy.

Now, it just looked like progress.

“I think we can erase these,” you mumbled, already reaching for the eraser.

Spencer padded up behind you, quiet as ever, until you could feel him just over your shoulder.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, lips brushing just behind your ear. “Might want to keep it up for nostalgia.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Spencer, it’s a jumbled mess. Half of it looks like it was written during a caffeine-induced breakdown.”

“That’s the charm,” he said, tightening his arms around your waist briefly before releasing you just enough to grab a nearby marker.

“Besides, this little guy deserves a spot in the Smithsonian,” he added, circling a particularly squiggly doodle of a triangle that had somehow gained angry eyebrows and a caption that read ‘Qualitative gremlin.’

You laughed, letting your head fall back against his shoulder for a second. “Oh no, not the gremlin.”

“He has theories,” Spencer said solemnly.

“You are the gremlin,” you shot back, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

Spencer feigned offense, but the grin that lit up his face gave him away. “Rude,” he said.

You finally began to erase the board, slow satisfying swipes of the eraser wiping away all the hours of stress and scribbled confusion

When the last marker stain was finally wiped clean, you stepped back to admire the blank space like it was a newly renovated canvas.

“Look at that,” you said, arms crossed, satisfied. “A fresh start.”

Spencer hummed in agreement beside you. “Symbolic.”

You glanced at him. “For what?”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Tomorrow. The next chapter. Your well-deserved nap.”

You let out a sleepy laugh. “God, yes. That.”

He smiled, then reached out and gently tapped your forehead with his index finger. “Go lay down, before you try to start another lecture.”

You caught his hand before he could pull it away and gave it a small squeeze. “Only if you’re coming with me.”

Spencer’s smile widened, eyes soft as he laced your fingers together. “Lead the way, professor.”

[wendichester]

⋆˙ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ grieving comfort,

summary. when everything feels lost, dean is who you turn to.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 666

The night after Bobby’s funeral, you find yourself lingering in the hallway outside Dean’s door, hesitant. The house feels colder, emptier, without Bobby’s presence. The weight of his absence presses down on your chest, threatening to suffocate you. You don’t even realize your feet have carried you here until you’re staring at the worn wood door, your hand poised to knock.

Your knuckles brush against the surface, tentative. The sound is soft, but it’s enough. The door swings open moments later. Dean's standing there in a faded t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly mussed from what you assume was an attempt at sleep. His green eyes, usually so sharp and full of life, are tired, dulled by the same grief you feel.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. He studies you for a moment before stepping aside, leaving the door open. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, your throat too tight to speak.

He doesn’t ask for an explanation. He doesn’t press. Dean just steps back, gesturing toward the bed. “C’mon,” he murmurs, already moving to pull back the covers.

You hesitate for only a moment before slipping inside, the familiar scent of him offering an odd kind of comfort. He climbs in beside you, keeping a respectful distance at first, but when you let out a shaky breath and edge closer, he doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you.

That night, Dean doesn’t try to fix anything. He doesn’t offer you empty words or try to distract you. He just holds you, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back until the grief weighing on your chest loosens enough for you to fall asleep.

It becomes a habit, though neither of you ever says the words out loud. Each night, you find yourself standing outside his door, and each time, he lets you in without question. The silence between you is comfortable, the weight of your shared grief bonding you in ways you can’t fully articulate.

Weeks pass. The sharp sting of loss softens into a dull ache, but the habit remains. One night, as you slip into his room like always, Dean watches you with a faint smirk.

“You know,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “this was supposed to be a one-time thing.”

Your cheeks warm, and you freeze in the act of climbing into bed. “Dean, I—if this is too much, I can—”

“Hey,” he interrupts, catching your hand before you can leave. His fingers are warm, grounding. “Relax. I’m not complaining.”

You blink at him, uncertain. “You’re not?”

“Nah,” he says, his smirk softening into a gentler smile. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little surprised. Never pegged you for the clingy type.”

You let out a breathy laugh, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “I’m not clingy. I just… I sleep better here.”

His smirk widens. “Yeah? Must be my charm. Or maybe my snoring.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

Dean shifts closer, his arm sliding around your waist. His expression turns serious, his green eyes searching yours. “You know you’re always welcome, right? Anytime.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your throat tighten. You nod, swallowing hard. “Thanks, Dean.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for just a moment. “Don’t mention it.”

When he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, your eyes flutter shut, the simple gesture making your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with grief―not anymore, at least.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady.

As you settle into his arms, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the lingering chill of the day, you realize something. This—Dean, his strength, his unwavering presence—has become your anchor, the one thing keeping you grounded in the storm of your loss. And for the first time in weeks, you think maybe you’ll be okay.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr

[xomakara]

Love Again

SUMMARY |  You're a lonely single mother sleeping with your coworker, Yunho, who is also a lonely single dad, for the past few months. One night, after a passionate moment, Yunho suggests that maybe it's time for your daughter and his daughter to finally meet.

PAIRINGS | Yunho x Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE |  smut, fluff, singledad!Yunho, singlemom!reader, blended family

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), slight dirty talk, praising, vaginal penetration, lovemaking

LENGTH | 6,128 words

TAGLIST |  ---

NETWORKS |  @illusionnet @cromernet @k-vanity @ksmutsociety @othersideoutlawsnetwork

AUTHOR’S NOTE |  another dadteez fic but with singledad!Yunho and singlemom!reader this time around.

ATEEZ Main Masterlist

The moonlight spilled through the crack in your curtains, casting a silver glow across the bed where you lay tangled with Yunho. His arm was draped possessively over your waist, his breath warm against your neck as he slept soundly. You should have been exhausted too, after the way his hands and lips had mapped every inch of your body just moments ago, but sleep eluded you. Instead, your mind buzzed with the remnants of their shared passion and the weight of something unspoken that lingered between them.

Yunho stirred beside you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip. He murmured something incoherent, his voice thick with drowsiness, before his eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times, clearly still half-asleep, but when his gaze settled on you, it softened with an affection that made your chest ache.

"Hey," he whispered, nuzzling closer to you. "Couldn’t sleep?"

You turned to face him, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Not really."

He propped himself up on one elbow, studying you with those piercing eyes of his. The dim light caught the faint stubble on his jaw, and you couldn’t resist reaching up to stroke it. His skin was rough under your fingertips, a stark contrast to the tenderness in his expression.

"What’s on your mind?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

You hesitated, unsure how to articulate the mix of worry and desire swirling inside you. It had been months since you two started this… arrangement. Late nights at work turning into even later nights at his place or yours. No labels, no promises, just raw, undeniable chemistry that neither of you could ignore. But now, lying here in the quiet aftermath of their heated encounter, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things were shifting.

"I don’t know," you finally admitted. "Maybe… maybe I’m just thinking about how much has changed in such a short time."

Yunho watched you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "It has," he agreed softly. "But not all change is bad, right?"

You nodded slowly, though his answer did little to ease the knot of anxiety in your stomach. He seemed to sense your unease because he shifted closer, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest. His heart thumped steadily beneath your ear, a rhythmic reassurance that grounded you somehow.

"Hey," he said again, tilting your chin up so he could meet your gaze. "Are you happy with me?"

The question caught you off guard, but the sincerity in his eyes stopped any glib response from forming on your lips. "Yes," you said honestly, your voice trembling slightly. "I am."

You swallowed hard, torn between relief and the creeping realization that this conversation was headed somewhere serious—a place you weren’t sure you were ready to go. Before you could say anything, Yunho pulled back slightly, resting his head against the pillow and staring at the ceiling.

"We’ve been doing this for a while now," he began, his voice careful, measured. "Meeting up late, sneaking around… I think we’ve done enough sneaking."

Your stomach dropped at his words, a mixture of fear and anticipation churning inside you. Was he ending it? Was this the end of whatever this was between the two of you?

"What are you saying?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yunho turned to look at you again, his eyes searching yours for something intangible. "I’m saying… maybe it’s time for our daughters to meet."

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the steady rhythm of your breathing. You stared at him, your mind racing as his suggestion sank in. Our daughters. The casual use of the word sent a shiver down your spine. This wasn’t just about the two of you anymore—it was about your families, your daughters' lives colliding in ways you hadn’t dared to imagine.

"You’re serious," you said finally, though it wasn’t really a question.

He nodded, his expression completely serious now. "I am. I think they’d get along. And..." He paused, his grip tightening around you. "And if you’re okay with it, maybe we could… I don’t know, do this properly?"

Properly. 

The word hung heavy in the air between you both, laden with implications that made your heart race. Proper means commitment, structure, and a future. It meant stepping out of the shadows and into the light, embracing something real and tangible. But it also meant vulnerability, exposing yourselves—and your daughters—to the possibility of heartbreak.

"Yunho…" you started, your voice trailing off as you struggled to form coherent thoughts.

"I know it’s a lot," he cut in quickly, sensing your hesitation. "And I get it if you’re not ready. But I just… I feel like we’re worth taking that risk."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless and emotional. Were you worth it? The question echoed in your mind, challenging your deepest fears and insecurities. Could you trust him, trust this fragile connection you both had built? Or would diving deeper only lead to more pain in the end?

Before you could respond, Yunho leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It wasn’t frantic or urgent like your earlier encounters; it was slow, deliberate, filled with unspoken promises and emotions you weren’t ready to unpack yet. When he pulled back, his eyes were soft, pleading.

"Think about it," he whispered, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Just… think about it."

You nodded weakly, unable to muster any coherent words. 

"Come on," he said gently, tugging you closer. "Let’s get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow."

But sleep was impossible now. As Yunho drifted back into slumber, his arms securely wrapped around you, your mind refused to quiet. The weight of his proposal pressed down on you, stirring up emotions you didn’t have the energy to fully explore.

What would you say? The thought lingered as you stared at the ceiling, your fingers absently tracing the curve of his bicep. This wasn’t just about you and Yunho anymore—it was about the lives you’d created, the futures you’d built. And if you took that leap, there was no going back.

"Kiss me again," you murmured suddenly, surprising even yourself with the request.

Yunho’s eyes fluttered open, confusion flickering across his face before it melted into understanding. He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "You always know how to keep me on my toes."

Before he could move, you surged forward, capturing his lips in a desperate, hungry kiss. You needed to feel him, to lose yourself in the heat of his touch, if only for a moment. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you pressed your body against his.

"Is this your way of telling me yes?" he teased between kisses, his voice laced with amusement and lust.

You pulled back just enough to glare at him, though the effect was ruined by the flush creeping up your cheeks. "Shut up and kiss me," you ordered, punctuating your demand with another searing kiss.

Yunho complied without hesitation, his hands roving down your sides as his lips devoured yours. The world outside dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the two of you locked in a passionate embrace. It was reckless and impulsive, exactly what you needed to distract yourself from the gravity of his proposal.

But deep down, you knew this wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, you’d have to face the reality of his words, the choice you’d have to make. For now, though, you let yourself sink into the moment, reveling in the way his body felt against yours, the way his lips moved against your own.

"Tell me what you want," Yunho whispered against your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. "I'll give it to you."

"I just want this," you said, a sudden wave of emotion swelling up inside you. "I just want you, Yunho."

He looked down at you, his gaze tender and almost achingly affectionate. Then he cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing along your jawline. "You have me," he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against yours. "You have all of me."

Your heart swelled in your chest as he deepened the kiss, losing himself in the feel of his mouth against yours and his hands caressing your body. No, the choice would come soon enough, but in this moment, he was yours. And right now, that was all that mattered.

Yunho hovered above, his fingers entangled with yours on either side of your head. With each movement, the mattress beneath you shuddered.

"Say my name," he panted, his forehead glistening with sweat.

He slid in and out, filling you perfectly with every stroke. Each time, he touched a sensitive spot, the one that made your stomach clench. A tiny noise escaped your lips, breathy, low, desperate.

"Y- Yunho," you managed.

He plunged deeper, bringing the sensations of your body even closer together. Everything else seemed so far away: the room around you, the world. The only thing that mattered was the feeling of him moving against you, bringing you to that blissful edge.

"That's it," he breathed, leaning down to trace the tip of his tongue up the column of your neck. "Say it again."

"Oh god, Yunho," you sighed as you rocked your hips to meet his thrusts.

A delicious smirk stretched his face as he captured your lips for a fleeting moment. He drove faster and deeper, the sounds of flesh against flesh filling the quiet room. His strong hands gripped your waist and his cock nudged your innermost barrier as a cry escaped you.

"Again."

You fisted the sheets above your head, desperately clinging to any sense of control. He slammed his hips into you, reaching further inside. "Oh God," you moaned, overwhelmed.

"Not quite." He moved faster, his pace erratic as he chased his climax.

"Oh, Yunho," you finally gasped, giving in to the white heat that surged through your entire being.

Your toes curled and you squeezed him tight as an explosive rush rushed through you.

"That's my good girl." A long moan escaped him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. "You are a good girl, aren't you?"

A warmth spread through your abdomen as Yunho's orgasm rolled over him in slow waves. Your fingers slid through his hair, cradling his head. "The best girl."

The next morning, you wake up to the faint sound of birds chirping outside your window. The sunlight filters through the blinds, casting a warm glow across the room. Yunho is still asleep beside you, his breathing steady and calm.

Damn, you needed him again. Last night wasn't enough. The sun was barely peeking through the thick clouds, and you already needed more of his body heat and musky, earthy scent to start the day off. His weight felt warm, familiar and comforting.

He stirred, rolling onto his side and tugging your body into his. A slow, content smile spread across his handsome face when his eyes met yours, and your heart fluttered at the sight of his sleep-tousled hair and half-lidded gaze.

"Morning," you hummed.

"G'morning, beautiful,” he sighed.

You reached out, running your fingers through his messy hair, and his dark eyes fluttered closed, his expression relaxed and peaceful. A sense of longing filled your chest. What would it be like to wake up like this every day?

"What are you thinking about?" He asked, sensing the shift in your mood.

You paused, hesitating before replying, "Just... thinking about everything that's happened in the past few months. How we've grown closer, gotten to know each other better."

He raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"I guess...I'm afraid of losing this. Us,” you said softly.

He glanced down, running his thumb along your bottom lip. "You don't have to be afraid. I'm not going anywhere."

It wasn't fair how he always knew the right things to say and just the right way to hold you. How did he manage to be both perfect and imperfect simultaneously?

"What are you thinking?" You murmured back.

A hint of a smile played across Yunho's face. "I'm thinking about how much I enjoy spending time with you. How much happier you make me. How much I want this to work, so we never have to let go."

His words settled into your heart. They felt true, but they scared you nonetheless.

"But what happens if we screw this up?" you asked.

His lips quirked into a crooked smile. "We won't. Because we want the same thing, remember? To give this a real shot."

"You're right," you breathed.

As Yunho wrapped an arm around you, you realized he had been right the whole time. There was no way to predict the future, to see where this might end up. All that was left was to trust each other, to follow your instincts and hope it was enough. And right now, nestled securely against him, that sounded like a pretty damn good plan.

With his sturdy chest as your pillow, you closed your eyes, savoring his presence. Whatever happened next, you'd handle it together.

Yunho tilted your chin, forcing you to look directly into those chocolate pools. "So?"

His unvoiced question hung in the air, heavy and hopeful. But before you could answer, he kissed you then, his hand moving to cradle your face as his lips slid against yours, your hips rolling lazily toward his. Your hands grasped his toned chest, moving down his body until you found what you wanted. 

He let out a muffled sound, his breath hitching, before breaking the kiss to catch his breath. "Really? In the morning?"

Your fingers moved further down to stroke him, eliciting a low moan from him. "Don't complain."

He smirked, shaking his head, but it was quickly replaced with a gasp as he grew rock solid in your palm. You grinned at him and pushed him onto his back, moving to straddle him. His lips curved into a devilish smirk, but there was something soft, affectionate in his gaze as he reached to palm your breasts and fondle your nipples between his fingers.

His fingers stroked and kneaded at your nipple until it was sensitive. Your body hummed with pleasure, aching for him. You grinded against his bare thigh, earning a groan as he bit his lower lip and bucked up against your body.

He groaned loudly as he took control and flipped you onto your back, slipping inside. With each thrust, his length dragged out before plunging back into you, bringing forth little waves of bliss that threatened to swallow you whole.

"I can't get enough of you. Never will," he growled into your ear before nibbling your earlobe. His lips crashed down onto your parted ones. His tongue danced against yours, dominating the kiss. The sensation was exquisite, lighting up your nerves until they sang.

"O- oh god, Yunho," you sighed against his mouth as your fingernails scratched along the expanse of his toned back.

He thrusted again, harder, pushing further, stretching, making you cry out. The sound died out, swallowed by his hungry lips. Then another, another, until he was pounding into you, deep and rhythmic and insistent. Your heels dug into the backs of his muscular thighs, urging him deeper and deeper and deeper still. He let loose a shaky breath, panting.

"Do you like this?" Yunho panted against your lips. "This big dick deep inside you, filling you up and fucking you raw? I want to watch you cum, baby, and I won't stop until your pussy is nice and full."

