#standard broaches

[maheenbroaches16]

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[housemdork]

just some hilson thoughts in these trying times

all of these things i think about constantly & fondly and exist in my mind as true canon:

house has been interested/obsessed with wilson since the second he saw him; the divorce papers ordeal combined with wilson looking like he did in 1991 sent the bisexual alarm ablaze.

only someone as repressed and clueless as wilson could take "you were the only person who didn't bore me" as a purely platonic statement.

relatedly, i think he was very convinced throughout their time together at the new orleans medical conference that wilson liked men, and only during some horribly awkward flirting attempts house witnessed from afar did house realize that either A) wilson is unfortunately straight or B) he's repressed beyond belief. being so good at reading people, i bet house accurately picks up on the latter.

house playing instruments for wilson is one of their most significant forms of intimacy.

paradoxically, since wilson is very gentle and hands on with just about everyone else in his life (patients included), he never crosses any physical barriers with house as a sign of respect for his boundaries. this goes pretty unnoticed by house until someone points it out - "aren't you guys really close? he's never even given you a pat on the back?"

they don't smoke together very often but they used to and wilson gets incredibly giggly every time, which house loves to see. wilson gets paranoid about drug testing, which sparks an argument about vicodin and double standards. wilson loses the argument every time.

wilson kissed house when they were high exactly one (1) time several years before canon. wilson was so blasted he's convinced himself it was a dream, and house always kept it in his back pocket as a desperate "gotcha" moment for the future. but the memory is too sacred and tender to ruin it by being petulant, so he never brings it up.

HOUSE IS A YEARNER. AT HIS VERY CORE, HE IS A YEARNER. WHEN ALL OF HIS BULLSHIT IS STRIPPED AWAY, HE YEARNS! wilson is better at shoving everything deeper and deeper than house.

through some grand scheming alongside cuddy, it was actually wilson's idea that they have adjoining offices, but he and cuddy worked together to make house think it was his idea and that, by getting the adjoining office, he'd won over the 2 of them.

cuddy is the only person who ever broaches the topic of house's feelings for wilson while she and house are dating. knowing them both as well as she does, she can see some sincerity there. she asks house about it and eventually gets a clipped but genuine answer: "i mean...yeah. sure. but that minefield is so sensitive that even looking at it too closely will start a chain reaction. so no thanks."

thirteen instantly picks up on house and wilson's "deal." like she can't believe it's not outright and obvious to everyone else.

SEASON 8/POST-CANON SPOILERS

i don't think house and wilson die simultaneously. whether out of reverence, grief, or masochism, i think house would try to live without wilson even for just a few hours. then he would be fully in touch with the human experiences he's always avoided/felt alienated from. it would be the final challenge for his atheism to conquer.

while holding fast to the fact that they've never slept together and never will, they get increasingly intimate with one another in those last 5 months. they share a bed, keeping mostly to their respective sides of the mattress, but really ramp up the whole "no social contract" thing. sometimes hands wander and they wake up with gentle touches on their sides, shoulders, etc. house is preparing to lose the only person who even understands his kind of intimacy, while wilson, being someone who seeks it out, struggles with this new arrangement, and all they have is each other atp!

they change how they describe their relationship to strangers while they're on the road. one day they're business partners, another day they're married, then on a first date, then professorial colleagues, then third cousins (wilson hates that one), etc., etc.

even more so than house, wilson likes that he can finally shed off layers of his old identity and feels more authentic than he ever has while road-tripping with house in the end.

i'll probably come back to this list and keep adding but there ya go, those are some of my thoughts :)

[ggidolsmuts]

Fromis App Part 16: Deserved Better - Fromis_9 Chaeyoung

You're cuddling Saerom in bed while she's on her phone, and you hear her sigh against you.

"What's wrong?"

"Chaeng needs more funding, there's less kids now, so the daycare needs additional budget to stay afloat."

"Chaeng? Who's that? You have a daycare?"

"Chaeyoung, you met her, at the... discipline session? You've been in and out of our office so often. And yes we offer a daycare for our employees if they need them. We charge a small but cheap fee, so it's usually a little under break even, but recently there's fewer kids, so she needs more funding from us."

"Huh, I didn't know that. Chaeyoung's the tall one right?" Saerom nods. "I didn't know she ran the daycare."

"She really likes being around kids, so when the previous nanny left we offered her the role."

"I see, how come I haven't seen her around the office?"

"The daycare's in a different part of the building, gotta keep the noisy kids away from the offices. You can go see her if you want!"

A few days later with Saerom's instructions on your phone you enter the Fromis building but take a left, down a hallway you've never gone to before. As you reach close to the end of the hallway you hear childish giggling, the hallway walls going from office standard drab grey to child-friendly yellow and blue.

"Everybody, what do you say?"

"Thank you Miss Lee, goodbye Miss Lee!" A chorus calls out. You step aside to let the horde of children pass by. Chaeyoung smiles at each of them before finally seeing you.

"Oh, hello! We haven't spoken since umm, that." She blushes, remembering the last time she met you, a whirlwind of sex with some of the other employees involved.

"Yeah, just wanted to say hi. I never saw you at the offices and Saerom just told me why."

"Oh yeah that's true! Well it's just this little space, I can show you around but there's not much to see." You look around at the messy scatter of chairs and papers and crayons and decide on a better idea.

"If you don't have class soon, want to grab a coffee?" She nods and leads you to the closest cafe.

"Thank you..." Chaeyoung smiles and takes a sip from the coffee you brought her.

"You know, I feel like I don't know anything about you."

"Really? I know everything about you though. Seoyeon's very happy with you."

"You mean— She talks to you about, umm, me and her?"

"Not just her, we have a group chat. Just because I'm not in the office doesn't mean I'm not in the know." A small smirk appears on her lips.

"Now I'm curious, you never reached out, or matched with me on the app. I don't think I'm that bad in the bedroom so... boyfriend?"

"The girls assure me you're not, so you don't have to worry about that. And no, not boyfriend." She pauses and takes a sip of her coffee, giving you time to process her words.

"Girlfriend?"

"No, or at least, none that haven't slept with you too. It's all casual between us." You raise an eyebrow but she says nothing more.

"Illness?"

"If you mean STDs, I'm definitely clean. And nothing else that would prevent us— I mean me, from doing it."

"So you are thinking about 'us', hmm." Chaeyoung drinks more of her coffee and doesn't offer more. "Really won't tell me?"

"No, and I assure you it's not for any physical reasons."

"Now I'm really curious. How about we do dinner, my treat?"

"As long as you don't expect anything afterwards." You agree, now more curious than ever—for whatever reason Chaeyoung's being very standoffish, yet she's blushing right now, and she has clearly been thinking about using the FROMIS app for some time with you, yet she hasn't.

"Tonight then?"

"Sure."

Later that evening, Chaeyoung's quietly nibbling on her pasta, seemingly to wait for you to finally broach the question you've avoided thus far.

"So, mind telling me the reason?"

"Sure. The reason I haven't reached out is because I didn't want to take your time away from the others, happy?"

"I... Have no idea what you mean?"

"I see the others having sex with you as a way of making them happy, keeping them stress free. They are more important than me to the company, so it is more important that you're spending time with them than with me."

"That's a very objective look at things."

"I have a stake in the company too, so I have to look at things that way."

"But I think you're taking too short-term a view. Because of the good job you're doing, the parents of the kids you're taking care of, the many employees of the company, they can do their work without worrying about them, they do a better job because of you! So, I think you are just as important as the others." You place a hand over Chaeyoung's, half-seduction and half-earnestness, wanting her to see her own value.

"You have needs too, and they deserve to be... Met." The flush is instantly apparent on her face—god, when was the last time she was touched like that?

"I said not to expect anything afterwards!" Chaeyoung mumbles, withdrawing her hand.

"I'm not. I just don't want you to feel like you're any less important than the others, okay?"

"I... Thanks."

"We won't do anything tonight, but you're my priority, I will block out whatever time you need when you want to." You grab Chaeyoung's hand again, kissing the back of it smoothly—a little cheesy perhaps, but you gather she liked it from the way she pulled away, blushing even harder.

"I umm, thanks. I should go, I have to get in early tomorrow."

"Of course, I'll see you home."

"No it's okay, I'll be fine." Chaeyoung grabs her bag and quickly hurries out. Later that night her legs are spread, hand between her thighs as she muffles her whimpers. Truth be told if you had seen her home, Chaeyoung would not have let you gone home that night. She would have pulled you in and—

"Nngh fuck!" She rubs her clit and moans into her hand. Even just thinking about your last time with her, where you and Seoyeon edged Chaeyoung until she was begging for sweet blackout release, is enough to push her to a much stronger orgasm than her usual self-satisfaction sessions. Her hips buck against her hand, pushing against the imaginary you that should be pressed against her cunt. When she relaxes she looks at her own fingers—they're wetter than they've been recently. All of her talk about letting the others have you just makes her all the more needy the moment you make yourself available. You said that'd you prioritize her over everyone else...

"Ah!" Chaeyoung shudders as she touches herself again, one hand on her chest and another dipping past her flat tummy—is she actually going for a second round? She spreads her legs wider, biting her pillow to keep quiet.

"O-Oppa!" Tonight was going to be a sleepless night for Chaeyoung.

You don't hear from Chaeyoung for a week or so, but you do run into her as she's leading her class of kids back to the classroom.

"Chaeyoung!"

"Oh hey, what are you doing here?"

"Came to pick up Jiwon. You?"

"We just had a field trip to the nearby museum."

"Nice, nice." A little kid tugs on your pant leg.

"Are you Miss Lee's daddy?"

"Uhh what?"

"I have a mommy and a daddy. Are you Miss Lee's daddy?"

"Oh god..." Chaeyoung mutters under her breath. "No no, he's just a friend, like you have friends too, right? Come on, back to the classroom you go, go follow your friends, they're leaving without you!" She ushers the kid back hastily.

"Sorry, they only know mommy and daddy right now. Husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, still a while to go for that."

"No need to be sorry, they're just kids being kids. Good to see you!"

"Mmhmm, bye!"

You're on Jiwon's floor when you receive a message.

*I want you time tonight, please come over after dropping Jiwon off*

You smile at the typo she missed.

*Of course, I'll drop Jiwon off and come right over*

With a bit of cajoling and consoling you promise to make time for Jiwon next time, and she begrudgingly lets you go.

"Are you going there to fuck her? Be honest." she asks bluntly.

"Probably?"

"Good, fuck her hard, I don't think she's swiped on anyone at all, girl needs to properly get off. I'll let Saerom know Chaeyoung's taking tomorrow off, I want you to fuck her until she can't function properly."

"Who takes care of the kids then?"

"Eh, we'll find someone, that's not for you to worry about!" Jiwon pushes you out the door. "Now go before I change my mind and drag you back in here." You listen to Jiwon and bolt.

"Hey, I'm here," you call out, knocking on the door. It swings open to reveal a gorgeous Chaeyoung, dressed in a strapless black dress and stockings.

"Whoa, going somewhere?"

"Ah umm, no, not really. Come in." You sit down in her cozy apartment.

"You seem like you're dressed to go clubbing, do you want me to go with you to one?"

"Ah about that..." There's a metallic twang as she picks at the tab of her can for a moment. "If I asked, would you go to the club with me, dance a little, have a drink or two, and then end up either back here or at your place?"

"You are assuming a lot, but yes, I'm all yours for the night." Chaeyoung scoots closer to you, a dainty hand rubbing down your thigh and to your knee. In the stunning outfit she looked nothing like the pretty and kind teacher that plays with her children you saw just a little earlier. Now she's pressed against you, breath warm on your ear and neck, like a woman that had her needs, and she wanted them met now.

"I was thinking we could save a lot of time and just skip to the fun part."

"I like that, more time for the fun part." You turn to look at Chaeyoung, and her eyes are already shut, lips lightly parted. You should've answered "Definitely" to Jiwon's question earlier, because when you capture Chaeyoung's bottom lip she whines, a "Why haven't you stuck your tongue down my throat" kind of whine. You correct yourself immediately, capturing her lips a second time and pushing your tongue past them, earning yourself a moan, a promise that Chaeyoung's going to do everything she wants to with you tonight.

You cup her face to kiss her more deeply, but she's grabbing your hand and bringing it down to her chest. It's modest but still a fun handful, made even more fun by the reaction you elicit from her, a whimper when you grind your palm into her dress, massaging a breast roughly.

"Mmm, more!" You give Chaeyoung what she wants, switching to the other breast, wrinkling her dress a little more. You tilt her head back with your other hand, opening up the flawless skin of her neck to you. You're unapologetic in your kisses, sucking and leaving marks on her pale skin, marks that would be oblivious to her childish charges, but prompt many questions from their parents.

Chaeyoung moans loudly, your lips no longer there to suppress her moans—she's already overstimulated, the physical connection with you already too much. She clings to the back your head, pushing you harder against her neck. Short as it was, her dress suddenly felt restrictive, the heat between her legs growing by the second.

"G-Go lower!" Her hand guides yours down, but you stop at her hip, grabbing her and swinging her legs across your lap. With her arms around your neck Chaeyoung's looking at you needily, gasping as you run a hand across her flat midriff, pretending to go straight between her legs before bringing it back up to squeeze a breast.

"Nngh no!" She kisses you before begging with a whisper. "Please don't tease me like last time, I can't take it right now."

"I'm not teasing you. I know you want to cum." Chaeyoung shivers at the word "cum", as if just saying the word has an effect on her. "You deserve to cum hard, I'll get you there." Her eyes are glued to your hand as you bring it back down her body and under her dress. She tenses against you, bracing for your touch against her pussy, but it doesn't come.

Not yet at least. Chaeyoung whimpers when your hand brushes the inside of her thighs, and as soon as she traps you between them she moans—you've sunk your fingers into her flesh, pushing them apart again. You dance across the smoothness of her thighs, teasing her with squeezes, as if giving her a light massage on them. Her hands drifts to your collar, wanting to pull you in for a kiss, but you resist, watching her purse and then bite on her lips as you brush a finger over her panties, pressing against the soaked fabric lightly.

"Oh..." Chaeyoung sighs, moaning and resigning herself to her fate as you "scratch" against her wet spot repeatedly, the motion giving her just enough friction to feel you there, but not enough for her to build towards an orgasm.

"You said you wouldn't— GOD!" Chaeyoung yelps at the end, her voice cracking a little as you press firmly against her wetness, swiping over where you think her clit would be through her panties. Her hands dig into your neck, and she's trembling in your arms.  You debated making one more swipe, but at this rate she's due to blow as soon as you do that. You deposit her on the edge of the couch, and before she realizes it you've buried your head underneath her dress, slightly stretching it before her thighs quickly close around you, pressing against your cheeks.

"Huh? Ah!" Slightly dazed from your tease she's confused as to where you went. She sees the slight bulge between her legs, but she doesn't put two and two together until it's too late. Nothing prepares Chaeyoung for the lightning bolt of pleasure when you lick her pussy directly, her head snapping back as she let's out a loud cry.

You barely hear her, but you definitely feel her response, her thighs pressing on you head firmly. Chaeyoung's on the edge but you're not ready to push her over yet, sucking on the left lip and then the right, spreading her pussy with your mouth. She smacks your head not too softly, and you have to grab her hands to stop her from wrecking your head from all angles. Her fingers dig into your palm, and she's twisting left and right, her legs hooked around your neck, trying to get you to properly eat her. She's liable to snap your head off at this rate with how hard she's thrashing—you'll have to finish her off first!

You plunge your tongue deep into Chaeyoung, hands holding her hips down. She instantly goes still, before everything begins. Above you Chaeyoung grunts, core tensing as the feeling of your tongue inside her goes straight to her head.

"God, fucking FUCK!" Unbecoming of a childcare teacher Chaeyeoung swears and screams in pleasure, back arching as she explodes. Her world breaks into a billion brilliant pieces, moans loud and unrestrained bursting from her as she grabs on to you over the dress.

Underneath her dress you barely hear any of it, courtesy of her thighs crushing your ears and your singular focus on making Chaeyoung cum harder than she's ever had before. All you hear is the rubbing of her thighs around your ears, the dress rustling against the couch cushion, and the wet squelch of Chaeyoung squirting. It starts with a small spray, and you catch it with your face. Her pussy contracts around your tongue, and she is sweet and salty on your tastebuds with more slick. You capture her clit with your lips, swirling your tongue over it, and her heels dig into your back, pushing her butt off the couch.

"Hnngh!" Chaeyoung howls into a couch pillow, feeling your hands on her ass lift her pussy to your face. It feels so good but she needs even more! Without even being aware of it Chaeyoung pushes herself higher on you, thighs now resting on your shoulders, legs twisting to lock you in.

"Mmph!" Your surprised moan is muffled by Chaeyoung—she has the core strength to lurch herself closer to you, making sure you bury your face in her. Every little touch makes her squirt now—kiss her pussy, squirt; a single lick, squirt; you exhale against her warmth, squirt; your nose brushes against her clit, squirt. You bury your tongue in her, upper lip nudging her clit, and Chaeyoung gushing all over your face—all you hear is the splash of fluids, her thighs still trembling and muffling your ears. When she finally goes slack and releases your head, by volume there's probably more of Lee Chaeyoung on your face than there is on her couch.

You manage to extricate yourself, and when you take your first look at Chaeyoung in a while you're proud of your work—she looks absolutely shattered, a dopey smile on her face and a pink flush washing over her, like she's had a few drinks at the club she didn't go to. She puts her hands out for you, and when you get close she grabs you, face dripping with her juices and all, and kisses you fervently.

"That was amazing. But I want more, I deserve more, don't I?"

"Yes, but you should take a breather, grab some water—"

"No, I want it now!" She pulls you to the bedroom unsteadily, and you watch Chaeyoung peel off the dress as you remove your own clothes.

"Sorry about your shirt."

"Sorry about your dress." Both are soaked in her slick.

"I'll manage."

"So will I then." Chaeyoung kicks her panties off and you're immediately on top of her, already naked and ready to go.

