#the feeling of something being Deeply Wrong

[thedaselcor]

Ok so not to be totally obsessed with my own story or anything, but I'm actually pretty proud of how I did this one in "a love that burns like holy fire"... confidence is hard... I think it's pretty cute

[Chapter 2]

His whole life, Arthur had been certain that magic was evil, and that anyone who practiced magic was choosing evil. But he knew Merlin, despite everything he hadn’t known. He knew that Merlin, who’d stood up to him despite the risk of imprisonment and death when he was being a bully, wouldn’t have chosen evil. He knew that Merlin cared deeply about justice, and fairness, and good. Merlin was fundamentally good. So, since Merlin was magic, there had to be more to magic than he’d been taught. 

[Chapter 4]

“Do you ever stop doing magic,” the knight laughed-- Lancelot . “Not that I’m complaining right now or any--Arthur” Lancelot suddenly realized what he said, and who had been there to hear it--not having recognized Arthur before--and panic spiked in his voice. “Don’t worry,” Arthur groaned. “I know. Though, more and more, I feel like an idiot for not knowing sooner.” He dismounted as Merlin helped Lancelot to his feet.

[Chapter 5]

“Thank you, for tonight,” Merlin said, once they were back at the inn and Arthur was back to normal. “I know your history with magic…” “My father’s wrong about magic, Merlin,” Arthur said, though it was clearly hard for him to admit. He took a step closer and ran his fingers up and down the sides of Merlin’s waist, and kissed him softly before continuing. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to face him or set all that right but… Merlin you are the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and no matter what I thought I knew I can’t believe the world would be better without you in it. I refuse.” Arthur's words were unexpected and overwhelming, and Merlin brought him into a long, slow kiss to try to keep the tears welling in his eyes from becoming something more. “Leofman,” he whispered through heavy breaths, the word that meant other half, and beloved, and bonded one, and partner in a way no words outside the old language seemed to. Arthur wrapped an arm around Merlin, but pulled back just far enough to look into his eyes, and to wipe away the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Leofman,” Arthur agreed, pronunciation exceptional for having only heard the term twice. “I’m not always good with words, Merlin, and feelings but… this is real, what we have. I’d do anything to protect it. Protect you.” Merlin broke their gaze, shaking his head as if physically forcing himself to be realistic. “Don't make promises you can't keep, Arthur.” “I’m not. I don't, ever.” Merlin hugged Arthur close to him, then. The kind of hug that felt like home, and love, and destiny. The kind of hug that made up for all the years without hugs and gentle touches. The kind of hug that proved to Arthur, once again, that he was making the right choice in all this.

(edited because I don't know how to double check that my paragraphs look separate enough before posting things apparently :P )

ill always be a sucker for post magic reveal conversations where merlins like ‘You dont hate my magic? I thought you’d live the rest of your life thinking magic was evil, what changed your mind?’

and arthur simply says something like you

[hsunrry]

it’s positive // one shot

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: based on this request.

|| masterlist ||

words: ~1,4k

warnings: smut18+, praise, dirty talking, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, pregnancy

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“gonna breed you so fucking good.” he panted, his dick disappearing inside your pussy at fast pace. “you want my cum, baby?” you moaned and nodded frantically. he gripped your hips tightly, slamming into you with wild abandon. “fuck, you feel incredible. i’m gonna pump you full, baby. mark you up inside and out.” his thrusts grew more frantic, driven by primal need.

“fuck, Harry.” you gasped, your back arching from intensity of it. he groaned deeply, hooking your legs over his shoulders and nearly bending you in half as he loomed over you.

“that’s it, take it all. gonna fill this tight little pussy to the brim.” the headboard of the bed slammed against the wall with each powerful thrust.

“you’d be such a good dad, baby.” you said between moans. his eyes rolled back as he heard your words, the image of being a father to your child hitting him hard.

“shit, fuck- you’re gonna make me cum so hard, love. i’m gonna breed you raw and make you a mama.” his release neared, his body tensing as his pace became almost punishing. “look at you, taking all of this so well. you’re mine, all mine.” he panted, his hands groping your breasts roughly as he thrust into you.

“fuck, i’m gonna come Harry, just like that, please.” you moaned. he growled possessively, his face contorting in pleasure.

“come for me. show me who you belong to. i want to feel you squeeze my thickness as i pour into you.” his breath hitching.