You gasped, and his movements became even more frenzied, hips pistoning. He pressed his lips back to yours, kissing and nipping and licking. Your toes began curling into the mattress beneath. An overwhelming heat began swirling inside you, turning you molten. Your pleasure crested in waves, breaking and crashing around his cock.

"Fuck, yes, there's a good girl. That's my good girl," he drawled into the shell of your ear, voice wrecked. He rubbed the pad of his thumb across your wet, swollen clit in firm circles, edging you closer and closer to release. "Come for me, baby, let go. I've got you, I've always got you."

As if commanded by his words alone, your climax roared through you, leaving you trembling in its wake. The aftershocks kept your breath shallow, but you managed a contented sigh when Yunho gathered you tightly in his arms.

The two of you lay like that for some time: arms wrapped securely around each other; legs entangled and his fingers still lazily stroking your overheated flesh. The silence of the room was soothing, broken only by the soft ticking of the clock on your bedside table.

Finally, you poke. "Yunho... I think it might be worth it if the girls met."

His hand stills, his voice tinged with cautious optimism when he spoke, "Yeah?"

You look into his deep brown eyes and nod. He releases a shaky sigh, a beautiful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he closes his eyes and presses a delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. When his eyelids lift to reveal those big, expressive pools of chocolate, he whispers against the skin of your forehead, "I'll try anything as long as it means having more of you."

His thumb brushes against your cheek gently and tenderly as he locks gazes with yours. Those intense brown orbs look directly into yours and then his lips cover yours in a feather-soft embrace. The kiss is just as meaningful as it is brief, a promise for the future.

"We could finally spend quality time as families. Let the girls play. Have fun," you whispered, enjoying the warmth from his closeness.

"And maybe go on proper dates," he added with an air of hopeful excitement. "I'm sure one of our mutual friends can watch the girls for a few hours. They all have kids so I'm sure our girls will be fine."

"Can you imagine Jongho's girls and our girls playing together? I'm not sure about Yunhee but I can already see Sera tag-teaming with the Choi girls and causing chaos," you giggled.

He chucked deeply at that. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

"So are we doing this?" you asked.

His eyes softened. "Definitely," he promised, a tiny, lop-sided smile quirking the edge of his lips. "After today, things are going to be different. For the better."

Later that afternoon, you drive to Yunho’s house with your daughter in the backseat. She chatters excitedly about the playdate, her bright eyes shining with anticipation. 

“Is she nice?” she asks for the hundredth time, twisting around in her seat to look at you.

“Of course she’s nice,” you reply, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “She loves to draw and read, just like you.”

Your daughter claps her hands together, grinning wide. “That sounds so fun! Can we draw together?”

You smile, nodding. “Of course.”

When you pull into the driveway, Yunho is waiting outside with Yunhee. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him, standing tall and confident in jeans and a fitted black t-shirt that shows off his broad shoulders. Beside him, Yunhee stands excitedly as she bounces on her heels, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders.

“Hi,” your daughter calls out, jumping out of the car and running toward them. “I’m Sera!”

Yunhee hesitates for a moment before stepping forward, her voice friendly. “Hi, Sera. I’m Yunhee.”

You watch as the two girls exchange shy glances, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. Yunho steps forward, crouching down to their level. “Why don’t you two go inside and get to know each other? Maybe you can show Sera your drawings.”

Yunhee’s eyes light up at the suggestion, and she takes Sera’s hand without hesitation. “Okay! Come on, I’ll show you my sketchbook.”

As they disappear into the house, you feel a lump rise in your throat. They could really be good friends, you think, watching their retreating figures. Yunho stands and brushes his hands off, a proud smile on his face.

“See?” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I told you it’d be fine.”

You lean into him, sighing softly. “Yeah. You were right.”

He chuckles, his fingers tracing a path down your arm. “Come on, let’s give them some space. We deserve a little peace and quiet, don’t we?”

You follow him inside, your heart fluttering as he leads you toward the living room. The house is warm and welcoming, filled with the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Yunho grabs two mugs from the counter and hands one to you, his gaze never leaving yours.

“So,” he says, lowering himself onto the couch and pulling you down beside him. “How are you feeling about all this?”

You take a sip of your coffee, savoring the rich flavor. “I’m… cautiously optimistic, I guess. It’s a lot, but I think it could work.”

He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I understand why you’d be nervous. But I want you to know… I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think we could make it work. For all of us.”

You meet his gaze, your cheeks warming under his intense stare. “Thank you, Yunho. For trusting me enough to try this.”

Yunho’s smile widens, his happiness radiating through the room like a warm glow. His fingers brush against yours, sending a small jolt of electricity up your arm. 

“You have no idea how much this means to me,” he says softly, his voice tinged with sincerity. “Seeing you and Sera here… it feels right. Like everything is finally falling into place.”

“I think I feel the same way,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You can’t help but smile back at him, your heart swelling with affection. The weight of the moment settles between you, heavy and hopeful.

He shifts closer, his arm draping over your shoulders as he pulls you into a gentle embrace. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It’s calming, grounding, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe that this—all of this—could be real.

“We’re going to make this work,” Yunho murmurs, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “For them, and for us.”

You nod, feeling a sense of resolve settle within you. “Yes,” you say firmly. “We will.”

The sound of laughter echoes from the other room, drawing your attention. You glance toward the hallway, where Sera and Yunhee are now sitting cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a sketchbook together. Their giggles are infectious, and you find yourself smiling even wider.

“They’re already getting along,” Yunho observes, his tone filled with pride. “See? This was the right decision.”

You lean into him again, letting the warmth of his presence soothe any lingering doubts. “It really was,” you agree. “And I’m glad we took this step.”

Yunho kisses the side of your forehead, his touch tender and reassuring. “Me too,” he says, his voice low and intimate. “More than you know.”

The amusement park looms ahead, a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds that sends a thrill through both you and Yunho. The anticipation is palpable as you load the girls into the car, Sera bouncing in her seat with excitement while Yunhee sits quietly, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Are we there yet?” Sera asks for what feels like the hundredth time, her voice laced with an eagerness that makes your heart swell.

Yunho glances at you from the driver’s seat, a smile tugging at his lips. “Almost,” he says, his deep voice resonating with reassurance. “Just a few more minutes.”

You reach over to squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes about the bond you’re building together. This outing isn’t just about the girls—it’s about testing the waters of this new family dynamic, seeing how you all fit together in the chaos of laughter and rides.

When you finally arrive, the park is alive with energy. The air hums with the chatter of families, the distant whir of roller coasters, and the occasional burst of music from a nearby stage. Sera practically leaps out of the car before Yunho has even turned off the engine, her excitement contagious. Yunhee follows with the same excitement although more cautiously, taking in the scene with a reserved curiosity.

“Alright, team,” Yunho says, rounding the car to join you. His tone is playful, but there’s an underlying seriousness to his words. “Let’s make today unforgettable.”

You nod, feeling a flutter of nerves mixed with hope. Unforgettable. That’s exactly what this day could be, if everything goes right. But you know better than to expect perfection. Life rarely unfolds according to plan, especially when kids are involved.

As you navigate through the park, Sera quickly latches onto Yunhee, both girls chattering excitedly about which rides or games to play first. They head straight for the carousel, giggling as they choose their horses. You and Yunho trail behind, keeping an eye on them while stealing moments of conversation between yourselves.

“They seem to be getting along well,” you say, your voice soft but tinged with cautious optimism.

Yunho glances down at you, his dark eyes softening. “They really do,” he agrees. “It’s amazing to see.”

You fall quiet for a moment, watching the girls as they laugh and wave from atop their colorful steeds. There’s something almost magical about the way they interact, as though they’ve been friends their entire lives. It’s a sight that fills you with a profound sense of gratitude—and perhaps a little bit of fear. What if this doesn’t last? What if something disrupts this fragile harmony?

Before you can dwell on those thoughts, Sera tugs on your sleeve. “Mommy! Can we go on the big roller coaster now? Please?”

Her eyes sparkle with pleading, and you feel a pang of reluctance. The ride looks intense, even for adults. But before you can answer, Yunho interjects.

“I’ll take them,” he says decisively, his voice brooking no argument. “You stay here, relax for a bit. I’ve got this.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off with a gentle touch to your cheek. “Trust me,” he murmurs, his gaze steady and reassuring. “We’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, you nod, watching as he takes Sera’s hand and leads both girls toward the towering structure. The line is long, snaking around the perimeter of the ride, but Sera chatters away nonstop, clearly unbothered by the wait. Yunhee, on the other hand, looks up at the coaster with a mix of awe and trepidation.

You find a bench near the entrance and sit down, trying to calm your racing thoughts. The sun beats down on your shoulders, warming you despite the anxiety knotting your stomach. You glance at your phone, scrolling through messages that can’t hold your attention. All you can think about is the three people currently braving the roller coaster without you.

Minutes tick by, each one dragging on longer than the last. Just as you’re about to get up and check on them, a familiar trio emerges from the crowd. Sera is beaming, announcing to anyone who will listen that she wants to go again. Yunhee, however, looks pale and shaken.

Yunho spots you immediately, his expression shifting to one of concern as he approaches. 

“Yunhee didn’t enjoy it as much as Sera did,” he admits, his voice low and apologetic. “She’s feeling a bit queasy.”

You rise from the bench, brushing past him to kneel in front of Yunhee. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” you say softly, reaching out to gently smooth her hair. “Are you okay? Do you need some water or maybe a break?”

Yunhee nods silently, her large eyes glassy with unshed tears. You exchange a worried glance with Yunho, knowing this wasn’t part of the plan. But plans, as you’ve learned, are often made to be broken.

“Let’s find somewhere quiet for her to rest,” you suggest, standing up and offering your hand to Yunhee. “We can still have fun, just at a slower pace.”

Yunho hesitates, glancing back at Sera, who is already scanning the area for the next attraction. 

“Give us a minute,” he tells you, crouching down to speak directly to Yunhee. “Do you want to tell Sera why you don’t feel well? She should hear it from you.”

Yunhee hesitates, then nods slowly. Taking a deep breath, she turns to Sera, who is waiting eagerly for her response. “I… I don’t feel so good right now,” she says softly. “Can we take a break?”

Sera’s face falls, but she nods understandingly. “Of course! We can still play games or something, right?”

Yunhee manages a small smile, and you feel a rush of relief. It’s a small victory, but it’s enough to remind you that not every moment needs to be perfect. Sometimes, it’s the unexpected challenges that bring you closer together.

As you lead the group toward a quieter area of the park, Yunho slips his hand into yours. His grip is firm, grounding, and you let yourself lean into the contact, finding comfort in his presence.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “One step at a time.”

You look up at him, your heart swelling with something akin to hope. Yes, you think. 

One step at a time.

It's been a few months since the girls have met each other and hit it off. The four of you are at a park and the air is thick with laughter and the distant hum of music, but in this quieter corner of the park, it feels like the world has momentarily paused. Yunhee sits cross-legged on a blanket, her sketchpad open in front of her, while Sera chatters excitedly about all the cute pets she saw. Yunho stands nearby, his arms crossed, watching the girls with a soft smile. His presence is steady, grounding, as if he’s already woven himself into the fabric of your lives.

You lean back against the picnic table, letting the warmth of the day seep into your skin. Your hand brushes against Yunho’s, and you feel the familiar spark that never fails to ignite between you. His touch. It’s always been more than physical for you—a reminder of the deeper connection you’ve both been reluctant to name. But today, something feels different. Sharper. More urgent.

“We should talk,” you say softly, your voice barely audible over Sera’s animated storytelling.

Yunho turns to you, his dark eyes searching your face. 

“About what?” he asks, though you can see the answer flickering in his gaze.

Us. 

The word hovers unspoken, heavy with meaning. You swallow hard, suddenly unsure of how to articulate the tangle of emotions churning inside you. The fear. The hope. The inexplicable desire to let him in completely.

“The future,” you manage at last, your voice trembling slightly. “Ours.”

He doesn’t speak immediately, and for a moment, the only sound is the rustle of leaves overhead and the faint laughter of other park goers. Then, slowly, he steps closer, his hands settling on your shoulders. The warmth of his touch spreads through you, steadying you even as it sends your pulse racing.

“I’ve been thinking about that too,” he admits, his voice low and rough. “Every time I look at you, every time I see the way Sera smiles when she’s with Yunhee… or how Yunhee looks so much happier with you two around, it’s like everything I didn’t realize I wanted is right here. In front of me.”

His confession hangs in the air between you, raw and unfiltered. You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you let yourself truly see him—not just as the man you’ve been sleeping with, not just as the father of the sweet girl sitting on the blanket, but as someone who feels as deeply as you do. Someone who’s scared. Someone who’s hopeful. Someone who wants you.

“I love you,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, the words breaking free like a dam giving way. “I know it’s fast, and I know it’s scary, but I can’t pretend anymore. Not with you.”

Yunho’s breath hitches, and for a moment, he says nothing. His hands tighten on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing lightly against your collarbone. Then, slowly, he leans down, his forehead resting against yours.

“I love you too,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. “More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

The intensity of his words stirs something deep within you, something primal and undeniable. You rise to your toes, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s equal parts reassurance and desperation. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close, and you sink into the embrace, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat against your chest.

When the kiss breaks at last, Yunho rests his forehead against yours again, his breathing heavy. You stay there, wrapped up in each other, lost in the moment.

“Mommy?” Sera’s voice interrupts the moment, and you pull away quickly, flushing as you turn to see both girls staring at you with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, sweetheart,” you say quickly, smoothing your hair and trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Just… grown-up stuff.”

Yunhee looks between you and her father, her expression thoughtful. “Are you guys… getting married?” she asks quietly.

The question catches you off guard, and you glance at Yunho, unsure of how to respond. He meets your gaze, his eyes filled with the same mix of uncertainty and hope that you feel.

“Maybe,” he says finally, his voice steady despite the weight of the word. “If that’s what we all want."

"Do you love my mommy?" Sera asks him earnestly.

Yunho doesn't miss a beat. "Yes," he answers, his voice filled with warmth. "Very much."

"Do you love my daddy?" Yunhee echoes, directing the same question to you.

You turn to the serious-looking little girl with eyes wide open and shining like jewels. "I do. Very, very much," you say honestly.

Yunho looks at his little girl. "What do you say, Yunhee? Are you okay with this?"

Yunhee smiles sweetly, her cheeks flushing with color. "I'm happy if you're happy, daddy. And if it makes Sera my best friend for real, that would be great."

"What do you think, Sera?" You asked your daughter.

"Yes! Yes!" Your daughter yells jumping up and down and running to hug you tightly. "Yunhee we can be sisters and best friends now!"

At your daughter's announcement, you look up into the kind eyes of Yunho, who is watching you with an amused smile. "Seems like our little ones are getting ahead of themselves," he teases. "But I'm willing to follow their lead... if that's alright with you."

You look around at the two little girls beaming with excitement and the man who is slowly carving his way into your heart and it feels like everything is exactly where it should be. 

"More than okay," you murmur as you slide your hands up the length of his chest, wrap them around the back of his neck, and draw him in for another kiss. "More than I can say."

Sera’s face lights up, and she latches onto your arm. “Can we get matching dresses? And go on a honeymoon? And have a big cake with candles?”

You laugh despite the sudden tightness in your throat, reaching out to tousle her hair. “Slow down, kiddo. We haven’t even talked about any of that yet.”

But even as you say the words, you can’t help but imagine it—the four of you, laughing and arguing over wedding plans, building a life together from the ground up. The idea is both terrifying and exhilarating, a risk you’re starting to think might be worth taking.

Yunho steps closer, his hand sliding into yours. “One step at a time,” he murmurs, echoing his earlier words. “But maybe… maybe this time, we take bigger steps. Together.”

You nod, your heart swelling with the possibility of it all. Somewhere behind you, Sera is still chattering enthusiastically about flower girl dresses, while Yunhee continues to sketch quietly, her face tilted upward to catch the sunlight. It’s imperfect, messy, and real—everything a family should be.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

[bullet-prooflove]

Virgin: Dennis Whitaker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @julius-ceasar @happyfox43 @totallynotavampir3 @cosmic-psychickitty @sargeant-sad-eyes

Companion piece to:

Peppermint - The taste of peppermint will always have a special place in Dennis's heart.

The Morgue Thing - A miscommunication between you and Dennis almost ends things before they begin.

Dennis is a virgin.

At least that’s what the rumours say.

They started when Santos had asked him when he last got laid and he’d flushed that pretty shade of pink across his cheeks and up his throat. It had spread like wildfire after that and of course everyone seems to have an opinion, whether he likes it or not.

“You know, I think it’s great at your age.” McKay tells him when he’s working triage with her. “I lost mine far too young and in the back seat of a Camero, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

He really doesn’t know what to say to that so he doesn’t say anything. He kinda just hopes the whole thing will blow over but then he steps into the security office to drop off a cell phone he found in one of the bays and that’s when he sees the betting pool.

