#mostly because it's full of all the conversations i wish i could have without judgement

[vaya-writes]

Infernal Assistance (Option Four) - 4

You’ve been struggling to survive in a zombie apocalypse. Things are looking really bad before a demon swoops in to help. But that demon is an incubus. And he’s in need of help too.

-

Reader (GNC pronouns, AFAB, asexual spectrum) x incubus (cis male). Situationship. Allies to lovers. Zombie apocalypse AU. Slow Burn. Banner by saradika-graphics. Wordcount: 3800.

Content Warnings: apocalypse setting, chronic fatigue depicted, detailed discussions of sex, kink, sexual dysfunction, consent, monster cock anatomy, etc. Very brief discussion implying sexual assault and sex with somebody dying has happened to Veron since the apocalypse. Please let me know if you’d like anything else added.

This chapter was very cathartic to write, but a pain in the ass to edit.

Masterlist - A03 - Previous

Regardless of your newfound ability to nap in unfamiliar places, the sound of the door opening still startles you awake. 

Veron takes in your raised hands and defensive posture with a huff and a smirk. “You alright?” 

You take a moment to orient yourself. To let your heartrate settle, and wipe the sleep from your eyes before nodding. “Yeah. Sorry. Dozed off.” 

His wry amusement is immediately replaced with a creased brow and a frown. He bridges the gap between you. Puts the back of his hand against your forehead for a moment before withdrawing it suddenly; rethinking the impulse to touch you, or perhaps not actually knowing how to check a human’s temperature. “Is that normal?” 

It’s your turn for amusement, seeing a new side to the demon. With the impassive and steady front he’d shown you yesterday, you’d assumed he wouldn’t be the type to fret.  

“I’m fine. Feeling refreshed already. Having to take breaks is pretty normal for me.” You don’t tell him that the nap is an outlier. 

Even with your assurance, he looks bothered. “Did I take too much from you this morning? Do you want me to carry you home?” 

“God. No.” At that you push to your feet. Your cheeks blaze. You’re not going to let a stranger carry you home because you took a nap. 

But he might be right.  

“I mean. Maybe you did? I don’t really know. But I can walk. If you really want to fuss, then you can help me carry everything back.” 

He intercepts your movement and swats your hands away. “I’ll get it. Don’t push yourself.” 

You hide your amusement and let him load up on supplies before leaving for your apartment. 

He stares at you on the trip back. Frequent little glances, with that crease still in his brow. 

You let out a huff when everything has been delivered and he still hovers. “Look, I fatigue easily. I promise. It’s normal.” 

He crosses his arms. Gives a noncommittal grunt. But doesn’t move. 

“Let’s see how I feel tomorrow. If it becomes a problem, maybe we can change our schedule or something. Feed you in the evenings so I can take the night to recover. Yeah?” 

Some of the tension seems to go out of him. Enough so that he takes a seat on the couch. “Alright.” 

Still, he doesn’t relax. Even as you sort groceries in the kitchen and rearrange your new supplies.  

You leave him there, putting things away in the bathroom and the linen cupboards. Making the rounds through your space until you return to the lounge and find him waiting on the couch, still stiff. Still stewing in some unnamed emotion. 

Thinking it’d be better to nip the problem in the bud before it develops any further, you join him in the lounge.  

“What’s wrong?” 

He works his jaw. Opens his mouth to speak, but takes a moment to find the words.  

You let him. 

“You’re the first living person I’ve seen in weeks. The first friendly one in... months. I don’t want to hurt you on accident.” 

The first words that jump to your mind, the first assurance is ‘you won’t’. But you can’t promise that, can you? You don’t know this demon. Don’t know his temper or his strength. His patience or his moods.  

He could hurt you.  

It’s a thought you’ve already accepted. It contributed to why you agreed so readily to feed him. Why you’ll keep feeding him. Because a part of you knows: he needs you. Literally. Needs.  

And it would be better to help him willingly, than to have the choice taken away. Something you’re sure he could do. You saw him go against the zombies outside. If he wanted, nothing would stop him from taking control. Dragging you away from your home and using you as a portable snack.  

You realise he’s staring. A miserable look on his face, almost as if he can read your thoughts.  

You banish the worst case scenarios from your mind. Return again the crux of the hour. That Veron is worried. And that he doesn’t want to hurt you.  

You close your eyes in a grimace. Visualise where the rest of this conversation is going to have to go. “Alright. You’re my new roommate, nearly everyone else is dead, we might as well skip the small talk and jump right into the deep end.” 

Without further ado you drop onto the couch beside him. Stare at the black screen of your now defunct television while you direct your speech towards Veron. 

“Tell you what. I promise that from here on out I will make an effort to communicate with you. In particular, if things are- If you’re hurting me. If you’re about to hurt me. If things are about to go too far, or I’m out of energy, if you’re- going too deep or using too much force or- whatever. Okay? I’ll complain and whinge until you wish I’d be less communicative.”  

You don’t want to look at him. Don’t really want to be perceived right now. Instead focusing your attention on the demon’s reflection. How comically big he looks on the couch next to you. 

He lets out a long breath. “Right. I appreciate that. But what if... you’re not sure? If I’m going too far. Like.” He pauses. Considers. “Have you ever been for a massage?” 

You humour him. “I suppose.” 

“And they ask how hard you want it, and you say..?” 

“Medium.” 

“Okay, so they’re giving you a massage, and they’re getting it right. It’s feeling good. And then suddenly, just in this one spot, it’s a little bit too hard. The rest of it is fine. But, just this one spot is a bit unpleasant for you. Not unbearable, but not relaxing anymore. Right?” 

“Right.” 

He meets your gaze, “Do you say something?” 

And then you get it. Because in a situation like that, if it’s not outright hurting, if it’s only a little unpleasant, why not push through? You know it’s not good to do so during a massage. But communicating precisely is hard enough without telling a stranger how to touch your body. What if you get up the nerve to tell them ‘that spot hurts, go lighter,’ and suddenly the rest of the massage is too light? 

Is this how Veron feels when he’s fucking people? Like a masseuse, wondering if something he’s doing isn’t right? If people are just pushing through? 

“Can you tell? When somebody’s holding something back? With your... abilities?” 

He leans back into the couch. Expression somewhere between resigned and properly upset. “Was it a good massage?” 

“Huh?” 

“If it only hurts a little, do you still have a good time? Find yourself relaxed?” 

You consider. “I guess it varies. I usually appreciate any massage, enough to put aside a temporary discomfort.” 

He shrugs. “Then I probably can’t tell. I can sense arousal. I might notice it dip a little, but I’m not going to know why unless you say something.” 

It’s weird, his morose tone. You weren’t expecting him to get vulnerable with you, but that’s how he looks right now, staring fixedly at the ground. 

“Does that happen a lot?” 

He blinks, breaking from stupor. “The massage thing? Just a metaphor. But. Sometimes I’ll have some really good sex and then I’ll find out my partner didn’t like it as much. And it’s really upsetting. Because I wish they’d said something. Asked for more. Told me what wasn’t working. I like making sure my partner has a good time.” 

He crinkles his nose. Brings himself to glance your direction. “And I don’t want to be rude, but, like. You’ve got this... feeling. Where, you’re not... inexperienced, but, like. Not interested? Just. I know you’re doing this because you have to. And I appreciate it. But I still want you to tell me if you’re having a bad time. Yeah?” 

You’re taken aback. You wonder if all concubi would be so good at reading you or if Veron is just particularly perceptive. Because he’s not wrong.  

And now he’s staring down at you, lip bitten and arms wrapped around his knees, like he’s bracing for you to hurt him.  

You let out a long breath of your own. Sit back. Try not to fidget.  

“I have a... complicated relationship with sex. Some days I can’t stand the thought of it. Other days I’m completely neutral. And some days I’m all for it. None of those things are a problem by themself, but. It’s completely unpredictable. I never know what to expect.” You stare down at your hands. “My partners never. Get it, I guess. Or, sometimes they do. But they just don’t have the patience to deal with it. Make it feel like my fault when I don’t want to fuck. I guess as a result, I tend to do that thing. That you worry about. Where, if I’m not having a great time I don’t say anything. Because. I don’t think there’s anything they can do.” 

He’s silent for a while. You don’t blame him. It’s a heavy confession. What do you even say to somebody in response? 

He starts with, “I’m sorry people have made you feel like that.” 

It’s enough to get you to look at him again. Knees tucked less against his chest. Sitting cross-legged now, facing you. Still lip bitten and frowning, but less afraid. Less anxious.  

“You could have a sexual dysfunction.” He shrugs. A little smile appears on his face for a moment before fading. “Or, just straight up could be asexual. But. That’s not the point. Neither of those things would be your fault. Neither of those things are shameful either. And your partners shouldn’t have made you feel like they were.” 

You have to look away again when tears spring to your eyes. It takes you a few breaths to banish them. To hide your... what are you feeling? Relief? Embarrassment? You’re feeling seen, mostly. 

“I’m not the best at communicating what’s precisely what’s on my mind, but-” the words are out of your mouth before you have a chance to think them through. “I assume you’re familiar with the stoplight system.” 

“Yes.” 

“I can give you a bunch of yellows. As a ‘slow down and let me figure out how to tell you what’s wrong.’ Yeah? I might not know how to perfectly express when something’s not working, but I can at least be honest and tell you when it’s starting to happen.” 

He’s silent.  

Perhaps for a moment too long, because it has you anxious. “Will that help?” 

He lets out another breath. And then suddenly your hand is enveloped in his.  

You startle at the unexpected contact, meeting his gaze. He’s giving you another of those small smiles. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think that will help. Thank you.” 

You smile back. Squeeze his hand for a moment before scrambling off the couch, trying to pretend you aren’t psyched out by that one piece of contact. Nervous rambling returns in place of your carefully thought-out confessions. 

“And hey, worry a little less about hurting me. I could be into it.” 

You regret the jest immediately, face pulling into a cringe. Is it too soon to make weird kinky sex jokes? It’s definitely too soon for that, right? 

You escape towards the kitchen. 

Veron is frozen, temporarily shocked out of his budding anguish. 

He laughs. A winded, raspy sound. 

“You-” he glances at you. Shakes his head and stares down at his hands, steepled between his knees. Rubs his face, still smiling. “Sure. Whatever you’re into.” 

“Don’t say that,” you open the pantry. Wielding manic banter to hide your embarrassment. “You don’t know what I’m into.” 

He sits back. Stares up at the ceiling with that small smile at his lips. “I promise I’ve seen kinks far more scandalous than yours.” 

He’s probably right. But the change to the atmosphere is nice, so you let yourself scoff at him in mock indignance. “I might have an unpredictable sex drive and difficulty coming, but I can still be into weird stuff.” 

He lets you make self-depreciating jokes about your kinks, occasionally quipping back until you start lunch and the pair of you fall into companionable silence.  

He joins you on the other side of the counter. Watches you eat. 

You finish your barebones meal and tidy up. You’re ready to call it there. To give him a pat on the shoulder and get back to work.  

He breaks the silence. 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. If you did want me to hurt you during sex.” 

You drop a fork in the sink and let out a groan. “I just managed to break the tension. You really want to build it again?” 

“You’re very kind.” 

“I’m averagely kind. Why don’t we wait until we’ve actually had sex before discussing that kind of stuff.” 

You watch from your peripheral as his whole demeanour changes. The seriousness returns, though his gaze is no longer anxious or fretful.  

“It’s important for me to know my partner’s boundaries. Along with the things they want and enjoy.” 

You don’t quite meet his eye. Partner. The word is pretty intimidating in this context (He’s referring to you, after all). 

But not inaccurate. You’re working together, for better or worse. He’s trying to be forthcoming. And you can appreciate that. So you suck it up and make yourself participate in another hard discussion, this time hunched over either side of your kitchen counter. 

It’s more confronting now. More obvious when you’re avoiding his gaze. 

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself first?” 

Your question only hangs in the air for a moment before Veron shrugs. Eyes brightening at your concession. 

“Well. I like oral sex. I especially like giving it.” 

Your cheeks warm and you hide a smile. Yeah, you’d gathered that much. 

“I like fingering, but have to use magic to get rid of my claws. It’ll probably won’t be worth the energy cost in the coming days.” 

At his words you can’t help but glance in his direction. Peek at his hands.  

“I like touching, and being touched. I’m very tactile. Most stimulus is good stimulus. So if you want to get a bit rough with me you can. Pulling hair, tail, horns. Though when you pull somebody’s tail you should grip close to the base to avoid injuring it.” 

“Like hair pulling,” you add. 

“Like hair pulling,” he nods. Then gestures to his legs, “though my fur is short enough that you’d be hard pressed to not pull near the base.” 

You glance over his shoulder. “What about your wings?” 

They twitch under your stare, the stubby things flexing and unflexing. 

“They don’t get in the way too much. I can put weight on them. But I don’t like to do it for long periods of time. So laying on my back for more than a few minutes gets uncomfortable.” He flexes again, leaning forward so you can see the membranous expanse. They have a wide base, jutting out into prominent stumps and ranging along the slope of his back. Despite this they don’t span any further than Veron can reach his arms, looking more fit for gliding rather than proper flight.  

“Are they sensitive?” 

“Yes,” he tilts is head. “But not particularly erogenous. Still, if you’re going to be rough with them, I’d work up to it. Don’t just yank them around out without warning.” 

You glance up at Veron’s face before looking away again. Making yourself engage with the topic, you clear your throat. “I, uh, feel the same. About roughness. Mostly. In that I don’t mind it, but need to be... eased into it, I guess. Every time, I mean.” 

“Of course. That’s generally how bodies work.” He pauses. “Do you have any other preferences? At least when it comes to the basics?” 

It’s weird to let your mind wander towards sex when you’re having a serious conversation. To actively ask yourself how you want it while trying to maintain appropriate eye contact and body language. 

“Um. I suppose. I don’t mind being gagged or restrained? But not both at the same time.” 

“So you can communicate?”  

“So I can communicate,” you nod.  

“Do you like being gagged or restrained?” He adopts an almost flirty tone. 

You have to drop your eyes again. Shrug. “Yeah, sometimes. It depends on my mood I suppose.” 

“Do you ever dislike being gagged or restrained?” He sounds more curious this time. No longer flirty. Relaxed. 

You’re surprised at the question, and realise you appreciate it too. “Yes. If I’m having a high pain day, bondage can make it worse, or just be very unsexy. And being gagged when my mouth is dry is unpleasant.” 

“Fair enough. Does pain impact your vanilla sex too?” 

You find your answers coming easier now. These are the type of questions you actually wish your previous partners had thought to ask. “It can. Like... if I’m with a spontaneous partner. Being manhandled is hot, but I don’t like it if I don’t know what position they plan to put me in, because I worry it might hurt.” 

He nods, thoughtful, taking a moment before replying. “So what I’m getting is: discuss how you’re feeling before starting any sexual acts, check if there’s anything you distinctly don’t want to do, and communicate before any changes.” 

You take a moment to think it over. Then, “Yeah. That sums it up nicely.” 

“What about your pussy?” 

You sink back into embarrassment. “What about my pussy?” 

“How’s it work?” 

You bark out a laugh at his question. “Like any other, I assume?” 

“You do alright with penetrative sex?” 

“Yeah. I can enjoy it.” 

“Do you like being stretched out beforehand?”  

You’d never considered it before, and shrug. “I mean. If I’m horny, I like foreplay. If I’m just getting my partner off, I rush a bit more. Provided I’m wet enough, I don’t need to stretch.” 

He seems to consider that answer, brow creasing. “Well, I can get you wet easily enough. But I’m a bit bigger than the average human. Will that be a problem?” 

You raise your brow. “I mean. The most I’ve felt is discomfort, at trying to put a toy too far in. So I’ll let you know. But the problem is the other thing. I don’t always get wet enough.” 

“My saliva is literally designed to arouse and lubricate. We should be fine on that front.” 

His frankness might embarrass you any other time. But having him stay calm and serious in the face of an uncomfortable discussion is a relief. 

“What about you?” 

“Hmm?” 

You gesture towards his lower half. “Is demon anatomy different to human?” 

He grins. “Oh. Yeah. Though it varies from species to species. Personally, most of my stuff is internal.” 

Before you have a chance to respond he steps back from the counter, shoves his coat back, and runs his hands up his belly, moving some of the fur out of the way. 

Your eyes fly upwards, practically scandalised. You know he’s been walking around without anything beneath the coat, but you hadn’t tried to get an eyeful. 

“Just a sheath. And my cock pops right out when I get aroused. See?” 

You keep your eyes averted. “A verbal explanation would have sufficed.” 

He lets the coat drop and leans back against the counter. “Right. Sorry.” He looks more sheepish than apologetic. 

You roll your eyes. “So. Do I need to worry about pregnancy? STDs?” 

He regains some seriousness at the topic. “Pregnancy, no. Well. You’re one hundred percent human?” 

“Yes?” 

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem. Non demons can only get pregnant while they’re in Infernus, as a general rule. And unless I’ve caught a disease from sitting on a toilet seat or whatever, you should be safe on the other front.” 

“That’s a myth you know.” 

“Sure. Point being, I know I was infection-free before,” he gestures towards the balcony, “you know. The world ended. So. Seven weeks ago. And since then I’ve not put my dick inside of anyone. Or put my mouth on anyone for that matter.” 

It wasn’t a large concern, but you can’t deny that it was still there, in the back of your mind. Still, you can’t help but frown. “Have you really gone that long without feeding?” 

He winces. Then shrugs. “I’ve had some... encounters, I guess you could call them. Two of them were more self-defence than feeding. Seducing myself out from a gun to the head. They were both in group settings, and I didn’t feel safe enough to stick around with those survivors. And then, maybe two weeks ago I found somebody else. I... couldn’t do anything to help them. But they helped me. I used up most of my reserves just- ...it was bad. I don’t want to get into it.” 

You give a slow nod. There’s a long moment while you process what he’s left unsaid. While you contemplate just how hard Veron has actually had it. 

You bring your fist to his shoulder. Bump him gently. “It’s been hard for me talking about sex. But, like. It’s not a big part of my life, you know? I can just opt out. I’m sorry you’ve. Literally, got to deal with it. That you’ve had those experiences. That you had to have them.” 

He takes your hand again. Squeezes it. “It’s over now. But thanks.” 

The atmosphere is heavy again, and you wish you could do more to banish the tension. Instead, you push through. “I don’t really have any more questions. Is there anything else you’d like to know?” 

He drops your hand. Adopts one of those flirty smiles. “I mean. We could compare kinks and fetishes. Or, I could joke about putting the things we’ve learned to the test.” 

You squint. “Is that your way of using a pickup line without committing to using a pickup line?” 

He shrugs and the smile turns apologetic. “More like, this is where I’d use the pickup line if I weren’t on sex rations.” 

You can’t help but laugh at his phrasing. 

He blinks and tilts his head. Staring, like he didn’t think he’d been that funny, that he didn’t expect you to laugh at his joke.  

“I trust you’ll think up a new one to use tomorrow, yeah?” 

His eyes soften and he makes a smooth recovery, pulling up another smile. “Sure. One corny pickup line, made to order. I’ll have it ready tomorrow.” 

Next

[freddie-weaselbee]

Someone Blue//F.W.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader 

Warnings: Slight language, angst, a lot of confusion, fluffy ending

Summary: Fred spots a familiar face at his brother’s wedding, and has a sinking suspicion about why she’s acting so upset during this time of celebration. 

Prompts: Enemies to Lovers (kind of) and Weddings with the dialogue prompts “you look like you need a hug” and “did you need something?”

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Day 1 of @theweasleyslut‘s 2k writing challenge 

Angelina looked absolutely ethereal, skin glowing in the shimmering lights as she glided across the grass as if it was a ballroom floor. Her white dress was slightly stained, mostly from when her now husband tackled her to the ground after their first kiss as a married couple, and yet it only made her seem all the more angelic. 

George’s feet seemed to never touch the ground. He was moving at record speeds, prancing and hopping and skipping around the dance floor, dragging his wife along with him. It was the most joyful Fred had ever seen him. 

Not when they left Hogwarts, not when they opened their shop, not even when Angelina said yes to the proposal could have compared to the happiness on George’s face. Nor Angelina’s. They were in a pure state of bliss. 

The rest of the wedding-goers seemed to match their energy. Fred couldn’t go anywhere without being bombarded with drunken laughs and horrid dancing, and the occasional congratulations or two from some tipsy guests who didn’t know that the man they were talking to wasn’t the groom. 

All in all, it was an amazing night. The field behind the burrow had become a traditional wedding venue for the growing Weasley children, so far hosting Bill, Percy, Ron, and now George’s days to remember. The tents and lights were all set up as they were with Bill and Fleur’s wedding, except this time there was no risk of Death Eaters ruining the event. Hopefully. 

However, while making his way around to talk to (and flirt with) the guests, Fred happened to notice one person who did not fit the overzealous tone. Well, he didn’t really happen to notice. Rather he’d been staring at her throughout the entire night, watching her somber mood break through her happy façade. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone. 

You were standing by yourself, but you weren’t secluded from the action. Rather, you were right in the middle of things, on the very edge of the dance floor, staring out at the masses of bodies swinging their partners around. Your arms were crossed over your chest, a defensive position that Fred had seen so many times in you before. 

He turned away and tried to ignore it. It wasn’t any of his business if you were upset. The two of you were barely even friends anymore. You had cut him out of your life so many years ago and never looked back. To this day, Fred still didn’t know why, and it killed him. 

He wanted to walk away. To go the other direction toward a beautiful guest wearing a flowing red dress, hair done up perfectly. The stranger would be the smart choice. A fun way to spend the evening, dancing around and snogging under moonlit trees. But, against his better judgement, Fred’s heart wouldn't let him leave. 

Sighing, Fred lifted his feet and made his way in the other direction, to the girl who couldn’t care less about him. 

You stood unmoving, except for a subtle sway to the music. People brushed by you, but you paid them no mind. You were too focused on something else. As Fred drew nearer, he was able to follow your line of sight to the people in question. The newlyweds. 

Fred bristled before softening slightly. Of course. This must be about George. Back at Hogwarts, Fred was positive you had the biggest crush on his brother. You were always tagging along with their jokes, even when they got you into huge trouble. You definitely spent more time alone with George than Fred, sharing whispers and stares at the expense of the older twin. He could never get George to break and tell him what you two talked about. George even took you to the Yule Ball in your 6th year. You had never looked as radiant as you did that night, except for maybe this moment. Fred wished he had asked you to dance at the ball, but he never worked up the courage to. He didn’t want you to internally grimace at the thought of dancing with the “lesser” Weasley twin when George was right there. 

In his recollection of memories, Fred hadn’t noticed how close he had gotten to you, and how you were no longer gazing at the couple dancing. You were now staring at him. 

“Did you need something?”

Fred was shaken out of his imagination, met with an annoyed glare but soft smile coming from you. His surprise was immediately replaced with his signature cocky grin, leaning his hand onto one of the wedding tables while keeping his gaze on you. Unfortunately, his hand accidentally dipped into a wine glass, but he quickly pulled it out and hoped you didn’t notice. You did. 

“Well, that’s not a very nice way to greet one of your oldest friends, now is it?” Fred wiped his wine-covered hand on his suit pants and slipped it into his pocket, pretending to be unbothered by his previous mistake. 

You turned your eyes away from him, once again gluing them to the dance floor. “I think it’s fitting, seeing as how you were creepily staring at me for about 5 minutes before I said something.”

Fred’s ears grew pink at the accusation. “I, umm, I didn’t realize it was that long. Or that you noticed. Sorry.” He bashfully rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to glance around at other guests who might interest him more. 

“You still haven’t answered me.”

Fred cocked his head to the side in question. 

“Why’d you come over here? Was there something you needed?”

“Ah, yes well,” Fred began smoothly, “I saw this darling beauty from across the tent and I just could not take my eyes off of her--”

“Fred,” you interrupted. You were looking at him again, your gaze piercing through him, forcing him to tell you the truth, to tell you everything about him. His fears, his hopes and dreams, what he had for breakfast this morning. He wanted to tell you it all. 

“The truth, please.”

Clearing his throat, and his mind of whatever thoughts just plagued him, Fred decided to be honest. You deserved that much. 

“You look like you need a hug,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. 

Evidently, those were not the words you were expecting to hear. You were prepared with about a dozen quips to say in response to whatever cocky joke Fred was about to make. But he didn’t, and nothing could have prepared you for what he did say. 

“I--I need a what?”

“Sorry, have you lost your hearing or was I not loud enough? It’s definitely not the second; you’ve told me on numerous occasions that I have the biggest mouth of anyone you know.”

There it was. But it still made you giggle, relaxing and gravitating closer to your companion. 

“I heard you,” you said, “just wasn’t expecting that from you, I guess.”

Fred took a half step closer, visibly glad when you didn’t move away. “Wasn’t expecting me to have noticed your behavior, or wasn’t expecting me to care if I did?”

It took you a few seconds to respond. “Both.”

He let out a sound of understanding before you both averted your eyes, looking straight ahead. Occasionally, Fred would try to look at you using his peripheral vision, and you would do the same. It became a kind of game--just an awkward back and forth between two people who used to be so close, and were now so far apart.

You game ended when one of the wedding guests decided to clink their glass, beginning a chorus of high pitched chimes to echo throughout the room. You watched as George turned to find Angelina, running to her to give her a kiss so full of love and passion that it took everything Fred had not to shout out a joke and ruin the moment. He could do that next time. 