“yes, yes, oh fuck, like that!” you cried out, your pussy clenching around him. with a loud moan, he buried himself to the hilt one final time, his cock throbbing violently as he emptied his balls deep inside you.

“fuck yes, take my cum, mama!” you gasped at the feeling of him filling you up. he collapsed on top of you, his body spent as he nuzzled into your neck, kissing your skin gently. “you’re so perfect.” his voice was soft, his hands slowly caressing your body. “we’ll make a baby like that one day, god, i love you so much.”

“someday, yeah.” you gasped with a smile. “i love you too.”

“let’s clean up and then we can go again.” he nipped at your earlobe. “i want to leave you aching and swollen, every step a remainder of who you belong to.”

after few weeks from that night, you were laying in your bedroom in your shared apartment and sleeping peacefully. he stirred, his eyes fluttering open to find the morning light streaming through the curtains. he smiled as he gazed down at your peaceful face nestled against his chest, his fingers idly raking through your hair. he leaned down to press a tender kiss on your forehead. you smiled softly in your sleep, but when you opened your eyes, you rushed into the bathroom without a word. you kneeled down in front of the toilet and threw up. concern etched on his face and he followed you to the bathroom. he knelt behind you, gathering your hair and rubbing your back soothingly. “honey, what’s wrong?”

“i don’t know, i probably ate something yesterday.” you shrugged, flushing the toilet. he helped you to your feet, his brows furrowed as he examined your face.

“you’re pale. here, sit down.” he guided you to sit on the edge of the bathtub, his mind racing. suddenly, his eyes widened. “have you been feeling nauseous lately? maybe a little queasy in the mornings?” his heart pounded in his chest, hope and fear warring within him. he reached out, gently placing his hand on your stomach.

“well, yeah, but i should get my period anytime now, i mean it’s late few days, maybe that’s why i’m a little more sensitive.” you smiled softly. his eyes shone with excitement and trepidation.

“but… what if it’s not your period?” he swallowed hard, his hand still resting on your stomach. “i know we said we’d wait, but… do you think there’s a chance that you could be pregnant?”

“Harry, i’m on injections, only way i could possibly be pregnant on them would be either miracle, or if i took them few days late.” you smiled softly. “which i didn-“ you stopped, realization hitting you. “oh shit, i did had last dose few days after i should have it.” his breath caught in his throat, heart racing.

“you did? oh my god…” he cupped your face gently, his thumbs caressing your cheeks as he searched your eyes. “does that mean… could you actually be pregnant?”

“no, i- i can’t be, right?” you shook your head. “it was just two days late, my doctor said it shouldn’t happen.” you said, looking at him nervously. his heard sank slightly, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of hope.

“baby, nothing is 100% guaranteed. and with the symptoms you’re having…” he took a deep breath, his eyes soft with love and concern. “maybe we should just take a test?”

“yeah, we can do that.” you said after few seconds of thinking. his face lit up with a soft smile, relief washing over him that you were at least considering the possibility.

“okay, i’ll go to pharmacy then.” he stood up.

“no, i… i think i actually have some i bought just in case one day.” you said, standing up from the edge of the bathtub and looking for it in one of the cabinets. he watched as you searched through the cabinet, pulling out two pregnancy tests. “okay, i’ll do them now.” he nodded, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before reluctantly stepping out of the bathroom.

“okay, i’ll be outside. take all the time you need, sweetheart.” he paused at the door, glancing back with a worried smile. “whatever happens, we’ll face it together, alright?” you swallowed quietly and nodded. with one last look, he stepped out of the bathroom, closing the doors softly behind him. you sigh, quickly doing both of them. when you were done, you set them on the counter and you opened the doors to let him in. he walked back into the bathroom, his eyes immediately landing on the two pregnancy tests on the counter. after couple of minutes he smiled, squeezing your shoulders gently. “okay, let’s see, shall we?” you nodded softly. he took a deep breath, his hand reaching out to pick one of the tests. he turned it over, his eyes scanning the results window. he felt the air leave his lungs as he saw the clear positive sign. “it’s… it’s positive, love.” you swallowed hard, taking the second one to see that it’s positive too. his eyes welled up with tears of joy and disbelief. he set down the test gently, his arms immediately enveloping you in a warm, loving embrace. “we’re going to have a baby.” he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “oh my god, this is… incredible.”