Multiple coloured post-its, all depicting when, how and where he’ll lose his virginity.

It seems to sway from romantic: candlelight, mood music and a sultry silk nightdress to fucked up and freaky: In the morgue, on a table, light on, scrubs off.

There’s even a sub division for foreplay: who does what to who, how good they are at it.

One very helpful person has even written ‘Whitaker eats pussy like a champ’ in block capitals. Another states ‘Lisbon cracks under the pressure’.

“Fuck…” He drawls out the word, one hand scrubbing down his face because there is no way in this world that you aren’t going to hear about this. It’s simply a matter of time.

You’re waiting for him after shift in your usual place against the wall when he gets out. Your head is tilted back towards the sun, your eyes closed as you catch the last of the dying rays before dark. You look beautiful in that moment, so serene, so at peace with the world. He hates that he’s spoiling it.

“You’re going to hear a rumour about me.” He tells you as he takes up residence alongside of you, his hands clasped in front of him. “That I’m a virgin… I’m not but… I guess you’d say I’m inexperienced… I’ve slept with one person in my life and it wasn’t…”

He fumbles for the words, trying to articulate.

“It wasn’t fire or passion or any of the things it is with you. I don’t even think I was very good at it…”

“Dennis.” You say softly, your hands slipping under his coat. Your palms come to rest on his waist, thumbs tracing tiny soothing circles through his shirt that make him exhale as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “I’m not worried about your capabilities in bed. The two of us have great chemistry and when the time is right we’ll find our rhythm. I’m just enjoying the journey right now, being with someone whose taking the time to get to know me, instead of trying to fuck me.”

“I know.” He whispers, his nose trailing over yours as he looks into your eyes. “I’m enjoying this part too.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[sleepynoons]

LOVERS' OATH BY CHEN YU-PENG – diluc ragnvindr (genshin) x afab!f!reader, nsfw / 18+

genre – smut word count – ~2,400 warnings – unprotected sex, fingering, thigh riding, riding, pussy job, creampies, multiple orgasms, husband/wife kink, praise kink, biting, squirting, lingerie, allusions to marathon sex synopsis – your wedding with diluc was a small, intimate event, just between the two of you, the officiant, close friends, and a few notable business partners. and you're glad, because you have more than enough energy to make the most out of your first night together as a married couple.

It’s funny how your roles are reversed. You’re the more forward one compared to Diluc, but as you’re stepping out of the shower and drying yourself, you keep fumbling and dropping your towel. It takes you thrice as long to put on your robe, and it’s almost impossible for your trembling fingers to tie the silk belt into a presentable bow. Diluc, on the other hand, is sitting on the edge of the bed as he awaits you, eyes closed, palms clasped together over his knees. For once, he feels more collected and prepared. Largely due to your allure, he tends to lose his mind whenever he’s in bed with you, but this time, his determination’s only growing with every passing second, and he intends to see his goal through.

Before you step out of the bathroom, you bounce on the balls of your feet, a weak attempt to shake out some of your jitters. Of course, you delight in your excitement as well. It’s riveting to spend a planned, dedicated, uninterrupted night with your lover, and even more so, when he’s also now your husband. It’s just another title, only one amongst his already large collection of nicknames you’ve given him, but to you, it’s a new label that brings a sense of finality, that he’s to be yours, and you’re to be his, for the rest of your lives, fates forever intertwined.

At the thought, you push yourself out of the bathroom. With a soft smile, Diluc stands and meets you halfway, reaching out to grasp your forearms when they’re within reach. He ends up pulling you in so that you’re pressed against him, and you sigh and sink into his touch so you can envelope yourself with his warmth and scent.

“How was your bath, Mrs. Ragnvindr?” His voice’s only slightly louder than a grumble, and you shiver as you feel his breath against the shell of your ear.

“Very pleasant, Mr. Ragnvindr.” You ghost your lips over the underside of his jaw, leaving a soft kiss when you reach the point of his chin. You feel his arms tense at your motions, fingers curling into the fabric of your robe, before he pulls away, one hand still holding yours, to lead you to bed.

“I’m glad we kept the celebrations to a minimum,” you whisper, though you’re not sure why. It’s only the two of you in the entirety of the mansion right now, yet perhaps it’s because you have faith that Diluc already knows your thoughts and sentiments without you needing to articulate them.

As you thought, Diluc hums in agreement while he helps you sit on his lap, hands falling to rest at the curve of your hips. This position’s dangerous, you think. The robe, made of silk, lace, and traces of chiffon, is thin, and with Diluc wearing his own of the same materials, there’s very little separating your bare bodies. You run the tips of your fingertips up his chest before curling them around the back of his neck. With a gentle tug, you guide his head to tilt upwards, before you slot your lips together.

The kiss is both incredibly soft and positively searing. Diluc’s arms have moved up to wrap around themselves around your back, embracing you so tightly that you’re pressed against each other, chest to chest. It’s a dance that you both know by heart – after all, it’s something you choreographed together. When you part your lips, he surges forward, teasing you with quick licks to the roof of your mouth. When he breaks for air, you suckle on his bottom lip with full intent on leaving bruises in your wake. It goes back and forth, giving more when the other cannot, begging for more when the other’s about to pull away, forgoing the need to breathe because that’s a lesser need when also given the option to taste and kiss and never part from each other.

Your fingers are wrapped in his hair, the strands tugging thickly around your joints, as if his body is tethering you to him in as many ways as it can. Your other hand caresses his cheek, and you notice his skin’s burning, heat traveling through where his skin converges with your fingertips and melds you to him. It’s a little embarrassing, but the thought of Diluc’s blush prompts you to notice the heat pooling in your lower stomach and between your thighs, and you can’t help but let your hips jolt forward, rubbing yourself against smooth silk and toned thigh.

You pitch a moan into Diluc’s mouth, and he swallows it with another lap and dive of his tongue. He shifts you around so that you’re sitting on the peak of one of his thighs, and he grasps at your waist to help guide you as you begin to roll your body back and forth. You  open your eyes for a split second, to find that your lover’s already looking at you, possibly having done so this whole time. You whine, and the corners of his eyes crease, faint traces of joyful crow’s feet evident. In the back of your head, a longing to grow old with him appears, and you hold onto him even tighter in response.

With every rock of your body forward, your front meets Diluc’s hard cock. Your hole leaks simply at the sight of it, and you can’t help but whine whenever his shaft skims your skin. It’s tantalizing, the way that one moment you two are completely up against each other with no room for even air and then, suddenly, the next moment, you’re separating but the brief coolness of the separation only further entices the both of you.

Over time, Diluc helps you go faster and faster. Your whines gradually transform into desperate cries, which he all dutifully devours and savors, and always at the right moment, he pushes you down onto his leg more forcefully to apply delicious pressure against your clit. At this point, with all of the movement, it’s difficult to continue making out, so whenever you’re rolling back, you give Diluc a perfect view of your body’s needy shaking and swiveling.

Diluc’s not one to be very vocal in bed, but even he can’t stop the praises that spill out of his mouth when he sees you in such a state, losing yourself and all your bearings. In between pants and huffs, he groans, “So, so beautiful, my love. So good, so soft. Yeah, that’s right, keep going, you’re incredible.”

Throwing your head back, you give Diluc full reign over your body, and he takes over generously. He glides you over the absolute wet mess you’ve made on his thigh, angling you so that the stimulation against your clit is never-ending. From the corner of your eye, you admire the way his arms, thick with muscle, decorated in proud battle scars, flex and bulge, and you’ve never felt so content with giving yourself entirely to another person. The knot in your stomach builds so smoothly, and finally, when you’re about to reach your high, Diluc times it perfectly so that you release when you’re chest to chest, lip to lip, cock to stomach with him again.

Your body quakes so dramatically that it even surprises you. Hands flying to his shoulders, your eyes roll back as Diluc works you through your climax, tongue lolling against yours, fingernails digging deeply into your sides, thigh flexing against your orgasming core. You can’t even make a noise because you feel so up high, mind uncomprehending and unable to express even a noise to demonstrate your pleasure.

It’s only when Diluc releases you that, by sheer instinct, you take a deep gulp of air, and come back to.

Then, you make eye contact with each other. You only have time to utter a single “You’re the who’s incredible,” before the two of you collide back together.

You tap at Diluc’s chest, a sign for him to lie down, and he brings you with him. In this position, his cock’s nestled between your legs, rubbing against your still throbbing core. You break away, fast enough so that Diluc can’t pull you back in – and he grunts at that –, and sit up straight. With your hands placed on his chest, also chiseled and toned and covered with small red hairs, you resume rolling your hips, making extra effort to ensure that the head of his cock always catches against your folds and gaping hole. Every time his tip hits, Diluc sucks in a breath with narrowed eyes, doing all he can to smother his need to just put him inside of you.

You look down and admire the mixture of your essences. The shine of your wetness, combined with the glossy white of his pre-cum, are smeared everywhere, and you don’t think you’ve ever been this aroused before. However, your admiration causes your focus to shift, and in that split second, due to your carelessness, Diluc’s cock enters inside of you.

It’s completely unexpected. As if Pandora’s Box has been opened, you sink down onto his thick cock, and with every inch you take of him, you feel breaths being punched out of your body. You aren’t stretched out, so it’s hard to take all of his cock in. Noticing the slight crease in your brow, Diluc lifts you off, before filling you back up with two of his fingers. You sigh out of relief, but you quickly find yourself breaking down into a moaning mess only moments later as Diluc works you open with his fingers, an expert in identifying and curling into your favorite spots. Just within a few minutes, Diluc can fit two more fingers into you, and continues prodding all four inside of you until you’re a drooling, cumming mess. He watches in awe as your hole clenches tightly around him, release trickling down to his wrists.

“My love,” he mumbles, reverence and adoration overflowing in his tone. He takes a moment to simply admire your face, tears escaping down your face, nose sniffling, mouth parted and releasing shallow breaths. He then catches the look in your eyes, and although it’s clear you’re a little winded from having climaxed twice already, there’s also an obvious burning desire for more.

After all, you haven’t gotten to the best part yet.

You return to your original position, but this time, you’re not just rubbing yourself against him. Taking his heavy, leaking cock, you tap the head against your clit a few times before taking the entire thing into your hole. This time, he goes in much more smoothly, and you both, quite delirious at this point, moan at the heat and intimacy. You grind and bounce, and the room soon fills with dirty, dirty sounds of your wet skin smacking against his, your ass smacking against his balls, your hole taking in more and more of his dick.

As much as Diluc loves it whenever you take charge and pleasure him, though, he’s still at least sound enough in mind to remember his objective. Even though this marriage is for the both of you, you were the one who made it all happen. You were the one who proposed to him, planned the wedding, entertained the guests, so that he could continue his duties without interruption. It’s only natural, then, that it’s his turn now to show you how grateful he is, to prove to you that’s he more dedicated and committed to you than you can ever imagine.

As your rhythm shakes, partially because your thighs are growing a little weary, mostly because your mind’s too clouded with pleasure to properly coordinate, Diluc seizes the opportunity to grab you by the waist. You almost scream at the sensation of Diluc’s hips thrusting up into you, as his hands force you down with all their might. A yelping mess, you collapse on top of him, and let him reach deeper and deeper inside of you. And it feels so much better, hotter, than before because, for the first time, he’s not using a condom, and suddenly, you’re starting to babble total nonsense.

“Come in me! Diluc! I-I n-need your cum, please! Inside! Ah!”

Diluc’s mind completely blanks. Thus, with no capacity to withhold himself, he bites down onto your shoulder and cums. With his release filling you up, pumping you full with long, sticky ropes, you quickly follow, reaching your third high of the night.

However, unlike the previous times when Diluc gave you brief moments to catch your breath, you find yourself being repositioned so that your back’s against the bed, with your lover hovering over you.

“Again,” he grits, as he nudges your legs apart with his knees. Within seconds, he’s sinking back into you, and your mouth opens to release a noiseless scream. At the unbelievably lewd expression on your face, Diluc growls, the sound so unfettered and wild, carnal in his hopeless and uncontainable desire for your heat and tightness.

He rests his forehead on yours as he begins to thrust.

“Who am I?” he grunts, between heavy breaths.

You don’t understand at first, so entranced at the feeling of being so full. “Huh?” you weakly offer.

“Who am I?” he repeats. This time, he punctuates each word of his question with a blunt shove of his cock inside of you.

“M-my husband!” you cry.

“Good,” he rasps, “and you’re my wife. My wife. Mine for the rest of my life.”

You realize, then, that you never even thought about your new title as Diluc’s wife. Many have already been referring to you as Mrs. Ragnvindr, but for Diluc to call you his own wife? 

Clinging onto his back and shoulders, you moan and cry and scream with every one of Diluc’s movements. “Yes, I’m y-your wife! O-oh! I love you s-so much, Diluc!”

Both of you think you’re seeing the heavens. Diluc can barely mumble his “I love you more” in response, before, with a few frantic pumps of his cock, you both cum together.

It doesn’t end there. After all, it’s your wedding night. Diluc continues to take you over and over again until early in the morning, and you more than oblige, receiving his love with open arms and unconditional trust, while trying to give tenfold of it to him in return.

He’s yours, and you’re his, for the rest of your lives, fates forever intertwined.

winter event masterlist

[rachalixie]

can’t get you off my mind

all good love stories start with a drunk stranger, don’t they?

warnings: mentions of alcohol, fem!reader

genre: fluff, comfort

word count: 4k

it starts at a bar. 

or really, it starts with a man at a bar. one that you’ve seen before in passing, a familiar face in a sea of more familiar faces. someone who you’ll later learn is one third of your best friend changbin’s production team, someone who you should have met years ago probably, someone who you would find is the perfect puzzle piece that fits into your jagged edges.

but right now, he is just a man at a bar with a beer in hand and a ridiculously dopey smile on his face. 

“marry me, please,” he says, absolutely serious but it’s a bit diluted from the way his words were slurred around the edges. “or i’ll have to kidnap you.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow at him, his image swimming a bit as you turn your head to fully take him in. you’re not drunk, but youre a couple glasses of wine deep and you’re not known for being fully articulate whilst sober anyways. 

“i swear i’m going to marry you,” he says, eyes wide as he looks at you. “you might be the most perfect person i’ve ever seen.”

you’re not overly fond of men you haven’t met hitting on you, but this one seems a bit harmless. if you ignored the part where he said he would kidnap you. at least he wasn’t grabbing onto you or trying to touch you - that would have sent your fist flying towards his face and probably a swift exit from the bar. it was a little weird that you didn’t find him weird, but in retrospect you must have known, even then. 

“okay, listen,” you put your hands on your hips, giving him an unimpressed look. “if you find me when you’re sober, ask me again and maybe i’ll reconsider.”

“okay,” he nods, hair moving along with his movement like a puppy’s ears. “i can do that. i’ll find you, i promise. i’m gonna marry you, did you know?”

“so i’ve heard,” you roll your eyes, already feeling a bit fond about him. you didn’t think you’d meet him again, but you were sure that you’d look at this night with a fond smile later. 

he sends you the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen on a person and scampers off, and you stand rooted to that one sticky spot in the bar for longer than you want to admit.

–

he’s in the back of your mind when you wake up the next morning, in a better mood than most - you never liked waking up early, it always took you a good hour and some coffee to be able to stand without grimacing. this morning though, you float around your apartment as you get dressed with a small smile on your face. 

a cute stranger who kept his boundaries and called you perfect? that wasn’t something that happened often, at least not to you. 

the floatiness followed you all the way through your morning routine until you found your feet stopping outside the coffee shop that you and changbin all but owned. you had no stock in it, but you’re sure that you supply them at least half of their revenue, you probably sit on their rickety chairs more often than your actual couch at home. this place has nursed you through every college class and job interview preparations and beyond, and if it ever closed you might lose time off of your life span. 

your movements from the door to the counter to your usual seat were robotic, muscle memory taking over while your head did somersaults through the clouds. it’s only when you take the first sip of coffee, the bitterness and heat hitting your tongue in a delightful dance, that you notice it. 

another man is sitting next to changbin. a man that looks awfully familiar, and it takes you a moment to realize why. it’s the man from the bar. 

“changbin?” you keep your eyes on the other man as you direct your question at changbin, trying hard to keep your face neutral. “explain?”

“i’m chan,” the man interjects before changbin can answer, reaching his hand across the table for you to shake. it’s warm, his grip somewhere perfectly in the middle of too hard and too soft, and he lets go after an appropriate amount of seconds. despite the neutral passivity of the gesture, you feel something ignite within you, and it threatens to sputter out when you catch no spark of recognition in his eyes. was he that drunk last night that he doesn’t remember you? do his sober eyes not find you as perfect?