"Wait, sorry, can we change the position?" You get off her, but she shakes her head. "No, just like this." She takes you by your hands, and she draws it under her legs, making you hook her knees. She continues pulling your hands up, making you lean over her. She keeps raising your hands until they're by her head, and her ankles are by your ears.

"F-Fuck me like this," Chaeyoung mumbles, unable to meet your eyes—she's put herself in a mating press. She lets out a gasp when you enter her, her wetness allowing you to get all the way in right away. "Ah, so deep!"

"You like that?"

"Yeah, mm!" You pull back before delivering a solid thump against her hips. "Yes, just like that!" Chaeyoung gasps as you start pounding down into her, all of your weight translating into pure pleasure for her—no matter how hard she fucks herself with a dildo, there's no way she could ever reproduce this feeling! All those nights when she was alone, knowing that you might be with Saerom, or Nagyung, or Jiwon, or someone else, while she drills away at herself—now she's the one you're with! She doesn't need to sneak a peek at each of them coming into the building, wondering who was the lucky one that got pounded into a barely noticeable limp, or who looked either peppier (Hayoung, Jisun) or sleepier (Seoyeon) the next morning. It's all about her tonight, and she's going to let herself enjoy it to the fullest extent.

"Deeper!" She cries, hands grabbing your arms, feeling them flex underneath her. Chaeyoung flutters her eyes, biting her lower lip—anything to entice you further. "Harder, do it harder!" You put a hand on her lower back, bringing her up to you a little, and you slam down.

"Yes! That's it daddy!"

"Daddy?" Chaeyoung opens her eyes in annoyance at your sudden stop, just before she processes what she just said and wishing she could close her eyes and will you away. She covers her own face with her hands, but you pull them away, watching her blush and squirm underneath you. "What did you say?"

"N-Nothing!" But you knew exactly what she said.

"Is that why you called me tonight?" You grind your tip deep inside her. "The kid asked, and you thought about me being your daddy?" She clenches around you. "And now you can't hold it in anymore?" You thought she would deny, maybe say something to deflect, and you'd have to fuck the answer out of her, but no, Chaeyoung's desperate, folding figuratively and literally as you press her legs further back.

"Y-Yes, I'm sorry! It just came out, ah!"

"I prefer oppa, but you can call me whatever you want."

"T-Thank you, mm! Thank you daddy!" After the first occurrence slipped out with no consequence, Chaeyoung's unraveling rapidly, replacing moans of your name with "daddy". She tightens up every time she says it too, causing you to grunt in appreciation.

"God, so fucking tight!"

"Only for you daddy, only tight for you!" Chaeyoung wails. You had known that she was subby, letting you and Seoyeon tease and edge her endlessly, but this is a whole new level. She's pulling you in for a kiss, allowing her legs to be pushed further apart and back, whimpering as you strike her deep. "I'm so close, so close daddy!"

"Are you going to cum for me?"

"Yes, going to cum for you, tell me when!" With a slight grin you continue pounding down into her, staying silent even as you rub on her clit. Chaeyoung's eyes widen before they disappear into her head, closing tightly as she tries to stave off her climax. She wants to remind you that you're not supposed to tease her, but she can't piece the words together, letting a high pitched whine out instead, like she's boiling up from the inside. The clenching around your shaft becomes tighter and tighter—Chaeyoung's losing it, she won't be able to keep herself from cumming!

"D-Daddy!" she wails, sounding like a whistle.

"Cum for me now!" You stay deep in her and rub her clit rapidly, and Chaeyoung cries out in glorious release.

"Yes!" The words are choked out, and her flat tummy twitches—you feel it in the form of her pussy clenching around you, sucking you deep as you take in the sight. Chaeyoung's a young and pretty childcare provider, kind and caring. An ideal, if not perfect, if not too perfect, type for many perhaps, especially with her looks and figure. 

"Hnnngh fuck!" Yet here she is, creaming herself all around your cock, getting the fucking that, in her own words, she deserves.

"That's it, cum as hard as you want, I'm here to give you everything you deserve." The pleasure roils and boils within Chaeyoung, and your lips on her neck, the subtle pump of your hips, the fingerpad on her nipple, it all brings her back to overflowing. She gulps and chokes on air, a small orgasm washing over her from that alone. When she finally stops trembling she finds herself sweating, her arms and legs tangling around you like a clingy vine.

"That was amazing daddy."

"Good, you deserve it." Chaeyoung pulls you in for a kiss, and thankfully she loosens up slightly around you—any more of her rhythmic, perhaps unwitting, tugs on your shaft, and you're close to losing it. You calm down a little, enjoying her warm caress, a satisfied lover glowing from the pleasure. She can finish you off later, but you were in no rush.

Chaeyoung has other plans though, she's not nearly as satisfied as you thought.

"But I think... I think I also deserve it from behind. And I also think I deserve your cum in me."

"What?"

"I want your cum in me, daddy." She's on all fours, and she grabs your shaft, pushing herself back on to you.

"Fuck are you sure?" She's even tighter from behind.

"Maybe I even deserve a baby from you."

"Chaeyoung!" You grip her hips to steady yourself. It's one thing to fuck her, it's another thing to breed her. And she's calling you "daddy", fuck.

"I like being around kids, why do you think Saerom offered the job to me? I asked for it. I want kids." Despite seemingly cockdrunk, grinding herself against your hips, you see that Chaeyoung's serious.

"Are you sure?"

"We're— I mean, I am, ready to have them. You're the only one I'm doing it with, so if it happens, great, if it doesn't, maybe in the future." She pushes herself up, pressing her back to your chest and wrapping her arms around your neck. "So we can have the talk later, but right now please just give me the breeding I deserve, daddy." You hips pull back and snap forward, like a rubber band releasing its energy, and Chaeyoung cries out happily.

"Just like that!"

"Is that what you want? Why you put yourself into a mating press, hoping I'd blow my load before I could do anything else?"

"I-I wanted you to cum in me twice daddy!"

"You didn't think I would last long enough?"

"No, I didn't mean— Nngh! I'm sorry!" You push Chaeyoung down on the bed and pin her there, hips humping down into her from above. You rub against her g-spot on each thrust, and she's screaming into the sheets, delighted at your "punishment".

"Fuck me daddy, please, cum in me!" You're slamming into her now, and when Chaeyoung buckles so do you, pressing down into her prone form and flooding her womb in an instant. Chaeyoung squeals into the kiss she finds herself in, her legs kicking, unable to handle the heat she's suddenly filled with. You grunt and groan, shoving yourself deeper with smaller thrusts, determined to drain yourself fully in her.

"Hnngh that's so deep!" One more spurt for good measure. With that you collapse on top of her, keeping yourself partially propped up to not completely crush her. It is a while before both your breaths stabilize, and you roll off her.

"Thanks oppa, that was everything I dreamed of, and more." You follow her eyes down, watching your load spill out of her. There was always an implicit understanding that Saerom and the other employees you had fun with took care of themselves, that they would ask you to use a condom otherwise, but for the first time ever Chaeyoung's making you question that.

"Chaeyoung, are you— Were you serious?"

"About kids? Yes. It's not a safe day, but it's also not that risky, there's a chance, and that's good enough for me."

"That's a huge decision, you should've—"

"There are big changes coming, we're all making big decisions, so— No, that's for Saerom unnie to break it to you." Chaeyoung shakes her head. "Sorry, just call it baby fever, thinking about 'daddy' just threw me for a loop." She kisses you in apology. "Don't worry, I won't make you take responsibility if—"

"No, that would be irresponsible of me. I just don't want you to make a rash decision while you're... not in the right state of mind."

"You mean needy and horny?" Chaeyoung asks as she cleans between her legs. "If I didn't want the risk, I would've just gotten myself off and called it a night, I have toys you know. So just enjoy yourself, I'm not worrying about it and I don't want you to be. I can stop with the breeding talk if you don't find it hot."

"Right, no umm, do what turns you on. If you want to call me names and think about being reckless in bed, I'll meet you halfway."

"Well when you put it like that, it sounds so... hot." Chaeyoung's rubbing her neck, feeling warm all over again. "But no, I'm too drained, let's just take a shower and hit the bed?"

"You want me to stay over?"

"Please?" She pouts, and you don't have it in you to say no. After she insists that you shower first rather than together ("I'm going to jump you if you get hard again."), you're dozing off as Chaeyoung curls up behind you, spooning you as she falls asleep against your back.

You're jolted awake by the sound of a cupboard door closing.

"Oh, sorry!" Chaeyoung's dressed in a form-fitting black swimsuit, leaving nothing to the imagination, highlighting her stunning curves.

"Going somewhere?"

"Oh, Saerom messaged me, told me to enjoy my day off? So I was going to go swimming in the morning instead!"

"Hmm, sorry, I can't let you do that." You wrap your hand around her waist, pulling her back to bed. "That's on me, I didn't do a good job."

"Didn't do a good job?"

"So Jiwon is the one who asked Saerom for a day off for you, because I ditched her for you."

"What? Oh no, I know I shouldn't have asked you to come over yesterday, I feel so bad!"

"No no, you deserved all of it." You run a hand under her top, and Chaeyoung's blushing pink at your forwardness. "One of the conditions for Jiwon to let me go last night was that I fuck you until you can't function, and she asked Saerom to give you the day off because of that."

"So you failed, here I am... functioning, aren't I? Maybe I should message Jiwon, let her know that you failed, what would she do then?"

"We'll never know." You pull Chaeyoung against you, and she's melting by the second. "I plan to occupy you, sorry, I mean keep you occupied, for the rest of the day." Chaeyoung gasps at the thought, of you "occupying" her for the rest of the day. "Maybe you won't be able to function for about, I don't know, nine months?" Chaeyoung gasps again, growing warm in your arms. She said she was fine with just having a chance at a baby yesterday, but with how wet she instantly got she knows she's wrong—she needs to be bred, specifically by you.

"A-Are you going to, daddy? I won't tell Jiwon about your failure if you do." You respond by peeling off her swimsuit as she pulls you out of your boxers, and having never got up from the bed since you woke up, you're sliding back into Chaeyoung.

"I will if you get so tight and wet every time."

"O-Only for you, only you can give me what I deserve!" You lift her leg, letting it dangle over your hips, and you're easily bottoming out in Chaeyoung again. "You're going to give me a good workout today aren't you? You're— Oh god, working me over so deep!"

"Yes, it's the perfect workout, we can lie in bed while getting the workout you need... And you'll get your fill all the same!"

"YES!" Chaeyoung cries out as both of you cum quickly—there's no need to last long when you're going to be fucking her plenty today, and the moment you cum, her orgasm is triggered as her body tries to milk you for every drop. As you slowly calm down from you climax you spy her closet full of clothes.

"Are those all your outfits?"

"Yeah, most of them, for work, going out, exercise, shopping."

"You have an outfit to go shopping?"

"Yeah, you know, easy to take off, so I can try on other clothes?"

"You could've stopped at 'easy to take off', go put it on." Chaeyoung's a little puzzled, but she goes over and puts it on. "Good?"

"Yeah." She's pushed against the closet door, and in an instant you've unbuttoned her jeans and pushed into her again. "Hnngh! What?"

"Cum for me." An eager finger on her clit and Chaeyoung's whining into your ear, sucking on your neck and leaving a hickey as she clenches around you.

"Next outfit. You deserve to get fucked in every one of them, I'd cum in you while you're wearing each of them if I could, just so you remember me as soon as you're not naked."

"W-What about when I'm naked?" Chaeyoung asks in a daze, still coming down from her orgasm.

"You won't have to remember, because I'll be there." She shivers against you, as if the thought alone gave her pleasure. She steadies herself and grabs the next outfit. Chaeyoung finds herself whirled around, bent over the bed. The air is cool on the back of her thighs as her skirt is swept up—

"Ughhh yes!"

Chaeyoung gasps as her oversized sweater is pulled over her head and her bike shorts pulled down. She can feel herself leaking cum from the previous load, staining the fabric. Your tongue and lips on her nipples make her leak more, but not before your fingers are shoved in her, trying to keep the cum in.

"J-Just put more into me!" she manages to moan out.

Chaeyoung's bent over her desk, her work blouse fluttering open—you're on top of her, coming down from your own orgasm and breathing heavily. The only reason that your load dripping from her isn't heard is because her discarded pants are catching all of it.

"Wear this tomorrow," you mumble, tugging on her blouse.

"Hmm?! I can't, there's lipstick marks all over it!" The collar is pink from when Chaeyoung bit into it, trying to muffle her scream earlier. Your fingers delve into her, scooping up some of your load and rubbing it into the pink spots, as if that would make it clean. It just makes things smell, smell of you.

"Wear it tomorrow," you order as you place your fingers by her lips, asking her to clean them.

"Y-Yes daddy."

Chaeyoung's on the dining table, tiny boy shorts pulled to the side and your cock keeping it there. Her entire body is flushed pink, warm not only from the dishes that were just on the table a moment ago, but also from the pounding you're giving her right now, making her spill slick over the edge of the table and on to the floor.

"You deserve your dessert, don't you?"

"Yes!" Chaeyoung's pulling on her hair, and thrashing about, knocking over a cup of water.

"Good, here's your cream."

Now everything's spilling over the table edge.

In another world Chaeyoung could've been an idol, putting on different outfits for photoshoots, looking prettier than ever, each shot made to appear absolutely perfect. That Chaeyoung may have wondered if the studio would look like her apartment right now, clothes strewn everywhere, the tops and bottoms hanging on her frame for but a second, the time it takes to make a pose, before they're pulled off and replaced with another; Maybe she would have wondered if photoshoots would be tiring, having to change her outfits and poses constantly. 

This Chaeyoung is not capable of wondering, carried and pulled and tossed and finally, fucked on every surface. Her mind's mushy, she's picking up random clothing off the ground, mixing and matching—she doesn't even remember which ones she has worn already for you. Splattered randomly on her clothes are fluids of some description—a mix of her squirt and your cum. She's going to have to do one big load of laundry after you leave.

Speaking of big loads, you've left several in her, and as you fuck Chaeyoung in front of the mirror, the sinful schoolgirl outfit she has on, coupled with her utterly blissed out expression as she braces against the mirror frame, is going to make sure that this last load will last her nine months.

"God you deserve everything I have left don't you?" You growl, arms hooking under her shoulders, pulling her back and keeping her upright.

"Y-Yes, give it, please!" Chaeyoung's barely coherent, you think Jiwon will be properly satisfied if you took a picture of how Chaeyoung looked right now.

"You won't be able to wear these outfits again... This midriff? Gone." Chaeyoung's eyes are gone as well, rolling into her head, and she let's out a long, drawn out moan as you fill her womb one last time, cumming with you and eager to fully drain you and finally get some rest. She lets out a rasp, as if choking, as if she can't hold all the cum in her. She sobs, and a little bit of it leaks out from around your shaft—she's completely full! When you finish firing she sighs happily, going limp in your arms—you're the only thing keeping her up now, and you know she's out of commission, content and bred.

You put her down on the bed, and she pulls you in, pouting for a cuddle. Chaeyoung reaches for her phone, and the two of you laugh at Jiwon's messages.

*Yah, you better not see this message!*

*If the "1" disappears early I'll know!*

Chaeyoung types out a quick message.

*We finished, you should reward oppa with whatever he wants*

*Oh we will! Saerom's gonna tell him soon*

"We? What's this about Saerom, you mentioned her just now too."

"Don't worry about that, it will all be fine." Puzzled, you kiss Chaeyoung all the same—she deserves that much at least.

A/N: Well, got it out just in timeish (not really lol), but this is likely the penultimate chapter to FROMIS app. There'll be one more with the other members, hopefully it'll be soonish. Chaeng has always struck me as the super kind, super nice member, she cares a lot for them, so I wrote that in a little. Hope you like this one, have a happy 2025, and fuck pledis, WE FUCKING GO. Thanks for reading!

[strwberri-milk]

a fic where MC gets a promotion and so she prepares a nice candle light or whatever romantic dinner to tell Zayne about her promotion. On the other side, a nurse from the Hospital already told Zayne about mc's promotion and now Zayne thinks mc doesn't find him important, he just starts having sad upset negetive thoughts and even gets angry at her...but when he gets home he finds the romantic dinner setup and MC waiting in a beautiful dress.....angst to fluffy maybe slightly suggestive too

Ty<3

just a heads up i dont really write fics unless i come up w the premise myself! so heres jsut the standard hc format i use! also kinda messy of that nurse ngl but why you going around talking to his coworkers like that [eyes] /lh also i dont acc see him getting angry so ive messed w this a little bit to fit how i see him!

Zayne doesn't react when the nurse gives him the news. He doesn't want to come off as angry or anything but he also is aware that you have a positive relationship with the people he works it from the sheer amount of times you come to visit him.

He does start checking his phone a little more frequently, waiting to see if you'll text him anything that gives him a hint about what that nurse was mentioning. He knows you were gunning for one at work but had no idea what was happening as you'd been silent about it as of late. He did want to ask about but was trying to wait for the perfect moment, not sure when that would be. He tries not to let the notion that you forgot to tell him something that important bother him too much and is...generally successful as long as he's busy with work.

The drive home has him trying to figure out how to broach the topic, so distracted he almost breezes right past you in the kitchen. You stare at him, confused by the focused look on his face until he meets your gaze, raising a brow at your attire and the dinner you have set up. You immediately tell him the great news, any sour emotions he might have felt dissipating.

In bed after celebrating, Zayne finally asks why you told his colleagues before telling him. It takes you a second to register what he's talking about. You finally put the pieces together, telling him that you didn't mean to - you were just waiting for him one evening and were so excited so when you recognised the nurse you couldn't help but spill the beans. You'd thought you'd sworn them to secrecy but clearly not, making a mental note to be more careful next time to avoid any future misunderstandings. Zayne's just happy to have cleared it up, knowing all along it wasn't intentional but glad to hear you say it anyway.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Been thinking about this for a while, but how about a scenario where reader is a muggle-born from a wealthy family who care much about their public perception. They ask her to bring Sebastian over for dinner because they wanted to meet the guy she keeps mentioning in her letters (she may not say it outright but they get the idea they’re dating) only to find out that he is in fact, poor, an orphan, and potentially not to the gentlemanly standard they expected for their daughter. (he tried this time to act good. He swears) How this ends can go one of many ways.