“i’m scared Harry.” you said quietly, looking up at him. he gazed down at you, his eyes shimmering with love and understanding.

“i know, sweetheart. it’s a big, scary, beautiful thing.” he gently cupped your face in his hands, thumbs lightly brushing away the tears that fell down. “but you’re not alone in this. i’m here and i’ll always be.”

“i know.” you said quietly.

“we’re in this together, every step of the way. i’ll be right here, holding your hand through all of it. the good, the bad and everything in between.” he smiled softly, his forehead resting against yours as he spoke.

“i love you so much.” you smiled. his face lit up with pure joy, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“and i love you. so much.” he sealed his promise with a tender kiss, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “we’re going to be amazing parents, you’ll see.” you nuzzled into his body when he hugged you. he held you close, the two of you just standing there in the bathroom. he felt happy and content, knowing it’s the new beginning of something beautiful with the love of his life.

[luvismenu]

08 — a motherfuckin' train wreck ✎ ,, index

wc: 4.2k

note: i am sorry idk abt the warnings cuz the whole chapter is messy 😭 and yes you guys guessed it right (iseul's gonna make an appearance!)

📜 series taglist: @deepikhaprakash @rjooniesdimples @wombatkitten127

📜 permanent taglist: @lovieku @deluluisdasolulu @ddanasjk @onlyforyoukook @diamondjeon @nnybtitts08 @lil0u0 @butnotmontana @fr0ggieth1nk @minimoninini @whoa-jo @lola75111 @iswearimover5feetall @rispwr @genevieveeeee @kookoo-kachoo @junecat18 @iheartchanelle

@internetrando64 @jkvias @134340-kr @mar-lo-pap @fluttershypoo @kyuupii @https-mei @elinaki92 @jungkookmyoneandonlybaby @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @jaykay-world @jmscaffeine @libra04 @beigerin @nikidream24

“i am rethinking. about us.”

her words from the night before wouldn’t stop echoing in his head

jungkook exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. his gaze unfocused, caught somewhere between the present and the past.

iseul.

she had been everything to him once.

his first real relationship. his first real love.

the memories came flooding back, uninvited and relentless. the way her laugh used to light up a room, how her hand had felt so perfectly small and warm in his, those late night talks where they dreamed up futures that, deep down, he always feared were too perfect to last.

but with those good memories came the ones that stung like old wounds being reopened. the arguments that spiraled over nothing, the long silences that spoke louder than words, the way she’d criticize him without realizing how deeply it cut.

he always held himself back with her. constantly.

he never told her how much it hurt when she brushed off his insecurities like they were nothing or when she dismissed his emotions because she was too consumed by her own. every fight left him questioning himself, every moment of indifference making him feel like he was chasing something he could never quite reach.

he loved her.

god, he loved her with everything he had. but it was like pouring water into a cup with a crack. it was never enough to fill it.

so why, after all this time, did a part of him still miss her?

his jaw tightened as the question lingered, gnawing at him.

do i even miss her? he thought, his fists clenching against the edge of his desk. or is it just the feeling of someone being there for him?

he wasn’t sure. maybe it was the comfort or the familiarity, the security of knowing someone so deeply. even if they never truly knew you back.

he let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. just as he was about to shut the door on the memories, another one crept in.

“i miss you.”

it felt so real. and maybe that’s why he felt so thrown. because she had always been his first. and part of him wasn’t ready to accept that she is now his past.

he didn’t even notice when he started pacing around the room, his thoughts spiraling into a chaotic mess. the sound of students outside didn’t register. he couldn’t stop replaying it all in his head; the good, the bad, and the confusing.

then his phone dings.

the sound cuts through the noise in his head, drawing his attention away from the chaos of his own thoughts. he glances at the screen, and it’s a text from you.

he can't see you right now. not with everything that’s been weighing on him. he won’t be able to talk to you like everything’s fine, like nothing’s wrong.

but he still wants to see you.

he wants to apologise for giving you the cold shoulder last night. that was not okay. he knows it.

he texts you back and when he sees—

y/n: can you take me home,, i feel weird

the words are simple, but they hit him like a jolt. his shoulders tense as worry rushes in, overtaking everything else in his mind.

without hesitation, he types back.

he doesn’t give himself time to think. he shoves his phone back into his pocket, glancing at the clock on the wall. the campus café is all the way on the other side of the building. ten minutes feels like a stretch, but it doesn’t matter.

jungkook grabs his bag, tossing his scattered papers into it with little care, and slings it over his shoulder.

the weight of everything else; iseul, the confusion, the lingering ache of his pastfades into the background. right now, all he cares about is getting to you

but then, as if summoned by his thoughts, a voice broke through the haze.