“he crashed at my place last night,” changbin’s voice filters through your turmoil, and you finally break away from chan’s gaze to level him with a look. “and he needed coffee, so i brought him along. chan, this is y/n, my best friend.”

the conversation that followed flowed more freely than the coffee dripping from the machines behind the counter, and you almost hate how much you like it. chan is a little goofy, the man from the previous night shining through moments of seriousness and rapt attention. 

by the time you had to leave to go to work you felt like you knew him. you learned where he lived (close to you!), that he worked with changbin (he’s a producer!), and that he loved all animals but he adored dogs (he has one named berry!). just an hour of casual conversation had led to you needing more of him in every aspect of your life, but still in the back of your head lived the thought of him not remembering you from the night before.

changbin leaves first, citing some meeting he had to run to in the middle of a yawn, and when you were left with chan the embarrassment began to set in. 

“i’m going to marry you,” he blurts out, startling you so much you almost jump out of your seat. 

“what?” you ask, a mixture of surprise and disbelief combining into a confusing vortex within your head - was he going to go through this again? you didn’t know if your heart could take it. 

“i mean, i remember you,” he says before you could awkwardly excuse yourself and commit to getting to work early for the first time in a year just to escape being in a room alone with him for much longer. “i’m sorry, i was just embarrassed. i didn’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of changbin.”

“oh,” your breath leaves you all at once and you slump into your chair, understanding hitting you like a train. “that makes sense? i think?”

“i’m going to marry you,” he repeats, a mischievous glint in his eyes, the boy from last night shining through. “one day. i’m going to do it.”

“take me on a date first,” you tease back, a genuine smile stretching across your lips when he laughs, a full bodied thing that drew in eyes from the patrons across the room. for once, you didn’t seem to care that others’ eyes were on you. he made you feel comfortable. 

“what are you doing tomorrow?” his mouth turns upwards into a beautiful smile that you can’t help but return. 

“eager, are we?” you open your phone, sliding it across the table with the new contact page open on it. “i’m free.”

“you’re the most perfect person i’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says, as serious and genuine as the way he had proposed to you last night as he taps his number into your phone. “sorry if i’m a bit desperate.”

“don’t apologize,” you take your phone back, making a mental note to text him later. “i like it, for some unearthly reason. you’re cute, chan.”

the sound of his delighted laugh follows your footsteps all the way to work. 

— 

he picks you up for your first date at noon, right on the dot. he wasn’t a minute late, a polite knock sounding through your apartment just as the hour turned, as if he had been waiting and watching the time outside the door. 

god, is everything about this man endearing? 

he’s wearing shorts and a light sweater, looking like something out of a posh magazine. his hair is curly and swept off his forehead and he’s wearing a smile with the most adorable dimples shining through. 

he leads you to his car and you have to hold back an impressed whistle. you knew changbin and his team did well for themselves, the name 3racha all over the credits of songs on the radio, but this car was nice. you were going to have a talk with changbin about why he still drove the same beat up sedan he’s had since college but that was a thought for later. right now all you wanted to think about was the man who held the door open for you to slide into the passenger seat and was now holding your hand over the middle console. 

“do i get to know where we’re going?” you ask, peering at the map open on his phone but it tells you nothing more than that your destination was 15 minutes away and that he had to make a right turn in one mile. 

“it’s a surprise,” he says, voice a little nervous but it was masked with excitement. wherever he was taking you, you would be happy to be there if he was this happy the whole time. 

four songs on the radio later, one of which you teased him for when he revealed that he wrote it, he was pulling into a parking lot illuminated by flashing colorful lights. he had brought you to the fair. 

“i’ve never been to the fair!” you bounced a little in your seat, wriggling in excitement. “i’ve always wanted to go, how did you know?”

“lucky guess?” he shrugs, avoiding your gaze as he cuts the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt. 

“changbin told you, didn’t he,” you smile at the thought of chan asking his friend about what you’d like. it was cute, a word that you were probably exhausting when thinking about him even after a day of knowing him. 

“yes, but,” he flushes, the tips of his ears burning red. “i asked him after i had decided to come here, just to make sure it was a good idea. i didn’t steal it from him.”

“hey, it’s okay,” you squeeze his hand in yours that he had yet to let go of in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. you didn’t know what brought him calmness yet, but you wanted to learn. you wanted to learn everything about him. “now, take me to the fair, bang chan. i was promised a date.”

he finally meets your eyes again and he’s grinning so happily that you feel like you had just won a prize. who needed a fair when you had your very own carnival game right here? 

it turns out, you did. by the time the sun was beginning to set, your arms were full of various plushies that chan had won for you, each one earning him a hug and a kiss to his cheek. you treasured every single one, the fluttering in your chest when he stepped up to the booths to throw and shoot various things never ceasing. 

“let’s go to the ferris wheel,” you tug at him with your free hand, thanking the skies when you see no queue there. “i bet the sunset looks beautiful from the top.”

he’s quiet when he follows you there and into the carriage, his thigh pressing against yours as he slides in next to you, but you don’t notice in your excitement. it isn’t until the wheel ticks to the top and stops that he grabs your hand again, trembling a little. 

“chan? are you okay?” you ask, concern warping your voice as you turn towards him. your movement rocks the carriage a bit and he turns pale, ducking his head into your neck to hide. 

“yeah, ‘m okay,” he murmurs, his eyelashes ticking your skin when he blinks his eyes shut. “just don’t like heights very much.”

“oh my god, why didn’t you tell me?” you cry out, jumping a bit and regretting it when you rock the carriage again. “nevermind that, what can i do? it’ll go down soon, you’ll be alright.”

“just keep holding my hand?” he squeezes your fingers lightly and your heart melts. you may have made a joke that he was just trying to trick you into holding his hand any other time, but the fear in his shaking body was real and you’d never tease him for that. 

“of course,” you press a kiss to his hair, moving your other hand slowly to wrap around your intertwined fingers. the wheel begins to turn again, swaying the carriage as it descends. you keep your grip on his hand tight the entire time, all the way until you’re on your feet again on steady ground. 

“i’m so sorry,” you begin to say, the horror of subjecting him to his fear creeping up now that the crisis has passed. 

“i’m going to marry you,” he says, cutting off your apology and lifting your hands to his mouth so he could press a kiss to the back of yours. “no one’s ever been able to keep me that calm. thank you.”

you were left speechless after that and all you could do was smile at him, the ghost of it not leaving your face for the rest of the night. 

–

your thirty first date with chan ends with you crying into changbin’s arms, utterly confused and the feeling of despair creeping up your veins. you had met him your cafe as you had done several times since the fair, but when you arrived he wasn’t there. he came late, dark storms in his eyes and a hard set to his jaw and you didn’t understand what had made him like that. the usual smile and twinkle in his eyes were missing, and when you and asked him about what was wrong he had snapped at you in a way you hadn’t been talked to in years. 

you had left after that, brushing him off when his eyes had widened and he reached for you while calling out your name. you know that you should have given him a chance to explain, but at the time you were too hurt to consider it. 

you made your way to changbin’s apartment without thinking, your feet taking you to safety before your head could catch up. changbin had taken one look at your face before wrapping you up in his arm, walking you to his couch so he could cuddle you properly while words spilled out of you like a leaky faucet. you felt like you were back in college, crying and blubbering over a boy who had rejected you at a party, and you hated it. 

you didn’t notice changbin sending an angry text to chan, but the sound of changbin’s door opening with a bang startled you out of your tears. chan bursts in like a whirlwind, his hair sticking up at weird angles and a look of panic on his face as he takes you in. he reaches the couch in a few strides and falls to his knees in front of you, holding a crumpled bag from the cafe in his hand and taking your cheek gently into his other. his thumb wipes at the tear tracks there and you could practically taste the guilt emanating off of him. 

“love, i am so sorry,” he starts, ignoring changbin when he scoffs at the apology. “i shouldn’t have snapped at you, i had no right to do that. i got some bad news this morning and i wasn’t feeling my best, and i should have been honest with you. i’ll never do anything like that again, please forgive me? i’ll do anything.”

it was more his voice than his words that did it - he sounded so desperate, like he was trying to hold

onto a ledge that was crumbling, threatening to hurl his body into eternal nothingness. you knew him, you knew he was sorry, and against your first instinct you trusted him when he said he wouldn’t do it again. 

“is that an almond croissant?” you eye the bag in his hand. 

“it’s two almond croissants,” he nods fervently, his hair swishing back and forth with the movement. you sit up, sliding out of changbin’s arms and onto the floor in front of chan. chan’s arms replace changbin’s easily when you lean into him, and it feels like coming home. 

“it’s not like i have a nice couch you could be sitting on,” changbin mutters as he leaves, shaking his head fondly at the two of you before making himself scarce. 

chan kisses you, cradling your head gently into his hands, and they’re so warm. he slides his lips against yours, slowly like he’s taking his time memorizing the planes of your mouth to commit to memory. even after kissing him dozens of times you still find new things to learn about each other. 

“i swear,” he says, pulling away to meet your eyes. “i’m going to marry you, someday.”

“keep getting me croissants as apologies and we’ll see,” you say, sniffling into his neck. 

—

your eighty seventh date was spent in your bed, your head spinning like both hands on a clock simultaneously and your body exuding more sweat than you ever have. 

chan is wringing out a cool cloth to place on your forehead and it feels so nice that you moan. 

“i’m sorry,” you mutter, and chan has lost count of the amount of times you’ve said it at this point. “we had a date and i ruined it.”

“we were going to see a movie,” he says, running a hand up and down your spine. “and we will. we don’t need a movie theater when we have a screen right here, hmm?” 

“but the popcorn,” you complain, closing your eyes in bliss when he runs a hand through your hair, scratching gently at your scalp. an apology for being so sweaty was at the tip of your tongue but you hold it back in favor of enjoying the feeling of his touch. 

“i’ll make you all the popcorn you want when you’re feeling better,” he promises, dropping a kiss to the side of your head. “for now, how does soup sound?” 

“popcorn soup?“ you ask, a wave of dizziness taking over your body; if you weren’t lying down already, you’re sure that too would be falling over. 

“yeah, baby,” and even in your delirium the fondness in his voice was prominent. he couldn’t hide it even if he tried. “i’ll make you some popcorn soup. get some rest okay?”

you’re asleep before he leaves the room, and you only wake up when he shakes your shoulder a bit and helps you into an upright position. he feeds you bites of what is definitely not popcorn soup after putting a movie on your laptop, the screen sitting at the foot of your bed. the both of you fall asleep before the movie finishes, but you don’t mind. 

he stays with you for days, making you soup and tea and toast and feeding you medicine and being an all-around angel as he nurses you back to health. by the time you’re better you think you’ve fallen back in love with him several times. 

as you had expected and warned him about, he catches your sickness the next week, and now it’s your turn to be his nurse. you try and do the same job he did, but his delirium seems worse. the silver lining is that his fever isn’t as bad, so you’re babysitting a babbling boyfriend more than a sick one. 

the night before his fever breaks is the worst, since he doesn’t even recognize you. you shake your head at his silliness when he asks who you are and calls you pretty. you smile when he takes your hand in his and asks you to come closer. 

you tear up when he tells you that he has a girlfriend that he loves very much and so even though you’re pretty he can’t do anything else because his girlfriend is the prettiest one in the whole world. you let a tear slip when he tells you that he can’t wait to propose to his girlfriend and that he’s going to marry her someday. 

you tell him that you have a boyfriend that you're going to marry someday, trusting that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. 

—

your hundredth and fifth date was not unlike your fifth, or your tenth, or your ninetieth. two and a half years later, you were just as endeared by him and he was just as obsessed with you - even more so, if it were possible. 

he takes the time to tell you how gorgeous you look when he picks you up just like he does on every date, and you hide your disgustingly fond smile for him behind his back like you do every time you see him. 

he parks and runs around the car to let you out like he does every time you habit this restaurant, a little fancier than your usual best but it was a favorite of the both of yours - across the street from the bar the two of you had met at. 

you start walking before he does, letting him jog to meet you and complain about how you left him, just like you do every time. before him. you might have thought the monotony would have gotten tiring, but he had a fantastical ability to make every moment feel like the first despite their practiced nature. 

he calls your name from behind you right on schedule and you hum in acknowledgement, turning towards him absentmindedly. the second you lay eyes on him you’re completely alert, though; he isn’t jogging after you, but rather he’s kneeling on the sidewalk, a small box in his hands as he smiles up at you. 

“i’ve told you that i’m going to marry you more times than i can count,” he starts, eyes shining like the stars twinkling in the night sky above you. “but this time i’m asking you.”

“chan,” you choke out, hands coming up to cover your mouth as it quivers. tears spring to your eyes and you silently curse yourself - you always thought you’d be level headed when you got proposed to, but nothing could have prepared you for this, not even the thousands of declarations he had made to you prior. 

“i love you. you’re the only one in the entire universe that i need more than blood or breath, you’re the song that runs through my heart and the fire that leads my path when i’m lost,” his voice is thick, like he’s trying to hold back his emotions long enough to get his words out. “i never thought that i would feel so strongly for someone, i never thought that i deserved a love like this until i met you.”

he pauses as you walk closer to him, letting you approach him before he continues. 

“my love, my eternal light,” he’s tearing up now, blinking fast to keep the salty water at bay. “will you marry me?”

“chan,” you start, kneeling down next to him and taking his wrists in your hands. “i never told you this, but ever since that first day i knew. i knew that the drunk idiot that was hitting on me would be my husband.”

he chuckles, smiling delightedly as the tears finally spring from both of your eyes in unison.

“so?” he trails off, searching your face with his eyes, waiting. 

“oh!” you tighten your grip on him in an apology. “of course i’ll marry you, gosh i love you so much.”

[kingkatsuki]

This is the first time in a long, long time that I’ve actually been proud of a fic so I really hope you enjoy it. I’m already formulating a second part in my mind, or maybe a third who knows.

Summary: Sanemi knew you would always be his beacon of light, the only brightness in this dark pathetic world. At night he’d stare up at the same night sky as you, wondering if this is what you were doing right now too— searching out for the North Star that would help guide him back home to you.

All you have with Sanemi Shinazugawa are fleeting moments together, while he tries so desperately not to give you his heart.

Warnings: 18+, blood!mention, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, foreplay, sex with feelings, light choking, Sanemi calls us a slut once, fingering, breeding!mention, slight spoilers for the final arc but moreso to do with Sanemi’s appearance.

Pairing: Shinazugawa Sanemi x f!reader. 

Word Count: 6.3k.

You always enjoyed watching the stars. Constellations swirling above granted you a cherished moment to forget about the mundane routine of life. A welcome break between the early rise of working beneath your father at the family bakehouse, slaving away until each loaf was sold before leaving you to clean up the mess. The local Izakaya called his name as he would not return home until what little profit he’d earned was squandered. 

You couldn't even blame him, this wasn’t the life that either of you had wanted or planned for. 

Your brother, who was training to become a demon slayer, now dead. Your mother ran away with a travelling merchant she’d met in the village after as though to numb the pain of losing him. You weren’t even sure if she was still alive, but you wondered if she’d been granted the chance of a new start. A new family— forgetting all about you in the process as you were left to this pitiful existence with your drunk of a father.

This was the only time you truly felt serene. Your back was flat against the dewy grass as the cool evening chill whipped at your ankles, toes almost numb from the chill as your eyes met where one pattern ended and another began. 

The crunch of footsteps through gravel broke you from your daydream as you jolted straight, wide eyes snapping towards the source of the noise as you noticed a white-haired man hunched over. 

“Sanemi?” You had to blink to ensure your eyes weren’t deceiving you, the soft candlelight from your home only enough to add a gentle glow to your surroundings as you stood. 

Bare feet rushed through sodden grass as you felt the ache of small pebbles digging into your soles as you made your way towards him, trying to ignore the way the gravel seemed to indent into your skin as you reached him. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him, the last time you’d felt him— you weren’t even certain he was still alive until now. 

He stopped you when you were close enough, rough palms gripping your arms to keep you at bay. Sanemi’s touch was always bruising, but you knew better than to think he was trying to push you away. You’d learned a long time ago that he struggled to articulate his feelings, and something that once had your heart aching now filled you with a comforting warmth. 

“I don’t want to get you dirty.” He shook his head, and it was then you noticed the blood and grime that doused him. 

Wondering whether the blood was his, dried crimson caked his skin and the torn fabric of his haori. Wondering if he’d noticed, nor even cared if it was. You felt tears begin to clump in your lashes as you stared up at his lilac eyes, hands reaching out for him despite being held back as you gently prised yourself out of his grip. 

“Didn’t I tell you not to stay out this late alone,” He growled, “It’s not safe.”

“I have the sword you left,” You smile up at him, anxious to reach out and hold him, “I remember how to use it.”

Sanemi feels his chest swell with pride that you do, after spending the time to teach you how to properly defend yourself from all the bad in the world. The darkness that shouldn’t sully your perfect soul, although he notices that the sword is nowhere to be seen in the grass beside you.

“I’m unsure what use it is to you when it’s lying more than a stone's throw away.” 

“I’ll bring it with me next time,” You laugh, and Sanemi feels himself physically relax at the tone. 