I don’t know if this is too complicated or fully formed as an idea but I think the drama could be fun

Enough | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, ANON. I've never written anything quite like this but AH the drama was chef's kiss! I hope you love it <3

Words: ~10,400

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Drama, Fluff, Romance

The morning started the way most mornings did—early. The Great Hall was awash with the usual clatter of silverware and the soft hum of conversation, students huddling over their breakfasts, discussing the latest Quidditch scores, impending exams, or whatever gossip had surfaced overnight. You had been sipping on tea, a half-buttered slice of toast on your plate as you flipped absentmindedly through a letter from home, the familiar script of your mother’s handwriting blurring before your eyes.

That is, until you hit the second paragraph.

You blinked. Once. Twice. And then you reread it, hoping you had misunderstood.

"We were intrigued by this young man you’ve been spending time with, darling. You’ve mentioned him in nearly every letter for months now, and it sounds like he’s been quite an influence on you. Your father and I agree it’s high time we meet him properly—this Sebastian fellow. What a charming name! Please invite him to dinner over Easter holiday. We’re so looking forward to putting a face to the name and getting to know the young man you’re so fond of."

Your heart stopped. Your stomach lurched.

Sebastian.

You’d written about him often, sure. He was your best friend, wasn’t he? Or, at least, that’s what you told yourself to avoid admitting the truth. And yes, you’d spoken of him in glowing terms—how could you not? But your parents had interpreted it all so horribly wrong.

Courting? Meeting him? Easter dinner?

The idea of parading Sebastian in front of your parents, of them scrutinizing him, made your hands tremble. Not because you thought poorly of him—Merlin, no. You thought the world of him, had thought the world of him since the fifth year. It was your parents. Their expectations. Their... standards.

You could hear their voices already: "He doesn’t come from a respectable family. What are his prospects? What on earth does he think he could offer you?"

The clatter of a fork on the floor startled you back to the present. You hastily folded the letter and shoved it into your bag, breathing deeply as you tried to collect yourself. Panic simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

You glanced across the Hall to the Slytherin table, where Sebastian sat, as he often did, leaning back with an infuriating sort of confidence that only he could pull off. He was laughing at something Garreth Weasley said, his grin sharp, his dark hair a mess that somehow still suited him perfectly. You felt your chest tighten, both with fondness and sheer, unbridled terror.

You were in love with him, of course, but that hardly mattered now. You and Sebastian weren’t courting. You weren’t even close to broaching that topic. He had no idea how you felt, and you certainly weren’t about to admit it under these circumstances.

And yet, the prospect of defying your parents—ignoring their request—felt equally impossible. Their disapproval carried a weight you’d been trying to outrun your entire life, and the idea of disappointing them made your stomach churn.

You were trapped. Caught between an impossible expectation and a boy who didn’t even know he held your heart. And now, you had to somehow tell him about this invitation—a dinner he’d have no real reason to accept.

You made your way over to the Slytherin table, your palms sweaty as you clenched the strap of your bag. Sebastian caught sight of you before you even reached him, his grin widening as he straightened in his seat. His brown eyes narrowed on you—your nerves must have been written all over your face.

“What’s got you looking like that?” he asked, scooting over to make room for you as if he expected you to sit. He took a bite of his toast, completely at ease, while you hovered awkwardly beside him.

“I need to talk to you,” you blurted, your voice a little too high-pitched for your liking. “Alone.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but didn’t push. “Alright.” He stood, brushing crumbs from his hands, and slung his bag over one shoulder before nodding toward the doors. "Ladies first."

The two of you walked out of the Great Hall in silence, the weight of your impending confession settling heavily in your chest. Sebastian matched your pace, his usual confidence softened by curiosity as he shot occasional glances your way.

Once you reached the empty corridor just outside, you stopped, turning to face him. He leaned casually against the stone wall, his arms crossed, waiting for you to speak.

“Well?” he prompted, his tone light. “What’s this about?"

You inhaled sharply, clutching the strap of your bag as if it might ground you. “I got a letter from my parents this morning.”

“Ah,” he said knowingly, his smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Let me guess—another lecture about how you’re tarnishing the family name by being at Hogwarts instead of some fancy Muggle school?”

You frowned. “No, not this time. This is... different.”

That seemed to catch his attention. His smirk faded, replaced by a slight furrow of concern. “Alright, what’s it this time?”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. How were you supposed to explain this? It felt ridiculous, mortifying, and yet you couldn’t avoid it. You had to tell him.

“They...” You exhaled shakily. “They want to meet you.”

Sebastian blinked. “Me?”

“Yes.” You looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “They think we’re... courting.”

For a moment, there was only silence. You risked a glance at him and found him staring at you, his mouth slightly open as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“They what?” he finally managed, his voice rising just slightly.

“They think we’re courting!” you repeated, your face burning. “I didn’t say we were! I just... I mentioned you in my letters—your name might’ve come up a few times—and apparently, they got the wrong idea.”

Sebastian stared at you for another second before his lips twitched. Then, to your horror, he burst out laughing.

“This isn’t funny!” you hissed, glaring at him. “Sebastian, they’ve invited you to dinner over Easter holiday. They want to meet you, and they’re going to expect you to—” You cut yourself off, your heart pounding as you tried to gather your thoughts. “They’ll expect you to act a certain way, to be someone you’re not.”

“Why? Would they think I’m not up to snuff for their perfect daughter?” he asked, his grin still infuriatingly wide. “You make me sound like some street rat.”

“Because to them, you might as well be!” you snapped, then immediately regretted your words. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you said quickly, your voice softening. “It’s just... they’re very particular. They have high standards, and they’ll be looking for reasons to disapprove of you.”

Sebastian’s grin faltered, his expression hardening just a fraction. “So, what? You don’t want me to go?”

“It's not that," you insisted, shaking your head. "I just… I don’t want to put you in that position.

He studied you for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. Then, to your surprise, he shrugged. “Alright.”

Your eyes widened. “Alright what?”

“I’ll go,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Sebastian, you don’t understand,” you said desperately. “This isn’t some casual dinner. They’ll judge everything about you—your clothes, your manners, your background. And if they don’t think you’re good enough—”

“They’ll what? Disown you?” He smirked, though his tone was softer than usual. “Come on, I’ve faced cursed tombs and Dark wizards. I think I can handle a couple of uptight Muggles.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. He wasn’t taking this seriously at all—or maybe he was, in his own strange way.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said weakly.

“Well, lucky for you, I do,” he said, his confidence unwavering. “Tell your parents I’ll be there. And don’t worry—I’ll even wear my best shirt.”

You sighed, and Sebastian opened his mouth to say something else, probably another snarky remark, but you grabbed his wrist and tugged him along before he could. “Come on. We're going to the library."

He resisted slightly, his boots scuffing against the stone floor as he dragged his feet. “The library? Now? I wasn’t even finished with breakfast!”

“You’ll survive,” you shot back, glancing over your shoulder to see him smirking again.

“I don’t know,” he drawled, letting you lead him anyway. “I was in the middle of a very important debate with Garreth about whether treacle tart or cauldron cakes are the superior dessert.”

You huffed, ignoring him as you hurried down the stairs, taking two at a time. The sooner you found Ominis, the sooner you could start sorting out the absolute mess that was your life.

“Why the library?” Sebastian asked after a moment, though he didn’t sound all that curious. He was just enjoying making you squirm. “If this is about your parents, shouldn’t you be writing them a letter to tell them how incredibly lucky they are to have me gracing their dinner table?”

You ignored that, your face burning. “We need Ominis.”

“Of course we do,” Sebastian said dryly. “Can’t have a proper crisis without Ominis.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed open the library doors. The room was mostly empty this early in the morning, the usual quiet amplified by the faint rustle of pages turning in the far corner. Ominis was easy to spot—or rather, his familiar posture was. He was seated at his usual table near the enchanted globe, his wand resting lightly in his hand as he read.

“Ominis,” you called softly, leading Sebastian toward him. “We need your help.”

The blonde lifted his head at the sound of your voice, his expression calm but curious. “And good morning to you, too,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “What sort of trouble are we in this time?”

Sebastian dropped into the chair across from him, looking far too relaxed for someone about to be dragged into a week of preparations. “Her parents think we’re courting,” he said bluntly, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

Ominis’ brow furrowed. “They what?”

“They think we’re courting,” you repeated, sitting beside him and burying your face in your hands. “And they’ve invited him to dinner to... meet him.”

Ominis turned his attention to Sebastian, who looked far too relaxed given the situation. “And you agreed to this? Willingly?”

Sebastian shrugged, smirking. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

“And here I thought I’d be spending my week in peace,” Ominis muttered. “Fine. I’ll help you prepare. But don’t expect miracles.”

As expected, the days that followed were, quite frankly, exhausting. Between classes, Quidditch practice, and your usual routines, you and Ominis dedicated every spare moment to preparing Sebastian for the upcoming dinner.

It started with the basics. Ominis took the lead on etiquette lessons, drilling Sebastian on everything from proper table manners to the art of polite conversation. He even went as far as to mimic the kind of snide remarks Sebastian might encounter, forcing him to practice responding without sarcasm—a monumental task, to say the least.

“Let’s try again,” Ominis said one evening in the Undercroft, his tone patient but firm. “I’ll be her father, and you’ll be... well, you. He asks, ‘What are your intentions with my daughter?’ Go.”

Sebastian groaned, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. “We’ve done this a hundred times, Ominis.”

“And we’ll do it a hundred more if that’s what it takes,” Ominis replied sharply, tapping his wand against his palm. “Now, try again.”

Meanwhile, you took charge of teaching him about Muggle traditions and customs, including the subtle differences he might not have noticed otherwise. You explained everything from the layout of a formal dinner to the kind of small talk he could expect. It was tedious work, but Sebastian humored you, though he often did so with a grin that suggested he found the whole ordeal amusing.

The real challenge came when Ominis insisted on taking Sebastian to Hogsmeade to purchase a proper suit.

“This is ridiculous,” Sebastian grumbled as Ominis guided him through racks of tailored jackets and waistcoats. “I already have clothes.”

“Your duelling robes aren’t enough,” Ominis replied, his tone brooking no argument. “You need to look the part. Now hold still.”

You stood nearby, hiding a smile as Ominis measured Sebastian with his wand, his expression the epitome of focus. Despite Sebastian’s complaints, the results were worth it. When he stepped out of the fitting room in a sleek black suit with a crisp white shirt, you were momentarily stunned.

“Well?” he asked, spreading his arms and spinning once for effect. “Do I pass inspection?”

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “You’ll do.”

Ominis smirked knowingly. “You look presentable. Let’s hope your behavior matches.”

By the end of the week, Sebastian had begrudgingly mastered the basics. He could navigate a formal dinner, hold polite conversation, and even manage a few compliments without sounding insincere. Whether or not it would be enough to win over your parents remained to be seen, but for now, it was the best you could hope for.

On the evening of the dinner, you stood in your dormitory, staring at your reflection in the mirror with growing unease. Your usual confidence felt oddly absent as you adjusted the neckline of your dress; a light blue gown from Gladrags, soft and elegant, flowing like water down to your ankles, the color reminiscent of a clear spring sky.

Taking a deep breath, you smoothed your hands down the front of your skirt, grabbed your shawl, and headed out. The castle felt oddly quiet as you made your way to the appointed meeting place near the Floo. 5:30 sharp. You were certain you’d be the first to arrive—Sebastian had a habit of being fashionably late, after all—but as you turned the corner, you stopped short.

He was already there.

He stood near the fireplace, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his dark hair neatly combed for once. He wore the suit Ominis had picked out for him—black with a crisp white shirt—and his tie, much to your surprise, was light blue, perfectly matching your gown. The sight of it made your breath hitch.

For a moment, you just stared, taking in the way the tailored jacket fit him, the sharp cut of his shoulders, the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked... different. Polished. But there was still something so unmistakably Sebastian about him, from the way his brow furrowed slightly in thought to the nervous energy in his movements.

...Nervous?

Sebastian Sallow, the boy who faced cursed tombs and duels with a smirk, who thrived in chaos and relished a challenge, was pacing slightly as he waited for you. His hands fidgeted with the edge of his jacket, and he glanced at the clock above the fireplace every few seconds.

The sight made your chest ache and your heart flutter all at once.

“You were early,” you said softly, stepping closer.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his brown eyes widening slightly as he took you in. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze sweeping over your gown, your carefully chosen jewelry, and finally settling on your face.

“And you're right on time” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. He cleared his throat, straightening his posture. “You look—” He stopped, his words catching. Then he smiled, the kind of smile that wasn’t teasing or cocky but genuine. “You look beautiful.”

You felt warmth rise to your cheeks, and you clasped your hands together to keep from fidgeting. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He grinned at that, some of his usual confidence returning. “Well, if I’m going to face the gauntlet, I might as well dress the part.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the soft crackle of the torches filling the silence. There was a weight to the air between you, a sense of anticipation that neither of you seemed quite willing to break.

Finally, Sebastian stepped closer, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You hesitated for only a second before slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow. His warmth was steady beneath your fingertips, grounding you as the nerves in your chest threatened to bubble over.

“Let’s get this over with,” you said with a weak smile.

Sebastian smirked, though the slight tightness in his jaw told you he wasn’t as calm as he was pretending to be. “Don’t worry,” he said as he reached for the Floo powder. “I’ve got this.”

He grabbed an adequate amount, and with one last glance your way, Sebastian guided you both into the Floo.

The swirling green flames spat you out onto the gravel drive of your family’s manor, the grand estate standing tall against the backdrop of the darkening sky. The familiar sight made your stomach churn with nerves.

Sebastian let out a low whistle, glancing up at the imposing structure. “So, this is home, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, half-defensive, half-curious.

He shrugged, his hands slipping casually into his pockets. “It suits you. Polished. Impressive. Maybe a little intimidating.”

You snorted softly. “Intimidating, really?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a grin. “You should see yourself when you’re angry."

You rolled your eyes, but his playful banter did little to ease your nerves. The thought of what waited inside—your parents, their judgment, the impossible expectations—made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

Sebastian must have noticed, because his grin softened, and he stepped closer, his voice low. “Hey. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll behave. Promise.”

You gave him a weak smile, wishing you could believe him. “You’ll need to do more than behave.”

“Then I’ll dazzle them,” he said with a wink, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed his own unease. “Shall we?”

For a moment, you hesitated, your heart pounding as you stared up at the towering manor. Then you took a deep breath, slipped your hand into the crook of his arm, and nodded. “Let’s go.”

Together, you climbed the stone steps to the front door, the sound of your heels echoing in the stillness. Sebastian reached for the brass knocker but paused, glancing at you one last time. “Ready?”

No. Not even close. But you nodded anyway.

The knocker fell with a heavy thud, and within seconds, the door swung open. A butler stood in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral as he looked the two of you over. “Welcome home, Miss,” he said with a slight bow before stepping aside. “Your parents are expecting you in the drawing room.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, stepping inside with Sebastian at your side.

The manor was just as you remembered it—pristine and impossibly grand, every detail designed to impress. The faint hum of conversation drifted from the drawing room, mingling with the crackle of a fire. Your nerves tightened with each step, but Sebastian walked confidently beside you, his arm steady under your hand.

As you approached the drawing room door, your mother’s voice carried through, clear and sharp as she spoke to your father. “Do try to make a good impression, darling.”

You froze for a split second, glancing at Sebastian. He caught your eye, offering a small smile that was more reassuring than cocky this time.

With one last breath, you stepped into the room, the weight of the evening settling firmly on your shoulders.

This was it.

The drawing room was as stately as ever, bathed in the warm glow of a crystal chandelier and the flicker of firelight dancing across polished wood paneling. Your parents sat on the velvet settee near the hearth, the picture of poise and elegance. Your mother, ever the perfectionist, smoothed invisible creases from her gown as she glanced up. Your father, a tall man with a commanding presence, stood as you entered, his sharp eyes taking in the scene with quiet scrutiny.

“Darling,” your mother greeted, her tone light but laced with expectation. She rose gracefully, her gaze flickering to Sebastian. “And this must be Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian straightened, his easy confidence slipping into something more formal as he stepped forward. He bowed his head slightly, his movements smooth and deliberate. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he said, his voice steady and polite. "And please, call me Sebastian."

Your mother’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The pleasure is ours,” she said, her tone cool but courteous. “Do come in and sit.”

Sebastian glanced at you, waiting for you to move first. You gave him a slight nod, releasing his arm as you both crossed the room. The chairs arranged across from your parents suddenly felt much too far apart, but Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He sat with perfect posture, his hands resting loosely on his knees, his expression calm.

You took the seat beside him, wishing you could shrink into it. Your mother’s sharp gaze swept over Sebastian, taking in every detail of his appearance—his perfectly tailored suit, his neatly combed hair, the faintest hint of tension in his jaw.

She folded her hands in her lap, her poised smile never faltering. "So, Sebastian," she began, her tone deceptively pleasant. "Tell us. How did the two of you meet?"

Sebastian turned to you with an easy smile. "We met during Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said. "My fifth year at Hogwarts—her first. Professor Hecat paired us for a duel."

Your father arched a brow. "A duel?"

Sebastian’s smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. "Yes, sir. I was confident I’d win."

"And?" your mother prompted, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

Sebastian glanced at you, and though his expression was perfectly neutral, you caught the amusement dancing behind his eyes. "I lost," he admitted, the words coming smoothly, without a hint of shame. "Rather spectacularly, if I’m being honest."

Your mother’s lips pressed together, but she nodded as if accepting the explanation. "I see. And tell me, Sebastian, what do you do in your spare time?"