He noticed you stiffen at the kiss, presumably because it was just another reminder of what you couldn’t have. George. 

“You know, I always wanted to be a Weasley.”

Fred was surprised that you had spoken to him, and even more surprised about the turn the conversation had taken. 

“I grew up with you guys,” you continued, not waiting for Fred to respond. “Molly was like my second mother, even though she always liked Hermione and Harry a bit more than me.”

“Join the club,” said Fred, causing you to laugh loudly, a sound he hadn’t heard from you in ages. Godric, how he had missed it.

“It’s just…” you trailed off, not knowing if you wanted to be open with Fred, someone you hadn’t spoken to in years. Chances were, you wouldn’t keep in touch much after the wedding, so you might as well. What was there to lose? “It’s just...seeing Angelina, one of my best friends, dance around, wearing that ring, getting to be an actual Weasley. It’s...it’s making me a wee bit jealous.”

Fred watched you fidget with a bracelet on your wrist and decided to push his luck just a bit more. “And you’re wishing that it could be you wearing the ring, married to a certain Weasley gentleman?”

The shock was evident in your expression. “No, no, it’s not--I mean I never…” Sighing, you decided to come clean. “Yeah, I’ve maybe been harboring feelings for a certain twin for, oh I don’t know, my entire life. No biggie though, it’s totally fine that he never asked me out.”

The ginger beside you threw an arm around your shoulder, handing you a glass of wine in the process. “Drink. It makes everything better.”

You glared at him, but took the glass anyways, chugging it down in a few large gulps. “Another, please,” you demanded, and Fred obliged. 

You started to ease into Fred’s side, as soft and comforting as you remembered it to be, before realizing exactly what it was you were doing. “Fred, can I ask you something?”

“‘Course. You can ask me anything.” The absolute last thing Fred wanted to be doing at the moment was talking about your undying love for his twin brother, at his wedding no less, but he didn’t want to leave you alone. Not seeing you for so long had had a harsher effect on him than he thought, and he didn’t want to leave your side. 

Taking a deep breath and gathering your courage, you asked him the question that had been plaguing your mind for years. The one that ate you from the inside out and kept you tossing and turning at night. The reason you had to separate yourself from your love in the first place. “Why am I not good enough?”

Your voice broke a tiny bit, but a lot less than you had been expecting. A tear did happen to slip out, and Fred quickly wiped it away, his fingertip resting on your cheek for a moment too long. 

“Y/N, love, come here.” Fred pulled you into that hug he had talked about earlier, holding you closely to his chest. If he thought you were going to appreciate the gesture, he was wrong. You pushed him away softly, refusing to let any more tears fall. 

“I’m serious, Fred. W-Why am I not good enough? I’ve made it clear for years and yet...nothing. And not even a simple rejection. I could’ve handled that, y’know. If I got a simple no, I could’ve handled it and moved on. But I never did, and it’s killing me. Why am I not good enough?”

It killed Fred to see you this upset, and it hurt him even more to see that the anger was directed at him and not at George. It was his brother that broke your heart after all, not him. “You are good enough!” Fred said, with enough truth and force that a little part of you believed it. “You’re, you’re too good! You’ve been by our side from the beginning and haven’t left it since. Well, we haven’t seen you in years, but that’s probably because of--”

You nodded, confirming what he thought. Your heartbreak had driven you away. 

“But other than that,” he continued, “you’ve been like my third arm. Any guy would be crazy to give you up, you know that?”

 A tiny smile grew on your face, but was gone as soon as it had arrived. “The timing...the timing was just all wrong, wasn’t it?” you asked. 

Fred nodded, watching his brother and his wife greet guests and take pictures that were sure to be on the mantle in the burrow as soon as the wedding was over. “Yeah, I guess so. The prick should’ve asked you out sooner.”

“Oh I agree wholeheartedly, he is a prick,” you said, poking his arm, a gesture that slightly confused him. “So, I’m guessing there’s no chance of anything happening now? No sliver of hope that maybe this could work out?”

He hated that he would be the one to crush your dreams, but he couldn’t let you keep living in false hope. “Well,” he said, “the wedding bands are on and they both said ‘I do.’ Kind of hard to come back from that. I’m sorry.”

You froze, now more befuddled than you had been all night. “I...what?”

Before Fred could say anything you reached to grab his left hand, checking his ring finger for something you knew wasn’t there, but you had to be sure. 

“Wedding bands? What in the world do you--” Realization hit you like a brick, and you wanted to slap yourself. Or Fred. Either one. But preferably the latter. 

“Frederick, my dear love, who do you think we have been talking about this whole time?” you asked, voice genuine but also teasing. 

Fred didn’t know what you all of a sudden found so amusing, but he was already doubting himself and he didn’t want you to make fun of him for whatever he had done wrong. 

“Umm, well you said a Weasley, and then you said a Weasley twin. So I thought the answer was obvious.”

“Say it,” you demanded. “Who have we been talking about? Who am I in love with after years of unrequited feelings?”

He felt like he was walking into a trap, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He hesitated for a few seconds before your searing gaze forced him to answer. “George. We’re talking about my brother George.”

No sooner had his words left his mouth than your hand came up to slap his head. “You idiot! Are you serious right now?”

Fred stood flabbergasted, racking his brain for who else you could have been talking about. George was a Weasley twin. You said you were in love with a Weasley twin. Who else was there?

“It’s you, you big oaf!”

Oh. OH! There were two Weasley twins, and he was one of them. Which meant…

“You’re in love with me?!”

By this point, heads were turned to watch the scene and people were not-so-subtly whispering to their partners. 

You dragged a still surprised Fred through the crowd and out of the tents, finding a secluded enough area where you could talk. 

Fred’s brain had still not been caught up. “It’s me? You’re in love with me? But, but what about George?”

You furrowed your brow, wondering how Fred could have so easily mistaken your feelings for him as those for another. “What about George?”

“You’re in love with him!”

“I most definitely am not!”

“The Yule Ball!” he spat out. “You went to the Yule Ball with him when we were 16!”

“Yes,” you said calmly, “and you went with Angelina, but I don’t see you two getting married. We went as friends and I talked to him about you the entire night. In fact, most of the time when we hung out I was talking about you. Made him swear not to tell though. I was never good about expressing my feelings.”

Fred put a hand to his head, a growing throb threatening to overtake his senses. “But why were you so sad tonight? You wanted to marry George!”

“No,” you said patiently. “I was sad because Angelina and George’s relationship worked out the way I was wishing one between you and I had. They fell in love during school, dated a few years later, and now she’s a part of your family. I wasn’t wishing it was just me out there with your brother. I was wishing that it was our wedding.”

You blushed heavily and buried your face in your hands, embarrassed by your bluntness about your feelings. “Oh, Godric, I shouldn’t have said that, now it’s more awkward. I, umm, I should probably get going.”

Fred grabbed your wrist before you could leave, pulling you into his chest. His eyes were wide, mouth hanging slightly ajar as he gazed down at your muddled expression. 

“It’s me. I’m the one you love.”

He said it as more of a declaration rather than a question, but you could tell that he needed confirmation. 

“Of course, Freddie,” you said. “It’s always been you.”

His hand wasted no time in going to the back of your head, pulling your face into his and melding your lips together in your first kiss with Fred Weasley. After the shock wore off, you were hastily kissing him back, hoping against all hope that he wouldn’t pull back and proclaim what a stupid mistake this all was. But he never did. You kissed and kissed and kissed until you were the one who had to pull back in order to catch your breath. 

It took you both a few seconds to realize what had just happened, and for the first time you both were at a loss for words. “That was, umm…” you mumbled, trying to think of what to say. 

“I love you too.”

Fred’s words were rushed out of his mouth, voice deep ragged. “I mean, when you said it was me, not George, that you loved. I, well, I love you too. Always have. Guess I just thought that you had a thing for George and I had no chance. Pretty silly of me, huh?”

“Downright stupid of you,” you replied, giggling as he pushed you away with a bashful smile gracing his lips. 

“So,” he said quietly, inching closer to you once again, “is there a chance of anything happening now?” Fred repeated the words you had said earlier, making you smile wider than you had all night. 

“Depends,” you said. “Are you gonna get the courage to ask me out?”

Fred waited for a moment before answering. “How about,” he said, offering his arm out for you to link with yours, “we have that dance we never got at the Yule Ball. And then that date we never got after, and then that relationship we never got as well. Oh! And then that wedding, and then a dog, maybe a few kids, a big house in the country--”

“Woahhh, slow down buddy, you haven’t ever properly asked me!”

You took his arm and made your way back to where the music continued to blare and festivities raged on. 

“Y/N, love, may I have this dance?”

You pushed a strand of hair from his face, ruffling it up a little to give it that signature Fred Weasley style. 

“Of course, Freddie. And every dance after that.”

Tag List:

@famdomhideout @amourtentiaa

[sweetestlamb]

Let's Play A Love Game

Author's note: this one is rated 😈 so yeah. There was originally more angst in my mind but once I got to that part I was over it lol I'm the worst at angst I much rather make it naughty. It's more rushed than I wanted but I don't really have time to write 10k fics right now. But hopefully soon.

Summary: it's just pretend, right?

She hadn't meant to push the event in the corner of her mind until she forgot about it completely, so much so that when the e-vite showed up in her inbox she stared at it in wide eyed shock not even noticing Mi-Seon creeping up behind her.

"It's already time for that? I usually know it's coming because you start buying expensive dresses you can't afford and crying at your credit card bill. Maybe country life has really changed you hm?"

False. Inaccurate. Utterly wrong to the every core.

She lets out a shrill scream letting her head fall painfully on her desktop.

"I'm an idiot! Just kill me now, I deserve it." She has nothing to wear, okay the mountain of boxes in her living room, bedroom and some hidden in the linen closet beg to defer but none of that is worthy of this event. The annual dentist convention in Seoul, it's a week long getaway. It's meant to be an opportunity to build connections and attend professional learning classes, but that has long been abandoned. Now it is a fashion show and chance to show off your success and this year more than ever she has to impress everyone. They all look down on her and her cute little practice. Those judgemental snarky bitches.

"Do we have anymore patients?" She absently asks her best friend, only friend already getting up and walking away.

"No that was the last one. Do you want to call it a day?" She doesn't give a verbal reply lost in her phone and the disease that is online shopping, in the span of three minutes she has already added seven dresses to her cart.

"Chief Hong is going to have a long day."

It's just as Mi-seon says the next day the nosy know it all shows up glaring at her over the handful of packages in his arms.

"Don't tell me you're doing this again. What more could you possibly have to order? How much things does one woman need?" His voice is an air warmer than the last time they were in this very same position, but she tries not to think too hard about it. Their relationship is too confusing these days, as temperamental as the sea.

"Are delivery men allowed to complain this much when they're doing a job they are getting paid for?" She snarks back, snatching her packages from his arms with a huff. Ignoring the grin on his face as she disappears into her house.

"That better be all you order. I'm not coming back."

He comes back. At least six more trips, more boxes each time on the last day he doesn't simply leave after making his delivery.

"I'm coming in for tea because of you I've been working too hard." She squeaks indignantly as he pushes past her, their shoulders brushing in the tight space of the doorway.

She should wait until she doesn't have an audience but she's too impatient so while he's making the tea in her kitchen (so rude and intrusive), she starts to open a few boxes pulling out the contents. Dresses, blouses, shirts, hair accessories, lipsticks in all shades and hues, and of course shoes; heels, flats and everything in between.

"Your house looks like a department store." She jumps at his voice glancing up at him, almost laughing at the hedgehog mug that he's drinking out of that Mi-seon gave her as a joke. Leave it to him to pick the most ridiculous mug.

"Hurry up and go so I can try everything on." She starts to take the objects out and organize them, putting together possible outfits lazily.

"Why not have a fashion show?" He slurps loudly at the tea, sighing and smiling down at the warm beverage. Acting like he's never had tea before, such a plebian.

"A fashion show?"

"Yeah, model all that", he motions to the new boxes littering her bedroom floor, "and I'll let you know what looks good."

She scoffs, loudly looking at his lackluster outfit; a simple white tee tucked into dark cargo pants with suspenders.

"What do you know about fashion?" She replies meanly, despite the little voice in her mind that reminds her that while his outfits are more practical than fashionable there is something distracting about the way his shoulders fill out his shirts and the way his long legs sit in his pants.

He shrugs looking down at himself, "I'm the town handy man I have no need to look good. But I'm still a man I can tell you what I think looks good on a woman."

Oh. It's a nonchalant statement said with no real heat but the implications make her skin warm up, she's never once thought that he saw her as a woman; nor considered looking at him like a man. (Lies.)

"I--why woul--why?" She stutters through an answer, tongue heavy in her mouth. He looks back nonplussed, sitting down pointedly on her couch.

"Never took you for the shy kind. You growing bashful now Ms. Dentist?" His eyes twinkle with mischief and she knows that she's being played but she wants nothing more than to wipe that smug look off his face. Slamming her room door, she pulls off her casual house clothes and grabs the first thing that catches her attention- a buttery yellow dress that grazes her knee, pairing them with white heels and a high messy bun. A swipe of lip tint completes the look and she confidently opens her room door.

Du-sik is staring aimlessly at his phone and doesn't notice her reappearance at first, so she coughs loudly folding her arms and when his eyes land on her, a chill runs down her spine at the look that lands on her body. It's been a long time since a man looked at her in this way, his eyes are undressing her even though he was the one who implored her to dress up in the first place. She hates it. At least she should hate it. But she can't ignore the satisfaction that washes over her at his dumbfounded look, that smug look obliterated by her very first look.

"Well?" She pushes harder, twirling to give him the full look. His gasp is loud behind her, she knows exactly why. The deep revealing plunge that travels all the way to the small of her back. There's no way she would wear this to the convention much too suggestive but that's her business.

"Wher-" his voice cracks and this time she can't contain her smile, dimples flashing now at her clear affect on him, clearing his throat he tries again, "Where exactly are you going again?"

She hums turning back around, gleeful at the vibrant blush on his cheeks. So he is just a man after all.

"A dentist convention." She answers cheekily and he guffaws loudly, eyes narrowing at her like he knows exactly what she's trying to do. They stare at each other for a long moment and she ultimately breaks the stand still, realizing what's happening. It feels a lot like flirting.

Collecting herself, she barrels back into the room.

"What the hell are you doing?" She whispers to her reflection, face too flushed for her liking.

A hard knock at the door pulls her from her self chastisement, "You didn't even wait for my rating."

She sighs loudly covering her face in embarrassment at her own action. She doesn't even have alcohol to blame this time.

"I don't care. This was stupid, let's stop."

Of course he ignores her.

"I liked it. But it's too...sexy for convention. You should wear that for someone special. I doubt anyone with a beating heart would be able to resist you."

What the fuck.

This isn't who they are, when did they become comfortable enough for conversations like this? They despised each other, right? Confused and annoyingly flattered, she peels the dress off her body trying her hardest not to think about the fact that only a door separates him and her naked body.

"I would love to see the others. But I have to go, but if you want my opinion. Red is definitely your color."

"What?" She replies, but she can hear the too loud click of the front opening and then closing and just as capriciously as he arrived, he leaves. 

Burying something that feels a lot like disappointment she flops onto her bed, head fuzzy like its been wrapped in cotton.

"What is going on?"

They don't see much of each other the next day and it's unusual given how much they see each other on a regular basis but she refuses to think about it or even consider that he's avoiding her. He's just busy and she doesn't care anyway, they have nothing to do with each other.

The convention is in two days now, she has her overnight bag packed with all her new purchases and the messages have been pouring in their group chat. She's mostly chosen to ignore them but on a whim she decides to check what they're so excited about, only to feel her stomach drop.

Why isn't Hye Jin answering?

Maybe she's busy with her mystery man 😉

Oh! She has to bring him, we need to interrogate him!

Yoon Hye Jin don't pretend you don't see these messages!!

That she had forgotten about.

"Why did you tell them that he's interested in you? Has living here altered your brain, you idiot." She berates herself.

"Who's interested in you? Why are you an idiot?" Mi-seon looks curious from the doorway, without waiting for an invitation she hops onto the bed with two cans of beer. She grabs one, drinking it in a flash.

"Oh it's that kind of night." Mi-seon says excitedly running to grab more beers.

"So let me get this straight, you told them that Chief Hong is interested in you and that he's been chasing you but you're not interested?"

She nods meekly, wishing the floor would swallow her up.

"Why did you lie?"

That's the brunt of the issue, she's a liar. She should have sent her initial message and told them that there was nothing between them but how could she when they were all calling him handsome and acting like she finally did something right? She'd spent that entire dinner feeling like her teenage self on the outside looking in, wanting nothing more than to be someone worthy of being included.

"I know I should have told the truth."

"Yes, you should have told them that you're interested in him too."

Huh.

Time stops as she processes the words that her best friend just uttered. There is static in her head as she tries to make sense of it.

"What are you talking about?"

Mi-seon looks at her unimpressed.

"You can both keep lying to yourself but the rest of us aren't as stupid. You're both interested in each other. It's mutual."

She wants to ardently deny the accusation but the words are caught in her throat and all she can manage are refusing sounds.

"You've been wearing red all week." Mi-seon says accusingly and she jumps up in huff, "So what? I'm allowed to wear colors!"

"You hate wearing red. You said it makes your skin look too pale. You hardly ever wear it. So color me surprised when I learned that red is the favorite color of a certain part timer."

That damn town chat. There has to be a way to get Mi-seon out of it. Maybe it was a mistake letting her live here. She was learning too much.

"Don't even bother to deny it. I won't believe anything you say. But I think you should ask him to go with you, you'll get some time alone to figure this out."

There's nothing to figure out. They are..... acquaintances who can admit that the other is vaguely attractive at times. His face isn't all that bad and she's pretty, so it's natural that there is tension at times, like he said they were still humans.

So she doesn't tell him about her fib, pretending everything is fine until it's the day of the convention and her anxiety has all but smothered her and her hands have a slight tremble in them as she starts to drive.

"It's going to be fine. Everything will be okay." She doesn't believe a word she's saying to herself, her heart is thumping in her heaving chest. She doesn't want to go alone. Convincing Mi-seon to leave was a failed endeavour, her and that police officer becoming inseparable. She knew what that smile meant when her best friend had realized that she would have the house to herself. She could barely get a word in as Mi-seon started frantically shaving her legs then pushed her out of the bathroom to "shave her wild cat".

With a sigh she starts driving, the car too quiet despite what she'd told Du-Sik and the Gongjin grannies. Uncharacteristically she turns on the radio, kpop blaring from the speakers. She recognizes the tune, never before has something as mundane as butter seemed so interesting but the kitchen essential was given new life by the song. She bops her head to the catchy beat, trying to ignore the fact that she's driving to the lion's den.

Some time later, she pulls into the hotel a valet already coming over to get her car. Grabbing her overnight bag, she exits the car handing her keys to the waiting hands of the valet.

Everyone is here and none of them had come alone, she was the only one without a plus one. They haven't noticed her yet so she watches as they all laugh at a joke she can't hear, unnecessarily stroking at their husband's chests as if to show off their exorbitantly priced wedding rings. Everything was always a competition here.

She shouldn't have come. Their was nothing about her life that they would be envious of. She was going to make a fool of herself. Impulsively she starts stepping back but it's too late, Hong In-A spots her and points her out and immediately all eyes are on her, they all start walking over to her and she wants nothing more than to run far, far away. Get on a bus and go to the beach and never see any of them ever again. But she's no longer a child, no longer that scared little girl; worked too hard to shed that skin.

Fortifying herself she puts on a fake smile. Ready for war.

"Hye-Jin ah, there you are. We were beginning to think you wouldn't come. You never responded in the group chat." Ye-Ri states with an attitude, looking around her as if searching for someone and eyes brightening when she sees no one. "Did you come alone?" This makes all of them perk up, looking around like chickens with their heads clucking. She swallows the shame the question elicits, "Who would I be with? I told you in already, it's not like that."

They all look at her with pity, it makes her want to slap them all across the face. Who were they to make her feel like shit, she didn't need anyone that didn't make her pathetic.

Finally one of the husbands cracks the awkward tension by introducing himself, she tries her best to ignore the pervasive way his eyes run down her body. Instinctively she crosses her arms, feeling naked under his stare. Nobody else notices her discomfort and after all the introductions, they all walk away as if she's no longer worth their time.

Lump in her throat she walks into the hotel, determined not to show them that they've gotten under her skin.

There's a scheduled lunch and she tries to find a new table but Sung-Mi waves her over and she doesn't see anyone else she recognizes or wants to sit with.

He hadn't been wrong, she has no friends besides Mi-seon.

"You were looking around, were you looking for someone? Are we not good enough to sit with?" The question is asked with a bite and sneer as if the idea is laughable that she would ever be better than any of them.

She swallows her pride, "No nothing like that. I was merely looking around."

Sung-Mi looks satisfied as if putting her in her place has righted her world.

They begin a conversation that completely excludes her, regaling drama that she knows nothing about and doing nothing to bring her up to date or invite her to join. It's the polar opposite of her experience in the countryside and with shocking clarity she realizes that she wishes she were there, it's only been a few hours but she misses it. Nobody looks down on her there, no usually she's the only doing that she notes with shame.

"I'll find the restroom." She says to no one because none of them are paying her any mind except the husband with the wandering eyes and she would much rather not have that attention.

Thankfully the bathroom is empty and she has to stop herself from splashing water on her face, her make-up was done perfectly it would be a waste to ruin it. Pushing her hair behind her ears she takes a deep breath and then another until her head is clearer, the noise lessening.

"It's only a day and a night. You've suffered far worst."

With that lacking pep talk she exits the bathroom, almost colliding into a wall. Wait, no it's just a person- a chest to be specific. She looks up ready to apologize when a familiar face stops her in her tracks.

"What are you doing here?" She stares flabbergasted at him, more dressed up than she's ever seen him. In a white suit with a white vest, the tee-shirt peeking under the only thing that feels like him to her. And his white sneakers. She can't hide her surprise at his sudden appearance and without thinking she starts to pull him to the side, to avoid being seen but she's not fast enough and soon they are swarmed by her colleagues, before she even has a chance to talk to him.

"Aren't you the man from the picture?" Yoo-Jin asks blushing way too much for a married woman if her husband's cold stare means anything.

"The picture?" Du-sik replies, clearly confused.

"You're the guy that's chasing after her. She told us that you liked her and you were courting her." Sung-Mi answers for her, she wants to vanish. It would be better if she had never existed. Even non-existence would be better than this embarrassing moment. "I got a picture of you two last time, when you followed her."

His eyes ping-pong between the group and her and she realizes this is his chance to ruin her. After everything she's done, all her rude comments and snobby remarks about the town and people he cares for so much, this is his chance for revenge. He can laugh and deny any feelings for her, tell them all that she's a liar and he's never been interested in her, not even once. This is what is going to happen. She prepares herself for the fall out, surely after this she won't be able to show her face in Seoul again.

He starts to laugh and her stomach tightens, her palms are so sweaty.

Here it goes.

"Oh I guess she wanted to keep me a secret."

Wait. What. That doesn't sound like denial.

"We're together now. I finally bulldozed those walls and made her mine. Nice to meet you all I'm Hong Du-sik, Hye-Jin ah's boyfriend."

Her eyes widen as he bows and starts to shake hands with the husbands, the one that stared at her looking disappointed. Their handshake goes on for a second too long, eventually with the latter pulling away with a pained look. She's too confused to consider what that means.

"And you were so cold earlier saying you had no one. Did you want to make a fool of us?"

He answers for her, "It's nothing like that, my honey is still getting used to us. I'm sorry I'm so late I had something to take care of."

Her head is spinning too fast to keep up with everything happening and she's grateful when he excuses them and guides her outside with a large hand on her hip.

Fresh air is much appreciated and she takes in huge heaps of it as soon as they're free.

Then reality crashes down on her.

He knows about her lying.

He had called her bluff.

But he didn't out her.

"Why didn't you tell them the truth?" She finally manages to say, head still reeling.

But instead of answering he's staring at her legs, then slowly his eyes swivel upward cross her thighs curving around her hips, past her breasts (a bit too slow there) before moving to her collar and settling on her face.

"You look great."

She feels the heat rushing to her face. What was he doing to her?

It hadn't been in purpose but she finds herself in red again, an a line dress with criss crossing straps over her shoulder and a middle slit. It was conservative without being too formal or professional. She'd felt comfortable in it but now seeing that look on his face, comfort is the last thing she feels.

He was distracting her and she couldn't afford that with those harpies inside waiting for her downfall. They needed to get back on track.

"What are you doing here?" She tries again, but he responds with his own question, "Why did you tell them that I was chasing you?"

"It was a mistake. They thought we were together and I just....said that for no reason." It's half the truth.

"They don't seem like your friends. You looked like you needed someone on your side, so I just found myself saying we were together for no reason."

She looks at him blankly, heart pounding now. In her moment of weakness instead of kicking her, he'd lended a helping hand. What kind of person did it make her for expecting the former?

"So what now?" She asks still in disbelief that he's here and that he'd told people that there were dating, she would be angry and offended later that they had readily believed it. Perhaps it didn't seem too farfetched now with him looking like that right now.

"Well, don't look but they're watching us through the glass."