Once Sanemi was sure you weren’t going to jump him and ruin your pretty night kimono he let go, allowing you to reach up and place a palm against his cheek as he leaned into your touch. Your hands were freezing from being out in the cool evening air, but his cheek blazed with heat. It was comforting as he exhaled softly, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment to indulge himself with the feeling of you. The saccharine scent of you invaded his senses as his calloused palms found purchase on your hips, gripping you tight as though trying to convince himself that you were real. 

His chest was heaving, which made you wonder if he’d struggled to make it here, noticing a fresh gash against his pectoral that answered your question about the source of all the blood. 

“Sanemi, you’re hurt.” You mumbled, noticing the blood now dripping onto the gravel beneath your toes. 

“‘m fine,” He shook his head, but the state of him seemed otherwise. 

“No, you’re not,” You frowned, scrunching your nose so cutely that Sanemi had to physically restrain himself from leaning forward to kiss you. 

“I’m fine, woman,” He barked, but there was no bite. Not to you, “I’ve dealt with far worse.”

“Even so,” You shook your head, taking one of his hands in your own, “I’d hate for you to have made it this far just to be scuppered by a surface wound.” Sanemi’s lips curled into a genuine smile at that, teeth bared as he allowed you to lead him back towards your home, “Let me bandage it up so it doesn’t become infected.” 

You knew what you were getting into when you started dating the Wind Pillar, despite his numerous attempts to push you away. Telling you it was for your own good, to keep you safe. That you deserved better. And Sanemi was certain that was true, you deserved someone far better than him. Someone that would treat you well, and not leave you wondering whether you'd ever see him again. It was selfish really, for him to expect you to wait for him each time. To settle for fleeting moments and stolen kisses— but it was your fault, you’d done this. You’d made him fall for you. And what good was living a safe life if it didn’t include him?

You lead him around your small nagaya, the bills so high you were certain it wouldn’t be yours for much longer. But you didn’t want to trudge blood through the house and have to explain it to your father when he woke up. 

“Let me carry you,” Sanemi started as he noticed your bare soles stepping through the pebbled path, his grip on your hand tightening.

He didn’t even question why you weren’t wearing sandals, like most other men probably would. He knew you loved the stars. It’s as though he understood the exact reason you’d been out here without them, despite the dangers of being alone and vulnerable so late at night. Sanemi knew every part of you, probably even better than you knew yourself and yet somehow he would never quite afford you that same luxury. Always trying to keep you at arm's length, in his own selfish way of protecting you. Or so he thought—

“I’m quite alright to walk, Shinazugawa.” You teased, and you could practically feel the growl vibrate through him once you’d called him by his family name. 

“When have I ever been known as Shinazugawa to you?” He sneered, but followed behind as you opened the sliding door.

“I seem to remember you demanding I call you that when my brother trained under you, Shinazugawa.” You smiled softly, ignoring the gentle pang in your heart at the loss of your sibling, “I remember you calling me rather annoying too.”

“I called you a pain in my ass, actually.” He delighted in the sweet laughter that surrounded him at that memory, as he kicked his shoes off at the door.

Sanemi was silent as you sat him down on the wooden floor in the room where you slept as you began to grab the items you would need to patch him up, closing the sliding door behind you as you returned to find him dozing against your futon. 

“Oi,” You teased, a habit you’d picked up from him, “Don’t fall asleep yet, you might have a concussion.”

“You think I’m foolish enough to let a demon near my head, woman?” 

“No,” You smiled, kneeling beside him as you pulled back the open front of his demon slayer uniform, “But you are foolish enough to hit your head.”

Sanemi’s glare had you breaking out into a soft giggle as you tried to quieten yourself so as not to wake any of the sleeping occupants nearby, shaking your head as he allowed you to work at the wound that marked his skin. Teeth clenched as you pressed gauze against it before bandaging it to prevent dirt from entering the wound. You were glad it didn’t appear to be deep, and would certainly not leave a scar as impressive as the ones that already littered his skin. But as it was still bleeding when he’d arrived, you wondered how long it had been since his battle. 

“Why did you come here?” You mumbled as you finished up your haphazard attempt at bandaging his wound. Something you’d learned to do the first time your father had returned home drunk and knocked his head falling over the entry step whilst removing his sandals. A skill you’d tried to hone over the years, but to this day it still seemed to be a work in progress.

But of course, Sanemi still came to you, even though he’d certainly receive better care from the Butterfly Mansion. Or at the very least a better dose of medication to relieve the pain— but time and time again he’d always leave you with the same response.

“I always find my way back to you.” 

Which is why he navigated towards you like a compass searching for the North Star. And even after all this time, you still continued to ask the same question. Because you liked the sound of the answer that left his lips. 

“You’re foolish to think I take better care of you than the Kakushi there,” You smiled down at him as he grumbled beneath you. 

“And yet I’m still alive.”

“I’m unsure whether that’s by luck or chance, but it’s certainly not because of me.” You snort, shaking your head as you reach for the warm water you’d prepared to help clean his dirty skin. Soaking a soft cloth before you began to run it against his forehead and cheeks. 

“There’s no need for that,” He scoffs, his large palm wraps around your wrist to pull you away from him as you frown. 

“You’re filthy, Sanemi.” You scrunch your nose, “And you stink.” 

You were ashamed to admit to him that you loved the way he smelt. His musky sweat was laced with the scent of grass and the rice bran he’d used to wash days earlier. You always found yourself basking in it, allowing it to intoxicate you as you fell even deeper. 

“You’ve never had a problem with me being filthy before.” Sanemi ponders, his hand reaching up to smooth over the soft curve of your hip, “In fact, I’m certain I remember you saying you liked it.”

Your cheeks burned from his implication, feeling the neglected space between your thighs throb with desire as you subtly shifted thigh to thigh. A movement that didn’t go unnoticed by the hashira below you, a cocky smirk on his face as he flattened his palm on your lower back. Pushing down to bring you closer to him, your face hovering mere inches from his own as his warm breath fanned your face. 

“I missed you,” You hum softly, admiring the way the flickering burn of your lantern illuminated his chiselled face. Your lips brushed over his own in the faintest kiss, his fingers tightening in the fabric of your nightdress as he tried to pull you back to repeat the motion. 

“Not as much as me,” He husked, reaching his other hand up to hold the back of your neck. Two fingers dug into the curve while his calloused thumb stroked your jaw, reconnecting your lips in a deeper kiss. His nose bumped against yours before tilting his head to the side to push his tongue into your eager mouth, finding your own as he swallowed the desperate whine that threatened to spill. 

You’d missed this, missed him. Your hands threaded through his messy white hair as your nails dragged against his scalp, causing Sanemi to grunt as he pulled you down to the futon beside him. Curving his frame over you as he groaned deep and low in his throat from the intense pain that shot through his side from the sudden movement. 

“Sanemi, you shouldn’t move,” You stared up at him in worry as you broke the kiss, a snarl of irritation appearing on his face as he tried to bring you back to him, “You’re hurt.” 

“Shut up,” He snarled, but there was no real malice behind it. 

He was far rougher this time as if trying to prove to you that he was fit to do this— to take care of you. Settling himself between your parted thighs as you felt him lean himself on you, a comforting weight as you reconnected your lips. His kiss was far more ferocious, a mess of tongue and teeth as hands disappeared beneath the silken fabric of your night dress. Bunching the material around your hips as he lurched forward, pressing his desire against your clothed core as he swallowed your whines. 

You could tell he was exercising restraint. Wanting nothing more than to rip the fabric from your quivering body and reveal your skin to him, but it would be left as evidence of your exploits. And since your father still thought his daughter was pure, it would be a foolish move. Instead, he pushed it higher, letting it settle above the swell of your naked breasts as he bit back a sigh. Teeth gnawing at his lower lip as he broke the kiss to indulge in the sight of you, thumbing the underside of your soft mounds as he watched your nipples stiffen to round peaks in the cool evening air. 

How had he been so lucky to find you? To convince someone as perfect as you to lie with him? He had no clue, but he was certain it was evidence of the existence of ame. Not that he would ever make it there, and if this was the closest he’d ever get he would die content. 

“Sanemi,” You cooed, breaking him away from his thoughts as you stroked your fingers along his neck. Following the curve of his collarbones as Sanemi dipped his head lower, lips circling one of your taut nipples as he sucked hard. Glaring up at you with purple eyes when you moaned loud, immediately biting down hard on your lip you were certain you’d drawn blood. 

“If you can’t be quiet when I touch you here—” He reached a palm up to grope your other breast for emphasis, moulding the skin between his fingers as he massaged gently, “Then how will I be able to feast on your cunt?” 

You were noisy. So much so that Sanemi had to press his palm to your mouth to quieten you, a crude smirk on his lips as he nuzzled the junction between your breasts. Kissing a path down your stomach as he followed every line and curve, removing his hand from your mouth when he was more certain you’d be quiet as he reached down to curl his fingers into your panties. Pulling them down your thighs to bare you to him completely. 

“Beautiful.” He hummed beneath his breath as his thumbs spread you open, cherishing the way your slick broke off into silvery strings against your folds, “Is this all for me?”

“Yes,” You felt hot beneath his sweltering gaze, heart pounding against your ribcage as he settled on his stomach. Pressing the softest kiss to the top of your mound before curling his forearms beneath your parted thighs, shamelessly inhaling the scent of you as he pressed another kiss against you, this time to your sensitive clit. 

“Fuck,” The motion had your hips bucking wildly, his palm splayed flat against your pelvis as he tightened his grip around your thighs. 

“Still so sensitive,” He murmured, granting you another lingering kiss as he tasted you on his lips, “Is this how much she missed me?” 

“Don’t talk like that, Sanemi.” And it wasn’t because he was talking to your cunt and not to you, it was the crude words that seemed to flow from his lips so effortlessly that left your stomach swirling in knots and a delicious ache between your thighs. 

“Oh?” He hummed, dragging his tongue through the mess you’d— he’d made between your thighs, “Are you saying she didn’t miss me? Was there another keeping you satisfied while I was gone?”

You could hear the jealousy behind his words, the cruel lilt to his voice that had him digging his fingertips into your skin just that much harder. Sanemi was no fool, he knew you’d make the perfect wife for many respectable men. And he was certain that none would refuse— it wasn’t peculiar to think that you had offers while he was gone, or at the very least the promise of your father selling you to pay off his debts. 

But you couldn’t tell him the truth right now. That your father had been searching for a suitor for you, finally settling on one that he deemed fit (and it certainly wasn’t because he was the highest bidder). A man from the next village over who would look after you, you were assured. A man that you could happily live out the rest of your days with, and give up the long hours spent in your father's bakery. 

You were certain if Sanemi knew he would see red, even if there was no chance of him asking for your hand instead. A Demon Slayer, a Hashira no less, would make the perfect prize for any young woman. Easily setting you up for life, even if they didn’t make it out alive, nor make it past their twenty-fifth birthday. It was why so many were reluctant to take on wives, content with aiding their needs with the local courtesans whenever they’d rest for the night. 

Your father still thought of you as pure, a virgin. If he found out he’d surely sell you to the local brothel to pay off his debts instead, a life far worse than a loveless marriage you supposed. But it wouldn’t make a difference when none of those paths led you to Sanemi. 

“It’s only ever been you,” You spoke softly and sincerely as you stared down at your lover, an answer that seemed to appease him as he nuzzled your soft cunt. Unabashedly licking a long stripe from the tight rim of your asshole all the way through your slick, causing you to whine beneath him as his tongue delved deeper, pushing inside your fluttering hole. 

“Good.” He spoke against your sex, your fingers winding through his messy hair as you rolled your hips against his face. The flat of his tongue lapped at you as though tasting the sweetest ambrosia, nose nudging your clit as he ate you out with urgency. Moaning into your cunt as he pushed his tongue as deep as it would go, lashing against your inner walls as you writhed against tousled sheets.

You gasped as he added his two right fingers, curling them inside you as he pressed them against the spongy spot inside you that he knew like the back of his hand. His lips wrapped around your puffy clit as he sucked hard, eyes staring up at you from his position as he watched you come apart for him. Your walls trembling in the throws of your climax that surged through you in harsh waves. You’d expected him to stop, to allow you a moment's respite, but he didn’t. Devouring you like a man starved as he continued to feast on your cunt. You were trying desperately to keep quiet, your own hand clamping over your mouth in a feeble attempt to silence yourself as your debauched moans still broke through. 

Not that Sanemi was much quieter, the lewd smack of his lips against your sopping folds filled the room as he slurped at your slick. Collecting it in his mouth before crudely spitting it back down on your clit, letting it dribble towards your greedy hole where his fingers were fucking into you with vigour. Feeling your walls clamp down around his ring and pinky finger as he worked you through your climax, intent on giving you another before he even thought about pulling away. 

He made it difficult to think as blown eyes stared up at the ceiling, your thighs clamping down around his head as you tried to push him off your overstimulated heat. 

“Stop squirmin’,” He snarled against your clit, showcasing his sheer display of strength as he tugged your thighs open for him again, “I know you can take it, and you will.”

Your hole throbbed around his fingers at his crude tone, the pleasure swirling in your pelvis as he worked to draw another orgasm from your pliant body. Watching the way you were trying to blink back tears as he sucked your clit hard, thrashing beneath him as he felt it surge through you in harsh waves. 

“Sanemi,” You choked back a sob as you felt the pleasure consume you, thighs trembling as your cunt gushed and throbbed around his digits. Smirking against your slit in satisfaction as he worked you through it, lapping at your clit as you mewled pathetically. 

“So beautiful.” He hummed, smacking his lips in satisfaction as he finally pulled away to give you a moment to calm your racing heart. Shamelessly suckling at his fingers as he cleaned your release from them, before pressing open-mouthed kisses against the apex of your thighs. 

You gasped as a sudden pain surged through you, feeling Sanemi’s teeth bite down onto the supple skin of your inner thigh as he began to suck a deep bruise into your flesh. Causing your body to convulse as he left his mark on you. He was never foolish enough to leave anything in plain sight, evidence of your debauchery and certain to sign your courtesan sentence. This was his way of leaving his lingering presence on your body, to claim you as his. The subtle ebb of it whenever you walked evidence that you belonged to him— because no matter what, you would always be his. 

He pressed a final, soothing kiss to the wound as he moved up your body, settling your thighs over his own as he busied himself with undoing his belt. Letting the top of his uniform settle around his waist as he bared his top half. Slapping your greedy hands away as you reached between your thighs to grab at his thick, heavy cock. The weight of it had it drooping down towards the floor, forking veins following the length of it as they lead towards a blushing uncut tip leaking with pre. 

“Don’t you dare,” He chastised as you gave him a needy pout, licking your lips at the thought of how long it had really been, “You know I won’t last.”

You boldly ogled him, watching as he wrapped himself in a strong fist to give himself some relief. Pulling the foreskin back as he smoothed the leaking tip between your dripping folds, covering himself in your slick. Gasping as the bulging head nudged your clit, before it caught against your fluttering hole. Your desperate cunt tried to coax him in as you started to roll your hips towards him invitingly. 

“I’m sure you’ve become a greedy succubus since we met,” He goads, grinning down at you whilst pressing the fat tip of his cock against your tight entrance, “So damn needy.”

“It’s your fault,” You bite back, “You’ve turned me into this.”

“Oh, yeah?” He hums pensively, pushing his hips forward as he feels your hole begin to swallow him, “I’ve turned you into a desperate little slut?”

“Only for you.” You cry out when he cants his hips forward at your response, burying his cock inside you with one rough thrust. 

“F-uck,” Sanemi’s eyes roll as he feels your cunt consume him whole. His balls pressed snugly against the curve of your ass as the messy hairs sat at the base tickle your clit. 

Sanemi had always felt big, the sensation always caught in your throat whenever he’d fill you to the brim. Your exploits are few and far between when he lived the life of a Hashira, never knowing when would be the next time— or if this would be your last. But he always granted you a moment to adjust to his size and a chance for him to admire the way your throat bobbed and your eyes rolled as you felt him fill you whole. 

Sanemi settled himself on his forearms on either side of you, his chest pressed skin to skin, so close you could feel each other's heartbeats. His hands held your head as he began to push his hips forward, starting a steady pace as he ground into you. 

“I’ve missed you,” He rasped, resting his forehead against yours as his gaze bore into your own. Your arms wound around his body to cling to his muscular back, nails leaving crescent-shaped moons in their wake as the blunt head of his cock carved you into the shape of him. 

“I missed you too,” You whine, trying to choke back a moan as you pressed your lips to his, “Missed you so much.”

Your thighs clung to his muscular waist, holding him tight as he ground into you. Sending delicious friction directly to your clit as you tried to pull him impossibly closer, wanting to feel every part of him. The curve of his heavy cock was perfectly positioned to drag against the spot inside you that he knew better than the back of his hand, focusing his attention on it with each roll of his hips. 

“Taking me so well,” He groaned, already feeling the telltale signs of your impending climax, “Good girl.”

You were Sanemi’s proof that there was still good in the world, that there were still some things worth saving, worth cherishing. His nose brushed against yours as he brought you into another sensual kiss, swallowing the desperate cries that wracked through your body as you tried desperately to keep quiet. Your nails dragged crimson red lines down the expanse of his back as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of another climax, leaving marks he was proud to wear as your toes began to curl. 