“jungkook.”

his heart sinks.

he turned, and there she was. iseul. standing there like a ghost from his past, her presence pulling him under like a tide he couldn’t fight.

“we need to talk,” she said softly, taking a step closer.

he froze, every instinct screaming at him to leave, to walk away before he fell back into the same cycle of hurt and longing.

“what are you doing here? iseul, i—” he started, but the words died in his throat.

“just..,” she interrupted. “hear me out.”

he shook his head. “this isn’t a good time. i have to—”

“please,” she interrupted again, stepping closer. “just a few minutes. that’s all i’m asking.”

hs wanted to say no. to tell her it was too late.

he wanted to walk away, to find you and make sure you were okay. but another part of him—the part that still hadn’t figured out how to let go of her—kept him rooted to the spot, like he's caught between the person he used to be and the person he iis now.

“why now?” he asked quietly,

“because i can’t stop thinking about you,” she said, her voice trembling. “about us. jungkook, i know it's messed up, but i... i don’t want to lose you for good.”

her words hit him like a weight, but they didn’t bring the clarity he thought they would. instead, they only added to the mess in his head.

“iseul,” he started, but his voice faltered.

“we were good together, weren’t we?” she asked, her tone almost pleading. “don’t you miss it?”

he clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists before slowly loosening them again. “i don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

it was the truth.

he didn’t know what he missed anymore. was it her? the person she used to be? or was it just the memories of her, those glimpses of a time that felt simpler, even if it wasn’t?

“have you.. have you moved on? from me?” iseul’s voice was light, almost disbelieving, like the idea of him letting go was unfathomable.

he stood there, silent, confusion swirling in his chest like a storm he couldn’t calm.

“i want to,” he said at last, his voice steady but low.

her breath hitched. “why? don’t you love me, jungkook?” her voice trembled, the edge of desperation creeping in. “you love me, right? remember what you told me? you loved being with me. you told me you’d always love me. you love me, don't you?”

he didn’t respond immediately. her words wrapped around him, tight and suffocating, dragging him back to moments he wasn’t sure he wanted to revisit.

“iseul, you were my everything. but i... wasn’t yours.” his voice was low and steady.

her eyes widen, panic flashing across her face. “what are you even talking about? honey, i loved—” she hesitates, catching herself, “i love you.”

he let out a bitter chuckle, one that held no warmth. it was hollow, sharp. “you loved me?” he repeated, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “is this why you broke up with me? because you got tired of me, isn’t it?”

“no, i—”

“i was showing off, wasn’t i? that’s what you said. that i was trying to prove i was better than you. isn’t that it?”

she opened her mouth but no words came out. her silence was damning, and he felt the old wound tearing open again.

“how do you expect me to come back after that?” he asked slowly, his voice softer but cutting, his eyes burning into hers. “after you told me how you really thought about me?”

“i-i’m sorry, jungkook—” her voice wavered, cracking under the weight of his glare.

“shut up.” his words were sharp, final, a wall slamming down between them.

she frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly. “you found someone else, didn’t you?” her voice softened, but the edge was unmistakable.

jungkook’s jaw tightened. “that’s not—”

“it is, isn’t it?” she interrupted, stepping closer, her gaze searching his face. “you wanna move on, it’s because of her, isn’t it?”

“iseul,” he said firmly, taking a step back, “this isn’t about anyone else."

“no, it’s about you forgetting me!,” she said, her tone turning sharp. “you’re moving on like none of it mattered. after everything we had? after everything i gave you?”

he stared at her, disbelief flashing across his features. “everything you gave me? iseul, you walked away. you ended things.”

“because you made it impossible!” she snapped, her voice trembling, but not with sadness, it was frustration. “you were always so… so needy, jungkook. always wanting more from me than i could give, and now you’re giving that part of yourself to someone else? it’s not fair.”