This time she finds herself turning to look and he's the one that has to stop her, he does so by suddenly grabbing her hand and tugging her into his body. She squeaks at the collision. Leaning down so his lips are level with her ear, he speaks, "We can give them a show. I'm happy to be your pretend boyfriend."

Why?

She yearns to ask him why he's willing to go this far for her? Why was he even here when she had never told him where the convention was taking place? But his words were hot on her ear and she's tired of being their source of entertainment so she nods looking up at him, "Just this once. I'm going to lean on you. Let me borrow your eraser and copy your homework."

He stares before a blinding smile graces his handsome face.

"Let's go then." His hand is heavy on her waist as he walks back towards the hotel, taking his role very seriously it seems.

He fits in perfectly. Able to talk about a plethora of topics to anyone he's introduced to and even she's impressed by him. Be it travel, philosophy or poetry he seems well versed in everything things that even she is ignorant to and it makes her regret the way she looked down on him before, he was anything but a country bumpkin.

She leaves him to his conversation to get a drink, a whiskey on the rocks. Needing something hard tonight.

Not that. Down brain.

"Yoon Hye Jin? I would recognize that face anywhere."

Twisting to face the voice, she sees a familiar face- old classmate. Rung Do-Bae, they weren't anything more than classmates despite his many, many attempts.

His eyes sweep over her hungrily. She swallows her drink, painting on a shallow smile.

"Sunbae, how nice to see you here."

Invading her space he grabs her hand, "There is no need for such formalities. You can just call me by my name, Hye Jin ah."

As if she ever would.

Gently she tries to extract her hand but he won't let go and she doesn't want to make a scene.

Suddenly she's warmed by a body pressing into her, she knows who it is without even looking, her body relaxes immediately.

"Sorry I got lost in conversation honey. Who might this be? Another friend of yours?" He thrusts his right hand out and Do-Bae has no choice but to release her hand to return his handshake. Scarily enough she's starting to become used to his nickname, barely reacting to him using it again.

"Yes, this is my sunbae from school. Sunbae this is Hong Du Sik my....."

She knows that this is all an act, they were doing this to help her but she can't bring her tongue to form around the word, boyfriend.

"Her boyfriend." He finishes for her, pulling her tighter to his body.

But Do-Bae looks suspicious now.

"Boyfriend? I thought you were still single. You never changed your status on SNS. I've checked."

"Why are you so curious about that?" Du-sik challenges in return, doing a great job of sounding like a jealous boyfriend. She's almost even convinced.

"Hye Jin ah and I have always had a very special relationship. Beyond that of a hoobae and sunbae. Isn't that right?" He directs the last bit to her and she feels Du-sik stiffen next to her, seemingly believing these lies. So she clears that up.

"I have no idea what you're referring to honestly. We have never had anything that would constitute as a "special" relationship. I would appreciate if you didn't spread such lies, especially to my boyfriend. Enjoy the rest of your night."

She tugs Du-sik away, not waiting for a reply from the other man. The conversation was over anyway.

When they get far enough he speaks, "You have a lot of admirers."

She raises an eyebrow at the non-sequitur.

"Are you surprised?"

He brushes a hand across her cheek, making her freeze.

"No. It makes sense."

She blinks slowly before laughing, it sounds fake even to her ears.

"You should have been an actor. Your acting skills are incredible." He doesn't laugh, doesn't move before they're pulled into another conversation and she tries not to think about how tightly his body is pressed against her own.

"How is he in bed? He hasn't left you alone all day, I bet it's passionate." As soon as lunch had ended they had invited her to a spa, she'd considered saying no but she knew they would talk about her even if she wasn't there so it was best to at least know what they were saying.

Du-sik looked sad to see her go, but she told herself that she wasn't good at reading his faces. They hardly knew each other.

"I can't remember the last time I had a passionate night of sex. Kids and a full time job, leave no time for that. I'm pretty sure he's cheating on me and I'm too tired to even care." Sung-Mi confesses and she's shocked when the others nod in agreement instead of threatening to castrate him, as she'd done when Mi-seon told her about her ex boyfriend cheating.

"I have no complaints. He's... attentive. He's always touching me and pushing his way into my space. He's gentle but passionate, and I like...that he's so much bigger than me." She knows she should stop, this is definitely taking the lies too far. But that night bleeds into her thoughts, making everything she's saying feel true. He'd been so gentle with her, those huge hands cupping her face. She wondered how they would feel on other parts of her body.

"Damn. Look at you getting horny just from remembering. I'm so jealous."

Jealous. There were envious of her, it was all she'd been hoping for but the happiness she expected to erupt never comes. Instead she feels cheap, like she'd used Du-sik for her own benefit. She had tainted that night. This wasn't what she wanted.

As the day had gone on she found herself looking at him too much, he'd come all the way just for her and regardless of her brain trying to minimize that, it was huge. He hated snobby people like them who based a person's worth in their monetary success and yet he put on a smile and chatted with everyone, letting them mock his way of life and call people like him useless dreamers. All while she did nothing to defend him and drank wine, happy that they were being accepted.

He was the perfect gentleman all day and he was getting nothing in return for this. It was all just to help her.

Would a friend truly go this far to help? Was she being naive or was it like Mi-seon said, was she lying to herself?

"I'm such an idiot."

Without another word, she flees the sauna rushing to the locker room and changing back into her clothes. Nobody follows her because they aren't her friends. Why had she wasted so much time trying to impress these people who aren't even truly happy in their own lives?

The drive back is long, and she doesn't know what she's going to say but she knows that she's tired of being scared.

Leaving the key in the car she rushes past the valet, into the hotel elevator pressing their floor and waiting impatiently.

It takes three tries to get into their hotel room but once the door opens, he's right there. Sitting in the seat by the window reading a book.

"You're back early. I thought you would be gone until three?" He looks up, dog earring his book and giving her his full attention. Her heart skips a beat.

"Why did you agree to do this for me? Why go through all this trouble for me?"

It's the same question he's been asking himself since he first met her. Why was he was interested in her and why did he keep wanting to save her?

It was the desire that led to him being here.

He had accidentally overhead Mi-seon talking to Eun Chol about being worried about her, the convention was overnight and everyone would be bringing someone and she'd be all alone. The thought of her alone and isolated, made him race to her without a plan. Only stopping at a store to buy his outfit so he would fit in with her crowd, he'd spent more in that shop then he usually did in a week. But it was worth it for her.

It was a miracle that she hadn't questioned his presence more, he knew it was shameless and deceiving but none of this felt like pretending to him. His jealousy had been real, he'd had to strangle the urge to kick the pervert husband with the wandering eyes and then the insistent sunbae who wouldn't take a hint. She was a vision in the red dress and it wasn't a surprise that men found her enchanting, he just didn't like them looking at her. But she wasn't his, never would be because he couldn't confess.

They weren't right for each other.

"Do you like me?"

That question again. Last time he had laughed it off, called it absurd. But it wasn't. Not liking her would have been absurd.

"I don't know why you're asking me that."

"Because I'm tired of us lying to ourselves. Don't laugh and don't you dare say it's absurd again."

He can't respond, he's stuck on the word "us". It wasn't just him, they were an us?

Hearing that gives him courage he had long thought had been most forever.

"I wasn't pretending today. Nothing was fake to me, I meant it all." It's terrifying, unchartered land for them and he waits to see which one of them will chicken out first. It's sure to happen.

"I'm going to kiss you." She says instead of running like he expected and secretly wished for.

And then she's crossing the room and leaning down to grab his face, she watches him giving him a chance to pull away but he does the opposite, this time he meeting her half way. As soon as their lips meet the kiss is already too much, she's sliding into his lap and he wraps his arms around her tugging her closer until their chests are squished together.

He hasn't kissed anyone like this in a long time.

Hasn't been this close to losing control in a longer time.

"You're dangerous." He whispers into her mouth and she giggles at the statement, wiggling in his arms and rolling into him forcing a punched out groan from his lips.

Carefully he lifts her shirt watching her face closely for any signs that she wants to stop but finding nothing but her palpable lust.

Her skin is unbelievably smooth and soft and he can't stop himself from stroking her, rubbing at her back his hands resting right above her butt.

"How long have you felt this way?" She asks softly seductively nipping at his neck and running a hand over his shirt to caress his stomach, he physically aches for her.

"I wanted you the moment I saw you. But I didn't feel this until you convinced grandma to get her implants. That was when it became more for me."

She looks surprised and he is too, that they're speaking so candidly about feelings they've always denied.

"What about you?"

She stops licking at his neck to look him in the eyes. He's nervous to hear her reply.

"I.... don't know."

He tries to hide his disappointment. Maybe she was starting to retreat back into her shell. Maybe he shouldn't have been so honest.

He's about to untangle them when she continues, "It wasn't at first sight but one day I found myself looking for you. Seeing you become the best part of my day, I started to count on you to be there for me. To expect it. Just like this, I've been scared to lean on anyone until I met you."

Now that's a confession.

Impulsively he stands with her still on his lap, forcing her to to latch onto him so she doesn't tumble to the floor. Not that this would ever happen because he would never let her fall.

"I could have fell!" She cries, clinging to his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist. Her half naked bra clad body so close to him is causing another biological crisis in his pants.

Walking to the large bed in the middle of the room he falls backwards, enjoying the view of her on top of him a little too much.

It's all probably too soon and they should probably slow down, but his body is strumming and he wants nothing more than to break her apart.

"I'm all sweaty. I should take a shower."

Instantly an image of her wet and naked under the downpour of a shower flashes in his mind and he has to twist away from her.

"Pervert." She accuses but he can hear how satisfied she is with his reaction. Damn tease.

"Do you want to join me?" She teases some more, having fun now that she knows her power over him.

He looks at her helplessly.

"Are you having fun? Remember what I told you before? I'm still a guy. You're sitting here in your bra taunting me, do you think I'm that much of a good guy? Do you think I don't want to throw you down, rip your clothes off and eat you alive? I'm so hard right now just seeing you naked would be enough to push me over the edge. So don't make propositions you can't follow through on."

She looks dizzy from his words, eyes hooded and glossy. He watches her gulp and then stagger off to the bathroom, without a word to him. It's probably for the best, everything is too charged right now.

A shower for her and many glasses of water for him later, she's back and it's almost time for dinner.

"I think they said dinner starts at 6. Should we head down?"

She glances at him, while opening her bag and pulling out skin creams and some fuzzy socks.

"Would you be opposed to ordering room service and staying here?"

It's the best offer he's heard all day, only second to her asking if he wanted to join her in the shower.

"What about your colleagues?" He asks to make certain that she's really okay with this.

"What about them?" She replies with a shrug and he grins picking up the room service menu.

They order too much food and not enough alcohol but neither of them want to forget this night. She tells him stories about her time in dental school and he's happy to get to know her better, chuckling at the funny stories and commiserating at the sad ones.

Before he knows it night has fallen.

And he realizes that they'll be sharing a bed. Unless she wants him to sleep on the couch.

She's wearing a big shirt and loose shorts and he still can't believe he gets to see her like this.

"Are you coming to bed?" She's already getting under the sheet and that answers his question, this is really happening. He starts to follow her lead, getting under the sheets but keeping a respectable distance between them.

"I'm cold." She announces suddenly and he starts to look for a thermostat in the room or an extra blanket, before realizing that she's looking at him over her shoulder, he stares back confused before she lifts an eyebrow and oh, he gets it. Carefully moving closer he feels her warmth surround him as they meet, forth to back.

"Took you long enough." She grumbles, pulling his arm over here body and settling back into him moving until she's comfortable.

She's so close and warm and her smell is all around him and he feels his restraint dissolving and when she presses back into him, her hip rubbing against his crotch he bites down on his bottom lip.

It's too much for him to resist and without warning or preamble, he's turning her to face him and swallowing her moan of surprise eagerly. He grabs her head firmly holding her in place and slips his tongue into her open mouth, her unique taste exploding on his taste buds. He's hungry for more. So he starts to tug down her shorts, heart beat thundering in his groin. She kicks the shorts away, and he groans at the sight of her panties she was trying to kill him, he was certain.

"You're the devil." He chokes out staring at red lace, he'll never be able to see the color again without getting a raging hard on.

"You haven't seen anything yet. Honey." The word drips from her tongue just like the real thing.

Forgetting all reason and logics he lunges at her, devouring her mouth and sticking his hand in her panties. She's so warm and fuck, wet drenching his fingers.

Simultaneously he thrusts his tongue into her mouth and his fingers in her wet folds, groaning as she melts like butter under his touch. There's no resistance, as he plunges two fingers inside her experimentally before picking up his place when she clutches onto him and grinds back on his fingers, begging the whole time.

"More, more, please!"

As if he could ever deny her anything, with one hand he grabs her ass and the other he thrusts into her opening over and over until her voice gets breathy and she starts to stutter, squirming wildly in his arms and he knows exactly what's coming: the beautiful end. So without warning he pulls back the sheet and slithers down her body, throwing her legs around his head and pushing his tongue in to the brim, hungrily drinking at her until she shakes and combusts in his arms. Sweet on his tongue, he swallows it all greedily.

He strokes her as she recovers from her high, climbing back up her body. So much for taking things slow, but he can't even think about regretting it when he sees the blissed out look on her face. He wants to imprint it in his mind. Nobody else will ever get to see this face but him.

"It's your turn." She says sounding loopy like she's drunk and he laughs as she reaches for the tent in his pants but misses his bulge and instead falls into him.

"You're tired. Go to sleep. That was enough for me, seeing you like that fulfilled every fantasy I've had. "

He truly means it. He's a giver. And it's not like he can't tug one out later in the bathroom with her face and moans playing on repeat in his brain.

She starts to argue, but her phone vibrating on the nightstand distracts her. Reaching over she picks it up before chuckling and flopping back into the bed.

"What?" He asks curious, jealous of whoever is making her smile like that.

Ignorant to his inner thoughts, she thrusts her phone into his face. The room is so dark it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the bright lighting of the phone, but once he can see he reads the message on her phone and starts to laugh too.

"Dusik is missing! Nobody has seen him all day!! We started a search party."

[ibijau]

Futures Past pt18 / on AO3

Nie Huaisang returns to the Cloud Recesses, and meets the people he's meant to befriend

Much to his surprise, Nie Huaisang realised upon returning to the Cloud Recesses that he had missed the place. Or rather, he had missed the friends who lived there.

All winter, Su She and him had exchanged letters, mostly to complain about every single thing that bothered them. When they finally met again in person, they were quite happy to do more of the same. They also discussed all the things they might do for fun that year. 

Su She, at long last, had risen in rank and been given more freedom than he used to have. He would have less classes to attend since he was now trusted to take charge of his own training to some degree, he would join more Night Hunts, he had been given a new jade token that allowed him to leave the Cloud Recesses at any time of the day as long as curfew was respected, and he would even be included among those juniors who patrolled to enforce the respect of the rules.

All this made Nie Huaisang so happy for his friend, that he did not realise at first all the implications this had regarding the amount of time they would get to spend together. Su She would be very busy in the future, but he promised he would do everything possible to still make time for his best friend, and Nie Huaisang easily believed him.

The other joy to be found in returning to the Cloud Recesses was not immediate. By the time Nie Huaisang had arrived there, Lan Xichen had not yet returned from a Night Hunt he’d gone on with Nie Mingjue. That was hardly a surprise. These two were usually far too serious in all things, but when they went Night Hunting together, they always stayed a little longer than really necessary. Nie Huaisang usually found that greatly amusing, and never missed a chance to tease his brother about skirting his duties. They seemed to have taken a particularly long time on this occasion, but since Nie Mingjue had complained a few times that he hadn't seen his friend in such a long while, it was not so odd. Nie Huaisang would have mocked his brother so much if he'd seen him before leaving home. 

Since he didn’t have a chance to do it that time, he instead teased Lan Xichen when he finally came home, on the same day most of the guest disciples were set to arrive, on the eve of the lectures' start. Of course if Nie Huaisang had been a good and dutiful person, he would have gone to the main gate to see those other guest disciples, and maybe try to strike a friendship with them as early as possible. But between trying to catch a glimpse of the boring friends his future self wanted him to make, and dropping by Lan Xichen’s house to see the friend he actually liked, the choice had been easily made.

Lan Xichen offered him tea and smiled when accused of dodging his responsibilities, but less warmly than Nie Huaisang had expected. In fact, he found that the older boy looked rather more tired than he should have been, and more nervous as well. He tried to ask about that, but Lan Xichen refused to dwell on the subject.

“There is just a lot to do, and you are right that I was gone longer than I should have,” Lan Xichen said. “Especially since Wangji is in seclusion… he was supposed to come out of it today, but I saw him earlier and convinced him to continue meditating alone for at least another month. There will be many energetic people among our guests this year, and I doubt he will enjoy their company too much.”

Nie Huaisang, who had found the Cloud Recesses even more fun without the constant threat of Lan Wangji being around to enforce the rule, could only nod. He didn't mind waiting a month to set in movement his older self's orders.

“And this had nothing at all with you wishing to have a little peace without your brother constantly enforcing the rules, does it?” he teased.

“I am nowhere near as rebellious as you seem to have decided,” Lan Xichen replied with an indulgent smile. “Though I suppose Lan Wangji does take a stricter approach to them than I do. I’m sure in time, he’ll learn that they are meant to be a guidance, not a restriction.”

“And that he should let his brother eat candies sometimes.”

Lan Xichen smiled, trying to hide a chuckle. That was enough to comfort Nie Huaisang. As long as he still enjoyed his jokes, Lan Xichen could not be doing badly. And after that the conversation soon moved on to music, giving Nie Huaisang a great chance to show off how hard he had worked all winter. By the time Nie Huaisang had to leave, Lan Xichen appeared in good spirits again, for which he congratulated himself.

-

When morning came, Nie Huaisang got up as early as he could manage after falling back on his old habits during winter, and headed toward the lecture hall with the other Nie disciples. There were a number of other boys assembled at the door, all waiting for the teacher to arrive. 

Among those, the ones dressed in purple attracted Nie Huaisang’s attention the most. He recognised Jiang Cheng of course, with Meng Yao next to him whose attitude seemed more that of a babysitter than a fellow disciple, perhaps because of that other boy standing near them who had a mischievous smile on his lips. Then, behind them, there were two other boys dressed in Jiang purple, plain and quite forgettable. Perhaps Wei Wuxian wasn’t there after all, or perhaps he had already entered the class to study on his own, as befitted someone who was destined to fall for Lan Wangji.

Even if that person was absent, Nie Huaisang decided he should go greet Jiang Cheng and Meng Yao at least, since he already knew them. But before he had taken even one step in their direction, he heard someone call out for him.

“You are Nie gongzi, right?” a haughty boy asked.

He was dressed in that shade of yellow that only the Jins ever thought pleasant, and his face bore a passing resemblance with Jin Zixun’s, except with much nicer features, and a far colder expression. All of this made it rather easy to guess his identity, even if they had never met.

“And you must be Jin gongzi,” Nie Huaisang replied with a polite nod. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Jin Zixuan said, returning the nod. “Since you are my cousin’s friend, I hope we can become better acquainted.”

Nie Huaisang gaped at the other boy.

“I’m what?”

“He’s too proud to use the word, but I know Zixun. He wrote about you several times last year, and he told me you helped him pass his exams.”

That this would be anywhere near enough to be considered a friend said a lot about Jin Zixun’s overall popularity. Nie Huaisang himself, who wasn’t exactly rich in friends, wouldn’t have used the word to talk about Jin Zixun, but he still felt flattered. In fact, he wondered if the acquaintance might be worth sustaining. Surely Nie Huaisang could try to write to Jin Zixun perhaps? He’d promised he would write to Xue Yang already, to give him a chance to practice reading and writing without the pressure of a classroom. If he was writing anyway, one more letter could be easy to fit into his very full schedule. Jin Zixun was a prick, but on occasions he'd been almost tolerable, so he wouldn't be the worst friend Nie Huaisang could make.

“He also said you became friends because he broke your nose,” Jin Zixuan added, his tone dripping judgement at the idea that anyone could ever put up with something like that.

Nie Huaisang self-consciously raised a hand to touch his nose, before quickly dropping it to his side, embarrassed by this habit he’d picked up.

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” he grumbled. “But I guess I did help him pass. And, well… if you want to be friends, I have no issues with that.”

“We’ll see about it,” Jin Zixuan retorted, before turning around and returning to his own group, as if it might dirty him to spend too much time with people who weren’t Jins.

Jin Zixuan was lucky to have such a pretty face and to be so rich, because it certainly wasn’t his personality which would make him friends, Nie Huaisang thought. He was at least as annoying as Jin Zixun, even though it was in a different manner.

He must not have been the only one to have that impression. When he turned his attention back toward the Jiang disciples, all of them save for Meng Yao were glaring in the direction of Jin Zixuan. Worse still, when their eyes wandered toward Nie Huaisang, it was clear that mere association with Jin Zixuan had instantly branded him as unpleasant to them. That was odd, though. Everyone knew that there was an engagement between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli, so surely there should have existed, if not friendship, then at least some degree of cordiality between disciples of their two sects. 

Nie Huaisang feared what starting with a disadvantage might do to the mission forced upon him, when already he wasn’t the best at making friends. But his eyes then met Meng Yao’s who, after whispering something to Jiang Cheng, walked toward Nie Huaisang and even bowed to him with far more deference than anyone had ever bothered to show before.

“Nie-gongzi, I am glad we meet again,” Meng Yao said. “I never had a chance to thank you before for your help that day.”

“I hardly did anything at all!” Nie Huaisang protested, waving his hands in embarrassment. “In fact, you were even hurt by my fault that time!”

“And yet I must insist in expressing my gratitude. If not for you and Lan gongzi standing up for me, I would not have been given a chance to become a cultivator, which has been my greatest dream since childhood. For this, I am in your debt.”

Nie Huaisang blushed a little. “Really, it was nothing. Any decent person would have done the same! And with a potential like yours, it was only natural that someone would take you as a student someday! How’s Yunmeng treating you? Are they nice to you? You can tell me if they’re not, and I’ll tell my da-ge, and he’ll tell them to be nice. But it’s Yunmeng, of course they’re probably nice, right?”

His rambling surprised Meng Yao, who appeared a little unsure how to answer. Probably he’d expected the young master of a great sect to be a little more eloquent than that, the way Lan Xichen was, or even Jiang Cheng. But it was difficult to keep cool in front of the boy who would have become the man who had killed Nie Mingjue.

How could that have even happened? Even after months in Lotus Piers, Meng Yao remained shorter than Nie Huaisang, and barely any heavier. How could someone like that…

“I think we’re treating him fine,” Jiang Cheng said in a dry voice as he joined them. “Though your concern commends you, Nie gongzi.”

Nie Huaisang jumped in surprise, and quickly bowed to him.

“Of course I didn’t mean to imply… and, well, he’s here to study, so clearly he is well treated, and your father must be quite impressed with him,” Nie Huaisang said, fidgeting with his sleeve. “I’m quite glad that things worked out so well!”

That other Jiang boy, the tall and handsome one, also joined them and threw an arm around Meng Yao’s shoulders to pull him close.

“It’s not Jiang-shushu who’s impressed with Meng Yao, it’s Yu-furen,” the boy said with a bright grin. “She’s the one who said he should come, because we’re less stupid when he’s with us.”

“She said you’re less stupid,” Jiang Cheng scoffed. “Don’t drag me down with you.”

“Yu-furen also thinks that having Meng Yao with us means that stupid peacock will keep his distances,” the other boy continued, unbothered by that interruption. “She’s really so scared that we’ll start an argument with him.”

“You would!”

“Only if he insults Shijie! Which he would, because he’s nothing but a self-important…”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng hissed. “Can you not shut up just for a moment?”

The boy just laughed, while Nie Huaisang stared.

Surely there had to have been a mistake. That couldn’t be Wei Wuxian. There was simply no way that Lan Wangji would ever become even a little attracted to a person such as this, who was bold enough to insult Jin Zixuan within earshot, who was so careless regarding Meng Yao’s obvious discomfort at having the connection mentioned. Sure Wei Wuxian wasn’t half bad looking, but with a personality like that, Lan Wangji would only try to murder him, not kiss him.

“You know, if the teacher isn’t here yet, we can probably leave,” Wei Wuxian said. “That’s what we’d do at home. Let’s ditch the lesson and go have fun!”

Oh, Lan Wangji was so going to murder him when they met. Surely Nie Huaisang’s future self had to be mistaken about those two. 

“Hey, Wei-xiong, you shouldn’t say things like that,” Nie Huaisang advised. “There’s some people that might punish you if they heard you talk like this!”

“Sure, but the point is that the teacher isn’t here, so I have nothing to fear. Come on, Nie-xiong, it’s your second year here, right? Surely you’d rather run off to have fun with us than sit through some boring lectures again!”

As a matter of fact, Nie Huaisang very much wanted that. Considering how badly his studies went the year before, he had no reasons to think he would do any better that year either, so having fun would be a great use of his time. But that would upset Nie Mingjue, who didn't need that. And it might also disappoint Lan Xichen, which would be the worst thing ever. Having discovered that he enjoyed being praised, and how willing to do just that Lan Xichen was, Nie Huaisang didn't want to risk upsetting his friend. 