The coil inside you snapped roughly as you were propelled into your climax. Your entire body convulsing as you came undone, harsh waves of pleasure crashed through you as Sanemi swallowed his name from your throat. 

He pulled back to watch you, tilting his head to the side as he fucked you through your release. His mouth was no longer able to conceal the desperate pants that escaped and mixed with the sound of skin against skin as he continued his rough pace. 

You turned your head to the side on your soft pillow, shy at the way he was looking at you as he loomed over you. The feeling had your stomach swirling in knots as he brought his hand to your jaw to pull your attention back to focus on him. 

“You were so concerned about being loud,” He goaded, leaning forward to wrap his fingers around the column of your throat, “But here you are trying to wake the entire village.”

Your cunt clenched at that, hard. Causing Sanemi to smirk in satisfaction as he started to press down on your windpipe, feeling the way your cunt tightened in response as his hulking form curved over you. Using your body for his own pleasure as he felt the intense heat blazing from between your thighs. Tits bouncing from the ferocity of his thrusts, as you proceeded to wonder if he might actually want you both to be caught like this. So he could finally tell your father that he was taking you away from this and making you, his. 

“Oi,” Sanemi’s fingers pulsed against your neck, trying to bring your focus back to him, “Are you still with me? Or have I fucked all sense from you?”

Sanemi’s grin was maniacal as your cunt clenched around him in response, your head lolling back against the pillow as he kept his bruising pace. Unable to do much from this position but lay back and take it as he used your body for his own pleasure. 

You felt delirious, the pleasure all-consuming as Sanemi drove his hips forward. Thrusting into you with the stamina and precision only a Hashira could have, his perception telling him exactly how to move in order to have you writhing beneath him as he focused his attention on that same spongy spot inside you. Focusing his thrusts as the tip of his cock kissed your cervix with each forward motion, dragging his length against your g-spot each time he pulled back. 

“Such a greedy little thing,” He provokes, each word annunicated with a rut of his hips. Certain he won’t be able to last much longer, your hips buck up against him and he can feel your slick drooling down his length and coating his balls. 

Your hands are fisting the thin sheet covering your futon now, groaning when you realise that he’s trying to hold back. Waiting for you to climax once more before he affords himself the same relief. And it’s hard to hold back, especially when you look so innocent and malleable beneath him. You really were far too good for the likes of him. 

Sanemi wonders what he would be like if he did cum inside you, coating your pliant walls with his sticky spend. Imagining how pretty and ethereal you’d look all plump and round as you carry his child, giving him an heir to the Shinazugawa name and carrying his family on through generations. Thinking of the docile life he could spend with you, living the rest of your days peacefully and away from all the trials and tribulations that come with being a Hashira. 

But a life like that would never be possible, not when there is still a single demon out there wandering the streets and waiting to destroy every unblemished part of his life. The image of losing you is too much for him to bear, the mere thought of it has an immeasurable pain shooting through him and striking him straight through the heart. Sanemi would do anything to keep you safe, and if it meant being alone for the rest of his days or sacrificing himself for you— he’d do it. 

And what’s worse is Sanemi knew you’d let him cum inside you, your mind already fucked stupid and completely intoxicated with arousal. He bets he could get you to agree to anything when you’re like this, so desperate and compliant beneath him. You’d let him bury his cock inside you to the hilt and shoot rope after rope of his hot spend inside your fertile womb. 

He’s sweating now. Letting go of your neck in favour of gripping onto your soft hips, the perfect child-bearing hips as he has to bite back a moan. Breaking skin as he gnaws at his bottom lip hard, nose scrunched as he feels the tip of his cock presses snugly against your cervix with each forward motion. 

“Sanemi,” You practically sing his name as a warning as he feels the way your walls convulse around his heavy cock, desperately trying to milk him of his release, “I’m cumming, oh god, I’m cumming.”

He doesn’t bother silencing you this time, indulging in the whiny lilt of your voice as he feels you gush around him. Almost forgetting that he’s supposed to be pulling out as he curses beneath his breath, the coil inside his pelvis snaps abruptly as he manages to pull out, just barely— thick, hot ropes of his potent seed spurt against your quivering cunt as they coat your folds. His rough hand wraps around himself to jerk it roughly as more land against your pelvis and stomach, some making it as far as the underside of your breasts as his chest heaves. 

You’re a mess, he thinks as he stares down at the remnants of his spend. His cock still leaking with a final few trickles of his release as he smears it against your inner thigh before sitting back on his haunches to admire the scene. Silvery white coats your clit, drooling all the way down to the curve of your ass as it disappears between your cheeks, settled on top of your mound as it leaves streaky lines along your tummy and then spots around your breasts. But still part of him regrets not finishing inside you, emptying his balls inside your warm, wet cunt to claim you as his.

It’s a bad idea, terribly really— but he can’t help himself, as Sanemi leans down to collect some of his spend on your clit against his thumb, revelling in the way you keen against him from the sensitivity as he dips it lower and pushes it inside your creamy, abused hole. Watching with curious, lilac eyes at how easily and eagerly your body sucks it in. The mess disappears inside your trembling walls as he fucks it deeper, pulling out to smear the rest into your clit as your body shivers and pushes it out with the aftershocks of your climax.

“It’s too much, Sanemi.” You mumble tiredly, trying to cling to his forearms as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

He reaches over to the bowl of water you’d brought in for him, wincing at how tepid it is now as he submerges the cloth, wringing it out between rough fingers as he begins to clean you up. Starting with the drying cum that coats your body as goosebumps begin to prickle your skin from how gentle he is, taking his time to clean the cloth and repeat the process as he nears the junction of your legs. Cleaning his spend from your inner thighs before running the cloth through your sticky folds, pressing a kiss to your knee as you whine about how sensitive you are as he tries to clean you with as much care as he can— As though he’s frightened you might break. He’s gentle as he pulls your nightgown back down your body, smoothing the fabric as he smiles down at you softly.

Sanemi doesn’t bother cleaning himself and refuses your help when you offer it. Perfectly content to leave your drying slick coating his skin as he pulls his pants back up, preparing to tighten his belt before he looks down at the dejected expression on your face.

“Are you not staying for a while, Sanemi?” You mumble softly. Acutely aware that it’s a risk to ask something so bold of him, especially when your father could walk in at any time and catch you with the Wind Hashira.

His gaze softens in a way reserved just for you as he cups your cheek, rough fingers catching against your soft skin as he leans down to connect your lips in a sensual kiss. Wordlessly dropping to the futon beside you as he pulls you into his arms, burying your face in his chest as you listen to the rhythm of his heart beating hard and fast. His fingers stroke absentminded patterns against your back as he buries his nose into the top of your head, greedily surrounding himself with your scent as he cherishes the moment. Trying to commit everything to memory so he can remember this on those dark days when he’s without you.

This should’ve been the moment you told him about the possibility of your father marrying you off, but you couldn’t. He didn’t need to know, and it was better this way. You could tell him in the morning, he was already tired from his travels and you wanted this happiness to last just that little longer.

But you didn’t realise that he’d be gone by morning, the only sign he was ever here was the dirty water, and drops of blood that soaked into the hardwood, and stuck to the fabric of your nightdress. Each time he left you like this, it had you wondering whether that would be the last time you’d see him.

Sanemi knew you would always be his beacon of light, the only brightness in this dark pathetic world. At night he’d stare up at the same night sky as you, wondering if this is what you were doing right now too— searching out for the North Star that would help guide him back home to you.

[leaderwonim]

MR. FUCKING BRIGHTSIDE

pairing. slytherin!jake x hufflepuff!fem!reader

summary. although sim jaeyun constantly surrounds himself with douchebags and looks like he could stomp all over a girl’s heart; you knew the real him that was deep inside. but did you really?

genre. hogwarts!au, ANGST, bits of fluff, right person wrong circumstances, forbidden/secret love

warnings. jake can be a bit of an asshole, the insult “mudblood” is used, slytherin gets shitted on as a house (dw, i’m a slytherin 😭)

Sim Jaeyun, or everybody knew him as Jake, the sixth year Slytherin, seeker of his house’s Quidditch team, and nevertheless, charming to every girl that has stepped foot in his proximity.

Half of your friends would disagree—that he was not charming but rather just another slithering snake in the worst possible house at Hogwarts.

Jake’s friend group consisted of three people: Draco Malfoy, Blaise, and Pansy Parkinson. They just so happen to be an insufferable lot, maybe except Blaise who minded his own business half of the time.

“Today you will be working in pairs.” Professor McGonagall states, fixing her glasses as she holds a stroll of paper. “I’ve already decided them, absolutely no changes.”

There’s groans that fill the room, one of whom you recognize as no other than Jake.

“Seriously? I wanted to pair up with Blaise!” He whines, earning a glare from Draco. “What? C’mon Dray, we both know you and I don’t get anything done.”

“Alright,” Professor McGonagall clears her throat. “Blaise Zabini with Nancy Drumswell, Aidan Callaghan with Hermione Granger, Harry Potter with Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy with Pansy Parkinson, and finally, Jaeyun Sim with Y/N L/N.”

You don’t blink when you realize who your partner is. Rather, you just sigh a bit in defeat, coming to the conclusion that you cannot do anything to convince McGonagall to change partners.

“Hey.” Jake plops himself down on the seat next to you, laughing as Draco gives him a shove on the way to his own table.

“Hi.” You murmur, suddenly finding your yellow robe more interesting than him.

“I’ve never been paired with a Hufflepuff before.” He grins, the shit eating grin that weirdly captives your senses. “Are you guys as nice as you claim to be?”

“I don’t know Jaeyun, you tell me.”

Jake’s eyes widen before he lets out a giggle. “Jaeyun? No one ever calls me that anymore.”

You shrug, sliding him the piece of paper with the instructions to your project. “You can stop by the Hufflepuff dormitories at 8, I’ll be done with dinner by then and I’ll open it for you.”

“Sounds like a plan sweetheart.”

You cringe at his words, the obvious disdain on your face makes him laugh even harder.

“I’ll see you then.” He whispers, and just like a movie, stands up as soon as McGonagall dismisses the class, merging into one with his friends.

♡;

Just as the clock struck eight, you heard a knock. Your books, pens, and parchment were spread out in front of you, eagerly waiting to be used.

As you slowly get up to open the door, you’re met face to face with Jake, who entered the room with a confident stride

"Hey there, Y/N," Jake greeted, flashing you a charming smile as he took a seat across from your side of the table.

"Hey," you politely turn his smile. "Ready to tackle this project?"

"Absolutely," he affirmed, pulling out his own notes and spreading them out on the table. "I've got some ideas already. How about you?"

You nodded, slightly impressed by Jake's readiness to dive into the work. "I've been brainstorming as well. Maybe we can combine our ideas and come up with something great."

As the two of you began discussing your approaches to the project, youcouldn't help but notice how articulate and intelligent Jake was when he wasn't surrounded by his usual group of friends. His confidence shone through, but it was paired with a genuine interest in the subject matter that caught you off guard.

"You sure sound different when you’re not around Draco," You remarked.

Jake only chuckled, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. "Yeah, well, I guess I don't always show this side of me around my friends. They have a different idea of what's cool."

You can only nod in understanding, realizing that Jake was more complex than you had initially assumed.

As you continued working, you couldn’t help but find yourself paying closer attention to the small details about him—the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the soft lilt in his voice when he explained a concept, the way his eyes sparkled with passion for the project.

"Thanks for coming, Jake," you say, offering him a genuine smile. "I really enjoyed working with you."

Jake returned your smile, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that sent a sudden flutter through your heart. "Anytime, Y/N. I had a great time too."

As you bid each other goodnight, you couldn’t help but suddenly miss his presence, something you didn’t expect to happen with just one session with him.

♡;

In your second studying session, you and Jake found yourselves engrossed in their project once again. This time, you two decided to move to a quiet corner of the library, away from prying eyes and distractions. The Hufflepuff dorms were too crowded, and you knew you’d rather die than step into the Slytherin dormitory as a Hufflepuff.

As you discussed your research findings, you couldn't help but notice how Jake's demeanor had softened since your last meeting. He seemed more relaxed, more open, as if he felt comfortable letting his guard down around you.

Jake suddenly reached across the table to grab a book, his hand brushing against yours in the process. It was a simple gesture, but it sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins, leaving you quite literally breathless for a moment. “Here Y/N, I heard this book was good for this particular topic.”

Your eyes met briefly, and you felt your cheeks flush with warmth.

“Thanks,” you murmur, looking down slightly.

Jake smiled back at you, seemingly oblivious to the effect his touch had on you. For a person who charms so much girls, you’d think he know how much his advances affected others.

“No problem, seems like we got a lot done within these 2 days huh?”

"Yeah, it seems so," you reply softly.

Even though it had only been 2 nights, in those quiet moments, away from the prying eyes of their classmates, you had realized just how much you actually enjoyed Jake's company. He wasn't just the annoying Slytherin she had initially pegged him to be—he was kind, intelligent, and surprisingly easy to talk to.

"I guess that's it for tonight," Jake said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Can’t believe they only allow Prefects in the library past ten.”

"Yeah," you groan, feeling a pang of sadness at the thought of saying goodbye. "But we'll see each other again soon, right?"

Jake nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Definitely. Let’s just hope Malfoy doesn’t ruin it.”

♡;

As you made your way through the corridors of Hogwarts with Hermione, you spotted Jake surrounded by his Slytherin friends, including Draco and Pansy. Suddenly feeling the wave of confidence at the sight of him, you decided to muster up the courage to approach him.

But as you drew nearer, you noticed a subtle shift in Jake's demeanor. His usual friendly expression hardened, and a smirk spread across his lips as he turned to face you and Hermione.

"Look who it is, boys," Draco says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Little Miss Hufflepuff herself."

Jake and Pansy chuckled, exchanging knowing glances with Draco as if they were in on some inside joke. Your smile faltered, confusion and hurt swirling in your chest as you struggled to make sense of Jake's sudden change in attitude.

"Um, hi, Jaeyun," you replied, voice barely above a whisper as you fought to keep her composure.

"Seriously? Jaeyun? That’s hysterical.” Pansy laughs, as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

“What's the matter, Y/N? Can't find anyone from your own house so you bother our Jake here?” Draco continues to taunt you, his words like daggers aimed straight at your heart. “Or should I say Jaeyun?”

You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment as the laughter of Jake's friends echoed in your ears. You had never felt so small, so insignificant to the group in front of you.

“I was hoping to discuss our project.” You say quietly, looking at anyone but Jake.

Hermione could sense your hostility, pulling you close to her side as she gave Draco a snarl.

“Listen Y/N,” Jake says, “all that crap you Hufflepuffs preach about loving each other and expressing feelings is a lie. No one really cares about what you have to say.”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Hermione says, shielding you by putting herself in front of your frame. “What has gotten into you?”

But Jake just shrugged her off, his smirk widening into a sneer. "Mind your own business, mudblood. This doesn't concern you."

Feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill from your eyes, you quickly turn on your heel and fled down the corridor, desperate to escape the humiliation of Jake's cruel words.

Had you really been so stupid to place your trust in Sim Jaeyun knowing full well his reputation? By the looks of it, all answers pointed to yes.

♡;

By 7pm, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the surface of the Black Lake just in front of the Slytherin Common Rooms.

“Y/N?” Almost as if he knew exactly where you were, Jake shows up in front of you, making you give him a glare.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," he murmured, his voice tinged with remorse as he avoided your gaze. He takes a seat next to you on the grass, his fingers tracing patterns across them in nervousness. "I messed up back there. I let my pride get the best of me, and I hurt you in the process. I should have stood up for you."

You sighed, your heart heavy with disappointment but softened by Jake's sincerity.

“I don’t get it,” you say. “One moment you’re all kind and sincere around me, and the next, you say all these things like I’m worth nothing.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the air filled with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds. Then, Jake spoke again, his voice hesitant but earnest. "I guess my friends just have an influence on me that I can’t control. I’m sorry for what I said earlier, you’re one of the kindest people I've ever met, Y/N. I admire that about you."

You slightly smiled, a warm flush spreading across your cheeks. "Thank you, Jake. That means a lot to me."

As the sky darkened and stars began to twinkle overhead, the two of you continued to talk, laughter mingling with the night air.

♡;

The next night was one of the more important nights at Hogwarts. Everybody had finished their exams—and the Ravenclaws decided to throw a party at their Commons.

The music throbbed as you entered with Ron Weasley, who, at the sight of his twin brothers, ran towards them. You roll your eyes at his behavior, and start pulsing through the crowded room, a plastic smile plastered on your face.

You notice Jake in the corner, sipping on what looked like a bottle of beer. He exchanged nods and greetings with those around him, his eyes scanning the room for something—someone.

But before you could gawk at him any longer, Draco cut in smoothly, his tone laced with mockery. "Oh, look who decided to show up. Did you bring your Hufflepuff friend to the party, Jake? How charming."