“not fair?” he repeated, his voice rising. “iseul, do you even hear yourself? you’re the one who—”

“but you still love me,” she said suddenly, her tone dropping into something softer, almost pleading. “i know you do. you can’t just stop loving someone like me. i can see it in your eyes, jungkook. don’t lie to me.”

he shook his head, trying to clear the fog of her words, her voice wrapping around his thoughts like vines. “iseul, this—”

“come back to me,” she whispered, her hand brushing his arm, her touch cold despite its gentleness. “we can make it work this time. i’ll be better, i promise. you will be better. don’t throw us away because of some stupid misunderstanding.”

he pulled his arm away, his chest tightening with a mix of anger and something he couldn’t quite name. “you don’t get it do you? you don't get to decide this anymore.”

“jungkook,” she said, her voice trembling, a tear sliding down her cheek. “please.”

but he could see through it now. the desperation in her voice wasn’t love. it was control. it was the fear of losing something she always controlled. something she can use for her own satisfaction.

without another word, he turned his back on her, to walk away.

“she will hate you!” iseul’s voice broke through the quiet, it was sharp. there was no pain in her tone, only anger, her tears more of a weapon than a sign of sadness.

he stiffened at her words, but he didn’t stop. his steps were steady, as he moved further away from her.

“you’ll fuck this up with her too!” she spat, her voice trembling with frustration. “just like you always do, jungkook! you ruin every fucking thing!”

he clenched his fists, his shoulders tightening for a brief moment, but he didn’t look back. he kept walking. each step felt heavier, but he told himself it was the right thing. he couldn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. not anymore.

as he reaches the exit of the building, he remembers..

you.

you asked him to take you home.

that's when he realizes,

he messed up.

his chest tightens as he pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling to unlock it. there are a few unread texts from you. each message making it clear that you aren’t doing well.

his stomach churns. he clenches his jaw, pushing down the wave of guilt threatening to consume him. without wasting another second, he strides towards the café, his pace quick and uneven, his breaths coming heavier with each step.

when he finally arrives, his eyes scan the room, darting between the tables, searching desperately for you.

but you’re not here.

the sight of the empty chair where he expected you to be makes his heart drop.

he told you he would be there.

but he wasn't.

panic floods him as he unlocks his phone, his heart racing. there’s no new message from you, no call. just silence. he swallows thickly, the guilt clawing at him.

what if you waited too long? what if you left because he made you feel like you couldn’t count on him?

fuck.

“you’re crazy, you know that?”

“heard that a lot before,” you chuckle tiredly, lifting the glass of water to your lips. the cool liquid does little to ease the heaviness in your chest.

min yoongi glares at you, crossing his arms.

“you should be glad i was going to meet someone from campus and happened to see you,” he says, standing stiffly beside your bed like he’s holding back a lecture.

“t-thanks, min yoongi, for bringing me home and taking care of me,” you mumble, offering a small smile.

he sighs, his expression softening. “just call me yoongi.”

you nod, your smile growing a little, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“seriously, though, what were you doing there alone?” he asks, his tone concerned but firm.

you freeze for a moment, your fingers tightening around the glass. you remember. you were waiting for jungkook.

and now, the memory stings.

it was stupid of you to even ask him. why would he help you? you’re not even close friends. you’re just... you don’t even know what you are.

your chest tightens with a mixture of emotions.

anger. sadness. disappointment.

he’s been distant and you’ve ignored it, convincing yourself it was fine, that it's none of your business.

but this? this was too much.

“i... i was going to call someone, but then you saw me,” you lie, forcing a casual shrug.

yoongi narrows his eyes slightly, not missing the hesitation in your voice. “call who?”

right. of course, he’d ask. he knows how lonely you are.

“i don’t know, someone.” you say quickly, hoping it sounds believable.

yoongi exhales deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “next time, at least call jungkook. i won’t always be hanging around that area, you know.”

your head snaps up, and the words tumble out before you can stop them. “why would i? it's not like we're friends.”

his brows lift in surprise. “not friends?”

“we’re hooking up. that’s it. nothing more.”

his lips press into a thin line, and he nods slowly. he doesn’t push further, though you can see the questions in his eyes.

“i’ll get you some meds. take some rest, okay?” he says finally, his voice softer now.

you nod, watching as he leaves the room, the sound of his footsteps fading.

as soon as the door clicks shut, you sigh and sink into your bed, staring up at the ceiling.

this is stupid. all of it.

as yoongi heads to the front door of your apartment; a small plastic bag with medicines in hand, he stops short when he sees jungkook standing there. his breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling like he just ran all the way up the stairs.