"When I say there's people you shouldn't make angry, I don't mean just Lan Qiren," Nie Huaisang warned. "He's mostly manageable, if you just avoid talking back and cry a little when he gets angry. But his nephew Lan Wangji is a real terror, and they've put him in charge of overseeing punishment for the juniors. You're lucky he's in seclusion at the moment, because just for speaking of skipping classes, he'd have your skin. He takes rules very seriously!"

"The teacher's nephew, uh," Wei Wuxian said with an odd smile. 

"You're thinking something unwise," Meng Yao accused. 

"Please don't go bother that guy as soon as he leaves his seclusion," Jiang Cheng warned. "Mother will murder you if you disgrace our sect!" 

Wei Wuxian's grin only grew wider, to the great anxiety of the other three. 

"That nephew, he wouldn't happen to be a very handsome boy?" Wei Wuxian asked. "About my size, very handsome…" 

"His brother looks much better," Nie Huaisang interjected without thinking. "Lan Wangji always looks so crossed… but he has a fine enough face, yes."

"And a silver sword that gives off a cold impression?" 

"Did you already meet him?" Nie Huaisang asked. 

"Yes, last night." 

"Last night?" Jiang Cheng repeated. "How… there's a curfew in place here! Are you already breaking rules?" 

Without a shred of regret or shame, Wei Wuxian started telling the story of his escape to buy wine, his attempt to return in secret, and his fight with Lan Wangji. Upon hearing that tale Jiang Cheng was furious, Meng Yao was worried, and Nie Huaisang so delighted he had to cover his mouth with both hands not to laugh. 

Lan Wangji losing his temper! Lan Wangji getting in a fight, and not even winning it! Lan Wangji failing to punish a criminal! It was the funniest Nie Huaisang had ever heard, and he couldn't wait to share all of it with Su She who would surely be just as entertained. 

This Wei Wuxian was a much more interesting person than anticipated, and Nie Huaisang could see himself becoming quite fond of him, even though he'd been determined to dislike him before. But that had been when he thought that his future self and Lan Wangji approved of him, two people whose opinion he didn't value much. 

"Wei-xiong, you are so dead," Nie Huaisang cheerfully announced when the other had finished his story. "It's going to be a matter of pride now, he's going to have his eye on you for the entire time you'll be here!" 

And for more than that, if Nie Huaisang’s future self was to be believed. That old prick didn't seem the sort to prank others, but it was also difficult to imagine Lan Wangji falling in love with someone like Wei Wuxian. People said that opposite attracted, but there were limits. Then again, it would be immensely funny if these two did become a couple. If it happened, Nie Huaisang might laugh to death. 

"That Lan Zhan is probably too busy to bother with me," Wei Wuxian claimed. "And it's not like he comes to the lectures, right? So I'm not worried in the least. Besides, I'm more than his match in a fight!"

The arrival of Lan Qiren, who seemed in as bad a humour as Nie Huaisang had ever seen him, cut short that conversation, though Wei Wuxian still looked quite sure of himself as they all entered the classroom. He only deflated a little when they all noticed that there already was a student sitting there, a Lan boy who only looked up from the scroll he was reading to glare at Wei Wuxian. In turn, Wei Wuxian did appear a little startled, having clearly not expected that his new nemesis would be there.

It took Nie Huaisang all of his self control not to laugh at this situation.

The plot to help Lan Wangji find a cultivation partner had held little joy when he had believed Wei Wuxian to be the second Jade's equal in temper. But discovering that Wei Wuxian was a wild spirit, sure to drive Lan Wangji mad with annoyance and to distract him from his duties, delighted Nie Huaisang. It was the funniest thing in the world.

It was the stuff of great romances, something which might blossom into a love story people would talk about for ages. Two people of opposite temper, of opposite values even, learning to see each other’s worth… it would be quite fun to watch that unfold, and even more amusing to give it a push here and there.

Helping the romance of others was the closest to living his own that Nie Huaisang was likely to get, so he’d have to content himself with that.

His lack of appealing skills made it unlikely he’d ever provoke the sort of strong sentiment already at play between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. But even a more talented nature would not have changed his delicate position as his brother's heir. Until his brother married and had children, Nie Huaisang knew it would be unwise of him to flirt with anyone of his own choosing, not when the Nie clan might someday require him to make a good match. The only reason he wasn’t already engaged to anyone, he suspected, was because there weren’t many girls of the right age among the greater sects, and because his brother disliked the idea of using him as a political tool unless absolutely necessary.

It was not easy, being next in line to inherit a sect, and Nie Huaisang was quite happy that he wasn’t in love with anyone at all. He only wished a little to be like Wei Wuxian, as a servant's son, free to live as he pleased as long as he did not bring any scandal for his sect. And it was lucky that Lan Wangji's status was not quite as dire as Nie Huaisang’s, not when he had a brother who was more likely to get married than Nie Mingjue, and even a relatively young uncle who could well have children of his own if needed. 

Lucky them indeed, but Nie Huaisang was determined not to envy them.

He’d just have his share of fun watching them… and maybe he’d see if Lan Xichen could be convinced to help too, just so they’d have another thing to laugh about together.

[kayr0ss]

Sunday Candy

[Diakko, Fluff, Easy going Fic, Grumpy Diana, Established Relationship, Diana POV - Thinking] AO3

Summary: Diana's having a bad day. But Akko lets her know that "I'll be there in twenty!" Everything gets better as she's counting down the minutes.

--

Today was not a good day.

Diana walked briskly through campus, expression perfectly neutral save for the grip she had along the strap of her shoulder bag. It was the only outward manifestation of her temperament that she would allow, and so she poured out all her frustration into the action—so much so that her knuckles were nearly going white.

A frustrating Anatomy class followed by an equally disastrous practical test in Pharmacology. Splendid combination, if one were on a quest to discover the recipe for a medical student’s bad day.

It felt like there were thorns to her chest.

She glowered at the shrubbery of the open spaces between the buildings, finding them dull under the dreary London weather. She set her jaw while staring right into the backs of freshmen who traveled in packs of five and above, walking at the pace of snails. If only her eyes could shoot lasers beams—oh if only. Was it even legal to talk as loudly as their walking was slow? She didn’t need to hear about whatever film it was their social sciences professor imposed on them to watch. 

But she wasn’t as petty as to engage them in conversation (even if it was a reminder to uphold proper student decorum), so instead she had side-stepped along the walkway and walked faster so as to out-pace them. She scanned her eyes along campus, observing students huddled together and playing music along the benches. A dance group went over their routine at the opposite end by the grass. Funnily enough, there was a group of younger students sitting in a circle studying, comically mimicking snapshots from college websites and brochures.

It was kind of annoying. If only because her dour mood was enough to paint any sort of stimulus as unpleasant to absorb. She continued her pace towards the western end of the campus, where she was due to meet Akko for coffee at the library café. It was a passable café at best, she supposed.

Just as she was about to go on mental tirade on how distracting and unnecessary all the campus activities were, her phone vibrated along with a ‘beep.’

16:47 Akko Kagari: ‘I’ll be there in twenty! 😊’

Five words and a smiley.

Five words—looking up at her through the glass screen of her cellular phone—were enough to wash away the weariness that had settled on her shoulders. Her hand relaxed, releasing the leather strap of her bag from her death grip and she only realized after the fact that it was beginning to grow sore.

She took a deep breath, slipping her phone back into her pocket, and continued to walk.

Perhaps she was being a bit mean? She looked over her shoulder, seeing that the group of students who were walking looked lost and weren’t sure where to go. They seemed to find security in their number, excited to deepen what looked like a freshly-blossoming friendship. Perhaps wishing ocular lasers upon them was a bit too much.

Ah but they were so loud!

Diana huffed through her nose, turning back towards the direction of the library. A cup of coffee, a slice of cake, and the presence of her girlfriend were sorely needed if her temper was anything to go by.

Ah. Her girlfriend.

By the time she had crossed through the open spaces along the center of campus it was only fifteen-minutes-to-Akko.

And, okay—maybe she was being overly dramatic about the plants and the weather. While she walked, she put effort into watching the gardens and shrubbery—she noticed they were about to bloom. The milder weather meant their flowers didn’t wilt away, and she fondly recalled many afternoons spent hand-in-hand with the brunette through this very walkway, taking their time to notice how deeply red the petals were.

Like her eyes.

Diana smiled at herself without realizing it. Now that was cheesy.

It was the first smile she had pulled for that entire afternoon and she almost shook her head. “Right.” She mumbled, mostly to herself. “I was in the middle of being grumpy, I believe.”

It would take several minutes to walk from the medical wing to the library. In the journey in-between she had encountered more groups of students practicing in the open spaces. Some danced, like the earlier group, while others had huddled together with their instruments to practice for some sort of performance.

“You gotta slow down to listen to the music!”

Her girlfriend had told her this once. Diana let urgent pace of her footfalls slow into an easier pace. They were singing a song she’d heard Akko sing before—something uplifting that sounded like it had a lot of love to give.

Like Akko.

‘You gotta move slolwy’—they sang.

And then her easy walking fell to a full stop, even for just a minute, and then she smiled. It was from a mixture of the anticipation of seeing Akko, and remembering the sound of her voice.

‘Take in my body like it’s holy’

Perhaps she’d take back what she said about the how unnecessary campus activities were. Especially when they could be as pleasant as this—so effective at pacifying the embers of her temper that were threatening to smother her only minutes before.

Which reminded her—as pleasant as the song was, she had a café library go to.

At ten-minutes-to-Akko, she had forgotten all about the woes of her earlier Anatomy class.

The weather felt much more agreeable now, a pleasant chill against her skin that encouraged the need to hold or be held. It was overcast. How could she have missed this as she walked out of the medical building earlier? Perhaps, after coffee, she’d invite Akko for a walk. The notion of it excited her, and she was surprised to find a spring in her step that would have felt foreign to Diana of a little less than fifteen minutes ago.

She finally walked up the steps to the library entrance, pushing through the double-doors to find a picturesque scene of students milling about the grand central common area, speaking in hushed tones while they buried their noses in either books or computers. Once again, it looked right out of a brochure—but instead of irritation she found it was… wonderous.

It’s as though she could watch and see the essence of ‘learning’ come to life right in front of her; that mood websites and photobooks tried so hard to convey except… alive.

She checked her watch and saw that Akko should be arriving in about five minutes tops.

And that made her feel alive.

The café was at the back of the library, a relaxed environment that was much quieter than the cafes around and within campus—but it smelled just as lovely. It was tastefully furnished and never crowded, and their coffee and pastries were actually better than most. ‘Passable at best’ suddenly felt like a lapse of judgement, and she bemoaned her past self for ever having thought of this place as such.

There were butterflies her stomach, and they chased away the remnants of frustration Pharmacology had left her.

Three minutes before Akko’s arrival, she was reminded of how pleasant the ambience was—with colors that were vibrant but easy on the eyes. There was a little bit of white noise, a clink of the glass here and there, along with the steady, low rumble of chatter. But somehow it added character.

For all her overthinking, she supposed she was a simple woman. She tried to hold in a smile, sitting in her favorite café, wondering what could have upset her so much earlier?

Diana couldn’t remember anymore, nor could she care.

Five words, a smiley—and the reminder that she was going to be here soon had helped her forget.

The first thing she felt were a pair of hands settling on her shoulders along with the weight of a chin setting on top of her head. It was followed by a voice so familiar that her tense shoulders relaxed the moment she could hear it.

“Hey.”

There was soft kiss to her temple. A hand that reached for hers. The moment they had threaded their fingers together, she realized there were no thorns left to pluck out of her chest.

She saw a smile and flash of dazzling red eyes. Diana smiled back, feeling easy.

“’Hey’ to you, too”

At zero minutes to Akko’s arrival, she realized that everything would be okay.

And that today was a good day.

--

You gotta move it slowly

Take it in my body like it's holy

I've been waiting for you for the whole week

I've been praying for you, you're my Sunday candy

--

fin

--

A/N: I was (and am) in such a good mood because of this song. You guys have no idea - dancing in my room and just vibing kind of good mood. I felt like, for Diana, Akko would be someone who'd have that kind of effect on her. All the bad just kinda... goes away! Anyway this was a silly little idea and I hope it works out.

Gifting it to @shmehua1 who I remember through this song because we both like it, she is awesome, and well, she's one of my best buddies out here in the LWA fandom! Love you bro - you know this to be true!

[jawritter]

Merry Christmas Sweetheart

Summary: Time doesn’t heal all wounds, sometimes it just drives them into our bones and festers there, until forgiveness is a four letter word, and it’s to late for second chances. 

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Written for: @spnchristmasbingo

Square Field: Presents

Word Count: 2048

Beta’d by: @miss-nerd95! Thanks again love!

Warnings: Language, Heart break, Heavy angst, (This one is gonna hurt your feelings), Not really a very happy ending, a bit of a cliff hanger, Tears, past heartbreak, unrequited love. I think that’s it.

A/N: Merry Christmas @msmarvelouswinchester!! Lol, glad I found someone who loves their feelings hurt as much as I do! LOL. Hope you all enjoy this one! Please don’t copy my work! I promise my next bingo one shot will be fluffy. I was just really in my head when I wrote this one. 

***MASTERLIST***   ***BECOME A PATREON***

It was cold today, especially for Austin. Your breath fogged in front of you with each puff of air from your lungs that burned in the bitter cold. A light dusting of snow fell around about, not much to keep everyone locked in their homes, but enough to gather on the top of cars that were parked out in the lot just beyond the safety of the airport terminal hanger that you were standing in front of with your bag slung over your shoulder, hands stuffed deep in your pockets. 

The congestion of traffic appeared to be even thicker than what you remembered it being, even for the holidays.  Everyone that walked by to get into cabs or ubers, seemed to be absorbed in their own little bubbles; either talking on phones or to one another as they made their way to their awaiting ride. 

If you listened hard enough, you could hear the faint sounds of the customary cheerful  music of the holidays playing in one of the little shops inside of the airport as the doors opened and closed not so far behind you. Off in the distance you could see the Christmas lights strung up in an elegant way on a lamp post and draped over shrubbery in the fading light of another day. It almost looked like a scene from some shitty Hallmark Christmas special, and it made your stomach churn uneasily. 

It had been eleven long years since you had stepped foot on Texas soil, and you were seriously considering getting the hell out of here before he showed up, but it was too late to turn around. You could always tell him you missed your flight, or it got delayed by the weather so you just cancelled it, but you just knew that he wouldn’t buy it. 

“Come on Steve,” you grumbled to yourself as yet another car pulled away from the hanger you were waiting under, and a happy, probably newly married from the looks of it, love-struck couple nuzzled together to fight against the bite of the cold wind that whipped around and sliced through your bones. 

You probably would have been better off calling an uber to pick you up, but hey, Steve didn’t charge, and you really didn’t want anyone else to know you were here. Not yet atleast, mostly because you didn’t know if you were even going to stay. 

Just as you were about to take your phone out and call him, the pair of headlights you had been waiting for pulled up in front of you.

You didn’t even let the car come to a complete stop before you pulled the door open and slipped inside, shaking slightly from the cold as you pulled the seat belt over you, meeting a pair of green eyes that were so not what you expected to see, and your heart dropped to your feet. 

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice sounding like warm honey against the chill that was still making you shiver, and you hated the way you could still so easily drown into it. You were going to murder Steve when you saw him again. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked through gritted teeth, and you could have sworn you saw him give out a shaky sigh as he pulled out onto the road. 

“Steve mentioned he was picking you up today, and I told him I’ll do it because I wanted to see you,” Jensen said, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and shifting nervously, avoiding the death glare that you were giving him. “You left the night I told you Danneel and I were getting married, and I never saw you again. Not even a fucking word. Then I heard you're coming here, and I wanted to see you. I missed my friend.”

“The term ‘friend’ is a matter of one sided opinions, Jensen,” you told him shortly, not missing the way he flinched yet again out of the corner of your eye before trying to subtly readjust himself in his seat. 

An awkward silence fell in the car, and you did your best to stare out the window and not at the man that was driving. Even though your eyes were trained on the blurry and dimly lit scenery you could still sense his every move, smell his cologne in the thick air that laid stagnant between you, hear every deep sigh that left his perfect lips as he struggled with words he wanted to say, but nothing would sound right; nothing felt right anymore. 

“What are you doing in town,” he finally asked cautiously, as if he knew that one wrong move would set you off and you were suddenly demanding he pull over so that you could walk the rest of the way to Steve’s.

“Business,” you answer sharply, not in the mood for small talk, but it looked like Jensen thought awkward conversations won over awkward silences and pressed further. 

“Business? This close to Christmas?” he asked, but your nerves were beginning to wear thin, and the old scars on your heart felt like they were being torn open inch by inch the longer you sat next to the man that had put them there all those years ago. 

“It's real estate,” you snap, turning to face him in the seat fully in your building frustration. “Does your wife know you're here right now?” 

You watched as the rebuttal question cut through him as if you had thrown a sword right at his chest. The visible shift and the clearing of his throat as he avoided your sharp gaze was speaking loud, but it only added to your growing confusion that was still somewhat blinding your judgement with old grief. 

Jensen cleared his throat as he turned onto Steve’s street, still avoiding your gaze. “What kind of real estate?” he asked, trying to divert the topic, and your blood boiled under your skin. 

“So you're just going to answer my question with another question? That’s real mature Jensen,” you snapped as he pulled in front of Steve’s little place, and put the car in park.

“Because I don’t want to talk about Danneel, I wanted to talk about you. I told you, I’ve missed you. You were my best friend Y/N, why did you leave me without so much as a goodbye or even a fuck you if you were so mad at me, and then show up again all these years later on 'business,' I deserve some answers too.”

You shook your head and bit back the tears that the taunting memory of the night you’d boarded a plane to New York with only a bag full of clothes, and the shattered pieces of your heart ripped through your out of repair. 

You turned away from his broken gaze that still managed to make your heart clench, and gripped the handle of the door tightly, ripping it open and letting in the chill of the night air that only seemed to grow colder due to meeting Jensen to blow into the car.

“Oh you missed me so much, didn't you?” you asked, pure venom seeping into every word as your eyes threw daggers into his astonishing green orbs in the dim light that illuminated the small space between you. 

“Did you miss me when you stood before God and our friends when you did your vows with that whore? After everything when I’d stood by your side, after all the years we had been together, did you miss me then? How about when she gave birth to your three children, and you were standing there in the delivery room with her? Or better yet, how about every time you were balls deep in that bitch while I was only in the next room, listening to you rip my heart out and stomp on it over and over again? You didn’t miss me then Jensen, you don’t miss me now. You feel guilty, but you shouldn’t. You can only feel what you feel and can't change what you want, but apparently pretty narcissistic bitches are more of your taste than people who actually care about you. I was right there in front of you for years and you never gave me the time of day, but one month on a movie set with her and ‘you were so in love. I left all those years ago because you left me a long time before I even landed in New York. So don’t sit here and act like you missed me, when you never saw me there at all like I wanted you to. Don't make me feel bad for leaving when you know it hurt me less than staying here.” 

You tore your eyes away from him before your emotions could get the best of you, and stepped out, making your way into Steve’s home to hide from the past that was still sitting in the car outside, staring out of the window as the snow fell on the windshield. 

Jensen bit down hard on his lower lip, trying not to choke on the sobs he refused to let out. 

See, he had missed you, he’d missed you so damn much. He had missed you when he looked at the woman he settled for instead standing at the altar across from him on his wedding day, only marrying her because it was what people were telling him that it was the right thing to do. That she was in the same industry, and the marriage would be good for the two of them.  He missed you during every milestone his kids made that never got shared with you, wishing it was you by his side. He didn't love his kids any less, but even though they weren't yours, he wished he’d have been able to share them with you like he’d always wanted to share everything. He couldn’t count the times he’d hidden away to call you, just to hear your voice, but chickened out over the years because he’d known he hurt you, he’d always known but let you get hurt just to play it safe. 

That time you were talking about, how you'd heard Danneel and him before they had announced their engagement, he didn’t know you were even there. Danneel had come onto him and he was a little too drunk to say no. Not that he hated her, because he never could hate her, she’d done nothing wrong. It was his twisted mind that painted you underneath him every time they were together, not her. 

Jensen took off his ball cap with force before throwing it at the dash and running his hands harshly down his tear stained face. He’d lost you all those years ago and never told you how he felt, and now it seemed like he was too late. 

The cue he’d staged, the house he’d decided to look at that he had his lawyer call her to tell her that his client wanted to buy from the best realtor in New York, all to tell her that he loved her, always had and always will and that he knew how huge of a dick he had been by ignoring her feelings for his own selfishness. It looked like it was too late for any of it anyway. 

His hand drifted to his pocket, pulling out the small, neatly wrapped box that contained his and Danneel’s wedding rings. He was planning to show them to you tomorrow for Christmas. He was going to tell you that they were over, and that he wanted to fix what he’d broken all those years ago with you if you'd be willing to let go of his stupid mistakes. He wanted another chance, but it was much slimmer now. 

Jensen flipped the box in his hands before getting out of the car, trudging through the white blankets of snow to the front door, and placed the little box carefully on the step before he stood, leaning heavily against the door frame, trying to stop himself from falling apart. 

“Merry Christmas Sweetheart,” he brokenly whispered into the unforgiving wind. Leaving his present to you, as well as his heart on his best friend's front door.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @chevyharvelle @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6 @anaelsbrunette @hayleeharling   @flamencodiva @coldmuffinbanditshoe @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin @itmejado @supernatural3002 @teresa-67 @thoughts-and-funnies @hearteyes-j2​ @miss-nerd95​ @writers-whirlwind​

[lizacstuff]

Sen Çal Kapımı episode 47 asks

Below the read more find asks and answers about episode 47, the fragman for 48 and other miscellaneous things.

(UNDER THE CUT)

Anonymous asked: Hi! I hope you are enjoying your vacation. I remember you mentioned you would be traveling. What were your thoughts on the epi? I think this was one episode where everything was happy! No big problems. The truth about Kemal being Serkan's dad could have been dramatic but Ayse and team wrote it like a romcom. I'm not really feeling the Deniz being the saviour of Artlife like they are portraying in the fragmans but I'll wait for the next epi to make a judgement.

Thank you. Once again, I though the whole episode was a really easy watch and I enjoyed every minute.  

I really appreciate the tone this season, even something as series as Serkan’s parentage is played lightly, as you say very much rom com, and not full of heavy melodrama (as it would have been if explored during the 30s). This is exactly the tone and feel of this show that I want.  

Serkan’s reaction was predictable, but it was also clear that he just needed time to adjust and settle down and he’ll come around. I like that. 

I don’t have time this week to do full episode thoughts, but I enjoyed Serkan and Eda’s morning after conversation. Hilarious that he’d removed all the sharp objects from the room. Loved that after all of Eda’s fear-fueled reticence, once she decided to take the plunge with him, she was all in. Eda admitting that she’d been unbalanced and had been at fault for hiding Kiraz,--and acknowledging that Serkan had been fighting for them and now she wanted to as well-- was very nice. After running a bit hot and cold, Serkan deserved to hear that.  

lolo-deli asked: Hard to believe we didn't get a reconciliation scene in 47... Nobody expected sex but we couldn't even get a hug or kiss when they made up? "I want to see that tattoo" was not the romantic reunion I was hoping for. Were you at all disappointed?

IMO, we did see the important part of the reconciliation, and that was the conversation. Sure, I think we should have seen Serkan and Eda kiss in the last episode. If I were in charge we would have, but I don’t think the story actually loses anything because it’s not a mystery what happened.   

Clearly, he says the tattoo line and they jump each other, make their way to the bedroom, have sex, but don’t really communicate until the morning when she wakes up, and that’s where the show picks up and we get to see those first important moments. 

If you’re looking for romance, then I would point to everything that led up to that tattoo line in 46. That entire episode (and the one before it) was their romantic reconciliation. Moments alone where he takes in her scent and whispers how much he’s missed her, waking up in bed together when they just automatically gravitate to one another, the moments of pretending to be married that were very comedic, but also very soft and romantic (What’s your greatest passion, what’s the first line you ever said to one another), the heartfelt conversation on the bench, the actual tattoo conversation at dinner. That’s the romantic reunion. Yes, if they had just reunited after years (like in episode 40) right before the tattoo line, I  would have needed more romance, but we’ve had 7 episodes of them working their way back to one another. Everything was primed, all they needed was to light the match.  IMO that line did the trick. 

So, am I disappointed? No. I’m happy to go with the flow and enjoy every minute of what they do give us in these last few episodes. I choose not to get tied up in what I wish would happen vs what actually happens. I find I don’t enjoy any show when I put the onus on the show to conform to my wishes. 

Some might be disappointed, that’s their choice, (and make no mistake, it is a choice) but that’s not how I’m approaching this second season which is serving up so much romance, comedy, and domestic family goodness. I suffered through the 30s so I could get to this, I’m not going to waste any of it being disappointed.

Anonymous asked: Idk why this proposal was the most emotional out of them all for me. Perhaps with the other ones I just KNEW the other shoe had to drop because they couldn't let them get happily married this early and this time I knew it was finally it. Or maybe it was the fact that knowing they're married means the show really is ending soon, but I was a blubbering mess lol. Sure there's drama ahead, but it's definitely not a plane crash and memory loss or a "fake" Selin pregnancy!

Yes! Thank goodness we don’t have any of that nonsense waiting for us.  They are really going to be married. 