Pansy giggled, her eyes glittering with malice as she looked at you up and down. "I didn't know us Slytherins were into charity work."

“Guys, seriously? Cut it out,” Jake gulps, eyes directly meeting yours.

“He’s right,” Blaise says, and you swear it’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him. “Don’t ruin the party.”

“Whatever.” Pansy throws her hand in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t want to make the Hufflepuff cry.”

Hermione comes to your rescue right after Pansy throws you a glare.

“Piss off.” She says, interlocking her arms with yours.

“Thanks ‘Mione.” You thank her softly as you’re lead away from the lot. “For saving me back there.”

“Always,” she smiles. “Now cmon, I heard Ron’s already drunk!”

You two giggle at that, you letting Hermione lead the way into the crowd of people.

♡;

It’s about 2 hours later and the Ravenclaw party is still loud as ever, filled with with laughter and music.

Despite the Weasley twins making a full ruckus of themselves, your eyes were drawn to a figure slumped in a corner. It was Jake, only this time, he looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, his face pale and contorted with some type of emotion you hadn’t seen before.

Concern etched onto your features, and your body felt itself navigating through the crowd of people until you’re knelt beside him. "Jake? Are you alright? Where’s Draco?”

He lifted his head, and you swore you felt your heart clenched at the sight of his glassy eyes and trembling lips. "I'm fine," he mumbled, but his voice betrayed the lie.

"No, you're not," you reply softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Jake swallowed hard, his gaze flickering with a mix of emotions. "It's... it's nothing," he slurred, but his words lacked conviction.

You stayed silent, sensing he needed to unburden himself. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice raw with emotion. "Do you think I’m good for nothing?”

"What?" You asked gently, your heart sinking as you watched him struggle to form his thoughts.

"I mean look at this, look at me," Jake gestured vaguely, gesturing to the party around the two of you. "This charade I constantly put on. Pretending to be someone I'm not."

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Jake trailed off, his breath hitching. "Was it all worth the six years of be pretending to be who I wasn’t? Pretending to be the egoistic charming Slytherin everyone claims to know so well?”

Jake pauses before looking up at you, his eyes swimming with unshed tears. "You know I care about you a lot, right? I like you, a lot.”

“You do?” You say quietly, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of his eyes.

“But we just can’t.”

“What?”

“Why not?”

"Because,” Jake's voice cracked, and he looked away. "Because I wish you were in Slytherin."

You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces at his words. You almost knew it then, with a painful realization that you could never compete with the loyalty he felt towards his house and the expectations placed upon him by his housemates.

Tears stung your eyes as you realized there was nothing she could do to change his mind. With a heavy heart, you rose to your feet.

“Well I’m sorry then, Jake.” You say, turning around so he wouldn’t see your tears.

And as you walked away, the echoes of his confession lingered in your mind, haunting your thoughts with the bitter realization that sometimes, love simply wasn't enough.

[multifandomlover01]

His Person

Spencer Reid (S1, early stages of relationship) x chubby!fem!reader (I’m basing this off myself mostly)

WC: ~2.5k

Summary: Spencer reassures his girlfriend that she is the only one for him and that she's beautiful to him no matter what she's wearing

Warnings: body talk, insecurities about body (specifically a pudgy tummy) and relationship/worth/value, one (1) intrusive thought, concept of a safety dress that one feels comfortable in, a mention that reader might be comparing her body to the bodies of others, uh dresses? little rusty writing so early seasons Spencer may be a little OOC but he's a sweetie

-

You tugged at the dress that you wore. It didn’t fit right. That’s all you could see, all you could feel. It didn’t look right either. No amount of tugging would crease out the pudge that was your tummy. You sigh and start looking for your safety dress that you were sure would still fit fine (or at least it might be looser).

You didn’t even hear Spencer come into your bedroom. He already had his suit and tie on, looking as uncomfortable as you felt. His gaze flits over your body before refocusing on the back of your head.

Neither one of you was particularly excited about this FBI Gala but the presence of every member of the BAU was mandatory. And being Spencer’s girlfriend, naturally he’d asked you to be his date so he could at least have his comfort with him at this stuffy event.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence. “Looking for something…dear?” He was still trying out terms of endearment for you, determined to find a set of ones that felt right. Dear felt very formal and safe. He never imagined himself being able to call you "babygirl".

You sigh and look back at him. “This one dress.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, squinting for a second as his mind processes that information and his response. “What’s wrong with the one you have on?”

It was a simple question. So why did it make you wanna shrink? You pause for a long time. Too long, because he speaks up again.

“Have I said something wrong?” He had taken to asking this question when you paused for a long time. He knew you were probably just trying to articulate your thoughts but he very much was afraid of offending you. He wasn’t used to relationships. Professional relationships were difficult enough for him to navigate on some level so a personal, romantic relationship was still mostly uncharted territory where he’d rather not veer into choppy waters.

“No…I just…wanna try a different dress on.”

“That one’s fine.” He still doesn’t understand why you need another dress when you’d already put one on.

Fine. The word echoed in your mind. You knew he hadn’t meant it condescendingly. You knew he was being honest. And you loved him but you yearned for a moment when a man saw you in a dress and his brain just went “gorgeous”. Spencer, of course, hadn't gotten a good enough reign on the sails just yet to be there in the relationship. And you recognized this and loved his genuine awkward charm. But you still wished he wasn’t so…clinically honest sometimes. Because it didn't always hit as sweet.

“It’s just one other dress.”

He switches gears. “Can I help you look?”

“I swear it was in here.”

“If you just-”

If I were just thinner, I wouldn’t need my safety dress. Fuck off intrusive thought!

You huff louder than necessary (cutting Spencer off) and you stop searching.

“Is something wrong?” Spencer is getting more concerned now. He takes a step towards you. He was pleased that he could fairly easily switch to “my person’s sad, must fix” mode. He thought he’d blunder more when it came to that particular aspect of a romantic relationship.

You don’t answer right away. He assumes the answer is "yes" but has also learned not to say that he assumes that.

“Can you tell me if something is? Please?” His voice softens like it does sometimes and he looks at you with those stupid hazel puppy dog eyes.

You look at him and know instantly that he sincerely just wants to know what’s up with you. You’d already had a very deep conversation about honesty in the relationship so you know it doesn’t do either of you any good to maintain that you’re fine.

“I don’t want you to think I’m being…” you trail off.

“Hey, I won’t think you’re anything you’re afraid of, ok? I promise.”

“You don’t know what I’m gonna say.”

“You’re not "stupid". You’re not a "child". You’re not "too sensitive". I promise what you feel is valid. And I intend to treat it as such.”

You knew he was right. You knew he’d never make fun of you.

“I don’t like this dress on my body.” That was both harder and easier to say than you thought it would be.

He processes for a second. And then asks the simple question: “why not?” which has a simple answer…right?

Your first instinct is to say “because I look fat in it” but you stop yourself from saying that because you think you sound “like a complaining woman”. Your next thought is that Spencer’s first thought will not be: “Jesus, I don’t wanna hear anymore.”.

“I don’t like how my stomach looks.” You rephrase and clarify.

He looks down. That’s simply his first instinct. Your stomach looks like it’s looked like the entire time he’s known you (a year or so at this point). He doesn’t want to keep asking the same question over and over again. But he knows “you look fine” isn’t generally accepted by women as an answer so he knows that won’t fix the problem.

“What’s different about it?” He asks instead.

This gives you pause. “N-Nothing…” you’re forced to answer/admit.

“Does it not fit right? Does it feel too tight?” Your comfort. That’s what he’s concerned about. You were so afraid he’d just say “yeah? You’re fat.” even if he didn’t see it as a bad thing, that still might be triggering to hear. But his line of thinking is so far from that.

“It just…shows too much,”

“But it’s covering…” he pauses, knowing that line of thinking isn’t correct. “you don’t like how you look..” he reaches a hand out to almost touch your stomach but he stops short of it. “I still don’t understand what’s wrong with the dress.”

He hated unsolved mysteries (the mysteries themselves, he had nothing against Robert Stack personally) and he hated not having things figured out. He hated being confused but trying to navigate a relationship often left him feeling like he was up a creek without an oar.

You cup your stomach, hoping he’ll understand. He does not.

“That’s your stomach…”

“The dress is too small.” You try to clarify for him.

“Is it? Is it supposed to fit so…snuggly?”

“Who knows? I just know I’d feel better in my safety dress.”

“Safety dress?” He questions.

You freeze. You’d never told him about it.

“What’s that?” He asks, inquisitive as ever.

“It’s uh…a dress I look…and feel good in.”

“As opposed to…the dress you have on now?”

You avert your gaze and nod. He isn’t the type to grab chins and force people to look at them so he doesn’t do that.

“Sweetie? Can you look at me? Please?” He instead requested softly. Sweetie made sense because you were so sweet.

You meet his gaze and it’s as soft and warm as ever.

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll help you find your safety dress but I need you to know that you look beautiful as you are now.” He swapped fine with beautiful because he felt the emphasis was necessary.

“You’re just saying that.”

“No. I’m not. I could walk out that door right now with you and be happy to have you at my side. You don’t need to be wearing any particular dress. I don’t care about the dress, I care about the person wearing it.”

“Th-Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. We both know we’d both rather be in comfortable clothes watching Star Trek tonight than going to this…Gala. I wouldn’t have asked you to suffer it with me but…I really want you there with me. It’s so many people and so much…pressure.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“You’d be in fuzzy pj pants right now if it weren’t for me.”

“Hey, no. It’s not your fault.”

“I kind of feel like it is. I don’t want you to go if you’re just gonna be uncomfortable all night.”

He starts to search for the dress, very determined to help you be comfortable.

“Could you describe the dress to me?”

“I-It’s uh…black…short sleeves, it’s got a satin body with a ruffle on the end and lace details over that.”

He looks back at you quizzically. “That’s your safety dress?”

“It doesn’t look like what you’re imagining.” You joke lightly.

“How do you know what I’m imagining?”

“Some sexy little number?”

“Some…cute little number…” He clarifies.

“There! Don’t move your hand! That’s it!” You point.

Spencer pulls the dress out. It’s black. It’s got short sleeves. It’s got lace details all over and the “body” or main part under the lace is black satin or silk. It’s knee length.

“Do you feel more comfortable in this dress?” He asked as he passed it to you.

“We’ll see.” You struggle to unzip the dress you currently had on. “Help? Please?”

He puts the dress on the bed. He comes up behind you to unzip the dress. You shimmy out of the dress. It falls to pool around your ankles. You pop the safety dress over your head. 

You look at yourself in the mirror. You sigh. "No...it's too short...and it's not fancy enough..."

Spencer is just looking at you. He isn't saying anything. He's just admiring how you look in the dress.

"What do you think?" You ask Spencer as you run your hand over your stomach in the dress.

Spencer doesn't immediately respond. He's distracted by the skin that's showing.

"Spencer?"

"Hmm?" He meets your gaze.

"I asked you a question."

"Oh...sorry." He smiles, shaking his head. "What was your question?"

"Do you think this dress is appropriate for the Gala? Or should I find something longer?"

"Well I uh..." He trails off, not really knowing what is and wasn't Gala appropriate (he hadn't been informed and assumed you'd know so he hadn't asked).

"Oh! Wait! I know...I have this longer green dress..."

You look through your closet again to find it. Spencer distracts himself from checking you out while your back is turned.

"I found it!" You proclaim. "Size 10, ok...should be ok..."

"Size 10 is fine." Spencer hears himself say.

"Wish it were a 12."

"Hey...don't say that. Try it on. I bet you look just as pretty. Because...you always look pretty."

You smile before you change dresses. Spencer respectfully averts his gaze so he isn't checking you out in your underwear. But he looks back when you're situating the green dress out.

"Wow...definitely more...Gala. I especially like the um...outer layer? Is that what it's called?"

"I wouldn't kn-"

"Overlay!" He interrupts. "Sorry." He says sheepishly.

"That's a good word for it." You smile.

"It's really pretty. Y-You're...really pretty. The dress is pretty on you. You look pretty in the dress." He blushes slightly like he's embarrassed he seemingly couldn't settle on what to say, so he'd just said every variation he could think of (because it was all true).

"You really don't have to say all that, you know."

"Why not? Why can't I? Why shouldn't I?" He was genuinely curious as to why he couldn't compliment his girlfriend. That's what a boyfriend did, wasn't it?

"You can just say I look nice."

"But what if I feel more and I want to articulate that to you?" It was a simple question.

And it makes you pause, because you’d never before considered that he might want to wax poetic about your beauty.

"I'm not lying to you." He reassures.

"I-I know..." You nod.

"Do you?" He queries, but not in a condescending way. "Do you truly understand that I'm not just saying nice things to make you feel good? Do you comprehend that what I tell you is truly how I feel?"

"I guess I'm just not used to receiving compliments."

"Not used to receiving them or unwilling to accept the genuine ones as being genuine?" Because there was a distinction.

"Th-The latter, I guess." You say softly, averting your gaze to the floor.

"Can you look at me please?" He requests softly.

You look into his hazel eyes and see nothing but genuine admiration and affection for you.

"Do you believe that I love you?"

"Yes." You hesitate for only a second.

"That's good." He doesn’t mention the hesitation. “And would you believe me if I told you that I believe that you look beautiful in any dress you put on?”

“Yes. I believe that you believe that.”

“What do I have to do to make you believe that?” He asks softly, genuinely.

“I-I don’t know…”

He sighs. He steps closer to you. “You have looked beautiful in all three dresses I’ve seen you in.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Just be on my arm and look pretty.”

You share a look. That sounded weird coming out of his mouth to the both of you. You share a smile.

“Arm candy.” He muses. “That doesn’t do justice to all that you are to me.”

"It doesn't?"

"Not even close."

"What do I mean to you?"

"So much. I could have a million years and I still would not be able to find the words to describe how much you mean to me, or to describe what you mean to me."

"What am I to you?"

"I truly believe you are my person. I walk into a room you're already in and nothing else matters. All I see is you. And you are...beautiful to me. Does that help explain why it doesn't matter what dress you wear or no matter how many other women are around you, I only focus on you? No one compares to you. I enjoy your company. You enjoy mine. Being with you just...feels so easy and effortless. From the minute we met, you were just...easy. You're easy to talk to, easy to be around, easy to touch. I had never warmed so fast to a person. And you know what it was that hooked me?"

"What?" You manage to ask after being awestruck but his words.

"Not your body, well, nothing below your face. It was your eyes, your smile. So...kind and sweet..."

"Spencer..." You say softly, tears beginning to well up in your eyes.

"You're my person, my perfect puzzle piece."

You hug him and he hugs you right back, adoring the way your body fit against his. His arms wrap around you as he holds you to him, his chin tucking in on your shoulder.

"I love you." He whispers softly.

"I love you too." You say back.

"We should go. We're gonna be late." He goes to pull away from you.

"Can you hold me for just another minute? Please?"

"We can be late. Five minutes."

"Thank you."

He buries his face in your neck, smelling your hair.

"You smell like home."

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 17: The One About All the Hot Air

Oh, hey, hey, hey – what is that over there?

No, not that –

That!

Ah, fuck.

Is that what I think it is?

Yeah, yeah, it looks like some sort of hot air balloon.

Ugh, it’s that fucking wannabe Wizard! Get that manipulative shit-fuck outta here!

Seriously, don’t let it set foot on land. It’s not welcome on this side of Oz.

Someone release the flying monkeys! Like, now. Knock it out of the sky.

Wait, I thought the Wizard liked green. This weirdo has a red balloon.

Bitch, I didn’t say it was the Wizard; I said it was a wannabe Wizard.

Oh, no wonder it’s steering that balloon like a fucking clown.

Hell, I don’t even think we need the monkeys. That idiot is going to crash and burn itself straight into the glass walls of the Emerald Palace.

Well, you know what they say when you start throwing stones in a glass house…

It is slightly amusing (and a tad concerning) to me that children are always led to believe that the villain of “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” is that bitch of a Witch of the West when the worst character traits are actually portrayed by the Wizard himself. And, by “worst character traits,” I mean that he was a master manipulator who conned an entire city into believing he held some form of great power.

Did you know that in the original story the Emerald City wasn’t really that green? Sure, it was made from green glass and emeralds, but the Wizard required everyone to wear green-colored glasses so that everything appeared greener than it actually was. Weird, that. And, even more weird, people bought it! “Here, put these glasses on and you’ll see everything exactly the way I want you to see it.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m fully aware “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” is a work of fiction, but the idea that people can be easily manipulated – especially by someone with “power” – is not fiction.

That’s what today’s piece of “hot air” is about – fandom manipulation and the power of suggestion. And who better to manipulate an entire fandom than the media? It’s unfortunate that I have to give the media power in this story – and even more unfortunate that I have to give it to rag-mags and social media – but the reality is information is power, regardless of whether it’s misinformation. In fact, MIT Sloan did a study in 2018 demonstrating how false information spreads through social media, namely, Twitter, six times faster than true information. Disturbing, right? I don’t even want to know what the going rate for misinformation is in 2025.