“jungkook? what are you doing here?” yoongi asks, his brows furrowing in surprise.

jungkook glances at him, his expression a mixture of worry and hesitation, like he’s not sure if he should be there at all. “___... is she here?” he asks, his voice low and strained.

“yeah, i just brought her home,” yoongi replies, still studying him. “she has a bit of a fever and—”

“is she okay?” jungkook cuts him off, stepping closer. “did you take her to the hospital?”

yoongi blinks at the urgency in his voice, raising a hand to calm him. “it’s just a fever, jungkook. she said she hasn’t been sleeping much these past few days. she'll be alright if she takes some rest.”

jungkook exhales, his shoulders slumping slightly as relief washes over him.

“what are you doing here anyway? don’t you have the expo to prepare for?” yoongi asks, raising an eyebrow.

jungkook shifts on his feet, looking down for a moment. “i... i need to give her the book,” he says, the words hesitant and unconvincing. “so, yeah.”

yoongi glances down at jungkook's hands, his brow furrowing slightly as he notices the obvious absence of the book he was supposed to bring.

yoongi doesn’t buy it for a second, but he doesn’t push.

“how did you find her?” jungkook asks, clearly wanting to steer the conversation away from himself.

“i was going to meet jimin at the café and saw her there,” yoongi explains. “girl looked like she was about to faint. i keep telling her to stop overworking herself, but you know how she is.”

jungkook’s jaw tightens as he listens, guilt creeping into his expression.

“are you guys...” yoongi starts, pausing as he studies him. “fighting?”

jungkook looks taken aback, blinking rapidly. “n-no. why?”

yoongi shrugs casually, though his eyes are sharp. “nothing. just curious.”

he holds out the bag. “here, give these to her.” his voice softens slightly. “and both of you, calm down.”

jungkook hesitates for a moment before taking the bag, gripping it tightly as yoongi steps aside to leave. he watches as yoongi walks away.

jungkook steels himself, his hand hovering over the doorknob. he isn’t sure what he’s going to say, but he knows he needs to see you.

you close your eyes again, trying to steady your thoughts, but they keep circling back to him.

jungkook.

why does he have this hold on you?

he's just someone you're hooking up with, nothing more. at least, that's what you keep telling yourself. you shouldn’t be so worked up over this. it’s not like you’re dating, or even that close outside of… whatever this is.

but still, you asked for him. for once, you needed something more than just hooking up.

you can take care of yourself. it's not even a big deal, you've been through worse but earlier today, for some reason, you needed him to just be there. with you.

and he wasn’t.

a bitter laugh bubbles in your throat as you think about it. maybe this was your mistake. leaning on someone who wasn’t meant to be leaned on.

but then, another thought creeps in, one you wish would stay buried.

maybe it wasn’t his fault. he did say he was busy, with all the chaos around the business expo. he must be exhausted too, running himself into the ground like he always does.

and it’s not like you ever check on him.

what right do you have to be mad?

how can you be mad at him?

but then the memory of sitting at that café alone, feeling sick and hoping he’d come, flashes in your mind.

fuck that.

how can you not be mad at him?

you sigh, opening your eyes and staring blankly at the ceiling.

and just when you think you’ve finally managed to push him out of your mind, you hear the sound of the front door closing. you assume it’s yoongi coming back with the meds, so you don’t bother looking.

but then his footsteps sound different, heavier than yoongi’s usual quiet steps. your brows furrow as the sound grows closer, and before you can fully register it, there he is.

jeon jungkook.

he steps into the room, a plastic bag in his hand, his expression tense and unmistakably guilty. his eyes find yours, and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to say something, but no words come out.

you blink at him, sitting up slightly, your emotions a mix of disbelief, anger, and something you can’t quite name.

“jungkook,” you say, his name barely more than a whisper, a mix of disbelief and something sharper laced in your tone.

he doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at you, as though trying to figure out what to say or whether to even say anything at all. the tension hangs heavy in the air, and it takes everything in you not to crumble over your own emotions.