I enjoyed this proposal very much, it was so sweet the way he planned everything out and had everyone helping, while Eda (and even sort of the audience) was in the dark about what was really going on there.  

For me, as far as the words spoken, nothing really tops his speech to her in 27, but the great thing is that we get them all and this was special in it’s own right because he really surprised her and swept her off her feet this time around.  I loved it!

Anonymous asked: So I am confused about Serkan’s ability to have kids- it’s not a problem now? If him being infertile was only temporary, why did he say it was impossible to have kids and it was a part of why he left Eda in the first place so she could have it somewhere else? They could’ve just waited a couple years to have kids then...? I know he also left her cause he was scared of dying but they really made his reaction seem like he’d NEVER be able to have kids

My assumption is that since they were able to have Kiraz, they know it’s possible, so even if it won’t be easy (and fertility is usually not a hard yes/ no line... mostly it’s a measure of how likely it is) they are choosing to believe they will be able to conceive again.  

If you’re looking to change what his assumptions were when they first broke up and he thought he was unable to have kids (and that there was a 70% chance the cancer would come back) and deciding he should have made different decisions based on the fact that he was able to father Kiraz... to be blunt you’re looking at it the wrong way. 

At that time, he thought he would never be able to have kids. Full stop.  The fact that wasn’t necessarily true doesn’t change what he believed at the time. 

Anonymous asked: serkan being the overly protective, worrying, affectionate baba is EXACTLY what i imagined, as i'm sure everyone else did. who else would worry about the pH balance of the soap at their daughter's preschool?! serkan thinking his angel can do no wrong.. of course it was all can's plan to hide them in the bathroom lmao. i hope, and with how this season is going i think we'll get it, we get to see this serkan in action when eda is pregnant too.. even if we just see a couple minutes of it!

YES! I loved overly protective Serkan. Thankfully, for Kiraz’s sake he has Eda (who might be a bit too far the other way) to balance him out.   I agree that it was hilarious how he was trying to blame sweet Can.  Even without seeing what happened, I’m pretty sure anyone else who had spent two minutes with those kids would figure out who the instigator was.  When rabble rousing is going on, I think it’s fair to point to the offspring of Serkan Bolat and Eda Yildiz as the cause, lmao.

It would be great it we got to see glimpses of Serkan as an expectant father and also the father of a newborn.  I would love that.

Anonymous asked: I see that the "Nitpick of the Week" as I'm calling it, this week is where Serkan proposed. Because Serkan Bolat would neeeeever propose in a "parking lot" .. am I the only one seeing that it's not even a parking lot, it's a road. Like if it is a parking lot where are the other cars then lol?! Putting aside that he's proposing outside their literal wedding venue, their entire story started in a parking lot. He told her he loved her for the first time on the side of a road. I'm not understanding.

You make great points!  Their love story did start in a parking lot AND he was trying to pull off both a surprise proposal and a surprise wedding in one day’s notice. Since we’ve already seen a proposal on a plane, a proposal at a piano bar and a proposal at their place of work, I don’t really have the energy to join the discontented masses on twitter and nitpick the location of this proposal. He could have proposed in front of a landfill and I would have been delighted. 

Anonymous asked: I'm sorry if you don't find it as funny, but people's reaction to this new fragman is so exaggerated like they're about to witness Indecent Proposal dizi-edition that I literally couldn't help but find it hilarious. Like no where is it ever implied that Deniz is offering Serkan SEX, but when Eda says "just do what you have to" somehow that's the first thing everyone thought of?! Not to mention we know this is Deniz's last ep.. the dramatic reactions really have me dying lmao.

OMG! I know. So this is a show that doesn’t show sex, Serkan didn’t sleep with the woman he thought was his girlfriend during amnesia, Serkan and Eda were both celibate for 5 years, but suddenly they’re gonna have newly-married Serkan go to the edge width Deniz?!?!?!  Those people on twitter lost their damn minds.  

On Saturday, I was on vacation and had just popped in to see if the new fragman was released, I was happy to nope right out of there when I saw the insanely melodramatic overreaction to the fragman. 

It’s obvious that since the biggest issue between Eda and Serkan is Eda’s fear that Serkan will always prioritize work over her, as he did on their first wedding day, this story is to show that Serkan will 100% choose Eda over work and Art Life.  Also I’m sure the episode will have the same tone as the rest of the season, which is light and comedic.  

Anonymous asked: sometimes I go back to episode 28 and still can't believe they got that bathtub + shower scene in there with the rtuk guidelines. I've watched a couple more romcoms since starting SCK and have never seen anything close to that. I know they got fined afterwards but they were really like "screw it, we're going it for anyway" 😂

It’s interesting that the production company and network went for it there. But as you say they did get fined, so they didn’t get away with anything.  

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

tangled up in blue

pairing: harry styles x plus size!reader

warnings: fluff, comfort, mentions of anxiety, kinda angsty

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: harry has a rude encounter with a fan

author’s note: sorry for another rushed ending, but other than that, i hope you enjoy xx all the love

masterlist

—

It’s his first day off in weeks, and he is taking full advantage of it. After such a stressful few months, he wants nothing more than to spend this short break with his girlfriend. 

It’s two in the afternoon before he gets out of bed, and that’s only because the weak little grumbling in his stomach became too much to ignore. With no real food in the house, Y/N called in an order to their regular place, as long as he is the one who picks it up. 

He decides to walk, since the restaurant is only a few blocks away from his home, but when he catches a couple paps trying to get pictures a little ways down the road, he knew he should have driven. He’s glad Y/N stayed home, since photos of her rarely get out, and he knows that she wouldn’t have been comfortable with it. 

He sighs, trying to not let them ruin his first relaxing day in a while, but it’s hard. Harry likes his privacy, and sadly, he chose the wrong career. He would never say that he hates what he does. He loves being able to bring joy and kindness to people who really need it, even if it is just for a couple of minutes. 

He just wishes he could have some more space and privacy and freedom to do his own thing. He wishes he could go out on his day off without being stopped or having people trying (and failing) to take a sneaky picture of him, which, again, is an absolute invasion of his privacy. 

He would never snap at anyone, well, no one except the paparazzi, not only because he was taught early on that he shouldn’t do that, but also because he wasn’t that type of person. While he still may not be used to the significance of his stardom, he still understands that he is a role model to many people, and he needs to act as such.  

“I have an order to pick up,” he says to the hostess, who just stares at him for a second, jaw dropped slightly. It’s not the usual woman who gives him his orders, so he gives her a moment. She bounces back rather quickly. 

“Uh, what’s the name?” She asks, trying not to draw any unwanted attention toward him, which he appreciates. 

“Y/N.” 

She taps away at the register, tells him the total, and he pays. 

“I’ll go check and see if your order’s done. If not, it should be just a couple of minutes.”

“No problem.” He smiles. 

“Harry?” 

He turns to see a nervous looking girl with a bright tee knotted around her middle and a pretty pearl necklace tight around her neck. She brushes a tuft of brown hair over her shoulder, fiddling with her fingers. She’s only a little shorter than him, but she still doesn’t meet his eye. 

“C-could I get a picture?” 

He honestly doesn’t want to. 

He knows that one photo will lead to dozens more, and he just wants to get his food, go home, and cuddle up with Y/N, but she looks sweet, and the hopeful look in her eyes makes him cave.

“Sure,” he says weakly, taking a quick photo. 

“How’s Y/N?” The girl asks when she puts her phone away, desperate for a little more time with him. A beaming smile takes over his features, and he sits on a stool at the bar, feet tucking behind the bottom bars. It’s not very often he gets asked about her, but whenever he does, he takes full advantage of it; that is, of course, if the person seems genuinely interested and not just asking him for the sake of conversation. 

The public was a little less than understanding or supportive of their relationship when it was, forcibly, made known. Being friends and neighbors since childhood, Y/N has been a present figure in the early parts of his life. They grew further and further apart after he left for The X Factor, to the point where they didn’t even speak to each other. It was tough because she wanted absolutely nothing to do with the life that he led, and he couldn’t just give up everything he worked so hard toward. 

They reconnected some years ago when he was visiting home, and she had a break from uni. It was a slow build to what it is today, mostly because Y/N was hesitant about everything that came with being with him, like distance between them, negative publicity, and, of course, his fans, but, as she always said, he made everything worth it. 

When their relationship was leaked in the press, they had to prematurely address the rumors. Not that Harry is embarrassed or ashamed of her, quite the opposite, really, but he just had one too many relationships fall apart due to the pressure the media put on them. He didn’t want to put Y/N through that; he didn’t want to see her to realize that, perhaps, he wasn’t worth the negative attention. 

“She’s great,” he says. “We’re gonna go hiking later this evening, hopefully get a good view of the sunset.” 

“That’s nice,” she smiles, happy that he’s happy, and he breathes out a sigh of relief. It’s refreshing to meet someone who is actually 

His smile fades when a girl behind him scoffs. 

“That’s surprising.” 

He wants to believe that she’s not commenting on his conversation, but he knows better than anyone that she’s listening in; hell, he could feel the eyes of everyone in the diner the second he stepped inside, but just because he’s been doing this for years doesn’t mean that he’s not immune to the voices and the stares. He’s gotten pretty good at being able to ignore them, and he tries his best to do the same with her. 

The brunette, who also seems to have noticed the girl behind him, flushes red, pity apparent on her features. He gives her an uncomfortable, closed mouth smile, trying to focus back on their own conversation. 

“I mean, have you seen her?” The girl behind him continues, laughing lightly. 

It makes his chest ache, anger settling deep in his stomach, burning and vengeful. Never has anyone made such blatant comments about her; they normally say that sort of stuff behind the safety of a screen and certainly not right in front of him. He knows what people say about his love. They make negative comments every little thing about her, the biggest one being her weight, and he never says anything because Y/N thinks that it would make everything worse, but she’s not here to hold him back. 

He turns to face the girls behind him. The one whose back is still facing toward him, leaned in close to the other, as though that’s enough to hide what she’s saying. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

They’re both young, but surely old enough to know better. One of the girls, with brown hair with a pink strip in the front, blanches when he catches her eye, an apologetic look on her face; she looks close to tears, even, stuttering hopelessly. 

“Dee—” 

“I didn’t expect him to be a chubby chaser.”

“Excuse me?” 

The girl with bright red hair, Dee, he assumes, finally turns to face him, a shameless smirk on her face. 

“I am so sorry,” the brunette begins, but her friend, fueled by desperation and spite, cocks her head to the side, chest puffing out beneath a “Treat People with Kindness” shirt, the rainbow colored words taunting him. 

How ironic. 

“I mean… am I wrong?” She asks, looking at him expectantly. 

“How dare you?” He seethes, standing fully, towering over her seated figure. He knows he shouldn’t be giving her the slightest bit of attention. That’s exactly what she wants, to get a reaction out of him, and he’s playing into her game, but he honestly doesn’t care. A heated red paints his skin, trailing up from his neck to the tip of his nose. He can barely breathe, let alone speak clearly, frustration and anger choking him. 

He struggles to find his voice, but when he does, he can’t stop them from spilling out, malice and disgust dripping with every word. 

“I have never been so disappointed and ashamed in someone who claims to be a fan of mine. How can you wear that shirt while passing judgement on someone I love very much, who you have never seen or met? And I pray that you will never meet her because she doesn’t deserve such vile things being said about her.”

He turns to see the hostess with a large paper bag in a stunned silence, and he takes it from her wordlessly. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters to the sweet girl, ashamed that he snapped like he did, but she gives him a proud smile and moves, so he can leave. 

—

Someone apparently recorded the encounter, and the video is trending on Twitter by the time he gets home. Jeff is the one who told him about it, sending him a link and a long message about how much of a PR nightmare it’s going to be. Especially when the reception is less than positive. While some think he was being too nice, others are saying that he shouldn’t have lashed out (their words, not his) at someone who is a fan and supports him, but Harry knows that there is no winning. Everyone always finds something to say about things that are clearly none of their business. He even saw a few comments about Y/N, how she should fight her own battles and not have Harry do them for her. 

They make him feel nauseous. 

“Hey, babe,” he says as he enters their apartment, Munchy, Y/N’s cat, weaving and purring between his legs. Whenever he gets home, he can feel the stresses of the day shrink to nothing, and he’s finally able to relax. A smile creeps over his face when he sees her, leaning against the counter with a mug of tea cupped in her hands. She hasn’t changed out of the boxers and the large yellow tee from that morning, but her hair is still wet from a shower, the scent of her fruity soap strong. 

“Hey,” she says softly, and he leans in for a kiss, only for her to turn at the last moment, lips unfortunately pressing to her cheek. She takes the bag from him. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, tugging the takeaway boxes from the bag, not even offering him a glance. 

He knows that she’ll tell him what’s really wrong in her own due time, so he can’t push her; that makes it worse for everyone involved. However, he has gotten pretty good at coaxing it out of her. All it takes is a little patience and affection, and she’s putty in his hands. 

He presses kisses to her temple, tracing his lips down the length of her tender skin to the shell of her ear, nibbling playfully. He dips his hand beneath her shirt, feeling her stomach tense beneath his touch. After such an exhausting day, he just wants to be with her, feel her warmth and love. He’s never really been able to find comfort or safety in any of his past lovers, and when he found that in Y/N, he never misses an opportunity to shower her with affection, teasing and biting at her skin. He just wants to melt and forget about his problems, to just be there, in the present, with her. 

His little bubble is popped when she shoves his hand away, probably harder than she really meant to, but it hurts him, nonetheless. She turns and gives him a weak little smile, her eyes, glassy and unable to meet his gaze. She looks like a shell, nervous and empty, and he knows exactly why she’s acting the way she is. She must have seen the video and probably the nasty comments people left about her. 

“Baby—” 

“Let’s eat, yeah?” She changes the subject, pulling out some silverware from the drawer.  “This one mine?” 

“Yeah, your usual,” he says softly. 

They eat in an awkward silence, old sitcom reruns playing in the background, tension thick in the air. He can’t focus on anything but her breaths, shaky and shallow with anxiety. He knows that this entire situation is weighing heavily on her mind, and he needs to get everything off his chest. He wants to pull her into his arms, stroke her hair, and tell her to not listen to anything anyone says, that she’s it for him. 

It's going to happen, all in due time; he’ll get nowhere if he doesn’t go at her pace. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she mutters suddenly, picking at her food. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I don’t want you putting your career at stake by standing up for me.”

He understands; he knows what it feels like to constantly be worried about what other people think, to have it impact every single decision you make. He’s mulled over everything he’s done for the past decade, but, at the same time, he’s her boyfriend first. He could honestly give a damn about his public image if it meant he had to stand by a listen to people say those nasty things about her. 

“You would do the same for me,” he says, and she sighs. 

“It’s not the same thing.” 

“I don’t understand why we're arguing about this,” he says abruptly, placing his food onto the side table and turning fully toward her. 

“I’m not—” She breathes out quickly, standing up. She tugs her clothes down, loosening them, and she crosses her arms, feeling vulnerable for some reason. Harry has never passed any judgement to her for the way she looked, knowing full well that she’s struggled with her weight her entire life, but this entire situation is making her feel insecure and weak and anxious. She feels like he is going to think that she’s being too sensitive about it, melodramatic about the severity of their comments. 

“I’m not trying to start an argument. I just don’t think you understand that there’s going to be a lot of backlash for this.”

She’s embarrassed that he even needs to stand up for her. He should be with someone who is used to being in the spotlight, and, most importantly, he deserves to be able to go out with someone without people commenting or staring. He shouldn’t be with someone who makes people wonder why he’s with her, of all people. 

It’s not only her physical appearance that people comment on; she’s seen fans talk about how Harry doesn’t go out anymore, how she is never present at any concerts or any other special events, even though they don’t know she has severe social anxiety and a career that keeps her from being with him all the time. She truly wishes she could be all of those things for him, but she can’t, and that’s what breaks her heart the most. 

Harry deserves nothing less than the world, and he settled for her. 

And with everyone else in the world questioning why he chose her, of all people, why wouldn’t he think the same? 

“There would be even more backlash if I had just ignored it, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she says, “but, it’s not like it’s going to stop people from saying—” 

She can’t even say it, their all too familiar words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. No matter how many times Harry tells her to pay no mind to their comments, she can’t help it. She truly hates how much other people’s opinions about her impact her, with paralyzing fear and doubt filtering through her thoughts on a daily basis, but she can’t help it. 

“Saying what?”

“You know,” she whimpers, eyes glassy. “No matter what you do, there will always be people who say that I don’t deserve you. There will always be people out there who think I’m ugly o-or too fat for you and—” She chokes on her words, tears finally breaking through. A weak sob leaves her lips, faint and broken. “It’s not like it’s not true, so there’s no point in fighting it if it’s going to ruin your reputation.” 

She starts to pace, one hand tucking into the curve of her waist while the other pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache forming.

“Whoa, hey, okay,” he stutters, standing. He holds onto her arms, hands rubbing over her cool skin, trying to comfort her, but she weakly pushes him away again, rubbing her nose. She pulls at the bottom of her shirt and wipes away her tears, leaving it wrinkled and wet. She sniffles, struggling to keep the panic from growing any further in her chest, heart racing painfully. 

She moves into their bedroom, and he follows close behind, their food long forgotten as she tries to control her breathing. 

“What’s this really about?” He asks. She pauses, her shoulders visibly sinking, and she sits on the foot of the bed, hooking her feet on the footboard. She cradles legs to her chest and tugs her shirt over them, forehead pressed against her knees. 

She’s exhausted at this point. Ever since she saw the video and the comments, she’s been torn. She’s grateful that Harry said something; it made her hopeful that maybe it would make them stop, even if it was for only a day, but when she saw people actually defending the girl who said those terrible things about her, all of that pride was pulled away, leaving nothing behind other than debilitating anxiety and bone-chilling fear. 

She just wants the day to be over, as if that will make everything go away. 

She knows that they need to talk about it, but she’s afraid. She’s afraid of what this conversation could lead to; he could realize that he doesn’t want to deal with everything anymore or that he doesn’t want to deal with the strain that it puts on his relationship with the public. 

The bed shifts as he kneels beside her, hand pressing against the small of her back.

“Y/N, please, don’t shut me out,” he whispers. She whimpers when he kisses her temple, an attempt at trying to ease her out of this miserable hole she’s dug for herself. She finally looks up at him with swollen, burning eyes, tears threatening to fall. 

“I just don’t want you to wake up one day and realize that I’m not worth all of this. You shouldn’t even need to say anything to people.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have to say anything to them, but that has absolutely nothing to do with you. I have to say things because of all of the judgmental people in the world, who body shame the woman that I love, a woman who they know absolutely nothing about.” 

“I don’t want you to start believing them, and I just don’t want you to regret me.”

“Why would I ever regret you?” 

“Why wouldn’t you?” She snaps, her lips quivering. “I’m not like the others.” 

“That’s what I love about you.”

“I’m not cut out for this,” she cries.

Hurt passes over his features, and the words die on his tongue. A pinch of fear starts in his stomach and spreads up to his heart, which races painfully, chills rushing through his spine. 

“What are you saying?” 

She doesn’t answer; she can’t. She didn’t mean for it to slip out. It’s usually just a passing thought when her insecurities come at full force. She’s never actually said it aloud, for fear of its repercussions. She doesn’t want to lose him. Even if she isn’t cut out for this sort of lifestyle, he is worth absolutely everything. 

“Y/N,” he says, cupping her cheeks. He wipes away her tears with his thumbs, but more fall to replace the ones he tried to clear. He hates how much this has affected her, and he hates that it’s his fault, too. She holds onto his wrists, fingers trailing up and down his heated skin, from his calloused hands to his elbows, their gaze never breaking. 

“I love you. Nothing anyone says will make me feel differently. Would you still love me if I gained a ton of weight or if I was just skin and bones?”

“Of course,” she says quickly. 

“This is no different,” he smiles. “I do regret many things in my life. I regret some choices I’ve made, I regret things I’ve said, and I regret being selfish. But you?” He shakes his head. “You will never be one of my regrets. You are beautiful inside and out. You make me want to be better, you make me look forward to every new day, and you give me strength.” 

Her heart swells at his words. Harry has always been a very emotive man when it came to her. He was never ashamed to let her know exactly how he felt, probably because of the years where he felt hopeless and couldn’t express himself fully. He leans in a little closer, his forehead resting against hers, and she can feel her worries tapering off with every shallow breath. 

“My love, you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against hers. He brushes away her tears, leaving her skin sticky. “Not one fuckin’ clue about the nights where I wanted nothing more than to be just with you, to be able to see you and laugh with you. Remember the night before my audition? And I asked if I could kiss you because I’d never kissed anyone before, and I didn’t want to seem like an absolute dud.” 

She nods. 

She pondered over that night for years. He was rambling and nervous, but she didn’t hear anything after he asked if he could kiss her, her mind going completely blank. Of course, she said yes. She had a crush on him for years, how could she say no? Even if it was just once, if it was just one fleeting moment in her life, she held onto it with everything she could. 

It was her first kiss, too, and she was so nervous with trembling hands and clammy skin. It seemed too good to be true: the boy she’s liked since as long as she could remember was going to kiss her; perhaps, there was hope for them after all. 

When they pulled apart, his hair messy and cheeks rosy, she thought that he was going to kiss her again. From the look in his eyes, he seemed like he was completely enamored with her, at a loss for breath with a soft gaze, but he didn’t. Her mind was playing tricks on her because all he said was “thanks”, and he laid back down, on his side, not even facing her. The hope she felt was crushed. Then, he left the next morning, and they never spoke about it again. The memory of that night leaves her heart aching. 

“Bullshit, all of it. I jus’ wanted to know how your lips would feel against mine, how soft and warm your body would feel. For months, I would think about that night, and I wished I could go back and tell you the truth, that I loved you. You have no idea how grateful I am to have you back in my life, to have you here, by my side, to hold and love.” 

As she gazes into his eyes, she can feel the truth in his words, the dedication, and the pain, most of all. 

He doesn’t want to lose her like he did all those years ago. 

He felt the same during those years apart, hopelessly wandering into the arms of various lovers to try to replace what he felt for her. He’s spent nearly an entire decade, searching for that one person to fill the void in his heart that Y/N claimed when they were just kids, much like she had with him. He yearned for a person, who would support and loyalty him just as she had, but they never cared as deeply as he did, nor did they feel and love just as strongly as he did. 

“I love you for everything you are, not just your heart or your mind but also your beautiful body, babylove. Don’t let anyone tell you any differently.” 

His lips tease over hers, just barely touching before she finally catches his lips after such a painstakingly long moment of silence after his confession, and they both are overwhelmed with the feeling of absolute relief, like they’re finally able to breathe.

He guides her onto her back, his knee nestling between her legs, blue sheets bunched up around her waist. He gently eases his hand below her shirt, fingers faint on the soft and pliant skin. She combs her nails through his hair, scratching and teasing. Her body alive and heated beneath his touch, they melt into each other, forgetting everything wrong with the world and focusing solely on each other, the pinch of teeth biting lips and the rush of chills down her spine. He feels up her thighs, tender touch on her soft skin, but she pulls away from him, fingers still latched in his hair, hesitation clear on her features. 

“Please,” he whispers. “Jus’ wanna make you feel good.” He kisses her beneath the curve of her jaw, the warmth of his breath leaving her heart racing. “Wanna make you feel loved, make you feel as beautiful as you are.” 

There’s not many things Harry can find safety with. Since his life in the public eye, he’s had to make a lot of sacrifices. It’s difficult to find considerate strangers, safe refuges, and genuine friends, but he knows that he can always find solace with her, in their home, together, blanketed in warmth and tangled up in blue. 

—

[detectivecarlosreyes]

Would you Rescue Me?

Ao3 | 1.7k | Rated: Mature | Song-fic: Rescue Me by OneRepublic  References Buck Begins; callback to ep Merry Ex Mas with Maddie’s flashback about Doug and the christmas tree trigger warning: Referenced domestic violence/abuse

Summary What if when Maddie decided to leave Doug, instead of in the show when she just showed up at his apartment without any warning, she calls Buck and asks if she can come to him in hopes that he can be her escape even after not speaking for 3 years.

We don't talk much, not anymore Broken bottles and slammin' doors But we still care about each other Say we care about each other I know life took us far away But I still dream 'bout the good old days When we took care of each other We were livin' for each other

When she’s alone, Maddie stares at the postcards wondering what could have been. When things are at their worst with Doug she looks at the first one Buck ever sent, the one from Georgia. The one where he said that he mostly forgave her for not coming with him and leaving Hershey and Doug for good.

She felt awful leaving him that note that day, doing the exact thing that he said that she should do for Doug. Hated herself for it. Hated that Doug had such a tight hold on her life. Deep down she knows that Evan had forgiven her, because why else would he continue to send postcards if he didn’t. So, she clung to those written words of forgiveness because they were the only hope, the only beacon of freedom that she could see.

The number of times she picked up the phone and dialled in his number over the years, just wanting to hear his voice. Hoping that he would hear the things that she didn’t or couldn’t say. But she didn’t, not wanting to drag Buck back home, to a place he didn’t want to be, into the mess of her life.

She wished she had told him that day he came to her after crashing his bike asking to come live with her, told him what was really going on. Wished she had been braver, wished she said more in that note. Wished she had listened to him when he said he didn’t like Doug back when he was just her boyfriend. Maybe then she wouldn’t be in the position that is she’s in now.