And, of course, since I opened today’s story with a visit to the Land of Oz, we may as well take a day trip over to Australia. Remember how I told you Australia deserved an entry of its own? Well, this is it. No, not really. I did say this was a day trip, not a sleep-over, so it’s not going to be chucked full of shiny bracelets or ways to “keep a good girl down.” It’s just our starting point today.

In my first entry, I briefly described what brought me into this fandom. It was something Luke said – and not really what he said, but how he said it – that left me intrigued. He was being interviewed on the Bowral red carpet by “Gretchen from the Philippines.” Yes, that’s literally how she introduced herself! Could I instead refer to the nice lady by her real name (Gretchen Fullido)? Sure, but “Gretchen from the Philippines” is far more fun. Plus, it sounds kind of whimsical. Any ways, Gretchen (from the Philippines) asked Luke if, “in real life,” he’d support friends-to-lovers. Luke’s response was, well, a bit jumbled, which was what sparked my curiosity because his previous answers that day were, for the most part, articulate: “I would – I would support friends – I feel like it’s not something that – that I have in my li – that I resonate with – that I’ve experienced. But, you know, if my – if my friends wanted to explore a relationship with one their friends, go for it. I’ll support it.”

Something in the way Luke answered that question was like suddenly being able to see the forest for the trees. At that moment, I was convinced Luke had always been in love with Nicola, and everything else that went on during that particular red-carpet event (and thereafter) simply christened the USS Lukola. However, that comment by Luke – and a subsequent one he made in New York – would result in the addition of a lot of trees to our enchanted forest.

Now – I apologize – we need to borrow a hot air balloon, preferably one that can travel through time, and jump forward to November 5, London-time. I promise, we will return to Oz momentarily.

Oh, fuck.

What now?

That ridiculous faux Wizard is right behind us. I thought I told you to send in the monkeys!

Dammit, you said we didn’t need them! I left those fuckers back in Oz.

Well, umm, I think we might need them now.

Why??

Uhh, do you see those four-legged beasts on the ground chasing our balloon?

Oh, you mean those coyote-like creatures?

Yeah, but we’re not in the Americas – and those ain’t coyotes…

Ah, here we are: November 5, Claridge’s, London. This was the evening Nicola attended the Harper’s Bazaar Women of the Year awards. We’re only stopping in real quick to steal a piece of the speech Nicola gave that evening. Okay, got it! Let’s get the fuck out of here!

The part of the speech I wanted to share was this: “I did a six-month press tour for Bridgerton, the show which I love, and I’m so proud of. The amount of inappropriate questions I got asked about my appearance, about my relationship…”

Hold up. Relationship? What relationship?

Did she say “relationship” or “relationships?”

Does it fucking matter?

Well, I guess not. But what does it mean?

I could tell you what I think it means… Wait a hot-air-balloon-minute – where the fuck have you taken us? I told you we needed to go back to April 21, Aussie-time. This looks like Soho in January.

Shit, sorry. Let me fix that. Here we go…

>>> 

Umm, hey, where’s that weird little red Wizard? I swear it was just behind us…

Eh, probably got stuck in Soho, hahaha. Guess it missed its exit.

Do you think that’s a good idea?

Yeah, sure. It’ll be fine…

We’ve returned to April 21, Bowral, Australia. Now, at this point in the timeline, World Tour interviews were already well underway. In fact, the first two parts of EmEdits on YouTube are entirely pre-Australia interviews, making up roughly 6 ½ hours of screen time. I’m not the least bit surprised that “Gretchen from the Philippines” asked Luke what his thoughts were on “real life” friends-to-lovers. The chemistry between Luke and Nicola was hard to ignore.

The Australian red carpet also introduced the hand holding, which – if we took another magical mystery tour over to May 9, Italy – Nicola and Luke agreed was a sign of “love.” I suppose I could buy the excuse that one or both had so much anxiety they needed the other’s hand to remain calm on the red carpet. But, nah, I wouldn’t buy that at all – for one very specific reason. When Luke and Nicola were seen leaving (I believe) the Milton Park Country House on April 23, Luke instinctively reached for Nicola’s hand as they were descending the steps. Why? This reflex by Cool Hand Luke was as natural as a pregnant woman touching her stomach. I ask again – why?

There’s only one answer.

It’s the answer that fits with the Claddagh ring. It’s the answer that fits with the side jaunt to Galway. It’s the answer that fits with their natural chemistry, the hand holding, the canned “shared experience” and “unique relationship” responses, the playful sexual innuendos. It’s the answer that fits with Luke’s “the best foundation for love is friendship” bracelet. It’s the answer that fits with Nicola’s remark about “[t]he amount of inappropriate questions I got asked…about my relationship…” It’s the only fucking answer that makes sense.

But, the real kicker is, why don’t people believe that is the answer?

Why is it so hard to believe that Luke and Nicola could be in a real-life relationship?

That’s easy – because the Man Behind the Curtain told us so.

Who is the Man Behind the Curtain? Well, that’s also easy. It’s collectively the rag-mags and the social media creators on the prowl for a following. It’s the spread of misinformation at its worst and it’s so incredibly easy to do with, say, a pair of green-colored glasses.

Like I said, “…put these glasses on and you’ll see everything exactly the way I want you to see it.”

There was one major plot twist that came out of the World Tour, and you already know what that is. The seed was planted with a New Year’s Eve kiss, fertilized with blurry pictures, a compulsory hallway hug, and copycat photos, and encouraged to grow with a bit of junk news and a lot of social media innuendo. Now, I’m not saying the video and photographic evidence that was presented was fabricated; I’m simply suggesting the narrative that came out that evidence was skewed. The media, namely, social media creators, pushed us to plant Lutonia trees while Luke’s actions (i.e., not acknowledging the existence of Lutonia) told us to “pay no attention to the Man Behind the Curtain.”

Uh, so, what you’re saying is we shouldn’t have left that wannabe Wizard in Soho?

Ah, shit! I forgot about that fucker!

The unfortunate thing about the Lutonia narrative was that it was bolstered by insinuation that Luke would never be interested in Nicola. Now, whether these remarks were deliberately planted, or they were simply seedpods carried away by a storm, they were not overlooked by Lukolas – or Nicola. In fact, Nicola herself brushed upon it in her Harper’s Bazaar speech: “The amount of inappropriate questions I got asked about my appearance…” Yes, I’m referring to the suggestion that Luke preferred “brunettes” over “blondes.” Somehow this narrative was conveniently supported by the existence of – lo and behold! – the brunette “friend of a friend” Antonia, who happened to be slender. Again, whether it was intentional or not, the push by, initially, social media creators (and later gossip rags) to link Luke to Antonia inadvertently called the blonde in our story – Nicola – fat. I refuse to dance around that word because it is exactly what this disgusting narrative implied when it chose to compare Antonia to Nicola. Regardless of whether these gossipmongers “corrected” themselves by replacing “thin” with “brunette” and “fat” with “blonde,” the implication was that Luke would never be interested in Nicola because she had thick blonde hair. This was incredibly upsetting and confusing to many Lukolas because it was contrary to Luke’s behavior towards Nicola throughout the World Tour (and in Bridgerton behind-the-scenes clips).

I decided months ago that Luke was incredibly transparent. And, by that, I mean he’s terrible at keeping secrets. Luke himself admitted his “tell” to this was pulling at his ear – now go watch the World Tour with that information in mind. It’ll give you something to do, at the very least. Luke’s sincerity is also why the blonde versus brunette nonsense just doesn’t take flight for me. Any ways, as I hinted at earlier, Luke’s comments on the Bowral red carpet and his later comments in New York City about friends-to-lovers would – again, unfortunately – give the Man Behind the Curtain ammunition to debunk any real-life relationship between Luke and Nicola. Luke was quickly labeled as being “…dismissive of something ever happening between him and Nicola…” Those are literally the words The Tab used in an article dated May 22 to explain Luke and Nicola’s differing commentary about real-life friends-to-lovers. In fact, the article is titled, “Luke Newton has revealed the reason he’d never date Bridgerton co-star Nicola Coughlan.” Oddly – but not really given the source – Luke never actually said he would never date Nicola. But that fact didn’t stop it from becoming a theme of the World Tour – Luke didn’t believe in friends-to-lovers therefore he would never date Nicola – even though, by the end of the tour, Luke’s stance on this had seemingly changed. That’s not to say the rag-mags misquoted Luke – they didn’t – but the narrative they coiled around his words attempted to shut down the idea that Luke and Nicola would ever date in real life because Luke wasn’t interested. But what Luke was saying was that he believed in love-at-first sight. “I actually don’t think friends-to-lovers is something that happens in my life. If I meet someone, I know immediately.” Now, take that statement with the fact that Luke has repeatedly stated he remembers everything about the moment he met Nicola.

The above examples of gossip and innuendo are simply par for the course. The media manipulates facts all the time – whether it be through social media chatter or rag-mags putting their own spin on ordinary commentary – but this type of manipulation is not what puts the fandom in danger of itself. In fact, most of the gossip and innuendo that took root during the World Tour would have dissipated almost immediately after it ended – if it hadn’t been for Papsmear.

Yeah. That was disastrous.

Come to think of it, it was awfully convenient, too, don’t you think?

Absolutely. And you know what else was convenient? That little wannabe Wizard was –

Oh, yeah, I heard that, too! That clown has been trying to hand out green-colored glasses ever since!

Yep. Tried to give me a pair and I told it to go fuck itself and its little glass cat, too. I mean, they weren’t even name brand glasses. Fake ass, bitch.

All jesting aside, if you haven’t noticed already, I do, on occasion, use my writing to call out the fandom, usually as a whole. I mean, we are in this together, right? Actually, no; we ceased being Collectively Delulu after a few unsavory characters were bitten by the Hunter’s Moon and followed Nicola through the streets of New York and London. There was a major – and rather unexpected – shift in the fandom when the rabid Jakolas appeared from the dark corners of our enchanted forest. And I’m sure you’ve realized at this point in my story that I have one particular – oh, shit, I just realized I don’t even know to which fandom our wannabe Wizard belongs. Ruh-roh. Regardless, that motherfucker is in my peep sight because it is a perfect example of how fandom manipulation has reached a new level of toxicity.

Typically, I don’t care what part of the fandom you’re on. My general attitude is, to each their own. If you’re a Jakola and you find yourself spending an average of 15 minutes each week reading my Lukola blog, I applaud you for peeking outside of the den hole. Best not let Alpha find out, though. It’s all in good fun, right? I often find myself getting a good laugh from Jakola stories, especially when they theorize on the Woman Behind the Curtain. Question, though – did you find her? In all seriousness, if I didn’t consider Jakola and Lutonia perspectives, I would be borderline Conscientiously Stupid, now, wouldn’t I? After all, the desire for knowledge is what ultimately gave our Scarecrow his brain.

However, what I don’t find “in good fun” is when social media creators prey on more than one side of the fandom under phony pretense, namely, that they “just want Nicola to be happy.” Oh, these Cowardly Lions may argue that they’re simply being “neutral” – and, yes, I’m sure some instances of this do exist – however, neutrality does not embrace openly ridiculing one fandom over another, especially on a platform that is touted by its owners as being a “safe space” for everyone. The problem with these so-called “neutral creators” is that they’re only here for social media engagement – the clicks and the giggles – and they defect to the other side when the going gets tough. If you, too, take issue with this kind of creator, be soothed in knowing that when you play two sides, you find yourself with two-times the number of enemies.

What makes these so-called “neutral creators” – actually, let’s just call them the “Defectors” – so poisonous to the fandom is that they are made from the grease drippings found at the bottom of the barrel of the Conscientiously Stupid. The Conscientiously Stupid are one thing – they are the ones using their platforms to spread misinformation because they choose to ignore exculpatory evidence (i.e., they’re headstrong in their beliefs) – but the Defectors are typically the ones creating the misinformation and feeding it to the Conscientiously Stupid and then hanging them out to dry when the information proves to be false. The Conscientiously Stupid who refuse to “lose the battle” then resort to bullying (more so than usual) the Sincerely Ignorant of an opposing fandom. And in defense of their Sincerely Ignorant comrades (or simply because they’re sick and tired of the Conscientiously Stupid preventing anyone from having nice things), the Fact Finders – unceremoniously, I might add – have taken their own place on the battlefield (oh, yes, they are absolutely your tactical commanders). Now, the entire fandom is at war with each other – all because some wannabe Wizard – a Defector – convinced people to look through a pair of shiny, green-colored glasses. More than once.

Is it appropriate – or perhaps a bit catty – to put “ceasefire” here?

Ah, yes, well, uh, we have found ourselves a bit far from Oz at this point, haven’t we?

I suppose – but we are trying to help Dorothy find her way back home, and at least we now have an idea as to how she got lost.

Maybe one day we will get her back to Kansas.

Yeah, maybe.

Oh, silly me! I forgot to sneak in a sly reference to Dorothy’s third companion – the Tin Man! He’s perfect for the end of our story. You know, in the book, the Wizard was just an ordinary man who stumbled into his Ozian existence on a magnificent hot air balloon and took advantage of the power that Emerald citizens bestowed upon him. Yeah, yeah, yeah, the Wizard preyed on the naïve using deception and the power of suggestion and invoked fear in anyone who dared to question his authority –

Uh, where are you going with this?

Give me a minute!

Like I said – shit, where was I? – Oh, yes, the Wizard was just an ordinary man, and ordinary people are flawed. We all make mistakes. This is where our Tin Man comes in as he represents love and empathy. Yes, empathy; the ability to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, to understand and forgive, to take into consideration someone’s redeeming qualities –

You know that Wizard defected in his hot air balloon before taking Dorothy home, right?

Wait, what?

Okay, okay. It was Toto’s fault but the Wizard sure as shit didn’t come back for her!

Hmm, you’d almost think Toto knew the Wizard’s true colors all along…

“Au revoir, Wiz.”

[missmoonfrost]

Found in Barty's kitchen - a Jegulus microfic

@into-the-jeggyverse - May 8: Disappear - Words: 600 - warning: alcohol consumption

Regulus found himself sitting on Barty's kitchen floor, hyperventilating and drinking straight from the bottle of wine that Barty offered. No judgement there.

It had been a while since he had spiralled like this, but apparently, he still did when things got too much.

His phone rang again. He didn't answer.

The bottle was almost empty and Regulus had started remembering how to breathe when there was an insistent knock on Barty's door.

"Is he here?" Regulus heard Sirius' concerned voice.

"What am I, your private intelligence service?" Barty drawled coldly.

"It's okay," Regulus croaked, "I'm here."

Sirius shoved his way past Barty and crouched beside Regulus with his arms crossed.

"The fuck, Reg? Answer your phone!"

"Don't talk to me."

"James is getting hysterical. And you are..."

"Pathetic? Failing at everything?!"

Sirius sighed and sat down beside Regulus with his back against the kitchen counter.

"I wanted to say selfish and mean, but seeing you, I think it's rather scared and irrational."

There was a long silence. Regulus took another sip from the bottle, then offered it to Sirius, who drank the last of it.

“Oi, I never offered you”, Barty muttered, “you owe me a new bottle.”

“Piss off, can’t you see we need a moment?”

“This is my home, for fuck’s sake!”

Sirius showed him his middle finger. Barty returned the gesture, then disappeared.

Regulus took a deep breath. “He asked me to move in with him.”

“You don’t have to. It’s a big step and –“

“I want to.”

“Then what is the matter?”

“He has a baby.”

“I admittedly only got James’ version of the story,” Sirius said cautiously, “but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t expect you to be involved if you don’t want to.”

“I know.”

“Are you worried you will be anyway?”

Regulus looked down, picking at the edges of the label on the bottle. What could he say to make Sirius understand this? “Sort of.”

“You know what I’m terrified of?” Sirius continued in a lower voice, “Being like them one day. But I don’t think we will, none of us. If we inherited being bad parents, why wouldn’t we be able to change that just as we have changed everything else?”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m a good parent or not. If I’m there… You know what: even if I don’t move in, even by just being part of James’ life, Harry will see me. He will get to know me. He will look to me as an example of how to be an adult. And I’m just not… I’m not someone that anyone should strive to be.”

“Oh, Reg!” Sirius wailed and looked painedly at him. “You are amazing! Only for thinking that way, you are a better person than most. You don’t have to be perfect to be a good role model to a kid. You just have to be trying your best.”

Regulus looked at him doubtfully.

“Okay”, Sirius sighed and put an arm around his shoulders, “like this: you feel overwhelmed and like you’ll never be good enough, but you know it’s not really true, right?”

Regulus nodded reluctantly, and Sirius continued: “What do you want to teach a child to do in that situation? What behaviour do you want to model?”

Regulus took a few deep breaths, letting that sink in. Screw his brother for always being so emotionally well-articulated. Maybe therapy wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Regulus put the bottle aside, cleared his throat and asked: “Could you give me a ride?”

“Of course. Were to?”

“I imagine you know where James is?”