Sebastian exhaled lightly, as if considering his words carefully. "I enjoy dueling. I still train regularly—it keeps me sharp. I also read quite a bit, mostly historical accounts of magical warfare, defensive strategy, things of that nature."

"Interesting." Your mother tilted her head. “And tell us, Sebastian, where is your family from?”

You adjusted in your seat, hands smoothing over your dress in a futile attempt to steady yourself. This was exactly what you had expected—no lighthearted conversation, no genuine warmth, just the relentless, calculated prodding of your parents. Every question, though cloaked in civility, was a test. A careful dissection. They weren’t getting to know Sebastian; they were measuring him, scrutinizing every word, every movement, silently deciding whether he was worthy of the world they had so meticulously crafted.

Sebastian, to his credit, didn’t so much as flinch. His expression remained composed, though you didn’t miss the way his fingers curled slightly against his knee before relaxing again.

“I grew up in the Scottish Highlands, not far from Iverness,” he said smoothly. “My family lived there for generations.”

Your father leaned forward slightly, his expression still unreadable. “And what do your parents do?”

The air grew heavier. This was one question you’d been dreading, the one that no amount of preparation could soften. You risked a glance at Sebastian, your heart hammering in your chest.

“They were Professors, however my parents passed away when I was young,” Sebastian said, his voice steady. “It’s just my sister and I now."

There was a brief pause, the kind that stretched just long enough to be uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” your mother said at last, though the words felt hollow.

Sebastian inclined his head. “Thank you, ma’am.”

He was holding his own, but this wasn’t a conversation—it was an examination. And it was only going to get worse.

You could feel Sebastian’s gaze flick toward you, just for a moment, as if checking in. Making sure you were okay.

You weren’t.

Your father continued on, clearly not ready to let the conversation drift into safer waters. “And your sister?” he asked, his tone polite but probing. “What does she do?”

“Anne’s focus has been on her health in recent years,” Sebastian said carefully. “She’s unwell.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long, the weight of them sinking into the polished wood and embroidered silk of the drawing room. You knew your parents well enough to recognize the flicker of calculation behind your father’s eyes, the way your mother’s fingers twitched as she reached for her teacup, as if trying to mask the direction of her thoughts.

No parents. An ill sister. No meaningful connections to high society.

To them, it meant one thing: nothing to offer.

You clenched your hands in your lap, nails pressing into your palms as you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. It was maddening, sitting here while they dissected him like this, peeling him apart with careful, polite words, as they decided whether he was worth your time. As if he hadn’t already proven himself a hundred times over to you.

“Sebastian,” your mother said, breaking the brief silence, “our daughter speaks very highly of you. She’s mentioned your... intelligence and resourcefulness.”

Sebastian turned his gaze to your mother, his expression unreadable. He didn’t preen under the supposed compliment, nor did he flinch at the underlying weight of her words. Instead, he simply waited, letting her continue, as if he knew there was more to it.

Your mother took a delicate sip of her tea, the fine china barely making a sound as she set it back on the saucer. “I do hope she’s not exaggerating.”

Sebastian smiled—just a flicker of one, polite but unreadable. “I suppose that depends on what she’s said," he glanced at you briefly before continuing. “But if I’ve earned even half the praise she’s given me, I’d say I’m doing quite well.”

Your mother tilted her head, her smile tightening. “And what are your ambitions, Mr. Sallow? What do you hope to achieve?”

The question made your stomach tighten. They weren’t interested in him as a person. They were interested in whether he was worth investing in.

Sebastian, however, didn’t so much as blink. He exhaled softly, as if considering his words, then tilted his head slightly.

"I’ve always been drawn to subjects that require critical thinking—Defense Against the Dark Arts, for example," he said, his voice calm but deliberate. "My main considerations have been Cursebreaking or perhaps training to become an Auror."

Your father cleared his throat, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “Cursebreaking and… Auror?” His tone was polite but clipped, as though he was carefully parsing the unfamiliar terms. "What would such professions look like?"

“Yes, sir,” Sebastian replied carefully. “Cursebreaking involves uncovering and disarming magical traps, often tied to ancient artifacts or ruins. Akin to... archeology. And Aurors are... the magical equivalent of a detective, sir."

Your mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, her hands folding neatly in her lap. “Quite dangerous,” she said, her tone clipped as her sharp gaze flicked toward you for a moment before returning to Sebastian. “Do you find yourself drawn to danger, Mr. Sallow?”

“Not for its own sake, no,” he replied smoothly.

His response almost had you laughing—because if there was one thing Sebastian Sallow was drawn to, it was danger. You pressed your lips together tightly, trying to stifle the smile threatening to break through, but it was too late. Your amusement must have flickered across your face because your mother’s sharp eyes immediately snapped to you.

“And what, may I ask, is so amusing, darling?” she said, her tone as smooth as silk but edged with curiosity. Her gaze pinned you to your seat like a hawk spotting prey, and you froze, your mind scrambling for an excuse.

Sebastian’s gaze flicked to you, and for a brief second, you caught the faintest glimmer of a amusement in his eyes. But before you could respond, a knock at the drawing room door broke the tension.

The butler stepped inside, bowing slightly. “Dinner is served, everyone.”

Relief flooded through you so quickly you nearly sagged in your chair. Your mother nodded gracefully, rising from her seat with all the elegance of a queen. “Shall we?” she said, gesturing toward the dining room.

You wasted no time in standing, brushing down your dress as you avoided your mother’s lingering gaze. Sebastian rose smoothly beside you, his hand brushing against yours briefly as he offered his arm again. You hesitated for only a moment before taking it, his steady warmth grounding you as you followed your parents out of the room.

As you walked, you leaned in slightly, keeping your voice low. "It's unnerving how talented you are at lying."

Sebastian glanced at you, his expression unreadable but his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Who says I lied?"

You snorted softly. "You’d dive headfirst into a cursed tomb if someone dared you.”

He chuckled under his breath, his voice barely audible as he replied, “Not if it’s a boring tomb.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a laugh as the two of you entered the dining room. It was grand, of course—your family didn’t do anything halfway. The long table was set with gleaming silverware and crystal glasses, a centerpiece of fresh flowers and candles casting a soft glow over the room.

Your father took his seat at the head of the table, your mother settling in beside him with a practiced grace. You and Sebastian were directed to the seats opposite them, the distance between you making the table feel even more intimidating.

The first course—a delicate arrangement of roasted quail and glazed vegetables—was placed before you, the table settling into a brief silence as your parents inspected the presentation with the same scrutiny they applied to everything else. You glanced at Sebastian, your heart sinking slightly as you noticed the slightest flicker of uncertainty in his movements.

He picked up a fork, pausing for just a moment too long as he seemed to second-guess whether it was the correct one. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. He began to cut into the dish with the smaller dessert fork, and while it wasn’t glaringly obvious, it was enough to catch your mother’s sharp eyes.

“Not quite that one, Sebastian,” she said, her voice saccharine sweet but laced with condescension. “The proper fork for the main course is the one on your left.”

Sebastian froze for the briefest moment before smoothly setting the fork down and picking up the correct one. “Thank you for the clarification,” he said evenly.

Your mother smiled thinly, her eyes gleaming with something that made your stomach turn. “It can be so difficult to keep track of these things when one isn’t accustomed to formal settings.”

You stiffened, your grip on your own fork tightening as a surge of indignation rose in your chest. You wanted to say something, to defend him, but before you could, Sebastian beat you to it.

“Quite right,” he said, his tone still calm but now carrying a subtle edge. “It’s not a habit I’ve had the opportunity to form. I suppose that’s what makes learning new things so valuable.”

Your mother’s lips twitched, as though she couldn’t decide whether to be irritated or impressed by his response. “Indeed,” she said finally, her tone cool.

The meal carried on in uneasy silence, each bite weighed down by the lingering tension that clung to the air like a storm waiting to break. The clink of silverware against porcelain was the only sound, punctuating the unspoken challenge that had passed between Sebastian and your parents. Though the conversation had momentarily stalled, the scrutiny had not. It lingered, sharp and assessing, filling every quiet second with a pressure that made it harder to swallow.

Sebastian remained composed, his expression carefully neutral, but you could feel the way his fingers occasionally curled around the stem of his glass, the subtle flick of his gaze toward you—a silent check-in, a quiet assurance.

But it wasn’t him they turned their focus to next.

“Darling,” your mother began, setting down her fork with an air of practiced grace, “how are your studies progressing this term? I trust you’re excelling?”

You swallowed, already feeling the familiar prickle of anxiety creeping up your spine. “They’re going well, Mother,” you said carefully. “I’ve been—”

“Well?” she interrupted, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Is that the best you can say? I sent a letter to Professor Garlick who indicated to me that you've been struggling in Herbology. I’m sure you could apply yourself more diligently.”

You clenched your jaw, your grip tightening on your knife. “It’s not my strongest subject, but I’m doing my best.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, a clear sign that your answer wasn’t satisfactory. “I see,” she said coolly. “And what about that... brutish sport you insist on playing? What’s it called again? Quilt... ditch?”

“Quidditch,” you corrected quietly.

“Yes, that,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I fail to see how spending your time chasing after a ball does anything to further your education.”

Your father chimed in, his tone gruff but no less pointed. “I suppose it’s her way of rebelling.”

You focused intently on cutting your food, willing yourself to remain calm. This wasn’t new; you’d endured countless dinners like this before. But tonight, with Sebastian sitting beside you, the sting of their words felt sharper.

Sebastian, to his credit, didn’t outwardly react at all. You were impressed by his restraint. His eyes stayed fixed on his plate, though you knew him well enough to see the occasional twitch of his jaw, the subtle shift in his posture.

Your mother’s next comment was the tipping point.

“And another thing, darling,” your mother said, her tone saccharine and laced with something sharp. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve put on a bit of weight since the summer. I do hope you haven’t been neglecting your studies in favor of… indulgences.”

The words sliced through the air like a knife, precise and deliberate, meant to wound in a way that could be brushed off as concern.

Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck as every childhood insecurity came rushing back all at once. You knew better than to react—she wanted a reaction—but the sting of it lodged deep in your chest anyway.

You swallowed, unsure if you even wanted to look at Sebastian, afraid of what you might see—awkwardness, pity, maybe even silent agreement.

But when you did glance at him, what you found wasn’t hesitation.

It was fury.

Not loud, not dramatic, but cold—sharp enough to cut.

Sebastian’s hand had stilled around his fork, his knuckles just barely white with the force of his grip. His jaw was tight, his brown eyes dark with something unreadable as he stared at your mother.

When he finally set his fork down, it was deliberate, the soft clink against the plate somehow louder than any shouting could have been.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” he said, his voice deceptively calm, "your daughter is one of the most capable, brilliant, and resilient people I have ever known. And if she carries any unnecessary weight, it’s the burden of expectations placed on her by others.”

The room fell silent, your parents frozen mid-bite as they turned to look at him. You felt your heart leap into your throat, a mix of shock and gratitude and anxiety rendering you momentarily speechless.

“I understand you have high standards,” Sebastian continued, his tone polite but firm, “but I can assure you that whatever expectations you’ve set, she’s already surpassed them.”

Your mother’s expression barely flickered, but you knew her well enough to sense the barely concealed offense in the stiffening of her posture. “How very passionate of you, Mr. Sallow,” she said, setting down her fork with quiet precision. “I suppose you believe you know her better than her own family does?”

Sebastian didn’t so much as blink. “I believe I see her clearly,” he said. “Which is more than I can say for most.”

It was a direct hit. You could see it in the way your mother’s shoulders tensed, in the way your father exhaled slowly, setting his silverware down with a pointed clink.

Your father leaned back, fixing Sebastian with a cold, assessing look. “It is quite bold to assume you have any right to comment on such personal matter," your father said, his tone sharp, “Perhaps you’d care to elaborate further on what exactly your role is in her life?”

The shift in their focus was immediate and ruthless, their pointed gazes turning back to Sebastian like predators zeroing in on prey.

"I’m simply someone who sees her for who she is, not who she’s expected to be.” Sebastian replied, a flicker of something dangerously close to amusement crossing his face. “And I have to say, sir, that seems to be a rare thing in this house.”

The air turned brittle, thick with unspoken tension.

Your father’s fingers tapped once against the table, his expression cool but unreadable. Your mother inhaled slowly, exhaling through her nose as she reached for her wine glass, taking a measured sip.

You braced yourself.

"How very poetic," your father finally said, tone devoid of any real warmth. “And yet, poetry has never paid the bills, nor built anything of lasting worth."

Sebastian’s expression remained calm, though you could see the tension building in his jaw.

“With all due respect, sir,” he said smoothly, “neither has cruelty.”

Your mother’s grip on her wine glass tightened ever so slightly. Your father’s expression remained impassive, but the temperature in the room dropped like a sudden frost. The moment stretched taut, every unspoken rule of decorum cracking under the weight of Sebastian’s words.

“Clever,” your father mused, his tone devoid of amusement. “But clever words don’t change the reality of things, Sebastian. You may think you understand our daughter, but understanding is hardly the same as providing for her.”

Your mother hummed in agreement, tilting her head as she studied Sebastian like he was an unfortunate stain on her pristine tablecloth. “Yes, and you do come from rather humble beginnings,” she said smoothly, reaching for her wine. “It's tragic, truly. No parents. A sick sister. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for you, growing up without proper guidance.”

Sebastian didn’t react, but you saw the barely perceptible flex of his fingers where they rested against the table. His posture remained relaxed—perhaps too relaxed—but there was a sharpness in his eyes, a quiet fury coiling beneath the surface.

“I imagine it taught me resilience,” he said evenly. “Self-sufficiency. Things I suspect not everyone in this room has had the opportunity to learn.”

Your mother’s lips twitched, something cold flickering in her expression while your father leaned forward slightly, hands threading together.

“You speak boldly for a man with nothing to offer," he said, his tone deceptively mild. "No wealth. No status. No respectable lineage. And yet, you seem to believe you deserve our daughter. How naïve.”

You clenched your fists beneath the table, your stomach twisting with anger.

Sebastian tilted his head, and though his expression remained perfectly polite, something flickered behind his gaze—something sharp, knowing. “And you speak as though she needs something from me,” he said smoothly. “As though she isn’t already more than capable of carving her own path.” He let the words settle before adding, “She doesn’t need anyone to provide for her, least of all me. But I imagine what she does need is support. Respect.” He smiled, a slow, deliberate thing. “I have no issue giving her both. I can’t say the same for others.”

The jab landed. You saw it in the way your father’s mouth pressed into a thin line, in the way your mother’s fingers twitched slightly before she masked it with a sip of wine. Her gaze flickered toward you, and in that moment, you saw it—annoyance, disappointment, maybe even frustration that you had allowed someone like him into this house. Into your life.

Your father recovered first. He inhaled slowly, his voice quiet, cold. “Let me explain something to you,” he said, his tone shifting from condescension to something far sharper. “This—” he gestured vaguely between you and Sebastian, “—is temporary. She’ll tire of whatever… fantasy you’ve spun for her soon enough.”

Your heart clenched. You opened your mouth, but before you could even form a response, Sebastian did.

He smiled. Not a soft smile. Not a kind one.

A sharp, knowing smirk. “Funny,” he said, tilting his head, “I was just about to say the same thing about your influence over her.”

Your mother inhaled sharply. Your father’s expression darkened. “You insolent scum,” he sneered, the veneer of civility finally cracking. “Do you honestly believe you can stand there and challenge me? In my home?” He leaned forward, his eyes cold, voice laced with something cruel. “You are nothing. A nobody. A street rat with no family, no future. Do you think some clever words and a polished suit change that?”

Your mother sighed, setting down her wine glass with an air of exhausted patience. “It’s pathetic, really,” she murmured, eyes sliding over Sebastian with a look of detached pity. “You must think yourself so noble, playing protector. So righteous.” Her lips curved into something resembling a smile, but there was nothing kind about it. “But it doesn’t change what you are. A boy who clawed his way out of the dirt, only to find himself desperately reaching for something beyond his station.”

Sebastian’s shoulders stiffened, his fingers curling subtly against the edge of the table. His expression didn’t waver—his mask of practiced ease was still firmly in place—but something about him changed.

Your mother took another slow sip of her wine, setting the glass down with a soft clink before turning her attention to you. “I trust this little performance has run its course?” she asked lightly. “Or shall we continue entertaining the delusion that this—” she gestured at Sebastian with a dismissive flick of her fingers, “—is anything more than a childish infatuation?”

The words hung in the air, sharp and gleaming, waiting to cut.

Your mother’s gaze was expectant, coldly patient, as if she were merely waiting for you to confirm what she already believed—that this was just another phase, another mistake she would soon correct. Your father, too, sat with the quiet confidence of a man who had never once considered that he wouldn’t be obeyed. That you wouldn’t bend to their will.

You looked at Sebastian.

The amusement that had once danced behind his eyes was gone. The sharp, confident smirk had faded. And for the first time that night, you saw it.

Hurt.

It was gone as soon as it came, so fleeting you might have missed it if you weren’t looking. But you were looking.

A sick sort of guilt coiled in your stomach, pressing against your ribs. Because Sebastian didn’t have to be here. He hadn’t asked for this. You had invited him—not because you wanted him subjected to your parents’ scrutiny, not because you thought he owed you anything, but because you had been too afraid to defy them. Too afraid to tell them no.

You had brought him into this house, sat him at this table, knowing exactly how it would go. Knowing exactly how they would look at him, dissect him, tear him down with a thousand polished, cutting words.

And yet... and yet he had fought. Not just for himself, but for you. For your dignity, your choices, your right to be more than just a perfectly groomed extension of them.

He had sat at this table, met their every challenge, endured every cutting remark. He had taken the blows meant for you, over and over, without hesitation.

Because that’s who he was.

And that’s why you loved him. Why you always had.

You inhaled slowly, then with careful, deliberate movements, you pushed your chair back. The legs scraped against the polished floor, slicing through the silence like a blade.