Maddie hates how much distance was between them now, that she couldn’t take her own advice and run. It had been three years since he left to find himself in the world. Three years since they saw each other’s faces. Three years since they had spoken to each other.

And now it’s Christmas and all she wants is him as she patches up her latest set of wounds in the bathroom. Disinfecting and covering the broken skin while staring at that first postcard and the most recent one from his fire station, imagining the person he has become.

It’s only after she heard the quiet click of the front door and the ignition of the car engine does she venture from the safety of the bathroom, postcards clutched in hand.

Feeling a moment of bravery, she searches out her phone, a cheap prepaid one that Doug didn’t know about that was bought with cash. Maddie dials the number that she has so many times before and hits the call button for the first time in as many years.

It rings and rings; so long that she wonders if he would ever pick up.

And then he does.

“Hello, Buck speaking.”

And she resists the urge to hang up there and then.

“Hello?”

“Evan,” it’s all that she’s able to utter.

“Maddie? Is that you?”

Maddie could feel the tears forming, blurring her vision over just hearing his voice again.

“Yeah Buck, it's me.” She hated how small her voice sounded.

“Are you okay? You sound strange.”  Just hearing the concern in his voice, causes the tears to spill and she could feel her voice thicken with emotion.

“Remember when you said that I should just leave a note and work out the rest when I don’t come home?” Maddie says as she wipes away the tears trailing down and stinging the cuts on her cheek.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I think- I think I’m going to leave that note now.”

Closing her eyes, Maddie grimaces as her stomach clenches at the thought of upsetting Doug further, of what he would do if she did, but Maddie knew that deep down that she couldn’t take it anymore. She was at the end of her tether and all she can do is hope that Buck will there to catch her when she lets go of it.

Maybe it was the tremble in her voice that he could hear or the fact that Buck could just hear what she wasn’t saying, because Buck’s response had a sense of urgency to it now and she couldn’t help but love him more in that moment, “Did you want me to come to you? I can- I can book a flight right now and be there in like 8 hours.”

“No. No, you don’t need to do that. I- um, I’ll come to you? See how bright that LA sunshine is?”

“Okay. Let me know how you’re getting here, and I’ll meet you. I’ll meet you wherever you need me to.”

The knot in her stomach loosened slightly in relief and with a hitched breath, all Maddie could think of saying was, “Thank you.”

“Of course, Maddie. I love you, stay safe.”

Maddie bided her time, waiting until the next morning when Doug left early to go to work. And then she left. Dragging two suitcases that held everything that was important to her behind her. She left behind anything that could be traced by Doug, withdrew what cash she could and made her way to LA.

She was exhausted by the time she got there, anxious, and constantly looking over her shoulder the whole time half expecting to see Doug’s calmly furious face trailing her. When she saw Buck waiting for her, she all but collapsed into the comfort of his arms, cocooned by his warmth.

It felt like a millennium since she last saw him, and yet it didn’t feel like any time had passed at all. He still felt like the Evan she knew, more filled out and sturdy, but her brother, nonetheless. Eventually pulling back out of the embrace, she surveys him properly and doesn’t see that lost kid anymore but a young man who looks like he finally found his place in the world.

“Welcome to LA Maddie.” He says with an easy grin, but it did nothing to mask the worry in his eyes as he catalogues the visible injuries.

They talk about everything and nothing, avoiding the elephant in the room as they get reacquainted on the drive to his apartment. His girlfriend’s place. The most serious relationship that he’s ever talked about before, and it makes her so proud to hear it.

Eventually, they do run out of things to talk about, sitting on the couch with stomachs full of a dinner he cooked, a bottle of wine shared between them. It's then that the atmosphere of the room becomes sombre, with Buck unable to ignore the reason that she was here with him, injuries on display.

Buck’s hand travels to her face and stops under her ear, cupping her jawline as his thumb gently runs along the fine cuts on her cheek, not unlike the way Doug did not even a day ago and it makes her heart race, frozen for a moment by that familiar action alone.

Remembering that it was Evan and not Doug sitting next to her, Maddie puts her hand over his and pulls it from her face not wanting to compare them in that way, even if there was a vastly different feel to the action. It's only then could she look him in the eye.

His face has always been an open book to her, full of life and expression and this time was no different. She could see the sadness clear as day and it broke her heart to know that she was the cause of it.  

“I’m sorry.”

Maddie shakes her head and places a forgiving hand on his knee, “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known how bad it was.”

“But I knew something was wrong, I knew it back when I was a kid. I should have stayed and tried harder to get you away from him.”

“I didn’t want you to know. Didn’t want to bring my little brother into this.”

“I know you didn’t, but I still wish I did more,” he insisted.

There was only so much that she could say without the conversation going around in circles with her attempting to make him see that there was nothing to forgive. So, instead, Maddie just nods and squeezes his knee in appreciation to which he smiles a soft sad smile in response.

Buck drops his hand over hers and takes her hand in his, inspecting the small cuts on her palm from when she crawled on the broken ornaments, his face turning serious.

“Maddie…  Would Doug have any idea that you’d come to LA to see me?”

“No, he doesn’t know that you live here—”

“That’s good.”

She continues “—But I’m not going to stay long though; he could figure it out if he tried hard enough.”

His gaze softens when he turns his attention back to her and looks her in the eyes with an earnest expression. “Stay with me. You’re safe here, with me, safer than if you go off by yourself. Just… let me be the one to look out for you for a change, okay?”

It’s not until he says the words, does she feel it, believes it to be true. The first time in a long time that she actually felt safe. Maybe this is the fresh start that she needed, maybe everything will be okay. Now that she has her brother by her side again, everything seems possible. She’s not sure what she would have done if she didn’t have her little brother to turn to with the knowledge that there would be no judgement from him, unlike their parents.

With her face streaked with tears of relief and gratitude, she sticks her pinkie finger out to her brother and says in her way of agreement, “You and me against the world.”

With the smallest of smirks at the phrase, Buck curls his little finger around hers, “You and me in the world.”

Would you rescue me? Would you get my back? Would you take my call when I start to crack? Would you rescue me? Uh Would you rescue me? Would you rescue me when I'm by myself? When I need your love, if I need your help Would you rescue me? Uh Would you rescue me?

[perseusannabeth]

My Hunger Knows No Bounds - Part 2

Okay, so this is based off a prompt I got, asking me for an Elriel labour fic. I kinda had to end up splitting it in two, because I'm still writing, and this would get super long otherwise. Part 3 is coming soon, I promise! Also I've not properly proof read this so I'm sorry for any mistakes. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1

Read on AO3

Ever since Elain had knocked on his door to ask for some food, they had set up a routine. They hadn't told anyone else about it, especially not their siblings. Cauldron knew that they were all a bunch of busybodies, and would ruin a perfectly good thing with their meddling. Azriel could already imagine his brothers with their knowing looks and raised eyebrows, and he didn’t want to imagine what Elain’s sisters would say or do, especially not Nesta. He knew that they meant well, but there was no way that he was ready for his brothers to start talking about the possibility of him being in a relationship again, and he knew that was exactly what Cass and Rhys would start talking about if they heard about the set up he had with Elain. 

Plus, with Cassian and his big mouth, there's no way Mor and Ciara wouldn't find out. While he knew that he could get Mor off his back easily enough (just tell her about Amren's secret relationship), Ciara was a whole other ball game. Unfortunately, with three older brothers, Ciara had figured out very early on in life how to get what she wanted. With their big age gap, the girl was able to get pretty much anything she wanted and get away with murder. He didn't always regret it, but when she turned to use her big fake innocent eyes on him, he wished he was less of a sucker for her games. He even knew she was playing him, and still fell for it.    

Truth be told, he wasn't quite sure exactly what his relationship with Elain was. They spent some time together with their family, but that wasn't the same. They spent many evenings together, eating and laughing and talking, just the two of them. Azriel had made quite a few recipes from the blue cookbook his mother had given him. He knew without a doubt that if it hadn't been for Elain, he wouldn't have touched it after the one time he had cooked the biriyani. He found it was quite nice to cook for Elain and to have a secret time that was just for the three of them. The baby was so active that you could never forget about the third person (not quite) in the room.

Elain was so easy to talk to. That wasn't something that he had ever found in a person, not his brothers, not his mother, not Rhys' mum, but somehow, Elain made even quiet, stoic Azriel want to talk. He couldn't quite believe it, but they spent most of their time alone just talking about anything, and he was more than capable of carrying a conversation, and participated in it just as much as Elain did, something which he had never been able to do before, and was very proud of.  

They would talk about so many different things, some topics light and fun, some topics dark and heavy. Azriel found himself wanting to share things with Elain and looked forward to these evenings often. To this day, not even his brothers knew the full story about what had happened to his hands. They had pieced things together from what Rhys' mother had said, and when Azriel used to wake up with nightmares, and his aversion to fire. With Elain, he had been the one to bring it up. She had made it so easy to talk about, he hadn't even noticed the phantom pains he got when he usually thought about what had happened, because she had been holding his hands. He hadn't noticed the tears streaming down his face either until Elain had wiped them off his face so heartbreakingly gentle. He had felt at peace when he had told her what had happened like a weight had been lifted off his chest and he could finally breathe.  

Perhaps it was the fact that he knew Elain would never judge or pity him because her situation made people judge and pity her. She knew how dirty and horrible the judgement and pity made him feel, how he would do anything to not feel like it was his fault it had happened.  

Azriel hadn't wanted to pry about the father of the baby. He knew that Elain had recently moved to the building and that she lived alone. Her sisters would go with her for any baby-related appointments, and Nesta was Elain's birthing partner, much to everyone but Cassian's amusement. Nesta had been so horrified by the birthing video, that she had refused to have sex with Cassian for a week. Both Azriel and Elain had been shocked that they had even lasted a week without jumping each other. 

Elain had opened up slightly about Graysen, her ex-fiancé who had left her because his family had put pressure onto him to marry someone more suitable. Azriel couldn’t help but get angry at Graysen whenever he thought about it, because how could someone not have the backbone to stand up for the woman he loved to his family. His father did sound like a piece of work, and Azriel was glad that Elain wouldn’t have to deal with that, but he pitied Graysen for being stupid enough to give in to the pressure and give Elain and the baby up. How this man, who claimed he still loved Elain, could give her and his child up was beyond Azriel, but he was almost selfishly glad of it because, without that, he would never have his nights with Elain. 

Social interactions often left Azriel feeling tired and drained, even if the interactions were with his family and friends. It wasn't something that happened all the time, and his family and close friends were very good at reading the signs of him hitting his limit, depending on how sober they are. A drunken Cassian, for example, cannot read any signs of anything, and even if you tell him outright, he still might not understand. A drunken Cassian should never be let into your bedroom at 3 am because he 'missed his favourite broody brother'. It is a scam, and he will cling to you like a koala clings to a tree.  

Azriel never felt drained when he spent time with Elain. It wasn't that he felt energised after being with her, he was pretty sure that was a myth. But he did feel calm and at peace after spending time together, happy even. Although his family and friends could make him feel like that, it was different with Elain. She made him feel like that every time they were together. He couldn't quite explain it, but he knew that their dinners were some of the most relaxing evenings he'd had in a while.  

He wasn't ashamed to admit that he got excited whenever Elain text him to ask if he was cooking for her. Today was no different. When he had seen that she had texted him, he instantly felt the corners of his mouth start to rise. It had been just over a month of knowing Elain, and he had never said no to her. He was pretty sure that it was illegal to say no to a pregnant woman anyway, but he had never been tempted. Elain was just so sweet, how could anyone say no to her? 

When Elain had texted him today, he had been having a boring day. Cassian was off work because Nesta was doing some fancy pants lawyer stuff today, and Cassian was a good boyfriend who was going with her to support her. With Cassian gone, Azriel had nobody to laugh at for being an idiot. Rhys was in meetings all day, so he couldn't laugh at either of his brothers for being love-struck fools who smiled dopily at their phones every time their significant others text them. Azriel tried to tell himself he wasn't jealous of what his brothers had.  

Azriel had had to get his head down and do some paperwork which had been mind-numbingly boring, and the reason why he had been putting it off for so long. He had text Mor to see if she was around to save him from being bored, but she apparently had to do inductions for some newbies. Ugh. He hated how everyone in his family had responsibilities.  

Just after lunch which he took with Nuala and Cerridwen, where they had a catch up (no Mor it isn't gossiping), he got a text from Elain, asking him if he would cook for her again. Azriel couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, even though Nuala and Cerridwen gave him some funny looks for it. Thankfully, they had been friends with Azriel long enough when to comment on something or not. He had no illusions that they would let it go, they would simply bring it up at a time when he had to answer. They were just so good at getting information out of people.  

He spent the rest of the afternoon thinking of which other recipes he could cook for Elain, and what ingredients he had in the house. He probably wouldn't need to go shopping, but he didn't mind if he did need a thing or two. These days, however, he tended to keep his apartment well-stocked in case he needed to cook for Elain at short notice.  

Elain had said she had been eating cup-a-soup for the past 2 days and would be for lunch too because, although it was just water and those gross dried ‘vegetables’, that was what she seemed to be craving. He needed to feed her something nutritional because he knew those stupid powered 'soups' had no nutritional value. Over the past month, he had been googling what was good for the baby, as well as making sure that it didn't make Elain feel sick. If he was going to cook for Elain, he might as well make sure that it’s good for her.   

He decided that he would also make dessert for Elain, which was something he didn't do as often when Elain had dinner with him, mostly because she would usually want to have something that she had baked. He and Elain had figured out the perfect system so that she didn't feel guilty about eating his food, since there was no way he would let her give him money for cooking, or even for ingredients. He would cook the main meal, and Elain would bring over whatever she had baked. Today, however, Azriel had told Elain he would cook desert himself today. He wanted to surprise her with a dessert from his mother's cookbook. Elain had been enjoying milk flavoured things a lot lately, drinking it at any given moment, even having it with her meals, so Azriel had decided to combine her two favourite pregnancy cravings, sugary things and milk, making a dessert called rasmilai which was a sugary, milky dessert with strange little dough balls in it.  

It had been one of Azriel's favourite deserts as a child, and had been craving it himself lately, but had decided to make it for Elain. He knew if not for her, he would have never made it because he was too lazy for that, but making it for Elain was so rewarding that he enjoyed cooking for her. The way Elain’s face lit up was exactly the same as the first time she had eaten his cooking. He wasn’t quite sure what it did to him when she was so happy at the sight of food in front of her, only that it made his chest feel weird and tight. 

Azriel decided to finish work at 4, which was early for him, and definitely earned him a few more strange looks from Nuala and Cerridwen but he ignored them with ease. He knew he would be getting grilled about his strange behaviour in a few days after they had snooped around and asked his brothers and Mor about what was going on with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Azriel drove home, now not even attempting to hide the smile on his face. He seemed to smile more since he met Elain, another thing he didn’t really focus on too much. Or something he didn’t want to focus on. He seemed to be doing that a lot, but then again, Azriel was the master of avoiding thinking about his own feelings. It was definitely not a problem, his siblings had no idea what they were talking about. 

Azriel sent Elain a quick text to let her know that he was home and going to start cooking, just in case she wanted to come over and keep him company. It had happened often enough now, Elain laying on his sofa and talking until she fell asleep while he cooked. Azriel would notice she had gone silent and cover her with a blanket, making sure she wasn’t lying in a way that would cause her or the baby any discomfort. 

Elain replied as he was getting the milk into a pan, with a ridiculous amount of sugar to boil away, telling him that she would be coming over soon, with a share bag of prawn crackers, that she would not be sharing. Azriel let out a small laugh when he saw her text. He was never sure if Elain was having cravings, or if she just used them as an excuse and this was how she ate normally. Since he had never known her before she was pregnant, he couldn’t quite say for sure. 

Thinking about Elain’s pregnancy, Azriel couldn’t help but think about how big Elain was. It was the one thing that put him on edge around Elain, how she looked like she could topple down at any moment and not get back up. He tried not to be overbearing and annoying, but he was always worried something would happen to her and the baby. He had spent more of his free time reading up about pregnancy than he would care to admit. He certainly understood why Nesta had refused to have sex for a week when he had watched a video of a woman giving birth. He definitely did not envy Elain for that. 

A knock on the door pulled Azriel from the swirling thoughts in his head. He opened the door, instantly smiling as Elain waddled in, still eating her prawn crackers. He couldn’t help but laugh as she eased herself onto the sofa, still eating. 

“Az, the baby likes the smell of whatever you’ve cooked today.” 

Azriel couldn’t help but blush at the casual use of his nickname. “Tell the baby thank you, I’m glad someone appreciates my cooking.” 

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@hizqueen4life @kelly-fasel @sannelovesreading @acourtofmarauders @maastrash @sjm-things @bookstantrash @cursebreaker29 @humanexile @ iammissstark  @stardelia @superspiritfestival @courtofjurdan @cass-nes @thewayshedreamed

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[brokutosan]

Title. Burnt Out, Part Two

Pairing. Suna Rintaro x Fem!Reader

Summary. In which he’s intoxicated and opens up about things he never got the chance to. Part two of Burnt Out, Suna Rintaro’s point of view.

Warnings. Excessive intake of alcohol, cursing, and manga spoilers.

Suna Rintaro started dating his long-term girlfriend L/N Y/N in highschool. She was the type who kept to herself and had a small, yet golden, circle of friends. She got along well with his volleyball team because she had a great personality, and she went along with teasing their friend Miya Atsumu.

He met her when he was in preschool and he made her cry because he accidentally took her chuupet. His mom made him apologize and they bonded over a whole pack his mom bought for them to share. A few years later, he realized he liked her in his last year of middle school, when he got upset over losing his last competition with the team and she was there to cheer him up with a pack of chuupet.

He admits he’s not one for romantic gestures, but his feelings for her were always sincere. Growing up, Suna lacked the energy nor the personality to make much friends, so he was always relieved knowing she was there. They grew up together, and that’s something Suna would never replace. He associates his childhood with her and their love for chuupets.

Throughout their relationship he tried his best to show he appreciated her. Though what he liked best about her was that he didn’t need to try. He always assumed she knew and she understood his actions. After joining a pro team he got a bit busier, but he assumed she would understand.

“Quit assuming Y/N-chan’s gonna stick around for your shit. Sure, she’s always been the best of us for understanding your...detachment to everyone else, but she ain’t a saint. Get ‘yer shit together or she might just finally up and leave.” Atsumu once told him, but Suna tries not to dwell in anything the piss haired dumbass tells him. But what he said was true.

Which is why Suna decided to gamble. He told his teammates and the twins that if he won the next three consecutive games and the team placed top three in the league, he’d finally propose. Osamu told him not to gamble with life, his teammates told him not to blame them if they lose, and Atsumu rejoiced and called him brilliant. Suna’s not sure how he feels about their response, but he’s willing to risk it. Because it’s for her.

After the third win Suna went with his team to celebrate, mostly because he was in a good mood and because he was nervous yet excited at the same time. But then she called.

What if she found the ring he loosely hid in his sock drawer? What if she thinks it’s for someone else? Oh god, what if she thinks he’s cheating on her? What if-

“Actually-” “By the way-”

He lets her go first because he cares like that. But suddenly he wishes he didn’t.

“I don’t think we’re in love anymore.” Oh. With that one sentence all the pride and joy brimming up his body is flushed down by sorrow and dread. Color drains from his face and he feels like he’d stopped breathing. Suddenly all those “what-ifs” didn’t sound so bad anymore.

“I’ll pack my bags while you’re at work tomorrow.” Suna ends the call there because he’s scared she might hear his life crashing down through the phone. Still a bit shocked, Suna lets his body slide down the dingy alleyway. No tears fall because he’s not an emotional person like that, but the turmoil in his head makes him itch for a distraction.

He hears the loud cheers of his teammates inside the bar and finds the perfect solution.

-

“Rintaro-kun, get ahold of yourself!” Komori Motoya whisper-yells at his intoxicated teammate. Said intoxicated teammate is currently stumbling over his own two feet as he tries to walk in a straight line with one arm slung over Komori’s shoulders.

Komori mumbles a few strings of curses as he drags the man to the elevator. “Why did you even drink this much?” He asks no one in particular, mainly because the man in question was too busy laughing at his own reflection in the elevator mirror.

Komori remembers that MSBY has an away game, which probably means they’re all together in a hotel or probably running late with practice, and decides to call Sakusa for help. Much needed help, as he hears another groan from Suna. If he pukes - no, he won’t even think about it. Shaking his head, Komori pulls out his phone and dials a number. It rings four times, before his cousin’s cranky voice mumbles out, “Hello?”

“Sakusa! Is Miya still around?” Komori urgently grunts out, simultaneously hoisting up his teammate who’s currently being dragged down by gravity and alcohol. “What could you possibly need from that moron?” He can imagine the scowl on his cousin’s face, but he decides to focus on more important matters.

Like the idiot now hanging loosely on his shoulders. Suna’s a bit taller, so Komori has to drag his feet through the floor with one arm and keep his phone pressed to his ear with one hand. “Tell him it’s about Rintaro-kun.” There’s rustling and the sound of the phone being handed off to someone else, and then Atsumu’s croaking out a, “What-,” obvious that he was awoken from his sleep.

Komori’s not in the right state of mind to feel any remorse, so he gets to the point. “Miya, do you know Rintaro-kun’s girlfriend’s number?”

“Why?” Atsumu grumbles, still half asleep. The sound of a boisterous laughter through the phone snaps him awake, though, as he recognizes the familiar sound. “Holy shit!” He shoots up, sheets strewn on the floor. Sakusa looks like he’s about to commit a crime.

“Komori, listen - whatever he does, make sure you get it on camera!” (Komori hears Sakusa mumble, “You’re a shitty person,” and Atsumu bark back with a, “Shut ‘yer trap, Omi-kun!”) Choosing to ignore his idiocy, Komori urges on, “Do you know her number or not?”

“I mean yeah, but if ‘Taro’s that drunk then I’m pretty there’s problems with Y/N-chan.” Komori feels a vein pop, both because Suna’s weight is really starting to push down on his shoulders, and because Atsumu’s proving himself to be pretty useless in this situation.

“I don’t care anymore! Can you just text me her number so I can drop this idiot off?” Komori huffs. Atsumu hums and hangs up, seconds later texting him Y/N’s number. He hands Sakusa (who’s now unsurprisingly wearing gloves) back his phone and plops back down to his comfy hotel room bed, remembering to check on his friend the next morning.

-

Komori finally makes it to the address sent to him by Suna’s girlfriend after about thirty minutes of dragging the said man through crowds and avoiding the judgemental looks from people passing by.

He wastes no time in pressing the doorbell before he’s met face to face with the girlfriend-in-question. Her eyes are red and puffy, and she looks about as bad as Suna does, though a lot more sober. Miya was right. He thinks to himself. Relationship problems, huh?

“Ah, thank you for bringing him home safely, Komori-san!” She bows. Her voice is strangled and hoarsed, but the politeness is still there. “I’m so sorry for bothering you, I can take him from here.” Y/N holds out her arms, and perhaps because of how heartbroken she looks, Komori gently shakes his head.

“I can set him down on the couch. He’s not exactly lightweight, you see.” She simply nods, not having enough energy to go back and forth over the matter. “Thank you so much.” She says with another bow. Once Suna’s bodyweight is off his shoulders and he can feel his full body again, Komori waves his hand to show that it was no big deal.

He silently hopes he’s not overstepping, before mumbling on his way out, “I hope you two work it out.” She responds with a weak smile and another bow before locking the door behind him.

Finally alone again, Y/N steps towards her now-ex boyfriend, and decides to help him feel more comfortable by removing his shoes. Suna complies by grumbling something that can’t be understood, so Y/N continues with cleaning him up.

“Sit up real quick, ‘Taro.” She whispers. Suna obeys and sits up with his eyes still closed. His movement releases a whiff of beer and his usual cologne. Y/N has to hold her breath because of the pungent scent, but she continues to care for him with gentle hands.

Suna opens his eyes and though everything is still blurry, he could easily recognize her anywhere. He grabs hold of one of wrist that was busy yanking off his coat from his body and pulls her closer to him. She slightly falls down on where he’s seated on the couch, but she catches herself before she could completely crash down on him.

“Hi.” Suna mumbles into her neck.

“Hey. Let’s get you into some more comfortable clothes, ‘Taro.” Y/N tries to pry herself off him, but his hold on her tightens and now she finds herself engulfed into his chest with two strong arms wrapping around her frame. “Don’t wanna. Just wanna stay here.”

“Okay.” Y/N decides there’s point arguing with an intoxicated man and allows herself to melt into his hold.

But then she remembers their conversation from earlier, and her cruel decision of breaking it off without an explanation. Guilt overwhelms her and soon she attempts to pry herself off again, and this time she’s successful. Suna whines.

“Come back.” His voice is an unfamiliar pitch higher and he’s making grabby motions at her with his arms. “Try to sober up a little first, okay?” Y/N calms him down before heading into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

It only took ten seconds for Suna to follow suit, albeit still drunk and wobbly, but he is able to hold himself up until he grabs hold of her from behind, her warmth heating up his frozen body once again. “Don’t leave me.” Y/N’s not sure if he means now, or in general. Does he even remember their phone call?