Your mother’s expression flickered, just slightly—her perfectly trained poise faltering for the briefest second. Your father’s gaze sharpened.

You stood.

Sebastian's head turned toward you, something wary in his expression. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just waited. Because despite everything, despite all the words that had been thrown between them, this moment wasn’t his.

It was yours.

You lifted your chin, meeting your mother’s gaze first. “Enough.”

A single word. Final. Absolute.

Your father scoffed. “Sit down.”

“No.” You turned to face him fully, voice unwavering. “You don’t get to speak to him that way. Not anymore. Not ever again.”

Your mother let out a breathy laugh, reaching for her wine. “Darling—”

“I love him.”

The words left your lips before you could second-guess them.

Your mother froze, her glass hovering just above the table. Your father’s expression turned to stone, his mouth pressing into a thin line. But it was Sebastian’s reaction that mattered most.

He went completely still.

You turned to look at him fully now, heart pounding, searching his face, because you’d never said it before. Not out loud.

But it was the truth.

And for the first time, you weren’t afraid of it.

“I love him,” you repeated, each syllable firm, unshaken. “And I won’t, for one more second, listen to your condescension, your cruelty, your endless judgment, not towards him.”

Your father scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re being ridiculous.”

You snapped your attention back to him. “No, I’m done being ridiculous,” you said, voice firm. “I’m done playing this game. Done pretending that what you want for me is what I want.” You exhaled, steadying yourself. “I just won’t sit here and pretend that what you’re doing isn’t vile. I won’t sit at this bloody table and let you look down on someone who is worth ten of any society man you’d rather have me with. And I’m done letting you dictate my life.”

Silence.

Then your mother’s voice, quiet but cutting. “You would choose him over your family?”

Your throat tightened.

“If you won't accept my choice, then yes. I would. And I will.”

The finality of it rang through the room.

Your mother’s lips pressed together, her shoulders going rigid. Your father simply let out a slow breath through his nose.

And Sebastian.

Sebastian, who had spent the evening enduring the worst of them, who had sat through every cruel, veiled insult and outright attack, who had stood his ground even when it hurt—

Sebastian looked at you like you were something impossible.

Like you had just rewritten the laws of the universe before his very eyes.

Like he had braced himself for battle and, instead, you had stepped in front of him and ended the war with nothing but your voice.

Your father made a low sound, something between exasperation and disgust. “You’re making a mistake.”

You exhaled slowly. “Then it’s mine to make.”

He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “You’ll regret this.”

You didn’t even hesitate. “No. I won’t.”

You lifted your chin, offering Sebastian your hand. “Let’s go,” you said, voice steady, unwavering.

Sebastian didn’t move for a heartbeat. His fingers twitched at his side, his gaze flicking from your hand to your face, searching—really searching—for any sign of hesitation, of regret.

He found none.

And that was when he took your hand.

Warm. Solid.

Your mother let out a quiet breath through her nose, something unreadable passing over her face before she schooled her features back into perfect neutrality. Your father, however, wasn’t as composed.

“I will not be made a fool of in my own home,” he said sharply, his voice carrying an edge of finality, of command. “You walk out that door, you do not walk back in.”

The weight of his words settled in the space between you, heavy and suffocating. A lifetime of expectations, of obligations, of control—all crumbling with a single choice.

Your mother folded her hands neatly in her lap, watching you with a cool, detached expression. “Well, darling?” she said, tilting her head. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Sebastian stiffened beside you, like he was ready for you to turn around and stay. Like he was bracing himself for the inevitable.

But there was no decision to be made. Even if Sebastian didn't love you back, even if you weren't actually courting, even if he never felt the same, even if this all ended tomorrow, you wouldn’t regret standing here, choosing yourself for the first time in your life.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

And with that, you turned.

You didn’t wait for another word, another cruel remark, another attempt to claw you back into the cage they had built for you. You simply walked away.

Outside the manor, the gravel drive crunched beneath your feet, the only sound in the otherwise still night. You didn’t speak. Neither did Sebastian. The weight of the evening hung between you, thick and suffocating, stretching into the quiet as you made your way down the long path.

When you reached the gates, Sebastian finally let go, of your hand, stepping forward to unlatch them. The metal groaned slightly as it swung open, and you hesitated only briefly before stepping through, leaving your childhood behind with the soft click of the latch snapping shut behind you.

The Floo loomed in front of you, smelling of ash and magic, thick with the weight of old decisions and new ones yet to be made.

Sebastian stepped forward first, tossing a handful of Floo Powder before vanishing into the green.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. Then you followed.

The second your feet touched the cool stone floor of the castle, the weight of it all, of everything that had just happened, crashed into you.

It was sudden, overwhelming—like the entire evening had been held at bay by sheer force of will, and now, with no more battles to fight, no more words left to say, it all came rushing in at once.

Your breath hitched. Then another. Then another.

You were breaking.

The grief, the exhaustion, the anger—it clawed up your throat all at once, twisting into something ragged and uncontrollable. You gasped, pressing the heel of your hand against your chest, as if you could physically hold yourself together.

And then you were crying.

Sobbing, really.

Not the quiet, dignified tears of someone mourning something small, but the raw, wrecked kind.

It was too much. The fight, the way they had looked at him, the way they had looked at you. The finality of it all. The loss. Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? Walking away meant you had lost something, even if you had never really wanted it in the first place.

But you had gained something too. You knew that.

And yet, it still hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper, barely holding itself together. “I—I shouldn’t have taken you there. I shouldn’t have—” Your breath shuddered violently as you wrapped your arms around yourself, your body shaking. “I knew what they’d do. I knew. And I still—”

Sebastian moved before you could finish.

Warm hands found your shoulders, solid and grounding. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low, steady. “Look at me.”

You did.

His gaze wasn’t full of pity. Not anger. Not resentment.

Just… Sebastian.

Soft. Steady. There.

And that was worse somehow, because it made you sob harder.

“I just—I don’t know what I was thinking,” you choked out. “I just wanted to get through it, to—”

“To satisfy them,” Sebastian murmured.

You nodded, another sob breaking free. “And I did. For years, I did. But I can’t anymore.” You exhaled sharply. "And now, now I've lost them, and I know it was right but—"

“It still hurts,” Sebastian finished for you, his voice softer now. "They're still your parents."

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, your nod barely perceptible.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

And then—

“...Do you really love me?”

His voice was quiet. Almost hoarse.

You stiffened, your breath catching. Slowly, you lifted your head, looking up at him.

Sebastian's expression was unreadable, his shoulders tense like he was bracing himself for the answer. His fingers flexed at his sides, but his eyes—his eyes were wide, dark, filled with something you couldn’t place.

You had never seen him like this.

Never seen him afraid. Not of a fight. Not of a curse. But of this.

Of you.

“Do you?” he asked again, softer this time. “Or was it just—was it just something you said to get them to stop?”

You blinked, your breath still shaky, your cheeks still wet. And yet, somehow, the weight in your chest lifted just slightly, just enough for you to see through the grief, the exhaustion, the fear.

And the truth was still there, waiting for you, steady and undeniable.

You reached for him, fingers trembling, pressing against his arm first—then his jaw, his cheek, the way you had always wanted to but hadn’t dared.

His breath stuttered.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I love you.”

Sebastian didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

He just stared at you, eyes wide, lips parted like he was trying to process the words—like he had heard them, understood them, but didn’t believe them.

“You—” His voice broke. He swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t have to say that just because—”

“I mean it, Sebastian.”

His whole body tensed.

“I didn’t say it for them. I didn’t say it to make a point. I didn’t say it to win.” Your voice was raw, stripped bare, nothing left to hide behind. “I said it because it’s true. It's been true for years."

Sebastian’s eyes flickered, something breaking apart behind them. His lips parted slightly, his breath uneven, and for a single, fragile moment, he looked lost.

And then he crashed into you, his arms wrapping around you with such force that it knocked the breath from your lungs. His grip was tight—almost desperate—like he had been waiting for this his entire life and still couldn’t believe it was real.

You barely had time to react before you were sinking into him, your fingers fisting into the back of his jacket, your face pressing into the warm, solid plane of his chest.

Then, his voice. Barely a whisper. Barely holding itself together.

"I love you, too."

You froze.

Sebastian only held you tighter.

His fingers curled into the fabric of your dress, gripping it like he needed something solid, something to keep him standing. His forehead pressed into your hair, and his breath was warm against your temple, coming in unsteady bursts, as if the words had taken everything out of him. Like they had been clawing their way out of him for years.

You turned your face deeper into his chest, squeezing your eyes shut as your arms wound tighter around him, your fingers pressing into the muscles of his back, warm, solid, real, yours.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, his whole body shaking. "You don’t—” His breath caught, like he couldn’t quite get the words out. “You don’t understand. I’ve wanted—I never—” He let out something between a laugh and a choked breath, his hands smoothing up your back, then gripping you tighter again, like he couldn’t decide if he should hold you gently or keep you locked against him forever.

“I thought—” He swallowed hard. “I never thought—" Another breath, another exhale, another shudder running through him.

"I never thought I was enough."

You pulled back just enough to see him, to look into his face, to make him see you. His eyes were wild with emotion, pupils blown wide, lips parted like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how. You reached up, cupping his jaw, thumbs tracing the sharp planes of his cheekbones.

“Then you’re an idiot,” you murmured teasingly, voice thick with emotion, “because you’ve always been enough.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He searched your face, as if he was still trying to make sense of this, as if some part of him was waiting for you to take it back, to wake up from whatever dream this must have been.

But then—slowly, carefully—he let himself believe it.

And that was when he kissed you.

Slow, deep, desperate—in ways that only years of restraint could make it. In ways that made it feel inevitable, like the two of you had been pulled toward this moment by some unseen force long before either of you had the courage to acknowledge it.

Sebastian kissed you like he was starving for you, like he had been holding himself back for so long that now, given even the slightest permission, he couldn’t stop himself. His fingers splayed against your back, pressing you flush against him, as if the space between you was unbearable, as if he needed to feel you to believe this was real. His other hand slid up, cradling your face with a reverence that made your chest ache, his thumb sweeping over your cheekbone.

You melted into him, into the heat of him, into the way his lips moved against yours like he was memorizing you, like he needed to commit every touch, every sigh, every trembling breath to memory so he could keep it locked inside himself forever. He kissed you with years of unspoken words, years of buried longing, years of wanting but never allowing himself to have.

You weren’t sure which of you was trembling more.

And then, slowly, like he was dragging himself away from the very thing keeping him alive, Sebastian pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice wrecked, raw in ways you had never heard before.

Your fingers loosened their grip, moving up, tracing along his jaw, mapping out every curve, every freckle, every part of him that you had never allowed yourself to touch before.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

His throat bobbed, his grip on you tightening, a smile splitting his face in two.

“I love you, too,” he murmured, soft but steady. He turned his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his lips warm and reverent.

Something inside you—something that had been wound tight for years—unraveled.

You had spent so long living the life that had been laid out for you, bending beneath expectations that had never truly been yours. You had spent so long trying to be what they wanted, waiting, waiting, for the moment you would finally be free.

And now—standing here, wrapped in his arms, his heartbeat thrumming against your own—you realized that freedom had never been something waiting for you on the horizon.

It had been yours to take all along.

[mrsbarnesxxx]

Eddie Diaz x reader

Angst but fluff at the end

Where maybe the reader is married to Eddie and she asks him about if he ever wants a kid with her and he takes it the wrong way and says something like I only need Christopher and he’s enough, and the reader gets upset and walks off and maybe drives to Maddie’s and chimneys and while she’s gone he goes to their room and finds a box on the bed and he opens it to see the readers ultrasound and he immediately feels bad and goes to talk to her and happy ending.

Thank you so much for the request! I altered it only slightly (just where Eddie finds the ultrasound) but I loved this concept. I love angst with a happy ending!

It was a pretty normal day all in all. Carla was taking care of Christopher, Eddie was at the station, your boss kept sending hundreds of emails, oh and you had found out you were pregnant. Just an average day. You hadn't planned this by any means. You and Eddie had never talked about having a baby. You had been married for a year and a half, but the subject had never come up and you had never pushed it. Look how well that had gone. After staring at the stick in your hand for what felt like an eternity, you finally pushed yourself up from the floor and left the bathroom.

"Hey, Carla, are you okay if I run out? I have to go do something. It should only be about an hour." You say grabbing your keys.

"Of course, honey. Go right ahead." She says.

"Thanks, Carla. Bye bud," you say kissing Christopher on the top of his head before heading out of your and Eddie's shared house.

You didn't even know what you were doing until you were sitting in the waiting room of the local doctor's office reading a magazine.

It wasn't until one of the nurses had called your name 3 times that you seemed to realize they were calling you.

"Sorry." You apologize sheepishly standing and following her back to a room.

Sure enough, the doctor confirmed you were about 6 weeks pregnant and sent you home with a picture of the tiny baby. You knew you couldn't hide this from Eddie for long since you were likely to start experiencing more symptoms, but a part of you was worried about how he would react. Everything had finally settled down with Christopher and work. Everything was stable per se. And now you were throwing a wrench into the serenity the two of you had worked so hard to create. Finally, you decided you would broach the subject once Christopher had gone to bed. You would just ask him if he ever thought about having more kids. Yeah. That would work.

So, that night after Christopher was in bed and you and Eddie were alone in your room getting ready for bed, you took a deep breath before deciding now was a good time to approach the subject.

"Hey, Eddie?" You asked putting lotion onto your arms. "Have you ever thought about maybe having another kid?"

"What?" He asks brows furrowed as he pulls the covers down and joins you in the bed.

"Have you ever wanted another kid? I mean I love Christopher, but I was just curious." You explain, heart racing.

"Not really. I mean, I'm happy with Chris. He's a handful as it is and with him getting older, I don't know. I'm happy that the diaper changes and waking up to screaming is over." He says.

Anger surges through you at his admission. How could he say that? How could he openly admit to your face that he didn't want the baby growing inside of you...not that he knew about that, but that wasn't important.

"Were you even around for that?" You ask not thinking about what you're saying, just infuriated at him. "I mean didn't you enlist right after Shannon had Chris so didn't you pretty much luck out and miss all of those years?"

"What the hell are you saying?" He asks, confused at why you're attacking him all of a sudden.

"I just mean don't you not even know what it's like to be there for those years, so isn't that not a fair standard to measure it by?" You argue.

"What's going on with you?" He asks, turning to you, trying to contain his anger.

You scoff, "Nothing."

"Something's going on 'cause you're acting like a real bitch to me right now for no reason." He says. Instantly his face drops, realizing what he just said to you. "I-"

"Fuck you, Eddie." You say standing up and grabbing your coat. You don't listen to him as he follows after you, grabbing your keys and walking out of the house. You just get in your car and drive.

Eddie watches as you leave, slamming the door behind you. He really messed up this time. "Fuck!" He exclaims hitting the table. Your purse tips over as his fist makes contact with the table. a paper falling out. The paper catches his attention, the white clashing against the dark oak of the table. He reaches to put it back in your purse when the other side of the paper intrigues him. He turns it over to see a blob in the middle of the page. His face drops instantly, he runs his hand through his hair staring at the blob that is the reason for your outburst a few minutes earlier. He sighs texting Buck asking him to come stay with Christopher. 15 minutes later, a confused Buck shows up at Eddie's door.

"Uh...Everything alright? It's kinda late for a sleepover." He says.

"I messed up." He sighs stepping aside. After a quick explanation to Buck after letting him inside, Eddie is on his way out the door, texting everyone if you're with them. A few minutes into his search, Chimney texts back saying that you're there with Maddie and that he really messed up this time.

20 minutes later he's standing outside of Maddie's apartment, ultrasound in hand as he knocks with his free hand. Maddie answers, hands on her hips, brow raised at him, and sass written all over her face.

"I know, I know. Can I just talk to her?" He sighs. Maddie steps aside and lets him find you on the couch.

"Amor?" He asks cautiously, approaching you carefully.

"What do you want, Eddie?" You ask not looking at him.

"Can we talk?" He asks coming to sit next to you. The picture in his hand is what catches your eye. You look up at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. "When you asked me if I wanted more kids, you should have told me you were pregnant."

"I was trying to figure out how you would react." You explain.

"Just because it wasn't in my plan to have more kids doesn't mean I won't love this baby." He sighs.

"Well, when I broached the subject you didn't seem thrilled." You say sadly.

"Well, you started attacking me when I said I didn't want more kids." He says softly.

"I'm sorry." You say.

"Me too." He says taking my hand in his. "Come on, let's go home."

"Okay." You say taking his hand and standing with him. After saying goodbye to Maddie and Chim, you and Eddie make your way to his truck and start back home.

"So, how far along are you?" Eddie asks as we pull out of their driveway.

"6 weeks." You say quietly. He starts laughing and you look at him with amusement.

"Does that mean-" He cuts himself off with a laugh. "That we made a baby-"

"At Bobby and Athena's party, yep." You chime in laughing along with him.

He smiles taking your hand in his and kissing the top of it. Looking into his eyes, you knew that soon, everything would be back to normal and you'd have a new addition to your family.

[armysantiny]

Straight from where? – Sylus

P: Sylus x female reader | G: fluff, oneshot | Inc: mc!reader, those dreadful dark romance booktok books, office work, Mephisto being a glorified camera, a domestic morning, Sylus being compared to those shitty booktok male reads, mentioned Tara, mentioned Luka and Keiran, small mention of blood on Sylus| Wc: 1.9k | W: mentions of blood | R: G

Summary: After work, y/n’s gifted a few…interesting romance novels from a colleague at work, under the premise that Skye is just like the male love interests. The white hair, red eyes and slick motorbike? A perfect match, if Sylus actually was like the men in those dark romance books. Except he’s not, and the man in question is just as mortified to learn what y/n’s colleagues think he would do to her.

Min's notes: Remember when Sylus was intially released and people started wrongfully comparing him to those really shit male leads?? Yeah so do I which is why I wrote this out of spite. I started writing this a while ago, but it got sidetracked for my Wooyoung fic. Anyway~ enjoy almost 2k words of Sylus not being a shitty dark romance stereotype

It’s the sound of several books hitting her desk at the end of a gruelling workday that brings y/n out of her focus, fingers coming to a pause on the desktop’s keyboard. There are still the mission reports on her screen that need to be filled out, yet the new additions to her desk and her coworker’s eager expression spark curiosity. Taking a quick break to indulge in said sparked curiosities, as per a certain crow’s encouragement, shouldn’t be too bad. She’s been at this for hours anyway, safe to say she’s earned it.

So, she bites.

“What are these?” Y/n chuckles, then takes a proper look at the titles. “Romance…novels?” It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate a good book, but the titles she’s looking at are…fascinating, to say the least.

“Mhm! After Skye accompanied us on our outing last time, and since he’s been here to pick you up a few times, I figured I’d lend these for you to read!” Her fellow hunter answers, al bright-eyed and genuine. They go on a little longer, comparing Sylus—Skye, as far as her coworkers know—to the kind of dark romance male leads that are going viral online. A Zade Meadows kind of man, is the consensus y/n gets once her coworker is done explaining and bids her a good night before getting ready to head home themselves.

And while Sylus is… the way that he is, y/n’s having a hard time believing the very same leader of Onychinus would be capable of doing any of the things she’s heard these male leads do. To other people, sure, y/n’s seen Sylus exert his authority in a myriad of violent ways, but the Sylus Qin she knows is a man weak to her affections, amongst other things.

“Thanks for letting me read them,” she chooses to say after a beat, “I’ll try and get him to read them with me. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the comparison.” Moments after her coworker heads out of the office and is out of earshot, y/n snorts a laugh behind her palm.

As if he’d appreciate it. Which is exactly why y/n plans on taking these books with her to Sylus’ house—castle—tonight.

Driving into the N109 Zone after a long day, a long week in fact, is comforting, the never-ending darkness surrounding y/n as she rides her bike to her destination. The broach is fastened to her coat, a silent badge of protection in the place where shadows exist even in the dark. But it’s not long until she arrives outside the front door of her home away from home, and the home of her favourite crow.

“Pretty bird..?” Y/n calls out, helmet tucked under arm as she wanders around the oddly quiet walls of Sylus’ home. Sure, her bike is parked out front, and the hunter very clearly recalls hearing distinct caws as she left work, but the sprawling expanse of a home is pin-drop silent. Even by N109 standards, it’s quiet. Slipping her shoes off in favour of comfortable slippers, y/n continues her search, her helmet discarded on a side-cabinet.

An endless swath of doors, that’s what y/n decides Sylus’ home is after she opens the nth door to no success. Just where is this man?

Familiar hands wrap around her waist.

“Hello, sweetie.” Sylus smiles, cradling his hunter close against his chest. There are traces of blood on his clothes, a smear or two across his cheek, but that doesn’t matter. Not when his y/n has come all this way to see him. What an honour he’s been bestowed. “A pretty kitten decided to come all this way just to see me. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Do you enjoy scaring the hell out of me?” Y/n complains, trailing her words off with warm laughter that he could drown himself in. “Anyway, where have you been? The house was dead silent, it was weird. Thought you weren’t doing anything today.”

“I had to take care of some… last-minute business with the twins, it kept me longer than I’d have liked.” He admits, unfurling his arms from around y/n’s delectable waist when she wriggles around to go do something. There’s a pep in her step, an excitement that Sylus knows very well means she’s up to something. Or she has something to show him. Either is good.

But there’s still the pressing matter of blood on him and his clothes.

“I’ll head into the shower, sweetie.”

Heading out of the shower a full thirty minutes later and noticeably blood-free, Sylus is met with a stack of books on his dresser as he reaches for his robe, y/n watching him from her spot on the edge of his bed. It doesn’t take long, just a couple of glances between the literature and y/n, for him to come to his conclusion.

“I didn’t know we were expanding our library,” he purrs, sneaking in a forehead kiss and bringing some of the books with his Evol. “Did you buy these? Pardon the assumption, kitten, but I know your taste and… this isn’t exactly it.”

She snickers and oh, he’s not wrong. He’s being set up, lovingly, of course.

“Well, if these aren’t your taste,” he says, “enlighten me with your plans, since we’re evidently going to be reading these for the next few days.”

And, well. The next few days are interesting, to say the least.

He peruses the novels in between meetings, digesting chapter after somewhat delusional chapter, disbelief nearly a permanent expression on his face each time one of these novels are in his hands. How anyone finds any of this… literature, something of actual substance is a mystery and the sooner he can give these sorry excuses for published books back to y/n to return to her colleague, the better. Everything about the ‘romance’ stories he’s been reading leaves a rotten taste in his mouth, worsened further by the fact that this is how y/n’s colleagues think Sylus treats his beloved.

All accusations that couldn’t be further from the truth. Frankly, he’s a little insulted.

He should go and correct this mistake.

“Boss! We’ve got a lead on the group peddling fraudulent weapons out of the old warehouse!” Kieran announces, Luke already heading off to the armoury to gear up. “Shall we get the jump on them?”

So much for seeing his pretty hunter tonight. He’ll just have Mephisto watch her instead.

Just what is so good about these anyway? It’s the only thing that’s been on y/n’s mind all night, tucked in bed with one of the dark romance novels out of the set she’d given to Sylus. A flask of jasmine tea sits on her bedside drawer, the drink and her several plushies around her bed much more interesting than the book in her hand.

If she’s having such a hard time right now, sure her favourite crow isn’t faring any better. She can almost see it now; the displeased hum, his lips curled into a frown and the distinct furrow of his brows.

And of course, the only thing better than thinking about a grumbling Sylus, is to see it in person. Obviously.

Humming along to her playlist early on in the morning as she goes about preparing breakfast, y/n startles at the knock on her door. It’s god-awfully early today, ruling out anyone she could think of off the top of her head. Her hunting partner doesn’t get up for a few more hours at the very least, and there’s no delivery to pick up…

“Morning to you too, sweetie. Off to work?” Sylus grins as she opens the front door, bending down to greet her and with a familiar looking stack of books tucked away under his arm. “Why don’t I drop you off? You can take these back with you as well.”

“How did you know I had to get to work early today?” Y/n certainly doesn’t remember texting Sylus anything other than good morning and a series of happy crow emojis, so she watches him step inside and look towards her balcony. Locking the door behind her before following his line of sight, y/n deadpans.

The crow is there. What a surprise.

“So, would you like that lift to work, kitten?”

Sylus’ motorcycle comes to a stop outside the doors of the Hunter’s Association, the hum of the engine replaced by a fresh dawn breeze as y/n removes her helmet. Her bag is several times heavier, courtesy of Sylus’ effective persuasion during breakfast. Persuasion she couldn’t exactly say no to.

“Sweetie, you can’t possibly believe any of this is good reading material,” Sylus groans, leaning against y/n’s kitchen counter while she eats breakfast. It’s probably the most offended she’s seen him in a while, and out of everything that could annoy Sylus this much, it’s the borrowed book in his hand. “This is frankly a waste of paper and the publisher’s expertise, who allowed this to be released to the public?”

Trying not to laugh through a mouthful of food is proving quite the challenge.

“Some really stubborn people, I imagine. Safe to say you don’t agree with the author’s version, then?” Y/n replies, finishing the rest of her breakfast, pure satisfaction on her face at Sylus’ indignant grumblings. It certainly makes up for Mephisto watching her from the balcony like a glorified spy camera. “Here I was think you didn’t care much for romance. Silly me~”

“The only silly thing here, sweetheart,” his voice echoes out, in time with large, warm hands wrapping around y/n’s waist. “Is the ridiculous notion your colleagues have that I’d be anything like the bastards in those books. Where did that idea come from, hm?”

Surely he’s just messing with her.

“You know exactly why, c’mon.”

“No, enlighten me.”

Her desk is just as tidy as it was when she left it, except for a croissant and her favourite morning coffee from Tara. Setting herself up doesn’t take too long, and all y/n’s left with are the books she needs to return. Books she’d rather never have to look at or read again, thanks very much. Though, there’s nothing she can do about it just yet, when the book’s owner has yet to show up.

With remarkably little callouts, there’s nothing much else for y/n to do but catch up on her remaining reports. Her hands fly across the keyboard, filling out line after line with practically no interruption.

“Y/n!” The same voice from last time calls out, breaking her out of her concentration as her colleague bounds over with enthusiasm. “How were those books I lent you? Any good?”

…is there a polite way to say absolutely horrifying and utterly dreadful?

“Definitely pretty interesting,” Y/n nods, pushing her chair away from her desk to reach for her bag. Might as well return the affronts to literature to their proper owner while she’s at it. “Skye had a read of a few as well, don’t think he’ll be reading anymore now.”

The books exchange hands, finally out of her possession, and y/n’s phone buzzes. Of course it does. Of course he’s watching.

Pretty Bird: Finally, took you long enough sweetie. Good riddance [12:54]

Pretty Bird: Let’s agree to never punish our eyes with that garbage ever again. Deal? [12:54]

Miss Hunter: As long as you agree to pick me up after work, Sy [12:56]

Pretty Bird: Then I guess we have a deal. See you after work, my love [13:00]

© copyright work of armysantiny 2025-2026

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Taglist: @freakywonbin | Taglist Form

[drdemonprince]

Hi, I just wanted to say thank you for what you write about cross-generation friendships and in general relationships between teens and adults. When I was 16, I met a friend. He was 32 at the time and was a leader of a church community thing (church that I no longer go to, but that's not actually relevant). The age gap felt too small for him to be a surrogate father figure, so I treated him like an older brother I never had. We soon became friends and in hindsight, it was one of the best things that happened to me in high school. If it wasn't for him, I would have been left with my emotionally abusive mother and never gotten some of the valuable and good messaging that I did. He was the only person back then who showed me a constructive and healthy version of conflict and emotional closeness. I was unmasked in his presence even though I didn't even know that I was autistic at the time. Since then, the contact fizzled out, but it was very valuable and important to me while it lasted.

A while ago, I was trying to talk about it to my therapist while talking about healthy friendships and such. I prefaced it with all the warnings ("I know that it looks bad on paper, but..."). I could see she didn't believe me. I was telling her how my friend was the only person who listened to what I had to say and to tell me that my perspective on things changed his, how he drove me to the ER when I needed it, how he was the first person to listen when I had problems... and I could just see that she didn't believe me, that she was thinking that there must have been something sinister underneath. It made me feel so sad.

I'm so sorry that your therapist was so judgmental about your relationship with this big sib -- the kind of relationship you've described is so essential in so many people's lives that there are even organizations devoted to trying to provide them to people!! Like, has your shrink never heard of Big Brothers/Big Sisters?? (this may be a US only group, I'm not sure). At the end of the day the majority of people in the therapeutic profession are in the business of issuing judgements and reinforcing societal standards and doing so was part of what drove them to the work, even if they cannot acknowledge it, even if they are otherwise cool about other things that they've put the time into unlearning...there's a lot of moralizing and it sucks that it creates tension in the relationship like this. Now you know a little something about the limits of her thinking, which may be useful for you in navigating this relationship. It is worth telling her that you felt judged or that she wasn't being open-minded enough, if you'd like to broach it and you trust her enough to be able to take critique. (and if she can't take critique/questioning, probably a bad sign for the therapuetic relationship in the long term).

[microwave-core]

Could you write a Rika (from pokemon S/V) with AFAB reader who has major anxiety and is super nervous because it's their first time having sex with Rika? Like reader's brain is noisy and won't hush up enough to relax. Whether Rika is using a strap-on or not is totally up to you. Comfort, fluff, smut (go as nsfw as you desire) and aftercare.

um this is from august. anyways.

This is more, like, broaching the topic of your first time. It's not my best work imo but I need to set this down before I keep fiddling with it. Also the keep reading break keeps moving stop that.

So, we all know Rika fucks. Even though I've characterized her as someone who's secretly a disaster behind closed doors because fuck she loves her girlfriend, she's gotten plenty of action before getting with you.

To Rika, sex is just all about making each other feel good. She's had many partners before, a casual fling or two here and there. It's not a big deal to her, but she understands that not everyone feels that way. So when you draw boundries at touches that were too close and intimate for you to handle, she backs off, careful to not pressure you into anything you aren't alright with.

It starts with a simple make out session, her body practically glued ontop of your own on the couch. The proximity, her warmth, the tongue exploring your mouth, it's all so much, your head buzzing, above the clouds. You can't help but want it to continue forever. That is, until, you feel her hand, the one previously perched upon your hip, travel down, finding a new home on the waistband of your pants.

Rika pulls back the moment you pull your lips away from her own, face flushed, clearly nervous. It takes her a moment to realize that she took things a bit too far. She apologizes quickly, cupping your cheek gently, asking if you're alright with moving any further, and when you say no, that's that. She presses another kiss to your lips, this time chaste and quick, content to cuddle for the rest of the night (not before taking care of herself in the bathroom first).

She was dissapointed that things ended early, sure, but youre her girlfriend. Her sweet, lovable girlfriend. And the last thing she'd want to do is make you uncomfortable, push your boundries in a way you wouldn't enjoy. She gives you a bit of time, a few days or so, before bringing the topic up again, wanting to understand where you fall on all of this.

It's a simple question, really. "Why didn't you want to go any further?" No bitterness, no upset, just your girlfriend wanting to know where your boundries lie so she understands how to best navigate the intimate aspect of your relationship.

When you tell her you're a virgin, she really isn't surprised. Again, Rika's been with many people before, some who are wise beyond their years with experience and other's having none. Your shy touches whenever she was so close, the clumsiness in your actions and uncertainty of where to place your hands, it all was a give away, honestly. Not that she'd tell you, though. The last thing she wanted was to make you feel ashamed for something that really wasn't a big deal.

So she waits. She tells you as such. She'll wait for you to feel ready before trying to press forward again, but she does let you know that she'll be treating you to the best night of your life if you came around to the idea.

She doesn't show you but honestly she's so fucking excited. Being your first time? Setting the standard for any of your future partners, should you have any past her? Corrupting you? It's kinda hot to her. She wouldn't bring up the last part, though. Rika Corruption kink is real to me, but she's not going to spring that on you. Your first time should be sweet and gentle, about you and your pleasure. So she'll reserve that idea for when she gets off on her own.

The day you tell her that you think youre ready, she is over the moon. It's a little sudden on your part. You had been thinking about it for days, and wanting nothing more than to feel her all over you, over the most intimate parts of you, but were just too anxious to actually make the push. What if it wasn't all that you thought it would be? What if you messed something up? What if you did something really gross and it turned Rika off so much that she didn't even want to touch you? But your want eventually outweighs your worries.

It's a stammered confession, holding her hand, playing with her fingers as you get the words out, embarrassment burning up your face, thoughts going a million miles per minute, but you try your best to focus on Rika, the way her face brightens up at your words, the way she grabs your hand and squeezes it tight, her lips pressing on your forehead, the reassureance in her voice as she tells you that tonight she'll take care of you. Pamper you like you deserve.

Maybe telling her in the morning was the wrong decision, because you go through the rest of the day completely distracted, overthinking and worrying about what will happen when you get home, yet still excited at the prospect, left pressing your thighs together while trying to get any meaningful work done.

You get home before her that night, as you typically will, trying to act normal. Make some dinner, get cleaned up, don't overthink ever little thing. Normal nightly activites. Your heart stammers in your chest as you move around your apartment, but practically stops when the front door creeks open, a call of "I'm home!" echoing through the halls. She finds you quickly, pulling you into her arms, kissing you gently, complaing about the work day. You mention dinner, her face brightens, quickly returning to the kitchen to eat. Your normal nightly routine.

Rika's demenour is normal, but youre fidgeting and anxious. Bouncing your leg as you eat, trying to ignore the heated pit in your stomach. You can't think straight, simply nodding and humming along as Rika talks. How can you focus on her words at a time like this? She notices, obviously. She knows you, although anyone could look at you and tell something was up just by looking at you.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when her hand touches your thigh, not heated, just gentle, enough to make you look at her in the eyes for the first time since this morning, worry evident on her face.

"Do you still want to go through with this?" It's soft and quiet, for your ears only. You can only nod, placing your hand on top of her own. You were ready for this, you were tired of running away from what you wanted from overly anxious thoughts. A smile works it's way back onto her face, soft on the surface, but laced with an unmistakble heat, quickly standing up, ready to wisk you away to the bedroom. As much as she'd like to take you, taste you, right then and there, she was going to give you a proper first time.

[babybatss-blog]

A HELPING HAND

sirius black x reader, 1500 words

summary: if there’s one thing you know, it’s to always trust Professor McGonagall’s advice.

c/w: nerd-ish reader who gets in detention, friends to lovers, confession of love. Mentions of insecurities, but nothing too intense.

a/n: rest in piece to the darling dame maggie smith. I hope I did her and her wonderful character justice, I just wanted to appreciate her in the best way I knew how <3          

You’ve always been a good student. You study hard, get good grades and never get in trouble, sometimes even getting made fun of by nasty students for being a nerd. Sirius never made fun of you though, he was always so sweet when you cancelled on him to study for a particularly hard test or ignore him because your too engrossed in writing your essay.

But why does that even matter now? Your strides through the stone hallway break your thoughts, internally cursing yourself for even slightly letting your mind drift from the problem at hand. You got a detention!

Well, not exactly a detention, but it’s as close as you’ll ever get. Your grades have been dropping below your usual impossibly high standards, and now the headmistress has asked to meet with you to discuss your current predicament. Unlike your Black family counterpart, you pride yourself on academic appearances, especially when it comes to higher up authorities like Professor McGonagall.

You knock on the hard wood door three times, the wood rumbling as it opens almost immediately. Before you sits this aforementioned professor, enveloped by a thick leather armchair and adorned in expensive jewellery. Truthfully, you aspire to be like her someday. Commanding and treacherous, yet simultaneously kind and beautiful. Her emerald broach shimmers in the sunlight pouring into her tiny study, and her slick back bun has a few curled whisps falling out. You wonder how she always gets her hair to sit so nice, and how long that must take every morning.