Nontheless, he isn’t in his right mind, and Y/N doesn’t want to say anything that might cause him to react wildly. “Okay, let’s sit down though, yeah?” Suna nods, and his hair tickles the back of her neck. They awkwardly shuffle through the kitchen back to the couch, where Suna continues to snuggle into her chest. Y/N finds herself combing her hand through his tangled hair, somehow finding comfort in this rare display of affection.

They stay like that for a couple minutes, Y/N sitting awkwardly down on the couch and Suna’s overgrown body slumped over hers as he clings onto her waist for dear life. Y/N decides not to beat around the bush and tries to clear the elephant in the room.

“Did this happen because of what I said?” It’s a stupid question, and Y/N knows the answer to it, but she doesn’t know why she needs to hear it coming from him. Suna only nods, not once breaking away from his hold on her.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” Y/N offers. Maybe, if he’s being this uncharacteristically clingy right now, then he’d be more comfortable with opening up.

“Don’t leave me.” Suna mumbles again, this time Y/N can feel the desperation in his voice.

“I won’t. Not right now, at least. But we need to talk about it.” Y/N’s hand is still combing through his dark locks, and for a second she thinks he fell asleep because of it, but he speaks up again.

“If I ignore it will you take back what you said?” Suna tries to bargain. Y/N lets herself laugh, though it comes out choked because of how dry her throat was from crying. The sound however, makes Suna lift his head up from its place on her chest, his chin resting just above her breasts as he stares straight into her eyes.

“I’m being serious right now.” Everything about him is delirious, but his eyes scream that she should listen to what he’s about to say.

“I don’t know what changed, but I’m sorry if it’s because of something I did.” Y/N can easily tell that he’s just starting to sober up, but not enough for him to totally pull away or stop talking yet. “It was because of something Atsumu said,” She finds herself confessing. Perhaps she hasn’t totally sobered up from the bottle of wine she finished a few hours ago.

“That bastard.”

“- back in highschool.” Suna shows no remose towards what he said. Highschool school or now, Atsumu is still Atsumu, and he said what he said.

“When you guys fought over who’s fault it was when you lost a game, he told me I was dating a rock.” Suna tilts his head in confusion (and Y/N tries not to make it too obvious that she’s getting ticklish every time he moves). “A rock?” He grumbles with a scowl on his face. (He totally looks like an angry puppy right now, but Y/N decides that this isn’t the right time to gush over it).

“And then I got a wedding invitation from Mika and Daishou-kun. I drank a little too much too, so my thoughts just spiraled down negatively.” Y/N sighs as she relives the emotional turmoil she went through that evening. “I let my emotions and something Atsumu said years ago get the best of me, and I really hurt you. I’m sorry, ‘Taro.” Y/N doesn’t notice the tears streaming down her face as she cups his face in her hands. Suna leans into her touch and hums.

“I think I can understand what Atsumu said, though.” Suna mumbles out. He gets up from his comfortable spot, and Y/N feels herself missing his warmth right away.

And then he heads into the bedroom, much more sober now, and Y/N stares at him him out of curiosity. He comes back out within seconds with something in his hand and sets it down on the coffee table as he sits back down next to her. Y/N gasps.

“I told myself that I was gonna do this after winning three consecutive games. I think I was gonna do it even if we didn’t, though.” Y/N switches her gaze between her lover and the velvet box that contained a ring.

The ring itself was simple, yet elegant. There’s a single big diamond sitting in the middle of a silver band, and its beauty makes up for its simplicity. The ring is true to Suna’s character, though she suspects some of his friends had a say in picking the ring (there’s no way Suna would have been able to decide on it himself).

“This wasn’t how I planned for it to go down, but I feel like if I don’t do it now, I might not get another chance.” There’s a certain sincerity in his eyes and desperation in his voice that makes Y/N’s heart ache, both out of happiness and guilt for what she did earlier that night.

“I know I’m not gonna be the best husband - hell, I wasn’t even close to being the best boyfriend - but what I do know for sure is that there’s no one else I’d want to be with other than you.” Suna grabs the box from the table and gets down on one knee in front of the couch, where she’s still seated with tears streaming down her face.

“I promise I’ll try my best to open up more. I won’t let you get bothered by something that idiot said in highschool again, and I’ll make sure you’ll never have to question my love again.” Suna finishes with a smile, “So, Y/N, will you marry me?”

Y/N doesn’t trust her voice so she chooses to nod vigorously instead, launching herself into his welcoming arms. He falls back from the impact but his hold on her is still tight. Everything is in place again, and the figurative fire between them sparks again. If they tried hard enough, even a burnt out match can still be relit.

“Wanna mess around and pretend we broke up because of what Atsumu said?”

A/N. Also another re-uplod. Thank you for reading! You can tell I was pushing my ‘komori is team mom’ agenda bc I love my boy. Anyways, sorry if the ending got a bit cheesy but I don’t really know how to write it without making it cheesy - chuu

[butyouvealwaysbeenthecaretaker]

There's something I'm trying to put into words,

about the discomfort of straight women who are very into slash and yaoi. It's been bothering me in a quiet way for a while, and then over the weekend it exploded, and I'm trying to pick my way through pain constructively.

There's a couple of things.

~*~

Point zero is that desire is good, actually, and so is fantasy. Keep this in mind, we'll come back to it.

~*~

The first thing is shame. People who are choosing to approach their own desire from the side, not willing to recognise their own bodies or vocalise their desire in their own voice, or think about sex in which their bodies participate. People who are too afraid to work on their own liberation, so take yours.

After all, feminist sexual writing is a whole genre and tradition. The only reason why queer men's liberation feels appealing to these women is that they have nothing at stake in it: it's fantasy, it's safe, it's nothing to do with or about them.

For actual queer men, the process of liberationary sex writing is - of course - mortifying; or there is a stage of mortification and pain one experiences in approaching it. It is not, and never will be, your safe space; that's why you're trying to transform it into one.

~*~

The second thing is privacy. I'd wake up and log on and there would be a full-flown gigglefest about sex in slash, and not being able to quite put my finger on how to say - this is making me feel bad and weird. And in retrospect, this picks up on point 1. Whose bodies are we sexualising in this space. I want to go back and start a conversation about how I prefer girl-on-top and how people who read missionary fic are gross, and hey when you read Barbie/Ken fic, do you see them mostly doing it doggy style?

Because I think that would make-it-real, for these women to feel their own bodies are at stake and being scrutinised in the conversation.

Making my morning coffee, I wonder what kinds of sexual relationships these women have, and if they know that "gay missionary" isn't this abstract concept that appears in fanfiction but a kind of sex they have all the right anatomy to experience for themselves. I suspect they would not like that, and that also the purpose of these conversations is specifically so that nobody envisages them having sex, or being sexual beings.

~*~

The third is experience.

A. thinks that it's a problem that teenagers watch gay porn. (A. wrote her dissertation on gay porn.) A has never had her rights removed on the basis that the world must be made "safe for children".

B thinks there's too much gross stuff in fanfic and it should be banned. B has never experienced fanfic archives removing LGBT material under the aegis of child-protection and removing what is "gross". B has never experienced a reasonable-sounding expansion of anti-kink laws being used in the vaccum where anti-gay laws once stood, the way they disproportionately target queer porn, or are used to harass sex workers, or arrest queer people.

C thinks that anyone who has a gross fantasy, is a hair-trigger away from actually hurting somebody. C is cisgender, and will never be arrested in a bathroom or have her body regarded as inherently a gross sexual fetish. C does not date women, and has never come to learn that a fist may be more easy to take than a kiss, when you are made to feel disgusting for desiring love. C is also asexual - the shame associated with having a sexual expression of any kind is not on her radar. C does not experience gender dysphoria, and had to wrestle with the downright odd things you brain does to manage a libido and an incoherent body all at once. C has never dated someone who survived the peak of AIDS, and has formed intimate connections between blood and sex and death, forged by decades of homophobic media and law. C. cannot tolerate the concept of erotic horror because she has never been made to experience her own body and desires as horrifying.

All these women spend all their free time making stories about imaginary gay and crossdressing men, talking about drag race, and sylvester.

This is not dissonant to them. As we have said, these women see queer man culture as a a place of safety - an escape from patriarchy and their own discomfort. They are unable to comprehend queer expression as a thing that is not safe.

They are very certain that they can tell the difference between a sexual expression that is gross and nongross; and hurting the gross is therefore OK, because punishing perverts will never be co-opted in their soft-focus world of tender coffeshop AUs and gentle longing and having the right kind of gay sex that is photogenic for women to consume.

~*~ A corollary: these things are not for you. What if we defined queer media - one of many possible definitions - as a thing that excludes. Their defining quality is a conversation between queer artist and queer listener, drawn from the conversations the artist had with their friends and lovers, or conversations with the world which anyone within the wall will find familiar.

I am suddenly, humbling-ly and viscerally aware of where the *don’t like white people who like ballroom culture* people are coming from

~*~

The fourth thing is that broader conversation about women with privilege (whiteness, class, straightness), being unable to consider that their behaviour could ever be dangerous or destructive.

Their own narrative of sexual victimhood and shame is central in their own hearts, and they are incapable of adopting an intersectional perspective which adds nuance to their experiences.

~*~

And the fifth is how much they hate you when you try and bring actual queer politics into their fragile world.

Simultaneously asking, on the one hand - could we make this space safe for work again, so it feels a little less like it does now? and being howled at, as if that's an outrageous restriction on their right to talk about pornography.

And on the other, if we are to be a porn conversation place, can we try and rethink the judgemental "anyone who likes weird sex is a threat" attitudes that come up over, and over, and over again.

Needless to say, the needle for "this man is a sexual predator" fired in under 30 seconds and, shortly after demanding I leave the community I established, nobody has spoken to me since.  

~*~

There's a particular soreness, I think, of being around people who want to casually chat about drag and feel like Born This Way is theirs and want to PM you about their dissertation on gay porn studios of the 1970s and stan the Marquis de Sade

but cannot take the reality of being around queer people or their lives.

An ugliness, a grossness, a grossness that compounds the passively "being treated like a sexual object" into an active bar on having sexual subjectivity. A be seen but not heard of the bedroom: be seen, a Bowie-chiselled Velour-glamoured Cowley-sparkling Velvet Goldmine vision;

but not heard, as in, don't ever cross that line into talking about real sex in our fantasies (even when our fantasies are your real sex), and don't ever make us consider that our words have weight.

I'm spending time in a little world with women who like Interview with a Vampire, the Company of Wolves, David Lynch and the Marquis de fucking Sade, and who are so fragile around their own fears of desire that they cannot tolerate someone saying - it's fine to be into stuff, and not be ashamed.

This odd middle space, where on the one hand I am comfortable in spaces which are sexually silent - where the horror and challenge of my body and life never come up; and on the other, I am comfortable in spaces which are radically sexually open, in which no-one need feel afraid or judged.

These women, on the other hand, want something else: this desire to talk about sex billowing out of them, irrepressably, but also to use that freedom to box other sexualities down tight - to judge, to shame, to define themselves coyly by describing others as disgusting, to feel that urge spilling into view only to publically run away from it and demand others do the same.

Erotica, without wanking. Desiring men, without women. Thinking about the sex lives of your toy dolls, but not being into that weird stuff. Fantasies, with no bodies. Male sexuality, with no actual men in it.

~*~

I am the last of three queer people who has left that community; and still, I imagine, the "define our own sexuality in coded ways by judging things we are not as gross, and creating in the gaps around our own bodies and desires a world of gay men who are like I wish to be" conversations are going on; but unobserved by any actual queers who might break the fantasy.

And reader, I liked these people. I'm heartbroken.

[jaskiersvalley]

Ok look, whenever i think that i finished reading all of ur ficlets, an old one will come up, and im left to wonder if i actually read everything. I think ive scrolled for about a week now and still not sure if ive read everything. In all seriousness tho, i love ur writings so much. I hope u kee writing bcs damn

Sometimes I think back to this ask and wonder whether you have managed to read everything or if there’s still some surprises in stock for you. I really hope that, no matter where you got to, you’ve continued enjoying the stories you find.

Today, I have something a little less usual to offer. It’s Gersakier but Geralt isn’t interested in sex, however he loves indulging Jaskier and also watching. So...have some Jaskier/Cahir with voyeur Geralt.

Mead, Weed and a Place to Breed

Novigrad was one of the last places on the continent where anyone could have a drink and not be harassed for merely existing. It was why Geralt liked it, Jaskier loved it for the simple fact that there was no judgement about practically anything. Sure, murder was frowned upon but that was only to be expected. However, he could sit on Geralt’s lap and eye fellow patrons up.

“Someone caught your eye, Buttercup?” Geralt asked, a hand rubbing over Jaskier’s thigh. He was into his third tankard of mead while Jaskier was still nursing his first goblet of wine.

“Mhm,” Jaskier sipped his drink, eyes fixed to a corner of the room. “In that dark corner, not brooding as pretty as you but comes a close second. Maybe third if Eskel would actually brood.”

Following his gaze, Geralt nodded appreciatively, Jaskier always did manage to find people who danced the line between pretty and rugged. This man was no different, Nilfgaardian armour, high cheekbones and the hints of a frowning pout. Absolutely the kind of person Jaskier favoured.

“Will you approach him?”

In reply, Jaskier hopped up and sashayed across the room, easily perching on on the startled man’s lap. Geralt knew exactly when Jaskier laid out his offer because the man’s eyes darted up to him, darkening with lust. It seemed that Jaskier had done it again.

Sure enough, not three minutes later they were emptying their drinks and Geralt took it as a cue to do the same. As he put his tankard down, he watched Jaskier lead the man by the hand towards him.

“Geralt, this is Cahir.” He introduced. “Cahir, Geralt, he’s my witcher and he likes to watch.”

“I have no problem with an audience.” It was exactly what Geralt liked to hear. “You got a room, Dandelion?”

The nickname didn’t even elicit a jealous frown from Geralt. He called Jaskier his Buttercup, most people called him Jaskier, and a few, rare partners were allowed Dandelion. It must have meant Cahir said or did the right thing to earn the right. This just made Geralt’s interest pique more.

They walked to the back of the tavern, to the rooms that could be bought for a night or two. Jaskier had managed to get one that wasn’t an absolute shit hole, it had a decent sized bed and a table with two chairs. There was just enough room to put the chair against the wall and watch what happened on the bed from a comfortable distance.

That was the thing. Geralt had absolutely zero desire to be the one on the bed. Sex didn’t appeal to him, he physically could enjoy it but mentally it was more of a chore than anything else. It was a sharp contrast to Jaskier who was happiest when his legs were spread or his mouth was full. After a few lacklustre rolls in a bed or by a campfire, they had agreed that it just wasn’t working. Well, not physically anyway. Because they still adored each other, Geralt loved being able to cuddle and touch without Jaskier flinching away. Meanwhile, Jaskier absolutely doted on Geralt, fussed over his every whim and need. They made each other happy even if they weren’t a conventional couple. Especially when it came to matters of the bedroom. Geralt had seen how Jaskier held back, tried to curb his physical needs because he was devoted to Geralt. It had led to a few conversations and the agreement that Jaskier could have anyone he wanted as long as Geralt could watch. Because Geralt loved watching Jaskier mindless with pleasure, it was so much better to see him rather than miss half his reactions because he was too busy trying to coax them from him.

In the room, no time was wasted being coy. Jaskier all but raced Cahir to get naked and on the bed first. It made Geralt smile fondly at his antics, always knowing exactly what he wanted and how. Jaskier was not shy in bed.

Sitting back, Geralt watched as the two knelt on the bed, facing each other. The kisses were heated, Jaskier seemingly yielding but only in that he encouraged Cahir to lick between his parted lips, coaxing him into something deeper and filthier.

Sometimes a bed partner might keep glancing to Geralt, wondering whether he was joining in, almost fearful of it. Thankfully, Cahir seemed to have no such worries about having a witcher watch him get it on with his boyfriend. Instead, he actually appeared to relish the audience, hands roaming and feeling Jaskier’s muscles, resting to frame them before moving on. Such a show was most definitely appreciated by Geralt.

Not that Jaskier was lying back and letting Cahir do all the work. He was mouthing against any skin he found, hand teasing along Cahir’s shaft, humming in pleasure at what he found.

“I want you to fuck me. Show me what they teach you in Nilfgaard.” His eyes were fixed on Cahir as he spoke. “Fuck the air from my lungs and fill me with your come.”

Some slick was pressed into Cahir’s hands and he didn’t hesitate in working Jaskier open. There was something especially pleasing about watching Jaskier’s mouth fall open, especially when Cahir took his cock between his lips. The way Jaskier’s muscles flexed as he rocked down on the fingers opening him up before pushing up into Cahir’s mouth. Geralt watched with contentment, knowing that Jaskier was getting everything he wanted.

“If you don’t get your dick in me, I will come down your throat and leave you hanging,” Jaskier growled, wriggling impatiently.

Thankfully, Cahir seemed to take it in good spirit and pulled away laughing, patting Jaskier on the thigh for good measure. “Whatever your lordship demands.”

“Damn right. Did I tell you I’m a viscount?”

Still grinning, Cahir rearranged them a little, Jaskier on his back, near the edge of the bed, his legs thrown over Cahir’s shoulders. It was a testament to how flexible Jaskier was, something that had Geralt surprised at times too.

As soon as Cahir pushed into him, Jaskier was making demands again, “Put those muscles to use, go harder.”

Incredibly, rather object, Cahir obeyed which had Jaskier crooning. “I could feel you twitch. You like it when I boss you around. Tell you to go faster-” he broke off with a groan as Cahir pressed forward, almost bending him in half, “-oh fuck, that’s it. Knew you would be good.”

Tipping his head back, it dangled off the edge of the bed so Jaskier could wink at Geralt before his lips formed an ‘oh’ of surprise.

“That right there. Do it again!”

As asked, Cahir repeated the motion but slower, rolling his hips deep and Jaskier arched. “Fucking faster! Don’t you dare slow down now.”

Huffing in entertainment, Cahir did as told. “As the little lordling wishes.”

Geralt could see the flush spreading down Jaskier’s neck and chest. Sweat made him glisten and Cahir was not much different either. They made for a very pretty picture, Jaskier bossy and demanding Cahir fuck him properly. The sound of skin on skin, the smell of it all, it wasn’t as offensive to Geralt when he wasn’t in the midst of it all. Plus, he got to watch as Cahir’s muscles started to shake from the exertion, Jaskier’s voice broke as he barked for more.

Sitting back, Geralt smiled as Jaskier’s hand wound into Cahir’s hair and pulled, their kiss more of a messy exchange of panted breaths than anything else. Something about the whole scene had Geralt slouching in his chair, legs falling open. It was quite the view, watching Cahir fuck his boyfriend quite so thoroughly.

“Right there. Fuck!” Jaskier was teetering on the edge and Geralt could happily appreciate how Cahir had been holding back until he was certain Jaskier was right there with him. As Jaskier came, he tipped his head back to lazily grin at Geralt, making sure he was still okay with things.

Most surprisingly, Cahir wasn’t pulling out and rushing out as soon as he was done. Instead, he kissed playfully along Jaskier’s jaw, nosing along his cheek with a smile.

“You okay there?”

It was the kind of care Geralt so rarely witnessed from Jaskier’s lovers, who were too eager the leave the presence of a witcher once they’d had their fun. Yet there was no jealousy as Jaskier turned his attention back to Cahir with a wide, lopsided smile and tugged at the hair that fell forward.

“More than.”

A few more kisses were exchanged before Cahir moved, helping Jaskier ease his legs down and giving them a quick rub.

“Guess this is where I bid you both a good night,” he said, wiping himself down with a cloth from the washbowl.

“You know,” Jaskier drawled, shamelessly sprawled on the bed still, “if we’re ever in Nilfgaard, I would love to look you up again.”

Cahir shook his head. “You’ll never find me there. Try Vicovaro. I’m heading back home.”

He was mostly dressed and Geralt didn’t miss the pout on Jaskier’s face. It was obvious that he had found a playmate he wasn’t done with yet. Maybe Geralt could see about taking a few contracts as far as Vicovaro.

“And if we were there, how would we find you?” Geralt asked, giving his permission for there to be more between his boyfriend and Cahir. “I doubt if I asked around, I could find you on a first name only.”

Cahir’s hand was on the latch to the door, ready to leave. He turned with a cheeky grin. “Just ask for the count.” Stepping out of the door, he turned with one final nod. “Witcher. Viscount.”

And like that, he was gone. Jaskier dropped his head back to the bed with a groan.

“I can’t believe he outranked me.”

Geralt snorted and settled on the bed, opening up an arm for Jaskier to snuggle in. He still smelled of another man and sex but that was okay.

“I think he outranked you in more than just title,” he teased and got a halfhearted smack to the arm for it. They both knew he was right and Jaskier was going to be demanding more. Nothing for it, Geralt was just going to have to find a contract he couldn’t refuse in Vicovaro. Maybe he could even find a contract to escort a count home, it was a dangerous road to travel after all.

[dzamie-oc]

Swimming With a Shark

Summary: A wolf and a human break into an aquarium, and the human gets eaten by a shark who works there. Word count: ~2000 Fandom: OC (Kahudra) Notes: This story contains unwilling prey, implied digestion, a shark without clothes, and one character nearly drowns (he’s okay though)

In an off-limits room of the aquarium, Dave slipped quietly through the door, then held it open for his companion, Varren. "See? Easy-peasy. No alarms, no chases, nothing. And that wolf katul they left as a guard dog - er, sorry, security guy - was too busy napping to do his job."

Varren brushed off the canine pun. "No problem, just don't make a habit of it, yeah?" He kept his ears perked forward as he scanned his new surroundings. The hum of machinery had grown louder without the door blocking it, and Varren's keen nose easily picked out the cleaning and water treatment agents used in this part of the facility. "Are you sure this will help?"

"Oh, for sure," his human friend replied as both their eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, "it'll let you get familiar with the place. You're sure to impress the manager or whoever it is supervises... whatever it is."

Varren nodded, picking his way along the floor. At this level, there were a number of pools set in the "ground," most of them cordoned off to prevent someone from stumbling in accidentally. Cards attached to the railings provided handwritten information about the state the water was kept in, and the silver-furred wolf challenged himself to guess which creatures each holding tank could be used for. A noise behind him alerted him out of his game, and he whirled around, fearing that they had been found out after all. On seeing it was just Dave, Varren calmed down slightly... until he saw what his human friend had done. "Are you... is that a swimsuit?!" he hissed.

"Well, I'm not one to skinny-dip," Dave replied. On seeing Varren's exasperated look, he shrugged and started looking at the labels Varren had been reading. "Look, you're here to help with a job hunt, and I'm here because SOME of these things have gotta be heated. Besides, they're clearly temporary things, so there probably aren't any fish in them!"

"You can't- there still shouldn't be random humans in them!" Varren shot back, "these things likely have a different sanitizing procedure, and you being in the wrong one could create a contaminant dangerous to the creatures! Hell, that's why I haven't been peering in to see if anything's in them, to minimize my risk of getting fur in one!" At that point, the katul realized he had started to raise his voice, and bit his tongue to keep quiet.

Dave made a vague, dismissive gesture and looked down at another card. "You worry too much. Oh look, warm freshwater, sand at the bottom, and not very deep. C'mon, Varren, what could I possibly be messing with here?"

"A shark," Varren said, and nearly jumped out of his fur when he heard a second voice answer at the same time. Heart pounding, he fought every instinct telling him to be sensible and flee whoever had found them out, instead stepping closer to the pool Dave stood next to. There was a quiet splash, and someone poked her head out of the water, resting her arms on the lip of the tank.

"More specifically, the one who has to clean up before going home," the newcomer said, "so, seeing as you're neither employees nor fish, I'm dying to hear why you're interrupting my swim."

Dave shrugged. "Should be obvious, miss. Water's fine, I take it?" In contrast, Varren took a few seconds before replying, "I'm, uh, studying marine biology and was looking at this aquarium as a place to apply to for... uh... a position."

The woman snapped her fingers at Dave. "Oi, shark privileges. Stay out of the water or else." After a couple of seconds, she turned back to Varren and rested her chin on her forearms. "And you. Breaking into a place you want to work for? Can't say I've ever heard of that working."

Varren crouched down so they didn't have to look down and up as sharply. From this angle, it was easier to see that she wasn't human, having some sort of snout. "Well, Dave - that guy - said it would be helpful to be familiar with the layout of the place. And it's kinda my first non-retail job, so I sorta just-" He cut off suddenly as her voice and words sunk in. "Wait, are you Wendy? The shark diver who does the feeding show on Tuesdays? It's cool to see how close the smaller fish get while swimming past."

"You don't know the half of it; there's a reason you'll never see me do the show in the tank with the cleaner wrasse. But yeah, that's me. Bet I look different from above and out of my su-" A loud splash interrupted Wendy, who turned to glare at the intruder to not only the employees-only area, but the pool of water as well. "Out. Get out," she ordered, before turning back to Varren. "Alright, look. While I can't take a moral high ground over you, I really should report you to management. But, I'm a sucker for honest flattery, so how's this: I'll keep quiet about this meeting, and in return, you'll save me filling out a ton of forms by keeping quiet about what's about to happen to your friend."

The wolf tilted his head at her, then looked over to Dave. The human was still in the water, slowly paddling towards the conversation. "Uh... what's about to happen to him?"