“Good afternoon Miss McGonagall.” You nervously state, quickly walking in and sitting primly in an armchair. She simply nods, going back to whatever letter she is writing with a soft smile. “I presume you know why I called you in today?” “Of course. And I’m very sorry I’ve fallen behind on my schoolwork professor. I promise I will get that transfiguration parchment to you once my defence against the dark arts test is done, and I’ve been studying tirelessly to get my scores to a more appropriate level, I promise.”

Despite the worry evident on your voice, she merely chuckles, acting as if you made a joke. You didn’t make a joke though, so you furrow your brow in concern. Did you say something wrong?

“No my dear. I was just calling you in to ask about your handwriting.” “My-? Oh yes, apologies for the messiness on my last assignment. I was in a bit of a rush, so I think some of my m’s turned into n’s.” Once again she laughs, this time straight from her belly, her head thrown back. You can’t help but feel your face burn up in embarrassment. “Messiness? Why I never! No darling, I meant to ask how it’s so neat! You see, I’ve been attempting to do those same loops you do on capitals, but I’m afraid I can’t replicate it!”

She slides over to you the parchment she was writing on, revealing random sentences repeated in order to practice replicating your font. Truthfully they are quite shaky, but you wouldn’t admit it to her face anytime soon. “Do you mind writing a few sentences for me? Maybe even casting piertotum locomotor on them so I can’t watch it back would be helpful!” You bashfully fulfill your task, writing some simple words on the page in swirling calligraphy. As you do this, your professor casually talks to you.

“I must say though, you were never much of the type to rush projects. What had you in such a hurry?”

“Nothing really, just a trip to Hogsmeade with Sirius Black.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Oh yes, it really was. Sirius wanted to go into town because he ordered a record from the post office that was due to arrive. It was some muggle band, I think it was called The Beatles? He said they are quite popular, and I see why. The singer is dreamy! He played it for me when we got back to school, and he gave me some of his Berty’s Botts Beans. He knows I love them you see, and he always tries to inspect them before he hands them to me so I don’t get the bad ones. Sometimes he gets it wrong, and I have to suffer anyways. But I…” You eventually realise just how much you have been rambling, as the page is suddenly filled with words you didn’t remember writing and you need to take a deep breath to rid of your light headedness. “Yes, I thought it was nice.” You finish up, not wanting to bore her with your story of a typical day out. But she honestly seems quite intrigued, looking at you with a peculiar arched eyebrow.

“You and that Black boy make a strange pair. A good one at that though.” You chuckle along with her, reminiscing on your differences that complement each other perfectly. “Many do say that. He’s a good friend to me.”

“Friend?” She mirrors, an almost offended tone on her voice. She takes the page away from you and blows on it as to help to ink dry, before placing it in a draw of her desk. “I don’t know why, but I always thought you two were together. Never mind me, I’m a silly old lass now.” Usually you are completely and utterly respectful no matter what is thrown at you, but something in her statement sets off a spark in which you immediately regret. “No! no no no no no. Sirius and I would never! I mean, have you seen how he- no, it would never work.”

Professor McGonagall looks at you in a way that can only be described as utter disbelief, and a tiny hint of disappointment before she speaks. “If you say so. But I have to say, I was just like you back in my day. So naïve…” She sighs, looking blissfully off. “You know…” She twists to face you, a smirk causing her features to almost become young once more. “When I was your age, maybe a little younger I liked a guy. Now don’t tell anyone I told you this but… He was a real dashing man. So proper and smart, but he really knew how to dance when the jukebox started!”

Suddenly you feel like Minerva McGonagall’s best friend, gossiping about your childhoods now those days are long gone. Never would you have expected to see this side of her, but you cannot complain when you see that energetic sparkle in her eye.

“And I believe he like me back. When I was tired he would carry me up to my common room, and and would tuck me in real nice and tight. But I never went any further. I was too nervous. So he started dating my friend, and five years later they got married! I hate to admit it but sometimes I wonder how things would’ve turned out. You don’t have to listen to an out of touch woman like me, but you know I have your best interest at heart.”

It takes you a good minute to properly process her words, repeating them in your head and wondering how she could be so right. No one, not even any of your closest friends have ever realised your concealed feelings, the only being hearing them is your little diary under the moonlight, which knows they will never come true. But here is your teacher, completely demolishing your tiny sense of secrecy and legitimising every worry you’ve ever had. When he kisses some random girl at a party you worry it will last between them, when you can’t find him in his usual spots you worry he’s abandoned you and when you look in the mirror you see merely a friend, someone who will never amount to him. But maybe you could. Maybe there is some universe where he feels the same, and you are lucky enough to be in that universe right now. After all, there always is a chance.   

“Go and get him.” She orders, staring into your soul with her blue eyes. You nod, tears fighting to leave your eyes as the weight of emotion takes over you. You stand up, thanking her breathlessly before running out.

Professor McGonagall knows that she did the right thing, judging by the conversation she had with Sirius about the same subject just the other day.   

[zealfruity]

Hidden City characters:

The krang and the EPF:

Most of the more powerful yokai have a more monstrous form, which I still need to work on. Others use cloaking broaches if ever they need to pass through our world unnoticed. / Instead of footbots, Shredder gets some krangy ninjas. They can only be defeated by breaking the seal on their foreheads or by removing the magic keeping them moving. / Shomiji started off as a ver of Shinigami from 2012, but her design and character got out of my hands so she’s an OC now. / I finalised the Mei/Vin=Venus situation! It’s a bit complicated, the the bones of it is that mei and vin have two parts of the same soul and end up fusing them to be whole.

The Krang are demonic aliens from another dimension. Their technology is a mixture of metal and biomatter that they can control by forming psychic links, all powered by what their universe is abundant in: "ooze". One of the refined forms of it is what mutated the mutants on Earth. While the Krang aren't demons in the traditional sense, they have a certain type of mystic ability, and tend to operate under demon rules for deals and compromises between them and soul-owning mortals. They operate on a hierarchy similar to ants. Admirals, Princes, and Queens are the only ones with names who can speak telepathically with non-krang, and they control the hivemind of Captains, Chiefs, and Recruits.

The EPF's task forces are organized like chess. The towers are tech specialists and comms, the knights are usually leading pawns (standard soldiers) into fights, and bishops do more secret agent stuff. The three pictured here are the main ones in the story, I made them references to certain characters mostly through their names and vibe.

[fairykingjing]

Roronoa Zoro x F Reader - Relief

Summary: You’re injured, and haven’t gotten any alone time with your boyfriend, Roronoa Zoro. He offers to help you get some relief. ;)

Warnings: SMUT! 18+! Established relationship, female reader, making out, fingering, orgasms, mentions of p in v sex, creampie, cockwarming. Reader denied sex due to injuries.

WC: 1263

First time writing smut, but I figured it was good enough to post so here ya go! Enjoy!

18+! MDNI!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were on the deck of the Sunny, lounging in a chair and soaking up as much sun as you could. Chopper had finally let you out of the med bay after keeping you there for a week. During your last fight the crew got a little scuffed up, you especially taking the brunt of the damage. Besides the standard scrapes and bruises, you had a large gash running horizontally across the left side of your stomach, and another smaller one on your right thigh. You still hadn’t recovered fully, and to be honest you could hardly walk, but you were relieved to be out of that stuffy room.

Across the deck, you could see Usopp and Luffy fishing off the side of the boat, and Robin was enjoying a book. Franky was tinkering with a new gadget, and Nami was studying her maps to figure out the next place to go. You scanned the deck for your boyfriend, Zoro, but he was nowhere to be seen. Probably taking a nap somewhere, you thought to yourself. Almost on cue, you felt a looming presence over you, and you looked up to see him standing over you. “What are you doing out of the med bay? Your injuries aren’t even close to being healed.” he asked.

“Well hello to you too,” you retorted. “Chopper said I could come up on the deck to get some fresh air, that room was getting suffocating.”

Zoro frowned, clearly not happy with your answer. But if Chopper said it was okay, who was he to argue? You motioned to the seat next to yours, and he sat down carefully. “Did you walk up here yourself?” he questioned. “You didn’t seem like you could walk all that well yesterday.”

“I still can’t walk, honestly. Chopper and Sanji helped me get up here,” you answered.

“The cook? Why didn’t you ask me to help you?” he pouted.

“Because Chopper couldn’t find you anywhere, and Sanji was available. So he offered to help me,” you said. “By the way, where were you?”

Zoro shifted in his chair awkwardly. “Just busy taking care of something, that’s all,” he mumbled. You could see the blush creeping up towards his face, and you clued in on what he was referring to. Neither of you had gotten any alone time in quite a while, between preparations for your last fight, and dealing with the aftermath, it had been several weeks since either of you got any release. You were dying for some relief yourself, if you could only reach your hand down to do it, but the bandages got in the way. Before you could say anything to him about that, Sanji called everyone to dinner, and Zoro got up to help you hobble your way towards the dining room, before finally just picking you up to carry you there.

Dinner was mostly uneventful, and you spent it trying to come up with a way to ask Zoro to help you with your problem. He could handle himself just fine, but you would need a little assistance. You figured asking to spend some time together in his room, alone, would be the best option. From there you could broach the subject. “You wanna spend some alone time together?” he’d asked. “If it means you’ll rest, then sure.”

He carried you to his room, carefully laying you on his hammock. After some pleading, he reluctantly agreed to climb in with you, gingerly setting himself next to you and pulling you into his arms. He placed a soft kiss on top of your head. “Better?” he asked. You nodded your head in response. You both stayed like that for a while before he spoke up. “What did you want to talk about?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” you asked in response.

“Don’t play dumb, I know there’s something you want to ask me, or tell me. So just say it,” he continued.

“Oh, I um… it-it’s nothing, really,” you sputtered. You tried to look away, but his hand cupped your cheek, and he pulled your face to look at his. You found yourself unable to look away from him despite your best efforts. “I just… we haven’t really gotten to be intimate in a while, and now I have all these stupid injuries so we still can’t do anything. And I’d get myself off, but I can’t with these bandages in the way…” you rambled. Your face heated up as you spoke, unable to stop the spew of words from your mouth.

“So, you’re horny? Why didn’t you just say so?” Zoro chuckled.

“I don’t know…” you whined. His hand still on your cheek, he pulled you in for a tender kiss, one that quickly became heated. His other hand reached down to carefully squeeze your ass, and you gasped, giving him the opportunity to slot his tongue in your mouth. You made out for a while, feeling lust pooling at your core. You wanted him more than anything now, but you weren’t physically capable yet.

“We have to be careful; I don’t want your injuries to flare up,” he cautioned. “But I can still help you get some relief, okay?” You nodded eagerly, and he carefully pulled your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His hand quickly dipped down to your core, groaning as he felt how wet you were. He carefully studied your face for any signs of discomfort before dipping a finger into your folds, gathering up some of the wetness and then circling his finger around your clit. You let out a breathy moan and arched your back, finally getting the touch you had been craving. He dipped two fingers inside and curled them up, massaging everywhere he knew would get you going. His mouth returned to yours, kissing you softly as he coaxed your first release out of you. You cried out in pleasure, and he smiled down at you, pulling his hand back. “That’s it,” he hummed. “Feel better?”

You nodded in affirmation, but you couldn’t help to want more. You knew it was risky, but you brought your hand down to his erection anyway and began to stroke him. He was quick to swat your hand away. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“Please Zoro, I need you. We can be careful, yeah? Wanna feel you fill me up,” you begged.

He simply shook his head at you. “It’s too risky with your injuries. But I promise as soon as you’re healed up fully, you’ll get as much of me as you can handle.”

“Zo, please?” you whimpered.

“Shh,” Zoro shushed you. He brought his hand back down and dipped his fingers in again, expertly moving them in and out of you at a quick pace. “Promise babe, soon as you’re healed, I’ll fill you up so full. Gonna stuff you full of my cum til you can’t hold anymore, let you sleep every night with my cock deep inside you. Just be patient for me.” His words brought you over the edge again, and you released all over his hand. He quickly kissed you to swallow the moans you let out. He rested his forehead against yours and smiled as you caught your breath.

“You promise?” you asked.

“Of course. Now try and get some rest,” he murmured. He pulled you into his arms again and you sighed contently. It didn’t take long for both of you to drift off to sleep, dreaming of how wonderful everything would be once you were all better.

[jiamekare]

Okay so if anyone in Veilguard figured out what was going on with Rook and Varric, it had to be Neve, right?

More below the cut because spoilers

She’s from Minrathous, so she knows blood magic in action even if she doesn’t touch it herself, she knew Varric in person before all this happened, and she’s a good enough detective to suss out that Emmrich was born poor from candle stubs and meal times, she’s absolutely going to put the pieces together.

And you might be going, “well why didn’t she say anything?” And narratively, because that’s the big act 3 twist, right? That’s the needle that Solas needs to really stitch Rook into the Fade Prison in his place, so we can’t have one of your party members wandering around Arlathan going BTW Varric is dead.

But I can’t stop thinking about this in-story. What if the team didn’t bring it up to Rook because they can’t? Or at least, not in a way that sticks.

Like, maybe at the beginning Neve and Harding thought this might be a temporary block, right? Sure, they realize right after the prologue and Rook’s first dialogue with Solas that 1) Solas is in Rook’s head and 2) there was enough blood at the ritual site that Solas could, if he chose to, do blood magic about it.

But also, Rook did end up taking a trip to Massive Head Trauma Bay, right? Maybe this isn’t magical, maybe this is just a bog standard head wound and while they don’t remember Varric dying right now, maybe things will clear up as time goes on. Harding’s holding on to hope harder than Neve is for this- Neve’s a trained cynic, but Harding keeps thinking maybe when we go retrieve the dagger from the ritual site, that will jog some memories, maybe if I keep talking about Varric, maybe maybe maybe

But every time Harding shares a story, makes a comment, outright refers to Varrics death, it just slides off of Rook’s brain like egg off teflon. Rook is confused, upset, but with no reason why as far as they understand.

Harding’s not having the easiest time dealing with that, either, because in a normal grieving situation she’d be talking with Rook all the time about Varric; what he’d be saying about everyone who joins the party, what he’d be complaining about, breaking out the Varricisms that he’d pop off with while they were all travelling together; and Neve is nice, Neve is fine, but she wasn’t travelling with Varric like Harding and Rook were, it’s not the same commiserating, and everyone who joins knows Varric only in the past tense. You can write to your Ma and you can write to Charter, but it’s not the same as talking to someone.

Bellara broaches the idea with Neve about trying to un-block Rook’s brain, but she’s shot down almost immediately for a handful of reasons. First, trying to un-block Rook’s brain has a very real chance of simply scrambling Rook’s brain beyond comprehension. Dealing with blood magic on the level that Solas has apparently performed it is *really* tricky per what we see in the universe- I think the closest we come previously is in Dorian’s backstory with his father trying to Magical Conversion Therapy Dorian, and iirc there’s a fairly high chance that could have just straight up lobotomized him; how much more complicated must ‘just ignore this one fact and anything that contradicts it’ be to magically install in someone’s brain? Second, as much as they all may not be comfortable with the idea, they are in a position where they need Solas to keep talking to Rook in order to keep moving forward against the Evanuris, and if they fuck with the blood magic in Rook’s brain, they also may lose that link with Solas.

When you’re dealing with someone with long term memory loss- Alzheimer’s patients, for example- it eventually becomes kinder to accommodate their understanding of the world where you can rather than try and impress the real truth around them. Your husband is at work, or the grocery store, your husband isn’t dead, because every time you try and tell them that their husband is dead, they’re very upset and confused and they don’t remember WHY they’re upset and confused minutes later, but the upset and confusion are real regardless. So Neve and Harding have a quiet conversation with everyone that joins, letting them know ‘hey, just don’t talk about this one subject around Rook.’

As the game progresses, the Varric Issue becomes less of an issue for the team because other things force their way to the forefront. Treviso happens, or Minrathous happens. Weisshaupt happens. Aelia happens, and Cyrian happens, and Johanna Hezenkoss happens, and so talking around the Varric Issue becomes less of a problem for everyone -

Until Tearstone Island happens.

[ginxyy]

Steps Towards Love

“You see how picky I am about my shoes and they only go on my feet.”

You know how meticulous you are when it comes to your shoes—the way you scrutinize every detail, from the heel's height to the impeccable alignment of the laces. They only go on your feet, after all, and your feet deserve nothing but the best. You remember the day Seungcheol first noticed this quirk of yours; how he watched you at the cafe, leaning against the wall, your arms crossed and eyes bright as you debated the merits of a pair of classic black pumps versus the daring red stilettos. You felt him watching, the warmth of his gaze enveloping you like a cocoon, and mentally, you added him to the list of things that occupied your thoughts that ever-growing list you never quite wanted to expand but couldn’t help but add to.

“Focused on them?” he asked with a teasing edge to his voice as he approached, a small smirk dancing on his lips. You had tried to mask your surprise, your cheeks betraying you as they flushed under his gaze. You hadn’t even noticed that he had walked in. “What’s wrong with these?” he gestured playfully to your feet, adorned with the current favorite pair, sleek black ankle boots that you had spent an hour picking from an array of options.

“Nothing!” you defended, perhaps too sharply. “Just making sure I don’t regret my choices. Shoes are a commitment, after all,” you added, pretending to shrug his playful distraction off. In truth, you loved the chaotic rhythm he brought into your world, an alluring contrast to your organized life.

Seungcheol had a way of enchanting you, effortlessly slipping in between the lines of your independence with each thoughtful conversation and gentle gesture. He never pushed, never chafed against your independence, but you could feel the determination in him, like a solid rock anchored deep beneath the surface. A month turned to two, and then four, and he was still there, a constant presence wrapped up in the tender possibilities of what could be.