Wendy grinned, and Varren found himself wishing his eyes hadn't yet adapted to the dim light, to save himself the view of many, many sharp teeth. "Well, he jumped into a tank with a shark, refused multiple warnings, and is wearing remarkably little to protect himself. What do you think is about to happen to him?"

Varren shuddered. Dave, apparently trying for the title of king of bad timing, grabbed onto the rim of the tank and pulled himself next to the shark woman. He squinted at her, then dropped his gaze to the water's surface. "Are you... not wearing a swimsuit? Heh, were you waiting for some dashing 'bad dude' to come along?"

Against his better judgement, Varren glanced down, though he couldn't see anything below her shoulders. Then, to the wolf's surprise, Wendy smiled at Dave with the same grin she'd just shown him. "That'll come in handy in a few seconds. Easiest way to ruin one of those things." With that, she plunged back down into the water. Varren watched as the dark, semi-obscured form swam a couple quick circles before returning to the side.

Dave, to his credit, realized the conversation was over, and he pushed himself up onto the floor, then sat on the edge to let his feet dangle in the water. "I think she has the hots for me, dude," the human bragged, flashing a grin significantly less full of sharp teeth at his friend, "c'mon, there's no way she'd bite me, and there's only one thing a guy and a girl can do that swimsuits get in the way of!"

Before Varren could reply, or even warn Dave to get out of the water, Wendy breached the surface. Jaws agape and already around her quarry's feet, she quickly consumed past the human's knees in a single surge. Dave shouted in surprise when she clamped down and pulled, dragging him off the side and back towards the water. In a panic, Dave threw out his arms towards his canine friend, who reflexively grabbed him by the wrists. Wendy, however, was already swimming up again. When Varren next saw her snout, it was wrapped around Dave's belly. He saw and felt the shark swallow; unwilling to let go of the human, the unexpected tug downwards pulled Varren to his knees. Dave opened his mouth to shout again, but the shark's hand shot out of the water to muffle him, leaving him with only his eyes to stare pleadingly at Varren.

Unfortunately for the katul, and even more unfortunately for the human, pulling hard at the mostly-eaten Dave didn't pull him out of Wendy, but instead pulled him and Wendy partly out of the water. Varren looked down at her and immediately regretted it. He'd seen her at work enough to figure that she'd be quite stunning without clothes, but at that moment, the sizable bulge in her stomach, moving with every panicked kick Dave made, had frozen him with terror rather than interest. Worse, by the time he looked back at Dave, Wendy's jaws had just slid over his head, muffling the man's protests with her throat rather than her hand. Not only that, but she was staring at the wolf.

"Leh. Go." she said, her own voice muffled by the arms still between her lips. Varren, however, only stared at her in shock and fear, and when she pushed herself back into the water, he instinctively took tight hold on the thing she was trying to take away. His grip proved stronger than his balance, and all he managed before hitting the water was a surprised yelp. Which, unfortunately, meant the next breath he took was wetter than he was used to.

In a panic, Varren thrashed around, letting go of Dave as he tried to right himself, cough the water out, and replace it with air. He was barely aware of the pair of hands pushing at his back and hips until he managed to grab hold of the rim of the tank and properly have a coughing fit. After what felt like ages, though, the katul managed to return to simply panting hard as he clung to the solid ground.

"You gonna live?" Wendy asked from behind him. A burst of adrenaline saw Varren shoot out of the water like a rocket, whirling around only after he was a few feet from the tank. The shark woman was swimming in slow circles near the top of the water, her dorsal fin and part of her tail cutting through the surface.

"I... you're not going to try to eat me, too, are you?" he replied.

Wendy swam up to the edge of the tank, causing Varren to take another cautious step back. "Not if you don't want me to. Wasn't your fault you fell in the water - well, mostly wasn't your fault, but I'm sure you didn't plan to." She smiled, this time making sure to obscure her teeth. "Anyway, you should probably leave before someone better at security takes the front desk. Good luck on the job hunt!"

Varren shook himself dry, though the water clung to his clothes more easily than to his fur. "Uh... thanks. I'm kinda second-guessing this place; you're very, uh, unconcerned with- with murdering Dave, and with the possibility that I might report you?"

"Dunno the exact legal stuff, but the worst that can happen is a bunch of stuff to fill out affirming that I'm a shark and I was hungry and yadda yadda... It's happened, like, three times now?" Wendy grunted with effort as she pushed herself up out of the pool, then stretched her arms up. Varren backed away some more, transfixed on her gut and trying not to pay attention to how much the human within was still moving. The shark took notice, and started to walk to the other side of the pool. "Oh, but don't worry about me eating you. I mean, unless you make it a habit to swim with me uninvited and hit on me while doing so."

"I'll... keep that in mind." Varren replied, hesitantly, then added under his breath, "and probably stick to places with cameras for awhile." Slightly calmer, the wolf made his way back to the same door he'd come in through, turned, and waved with automatic etiquette. "Goodnight, miss Wendy."

Wendy waved as well, though her back was turned as she bent down to do something with the tank. "Night, wolfy. See you later, whether we're on opposite sides of aquarium glass or not."

[jenniferxprentiss]

with my calamitous love (and insurmountable grief)

jj/emily -> read it on ao3 here

“I just want to be a real mom.” Her voice was broken, lips quivering as she looked down at her hands, at her bitten down fingernails and chipped nail polish, a testament to the mental turmoil she had been experiencing.

tw: infertility, canon abortion mention, post-Doyle fic.

————

this is a very personal fic to me, and though I will never know that it’s like to be stabbed in the abdomen with the leg of a table and have my internal organs ripped to shreds like Emily Prentiss experienced, I feel this fic very personally in other ways, and if this fic brightens anyone’s day or is as cathartic to them as it was to me, then I’ve done my job w this one

please do not read if you’re at all triggered by infertility, as this fic centers around it as a main theme. just lookin out for y’all

as always, reviews are appreciated

xo

————

The crushing weight of guilt mixed with sadness hit her like a ton of bricks, watching JJ ghost her hand over the subtle swell of her stomach, still mostly concealed by her flowy tops but prominent enough for Emily to know it was there. A sadness that she would never be enough — never have this experience that JJ did, thanks to Doyle — and guilt over feeling so heartbroken.

JJ looked over in her direction, their eyes locking and Emily noticed the worried furrow of her brow, the way she silently asked if she was alright. Emily nodded, forcing the corners of her lips to turn upwards in a plasticine, practiced smile.

It wasn’t that there was a lack of joy, because god, she was the happiest woman in the world to watch her wife happy and pregnant, her face positively glowing — it was that she felt a sense of failure. Failure to grow their family, unable to become a true mother.

She watched JJ from across their backyard, leaning back in a chair and half engaged in a conversation with Garcia, eyes darting between her and Henry.

That little boy was the light of Emily’s life, and she knew he was JJ and Will’s too. She felt the familiar sting of tears in her throat watching him play, climbing to the top of the slide and shouting triumphantly and racing down. He spotted her across the yard, ran to her and nearly knocked her down with his force, arms wrapping around her middle in a tight hug.

“Mom!” He was breathless, face reddened from the heat and exertion. “Did you see me? I climbed all the way to the top!”

She swallowed back her tears, choked back the emotion that would make her voice waver and uneasy and focused all of her love, all of her energy on him. Her fingers brushed through his sweat dampened hair — blonde like JJ’s, but curly on the ends like Will’s — and smiled down at him, gaze tender and full of adoration for this tiny little person that held so much space in her heart.

“Oh, did I ever! You were so fast, Hen, like lightning. I wish I were as fast as you, really.”

There was a silence between them, Emily unable to look up from the little boy’s face, counted his freckles in the rapidly setting summer sun and felt herself getting choked up again. He hugged her so tightly, so hard, and she couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be.

Her hand came down to the space between his tiny shoulder blades, pressed him into her for just a second longer before she released him, tiny body squirming against hers and anxious to get back to the slide and swings. Tears pricked at her eyes again and she dabbed at her face, hoping desperately that no one would notice her moment of weakness.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Emily noticed JJ stand and cross the patio, concern etched deep into her features. She tapped Rossi on the shoulder, whispered something in his ear, and Emily had to stifle a sob as she slipped through their back door, guilt settling on her shoulders once again. She couldn’t stop being a distraction for one simple dinner with the team.

Inside their home, the tears began to flow freely, and Emily tried to choke back her sobs. She couldn’t let JJ see her like this — couldn’t explain why she felt this way. She was standing at the bottom of their staircase when the door shut again, quieter than when she had passed through it, heard JJ’s gentle footsteps approaching.

“Emily…”

The brokenness in JJ’s voice nearly broke Emily, choking out a sob into her hand, clapped over her mouth. They knew no one would dare come in the house right now, wouldn’t intrude on their privacy, but Emily still felt too exposed in their foyer.

She extended her arm, took JJ’s hand in her own and squeezed gently — a reassurance of sorts — before guiding her up the stairs to their bedroom. Emily closed and locked the door, let out a small chuckle at the fact that she locked the door when anyone could hear them if they wanted to.

When she turned, she felt the corners of her lips twitch upwards in a half smile at the way JJ was already reclined against the headboard waiting for her.

Emily allowed herself to curl up into JJ, head resting on her shoulder and hands entwined as she let herself cry, shoulders shaking softly. JJ’s free hand ran up and down Emily’s back, rubbing soothing circles and whispering in her ear.

“Em… shh, love, you’ll be alright.” JJ’s heart was breaking at Emily’s sadness, the way she curled in on herself when she sobbed. “Everything is going to be alright.”

Her tears subsided at JJ’s calming tone, the way she was passing her thumb over the back of her hand and rubbing circles into her back. She waited until she felt like she could speak without crying again, thanking god for JJ’s patience and love, picked her head up and wiped at her face with the back of her hand before looking at her wife pointedly.

“I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck, Em?”

“I’m sorry I distracted you from dinner, that I couldn’t hold it in until everyone left.”

“No.” JJ’s voice was firm, authoritative. She pushed the overgrown bangs out of Emily’s eyes, in that moment realizing how small and fragile she felt. “No, you’re going to talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. I can’t help if you don’t talk to me, baby, and I just want to help you.”

Emily let out a sigh, hand coming up to scrub at her face with her sleeve before looking back up. She wasn’t quite able to meet JJ’s eyes, instead staring across the room, her eyes settling upon the pictures hung in a gallery on their wall.

There were pictures from their wedding — of them and Henry smiling brightly, the tiny boy squished between them with so much love on their faces — among pictures from their regular family photo sessions. Her lips twitched up in a small smirk at the picture from Henry’s birthday, the entire team crowded around the boy as he blew out his candles.

She knew there would never be judgement from JJ — knew that she could never be angry with her for a feeling that was purely biological — but still there was a flutter of anxiety in her stomach, the fear of rejection wound so deep in her personality that it almost made her choke up again.

“I’m so happy, Jayje, I promise I am…”

It was a half truth and they both knew it, knew by the sunken sadness in Emily’s eyes that there was more to her statement. JJ waited patiently, hand rubbing gentle circles on the small of Emily’s back, her gaze soft as she watched her wife — watched the way she chewed at her bottom lip, teeth worrying at the already peeling skin. She brushed her fingers across Emily’s lips in a gentle reminder, smiled softly when she released her lip and smiled sheepishly back at JJ.

“But?”

“But I’m mourning.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t ever want to be a mom, not a real mom, until I couldn’t — until I had that option ripped away from me.”

In truth, Emily never wanted children — couldn’t bear the thought of screwing them up the way her mother had done her — but there was a glimmer of hope when she started dating JJ, when she felt herself slipping so comfortably into the role of step mom.

She would think about it sometimes, late at night with Henry dozing in her lap in the rocking chair, always taking the night wake ups after the little boy no longer woke up to feed. Emily would think about Henry with a little sibling, never able to clearly picture the gender, but always seeing a little raven haired child running alongside him.

And then it happened — Doyle happened, and it nearly broke her.

She remembered waking up in the hospital, JJ and Hotch sitting in the corner of the room, their faces crumpling with a mixture of relief and fear — remembered how the doctor told her solemnly that Doyle had destroyed her reproductive system, that she had a full hysterectomy and children wouldn���t be an option for her.

At the time, the only thing that mattered was that she was there, alive and with her family — their little boy snuggled against her side in the hospital bed when she could sit up without pain, a proud beam on JJ’s face from where she sat.

But now? Now that they were growing their family by one heart and two little feet? Emily felt such a myriad of emotions that she could barely sort through it.

Anger, at Doyle mostly, but also at herself for not being able to defend herself — for being unable to carry a child of her own. The jealousy and guilt ripped at her heart, though, and she didn’t know how she could feel so much joy and so much sadness at the same time.

“I just want to be a real mom.” Her voice was broken, lips quivering as she looked down at her hands, at her bitten down fingernails and chipped nail polish, a testament to the mental turmoil she had been experiencing.

“Emily… what do you think you are?” JJ cupped Emily’s cheek with her hand, thumb stroking over the tear tracks gently. “You’re Henry’s mother. You’re this baby’s mother in every sense of the word. He or she is just as much yours as Henry is, you know this.”

The logical part of Emily's brain knew that JJ was right, that she was just as much of a mother as she was, but the irrational, anxiety riddled part of her told her that she wasn’t enough — that Henry already had parents and she was merely an intruder in their situation.

“But you and Will are Henry’s parents… you’re Henry’s mom.”

“No, we’re Henry’s moms. He can have two moms, you know? He can have a bit of a dysfunctional family. He calls Rossi grandpa. He calls your mom grandma.” JJ ran her hand through Emily’s hair gently, her fingers threading through her dark hair. “You’re a real mom, honey.”

“I’ll never have that… not like you do.”

She was right, and JJ couldn’t argue it — she knew that Emily harbored a lot of self resentment for her choices in the past, knew that Emily often regretted her decisions. Her fingers pulled through tangled raven locks, gathering Emily’s hair into a ponytail in the way she knew helped comfort her.

“I don’t know how to make that better, and I wish I could.”

JJ’s words were sincere, but Emily could see the fire at the back of her gaze. The way her nostrils flared a touch and her breathing quickened, chest rising and falling rapidly — knew that JJ could never be upset with her, that she was upset with the situation.

She had so much anger for Doyle, filed in a slot at the back of her mind, couldn’t let herself think about it too much or else the hot, angry tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and threatened to spill over. It wasn’t just anger, but a deep sadness she felt every time she ghosted her fingertips across the prominent scars on Emily’s abdomen, the brand on her chest.

He had taken so much from them — so much from Emily — and JJ couldn’t think about him without feeling a ball of resentment in her stomach. With therapy, she had learned to replace the resentment with pride — that her wife could fight and survive and most importantly, overcome — but sometimes it was hard to push past the feelings of anger and resentment.

“I just want to feel it.” Emily sniffled, her bottom lip ensnared between her teeth again. “I know it sucks and everyone hates it but I just want to know. About the kicks and the hiccups and the way a baby feels. And I know I can feel them through you in just a few weeks but fuck, it isn’t the same.”

JJ was silent for a moment, fingertips still massaging at Emily’s scalp. She had to collect her thoughts, to swallow past the sob she threatened to let out — knew that it wasn’t the time, that this was about Emily and her emotions, not JJ’s anger with Doyle and what he took from her wife.

“Emily…” She let out a puff of air, gathered Emily into her arms the best she could and dropped a tender kiss to the mess of dark hair on her chest. “You know that I’ll never judge you, right? That I’ll never be angry that you’re upset and hurting. Your sadness doesn’t detract from your joy for this baby, for our child.”

JJ smiled when she felt Emily’s hand rest gently on her abdomen, moved her own hand to rest on Emily’s and trace over her fingers. She felt the soft curve of Emily’s lips against her collarbone, pressing gentle kisses into the soft skin she found there.

“I can’t say I know how you feel, just like you don’t know what I’m experiencing… but I promise I’ll meet you in the middle. If you need to be angry and sad, I’ll sit with you in that anger and sadness until you’re ready to move past it. For better or for worse, remember?”

Emily nodded into JJ’s chest, her face still buried against her skin. She inhaled deeply, dizzy from the mixture of the smell of outside mixed with JJ’s favorite perfume — one they had bought together in Paris when they went on their first vacation without Henry. It was floral, and Emily insisted that it smelled the best on JJ and she should be the only one to wear it.

Ever since their trip she had imported the tiny bottles for JJ, always wrapping their boxes in rose gold paper. JJ’s little hitched breath full of excitement at the small box always made Emily giddy, usually giving it to her after they returned from a tough case, or more frequently, when she began to notice JJ’s gentle pout as her bottle started to run empty.

They settled entwined for just a moment longer, Emily curled into JJ’s chest as she reclined against the headboard, her hand resting between Emily’s shoulder blades. She let her head fall, face buried in dark hair as she waited for Emily to feel secure enough to break apart, knew that she wouldn’t want to talk much more — not now.

There was a girlish scream outside their window, followed by maniacal laughter from Henry, both women chuckling softly at the thought of their son tormenting his Uncle Spencer. Knowing him, he was probably chasing Reid with the water hose, laughing hysterically.

Emily sat up, untangling herself from JJ’s embrace, her lips curving upward in a small, shy smile. Her face was puffy, eyes red rimmed from the tears that seemed flow forever, sadness pent up over weeks and months — from the time they left the hospital after her attack, really.

“Thank you.” Her voice was barely a whisper, looking into JJ’s eyes with a steely gaze of her own.

“Thank you for talking to me about how you’re feeling.”

JJ was sincere in her sentiment, dabbing a tissue across Emily’s face gently. She was so proud of her for speaking up — for speaking without fear of judgement — because even though she knew that JJ would never be upset with her, it was a challenge to be open, to speak her mind. It wasn’t a luxury she ever had before she joined the team, before she found a family of her own.

The soft thud of little feet running through their downstairs living room made them break apart once more, JJ letting out a soft, rumbly chuckle when they heard Derek call after Henry.

“Do you think I have time to clean myself up?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell everyone your stomach was hurting… must have been the burgers or something.”

The corners of Emily’s lips turned up in a smirk, letting out a breath of a laugh. She leaned forward, hands coming up to cup JJ’s cheeks and pulling her close, pressing their lips together tenderly. She smiled into their kiss, lips barely brushing before she pulled back, genuine smile on her lips.

“Must have been the burgers, hm?”

“Or something.” JJ stood, making her way to the bedroom door, hand lingering on the doorknob as she looked at Emily — watched the way her eyes twinkled when she smiled.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

Emily watched as JJ shut the door behind her, giving her a bit of privacy while she freshened herself up. She felt her lips tugging up in a goofy, girlish smile at the way JJ said ‘we’ — knew that she didn’t mean the team, she meant their little family.

Her wife, their son, their little baby growing inside of her. The family that Emily never thought she’d have, but couldn’t imagine her life without.

@heat-waveee @anepiphany @ssaemilyprentits @f-m27 @whiskey-fluent

[kittinsrkillers]

So I'm a die-hard wonder woman fan, and I'll be honest, I'm super not into all these internet edge lords hating on WW84.

It came out yesterday my dudes, you can not feasibly have a fully fleshed out opinion on it yet.

Give it a few more days, talk to a few people about what they thought about it, I guarantee that you will view it much more positively.

That is, of course, if the conversation had isn't actively trying to tear it down.

This is made mostly in response to all the reviews that didn't understand either or both of the film's villains and about the magical McGuffin involved.

Actual spoilers below (it's where I start really complaining)

Now what I said above also applies to me, but I did spend several hours analyzing the movie with friends and family so there is that.

I'm going to be talking about things I've seen and how I think those opinions are one dimensional

1) Barbara did need to be in the movie and/or her storyline dragged

I think this is mostly clouded by the iffy cgi when Barbra becomes Cheetah, because her storyline actively parallels Diana's. Max Lord is not the antagonist to Diana but to Wonder Woman, Barbra is Diana's “antagonist”. She gives up her kindness to gain power and Diana gives up her power, her ability to help other, to gain Steve. Diana relinquishes her wish but we never have any confirmation Barbra does the same despite knowing it will only hurt her. One is willing to see the truth of their world, while the other let their desires consume them.

2) Max Lord doesn't have any clear motivations

Most of the complaints I’ve seen of this don’t understand how he could let things get so bad, as if people don’t dig their heels in and refuse to change plans when things go wrong every day. He is already shown to fall into that with his cooperation, he falls into sunk cost fallacy so easily, his greed blinds him to the cost of his actions, he just needs a little more power and then his son will be proud of him, he will be respected, just a little more, and then things go wrong so he needs just a little more power to fix them and the cycle repeats.

3) The villains' didn’t do anything that bad, they shouldn't of been vilified

They didn’t and they weren’t. I have seen posts addressing this but I’ll do so too, to be inclusive. The villains’ were just regular people blinded by the injustices of the world till they too became part of the problem

Max Lord wanted to be respected and successful so he “cheating” others like he felt life had cheated him.

Barbra was trampled on by people her whole life, so when she got power she trampled on others too. Though hers is harder to talk about because the dream stone stole her warmth and empathy, she no longer cared for other people the way she once used to.

Then they were “forgiven”, able to grow past their mistakes to try and be better.

4) Steve was forced into the movie and he didn’t add anything

This is where my personal opinions really start to show up because I personally don’t think that that was really Steve. I think he was Diana’s memory of Steve, the Steve she wished for.

But before I get into that, if you pay attention to Steve's timeline then he’s just come off major character development and is now more idealistic, he trusts in Diana's judgement and his already strong moral code, he doesn't even consider that Diana could lose because he’s already seen her fight a literal god of war. He has already made sacrifices for the good of mankind, he can and will do so again.

The next bit is connected to my “Steve is a memory come to life” theory so I’ll include it here.

Diana only knew Steve for like a week why is he the one thing she wished for

How could Steve fly a 1980′s jet

Diana left Themyscira for mankind, she attached to Steve so hard because he is one of if not her first love. He was the catalyst for her leaving her home, possibly forever, he was her connection to mankind, so she fixated on him. She is also much older than a human and has a much longer lifespan, theoretically, it could mean she views time as much less important, she can grieve over her dead boyfriend for decades because she will be alive for millennia's.

We do not hear the specifics of Diana’s wish. We do not know the wording used, thus we could hand wave away a lot of the weird bits about Steve. Diana first meets Steve when his plane crashes and she last sees him when he detonates the aircraft full of poison gas. He introduces himself as a pilot, but the lasso of truth compels his to divulge that he is a spy, the rest of the movie focuses more on his ability to spy than his ability to pilot, and with seventy years of nostalgia, Diana , who knew Steve for a week, likely only came to know Steve truly through the rose-tinted stories of his old friends and family. Thus, when he is returned to her, he is her perfect, idealized Steve. The one who she admired for his ability to fly.

Of course, I’m sure there is just as much, if not more evidence to indicate something else entirely, but it’s only been a single day since I saw the movie.

5) It is campy, cartoonish, and less impactful than the first movie

Being campy and cartoonish does not make it less valuable. What does cartoonish mean in this context? Does it mean childish? Does it mean silly or simplistic? Does it mean better actualized through animated film? Because this is a comic book movie. A Wonder Woman comic book movie to boot. It will be hopeful and inspiring, about an incredibly powerful, mythical woman who helps humans by inspiring them to be better. Though a crude comparison, she can be likened to a “Girl Superman” though the tone of the two heroes is drastically different.

I genuinely don’t know why people are criticizing the themes and message this movie is trying to make. People keep throwing around words like heavy and deep about the first movie because it talks about mankind's willingness to hurt others to achieve their own petty goals, as if this movie isn’t exploring how mankind will hurt themselves in their own misguided desire for what they don’t have, how their greedy desires will only hurt themselves and others.

Is it because this one doesn't have a war in it?

I’m getting petty now so I’ll only cover one more thing.

6) A lot of the plot is just handwaved away and we’re just supposed to believe things

This is particularly used regarded the dream stone, it wasn’t explicitly explained and the god that made it is only vaguely mentioned. This applies to all the magic and mythical elements of the movie. Magic and gods are often portrayed as based in belief. Wonder Woman has unwavering belief, belief in people, gods, truth, justice, forgiveness, honor. In return people believe in her. This belief is the main force behind the magic involved in the movie.

We the audience believe in this universe created -> this universe has gods in it capable of incredible feats of magic -> these gods do not always approve of or care for humans -> these gods do not necessarily force humans to participate in what they hold domain over -> A god of lies and deceit made a wish granting stone -> the stone shows the lies of human greed -> the lasso of truth is the embodiment of truth -> one is unable to lie in its hold -> one can “see the truth” in its hold -> the particle satellite thing was wished into working perfectly -> Now the particles “touch” all of mankind (though they can only understand Max Lord through their screens) -> The lasso of truth becomes part of the broadcast thus “holding” all of mankind -> all of mankind can mow see the truth (though the screens only show the magical golden light because they are machines without thoughts)

And though it does not matter if this fits into the DCEU timeline, by all of the other movies, 30 to 35 years have passed, it was a week of unexplained, but certainly not known to be magical, chaos when all of the rest of the justice league was either a child or simply not born yet.

I’m sorry for the crazy rant, but I feel like the internet is full of people who seek out reactions so I made this for people to read when they feel like WW84 is being clogged with negativity. You don’t need to give them the reaction, I already have.

(P.S. The Trump thing isn’t real, Max Lord is the 80′s archetype of the cooperate raider, I didn’t even make that possible connection till the bigots online with their ever present victim-complex started acting all offended)