“Okay, but really,” he said one day, seated across from you in your regular booth at the cafe, “you’ve got to give me a chance.” His voice was earnest, his eyes steady as they locked onto yours with a warmth that made your insides flutter. “I’ve put in the effort, haven’t I?” He gestured vaguely to the daily visits, to the elaborate jokes he told to make you laugh, to the way he would hold the door open and pull your chair out like you were the only woman in the world. “You can’t possibly be that picky about me too.”

You chuckled, fighting to contain the giddiness inside you. “I’m a woman of high standards,” you said playfully, even as you could feel your resolve waver. “My shoes are a reflection of my personality. They need to be perfect, just like the man I choose to go out with.”

He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling just a bit too adorably, and you had to look away to avoid losing your composure entirely. “I may not have all the perfect qualities you’re looking for... but I can make you laugh and smile more than anyone else. Isn’t that an important quality too?”

Your heart softened, caught in the warmth of his words. It was true; the way he made you feel was worth savoring. Yet you stubbornly clung to your independence, your headstrong stubbornness a shield against the vulnerability that came with love.

Days became weeks, and as winter crept in, the chill in the air was juxtaposed against the warmth that swelled in your chest at the thought of him. He was so patient, offering only sweet, lingering glances that felt like promises. Yet every time he broached the subject of a date, you deftly dodged.

But tonight, as darkness draped over the city and holiday lights twinkled like stars against the velvet sky, you found yourself hesitating. His voice floated over to you, mellifluous and hypnotic amidst the bustling sounds of the street as he said, “Let’s do something different this weekend. You bring your favorite shoes. I’ll plan a surprise, and we'll see where it takes us.”

The challenge settled heavily in the air between you, and you bit your lip, toes curling at the prospect of his plan. What if it turned out to be spectacular? What if it unraveled a world you had long kept neatly boxed away, out of reach? What if you didn’t want to return home after, your heart tethered too far from the independence you cherished?

You took a deep breath as your resolve tightened. “You know I’m picky,” you cautioned, though deep down, there was a hesitant flicker of excitement curling within you. It wasn’t just any shoes you had to choose, after all; they were an extension of yourself, the armor you wore as you navigated these risky new waters.

“Yes, and you know what? I’m entirely in love with your pickiness. You have exquisite taste but that doesn’t mean we can’t explore what lies beyond your comfort zone.” He leaned closer, a teasing glimmer in his eyes, “Besides, can’t we just see where the night leads us? Just like when you try new shoes?”

Something shifted in the air. You could feel the edges of your resolve softening. What if you let him peel back the layers, just this once? What if you decided to take a leap?

The weekend arrived, and as you stared at your reflection, you slid your feet into a new pair tantalizingly daring emerald heels that felt a bit too bold yet intoxicatingly freeing. They were a far cry from what you usually chose, and yet somehow, they filled you with an unsettling thrill. You were stepping out into the world, and tonight, maybe it would be more than just a night out.

When Seungcheol met you outside your apartment, his eyes lit up like fireworks at the sight of you. “Wow,” he breathed, taking a moment to drink in the vision before him, “you look stunning.” The sincerity in his voice melted any lingering apprehensions you had.

With each step you took beside him, the sharpness of the heels transformed into an exhilarating rhythm, reflective of the pounding of your heart. Each moment together felt sweeter than the last; his laughter mingled with the cool night air as you strolled through softly-lit streets, his hand brushing against yours before gently intertwining your fingers.

You didn’t know where the night was headed, but the possibilities seemed as endless as the stars above. You felt a shift maybe love could exist alongside independence, weaving itself through the fabric of your life rather than overpowering it.

And as you looked up into his eyes, seeing the affection etched there, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, allowing someone in wasn’t as frightening as you’d convinced yourself it was. After all, just like your shoes, love could be a commitment worth the careful selection a journey of its own, if only you dared to take that first step.

[ninyard]

hello I would like the kevallison smut ?? Please

The promised kevallison headcanons (aka how the two of them figure out what the other person is into + how they might go about doing it)

When they start hooking up it’s all pretty standard stuff. Allison gets him off after a game. Kevin eats her out if there’s ten minutes free in between classes and an empty dorm room. They’re a booty call before, during or after a night out, or a no-strings-attached way to get some frustration off their chest. Their friends-with-benefits situation is more often than not just a quick fuck when they’re bored. But it's kind of just… that? It's just fucking. It's a handful of different positions, in a handful of different places, but nothing more than fucking, finishing, and leaving. They don’t feel a need to bring it any further though, in some ways hesitant that the other will catch feelings if it gets too intimate. But from the get-go their agreement is clear - if either starts to get attached, or jealous, or even thinks that it might be worth pursuing, they stop. It doesn’t happen, of course, but in the beginning they really try to err on the side of caution until they know that for certain.

There’s one of two ways that their casual hook ups becomes more... interesting every now and again: one) accidentally. two) intentionally.

If it is accidental, I think they stumble upon the other’s kinks by the Grace of God. It's a quick fuck that turns into something more because one of them picks up on how the other's demeanor changes and they realise oh. oh. That did something for them. The moment when it happens is so intoxicating and sexually charged; So intense at the realisation of how turned on the other person is, that they’re just waiting for someone in the dorm room over, or outside the bathroom at a party, or in the almost-empty parking lot to ask did anyone hear Allison and Kevin fucking last night? For either of them, single and used to quick fucks with strangers that don't mean anything nor have the longevity for experimenting with, getting to dip into their fantasies is unparalleled pleasure.

If it’s accidental, it’s a pleasant surprise for them both, and Kevin and Allison have that in common - they are both incredibly, heavily turned on by their fuck-buddies feeling satisfied. It happens, where sometimes Kevin just wants to be blown without returning the gesture, or where Allison wants to come without having to put in the effort it takes to give back. More often than not, though, whether it be with each other or with other people, they're most satisfied when the other person is satisfied, too. So when the topic of kinks and turn ons is broached, or accidentally revealed, it doesn't matter that it's Kevin, or that it's Allison. When they've been fucking for long enough that they find themselves discovering these things, they're comfortable enough with each other to not feel embarrassed about what happens when they have sex. If it makes her wet, and it keeps him hard, then it doesn't matter. They don't talk about their sex lives outside of when or where it happens - a kink or two isn't going to change that.

For Kevin, sweet submissive baby boy who just lives to be praised - oh, when Allison finds out, it opens this door for changing their dynamics that she hadn't even realised existed. Kevin gets so turned on that he practically melts, and Allison eats it up like it's the hottest thing she's ever laid eyes on.

They've found themselves standing up against a wall in a bathroom at a party somewhere, too many suggestive looks across the room leading to a desperately desired handjob or two, and Kevin is fumbling with the buckle of his belt. He struggles with it for a second, before pulling the black leather out from it's square frame and Allison offhandedly says good job with a laugh as she trails kisses up his neck and her fingers down his stomach. She feels his reaction to her words before she notices how his eyes glaze over with the thoughts in his head; how he stills at her words, how he's yearning through his sigh when she follows with a knowing whisper of oh, you want me to tell you how good you're being?

Him in her hand, the long acrylic nails of her free hand dragging lines down his neck, Allison feels how needy he is and softly purrs in his ear to tell her how much he wants it. It's not lost on him how she plays with him like putty between her tender fingers, but still he looks into her eyes with his eyebrows knitted into each other, too close to argue; The please that escapes his lips trapped in between a gasp and a moan is rebutted with her sultry say it again. I want to hear that pretty voice beg. It takes the stalling of the rhythm in her working hand before he finds the ability to whimper out his desperate please, please, please. She's using her free hand to hold his face still, their eyes locked together, while he can barely keep himself in one piece. Her thumb is soft over his lips, brushing over little gasps and short breaths, holding him while she whispers a question and he falls apart in her hands.

If Kevin loves to be topped by strong women, Allison loves to hear a man moan. And she’s never heard him like this before, his lips drawn apart just inches from hers, one hand steadying himself against the wall and the other tugging and pawing at the skin of the small of her back. She doesn't let him look away as she guides him to climax with her soft words of gentle praise. How pretty he looks when he's trying his hardest to be quiet, how well he's doing at keeping himself composed.

Allsion doesn't care that she's accidentally unlocked this submissive side of Kevin; firstly, he's hot as hell when he's this desperate, and it's not as if she's going to be leaving that bathroom and calling him a good boy on the court, because that's not how this works. She's fucked him angry and she's fucked him needy - the passion of fulfilled fantasy only working on a different level to anything else.

(When he's caught his breath and started to clean himself up, she washes her hands and admires her work; his rosy cheeks burning up as she watches him in the mirror. She pushes herself up onto the vanity, and when he can finally bare to look at her again, she says I'm proud of you with a playful smile. Kevin covers his face to laugh in semi-embarrassment, his head shaking as he finds himself in between her legs. They don't talk about it too much before he returns the favour.)

Then there's, Allison, sweet Allison, who's interests work in harmony like a perfect composed song. We knows she loves to hear the men she sleeps with, but there's two things that really get her going that more often than not go hand in hand - rough sex, and loud sex. Living in dorms, it's hard to indulge, especially the second, but usually she'll just pull him close, with his lips to her ear or hers to his. Allison gets off on hearing the person she's fucking, and Kevin is not an exception to that.

They've somehow had a stroke of luck - an empty house in Columbia and some time to kill. Kevin is on the edge of the bed, and Allison is facing Kevin while sitting on his lap, her knees resting on either side of him, in a skirt that is already so short that it's barely even there. They're making out, and Kevin isn't really thinking, but he slaps her ass - something he'd done once or twice before, but never that hard, never that loud. Allison sits back, hands on his shoulders with her mouth open wide. She doesn't get the chance to finish her questioning what are you doing? Before his mischievous smile curls around, what, this? as he laughs and does it again. When she stands up off of him in a half-protest, shaking her finger at how close he was getting to really getting her going, he follows her up. He stands in front of her with feigned apologies for his boldness. She leans into his kiss, with arms wrapped tight around her waist, but instead of pouting his lips, he picks her up and throws her back onto the bed while she scream-laughs.

Body over body, on top of her then, a hand finds it's way in between strands of shiny blonde. A hand that she takes into hers, guiding his fist to grasp a handful of her hair. When he doesn't hold it hard enough she tugs it gently, keeping his fist closed with her hand around it. Looking down at her, he purses his lips with an oh that pauses his other hand while it pushes up her skirt to touch her over her panties. Reading him while waiting for the laugh that never comes is agonisingly long, as she braces herself for the mortifying conversation that he was not going to be entertaining it. Instead he waits for her hand to trail away before pulling her head, hard, back into the bed. And when she shuts her eyes and parts her lips in pleasure, he is quick to bring his hand up to her chin, tilting her head back. The two smallest of his fingers fingers tuck themselves neatly behind her ear, the other two tight between her jawline and her cheekbone. The ball of his thumb is resting on her chin. She doesn't stop him when his thumb trails down from her cupid's bow and into her mouth. She doesn't stop him when he takes it out hold it around her throat, either. Kevin is careful to scatter wet bruises down her chest where they won't be seen. When he's standing back to take off his pants and she’s lifting her top over her head, he asks, you want it hard? and she responds do you even fucking have to ask?

Her skirt is up over her hips and her thong down her thighs. He’s on his knees with her legs over his thighs, maybe he’s pinning her hands down above her head with one big hand over her little wrists. Headboard banging, unrestrained volume, handprints on ass cheeks and scratches across spines. Allison gets sex-drunk when he manhandles her. It’s sloppy, it’s messy, it’s loud, it’s so hot that it’s on fire. It’s eye-rolling, being in a daze afterwards type of fucking. It’s mascara running down cheeks, how the fuck am I supposed to look anyone in the eye after having that done to me type of fucking. It’s needing to have a shower immediately afterwards type of sweaty, messy fucking.

(It’s probably one of the only times they almost/kind of get caught. Not because of the noise, or the sex itself but because of the aftermath. Andrew and Neil clock INSTANTLY the missing and changed details when they regroup - how Kevin’s hair is freshly washed, how Allison has taken her heavy makeup off leaving only a fresh coat of mascara and some lipgloss remaining. How they can barely look at each other in case it reminds them of what has just happened. Their puffy lips, their general daze. Yeah, they fly a little too close to the sun that time - not enough time afterwards to recuperate from an absolutely dirty, filthy, fucking.)

If it's an intentional thing, a discussion about what they're into, and they know before getting into it/it's a conscious choice/it's intentional/some sort of discussion/WHATEVER? There's a few ways I could potentially see it possibly coming up.

A game of Never Have I Ever or some other drinking game with the group and the discussions of kinks come up; Kevin drinks when somebody mentions a praise kink, or being dominated. Allison drinks when somebody mentions liking it rough. Their looks to each other are quick but knowing, Kevin's raised eyebrows when Allison drinks to say she doesn't mind being degraded, the flick of her eyes when he drinks to say he doesn't mind begging for it.

They don't hang around after hooking up, usually. Clean up, get dressed, and leave. That's the routine. But they're talking afterwards for a little while, and the subject of fantasies comes up, and while shes fixing her makeup and tying up her hair she asks him what's the one thing he'd go crazy for. he considers it for a little bit but then gets embarrassed because it's a way harder thing to talk about when you're not actively turned on or drunk. They offer each other tiny pieces as they joke about it, starting tame before they eventually just say it out straight. (she calls him princess when she's leaving and he calls her a slut before she shuts the door.)

They ask each other outright. Kinda similar to accidentally figuring it out but they ask each other for it instead of the other person just doing something and stumbling upon it. Maybe Kevin asks her to tell him how good he feels and she asks why, are you into that? and they like. talk through it . Do you like it when I ask you this? Can I call you this? Do you like it when I tell you you're doing such a good job? Talking through sex can be so hot and even hearing the questions out loud sets the imagination off on a fucking marathon. Maybe Allison asks can you choke me? and he asks her how she likes it before agreeing. Do you like it when I hold you like this? Do you want me to spit in your mouth? Do you want to shut the fuck up and listen to what you do to me? It's a much more thorough discussion than them simply going oh, i think the other person has [blank] kink, so i'm just gonna go ahead and do that. It's a request, instead. Both of them knowing what they want and knowing how to ask for it? Yeaaaahhhh

[multi-fandom-lunatic]

I don't know if this is really an anti booktok question as such, but what do you think fanfiction might look like, now that authors are writing published books that come across as fanfiction? I think it's an interesting phenomenon and honestly kind of concerning because fanfiction is, well, free. But now people who've never read fanfiction are splashing money on these books for tropes and plots that fanfiction authors have been writing for decades and I feel like fanfiction authors are kind of...being disrespected because the only things they give are their time and passion, meanwhile we have published books being written in these ways (usually) solely for money. I wonder if fanfiction will end up being written more like the standards we apply to published books (though I think the tropey fanfictions that were unwillingly commercialised won't be going away any time soon).

My perspective is that of a fanfic author (who hates Booktok) so take this with several grains of salt.

I think the fanfic vs Booktok phenomenon is hugely interesting. I find it so funny that the people who praise Booktok again and again for their, quite frankly, shitty writing, mountains of tropes and vanilla characters are the same who think that fanfiction is cringe and shame it for the exact same thing they like. It's turned these tropey things that fans like to indulge in into something popular, while excluding the fans that who wrote these fanfics.

Fanfic originally was used to subvert the tropes of mainstream media (often the media they were writing fanfic of) usually with amateur writing that was meant to be enjoyed not praised. However, with recent Booktok authors using fanfic as a template for their books, they dilute the quality of the works being published, because their goal isn't to write something good, or even to communicate a perspective, but rather to find an audience and find an audience alone. Books lose their individuality and even fear broaching political topics in fear of being disagreed with, unpopularised or cancelled (Rather ironic, since writing has historically been a very political medium).

Also, fanfic has been a haven for POC, disabled, queer people (literally anyone who isn't white, Christian, abled, rich... you get the idea) because it allows them to tell stories that would otherwise not get heard because promoting those topics aren't considered marketable (which is so weird to me but then again discrimination doesn't surprise me). With Booktok, authors took these stories of people being discriminated and wrote a half baked fanfic of their work that can be used to ask the question "wait, is discrimination...bad?" without actually asking it, giving the opinion of the author, or going in depth with it. (To be clear, I have no problem with metaphors and analogies, but it seems to me nowadays that instead of using metaphors to communicate new ideas with ease to a reader, they're used to reiterate old themes without being controversial). Authors love an underdog story, until the underdog character in question is you know... actually discriminated against IRL.

I really, really don't like the state of literature right now. I do agree that fanfic authors (well, at least me) tend to feel pressure to write more novel-length, high quality stories rather than just indulge in fanfic. The pressure mainly comes from "(insert bestselling book of the early 2000s) was initially a fanfic and it was so good, so all fanfic should adhere to that quality!" for obvious reasons, there are several things wrong with this. 1. the book they're refereeing to usually aren't that good but nostalgia keeps them from believing otherwise, and 2. these books still go through a fair bit of editing before they get published. While the editing might not change the trope or story itself entirely it enhances writing and helps with spelling errors and add to the small stuff that really make a difference. Fic readers except every fic they come across to be a 100k word slowburn with their favourite characters and their favourite tropes, and this puts the pressure on fic writers to write for the readers instead of themselves, which loses the essence of fanfic entirely (not to mention, authors nowadays have this pressure too, because of how intertwined fanfic and publishing is becoming).

Personally, I love reading the tropey fanfics that people consider bad. I like writing for myself, for the ships I like, for the fandom I like, for the length I want to and choosing whether or not I should finish a piece of work people have no right to complain about. It's free, and as the golden rule of fandom goes: don't like, don't read. I'd like to add another: don't expect. Fanfic isn't tailored for anyone except the writer. And that's how it should be! Creative expression without worrying about being good lit or not. A shame what trad publishing and fanfic has become.

Thank you so much for the ask! I must admit, it has been a while but I'm grateful for the Booktok question, especially a fanfic-related one where I can talk about my opinions as a fic writer, LOL.