“hey,” he finally breathes out, his voice soft but uneven.

you sit up straighter, “what are you doing here?”

he shifts uncomfortably, glancing down at the plastic bag in his hand. “you weren’t feeling well and-”

“and you suddenly care?” you bite back, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

he flinches at your tone, his gaze meeting yours, and for a second, you see something vulnerable flash across his face.

he takes a step closer, his voice soft. “of course i care—”

“then where were you?” you snap. “where was all this care when i just wanted you to...” your words trail off, stuck in your throat.

to take care of me? to be there for me?

you shake your head at yourself, biting back the words.

that’s ridiculous.

this shouldn’t even matter.

but why does it matter?

why do you care about him not showing up?

“i had to take care of something,” he says, carefully placing the plastic bag on your bed. his tone feels apologetic, but it doesn’t reach you.

you cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “something?” you repeat bitterly, your voice laced with doubt.

he sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. “i... i met someone, okay?” his gaze flickers away from yours, like he can’t bear to meet it. “and i don’t know, i froze a little. she... well, that doesn’t matter. the point is that, i know i took too long. i know i messed up. i’m sorry, ___. i didn’t mean to stand you up like that.”

she.

that one word hits you harder than you expect, twisting something deep inside your chest. you can’t stop the flood of thoughts racing through your mind.

someone else.

he was with someone else.

your jaw tightens, and you try to keep your voice steady, but it comes out colder than you intended. “and that’s supposed to make this better?”

he doesn't say anything

“why are you here, jungkook?”

“i wanted to check on you, i am worried.” he finally says, his voice quieter than usual.

“check on me?” you repeat, the bitterness in your tone impossible to hide. “you weren’t too worried when you left me waiting.”

his jaw tightens now, and he takes a tentative step closer. “i know. i messed up, alright? i know i did. that’s why i’m here.”

you scoff, turning away from him as frustration bubbles up inside you. “what do you want me to say, jungkook? that it’s okay? that i’ll just forget about it? i feel stupid to think that i even texted you.”

“___.” he says quickly, his voice firmer now. “i’m not asking you to forget it. i just... i just want you to know i didn’t mean for it to happen. i didn't mean to keep you waiting.”

“but you did,” you snap, spinning back to face him.

his face falls, and for a moment, you almost feel bad. almost.

you mentally curse yourself for letting your emotions take control. this is stupid. he’s not even your boyfriend. why should it matter who he was with? or what he was doing with her?

this shouldn't be a big deal.

but you can’t stop it, the anger building up inside you. “it’s not even about this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “you’ve been acting distant lately, and i get it, you’ve got your own things going on, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like this. it makes me feel... i don’t even know, it just feels really fucking awful. and let me be clear, i’ve got my own stuff to handle too. nd i don't want to feel this way. if you're busy and you can't be there, just fucking tell me that you’ve got other things going on. don't think i'm gonna be okay with just waiting around and dealing with it.” your eyes snap at him. “i will not play that game.”

he lets out a deep breath and looks at you. “it’s not a game, okay? i just... i had to deal with something. and the moment i could, i came straight to you. i feel shitty about it. and let me be clear too. i would never do something like this to you, not again.”

“okay, good.” you deadpan.

silence.

“you should rest,” he says, his voice quieter now.

“yeah," you reply, not even looking at him, your eyes fixed on the bed, anything but him.

“do you need any-”

“jungkook.” you cut him off, your voice steady but sharp. you finally look up at him, eyes cold. “i need to be alone. please, leave.”

he just sighs, his face falling. “okay.” he nods, his voice low, almost defeated.

without another word, he turns and walks out, the door clicking softly behind him.

and as the silence settles in again, you sigh.

“i'm a motherfuckin' train wreck.”

[shorthaltsjester]

re: many thoughts i’ve seen regarding the way the cast are playing m9 feeling ooc that have ranged anywhere from being just commentary to very strange critiques about like. homophobia and. emphatically just. idk man . get a grip or smth. vox machina is pretty much just as ‘caricature’-y as the nein are (a phrase which here simply refers to. we are getting snapshots of these characters provided by a cast keenly aware of the limited timeline they’re on), the only difference being we saw vox machina with down time and we didn’t see the same with mighty nein (on their own) all of the mighty nein’s one-on-one moments were mediated by the cast also having to go ‘would my other character — who is in the main party for this campaign — have something to say in this moment of the story that takes precedent over whatever conversation this character would have’. and further, whimsy and verging on over-confidence have Always been the nein’s approach. but like, especially re: yasha and fjord (and beau a bit) who i’ve seen get the most reaction it’s like. literally rewatch the campaign and detach yourself from the fanon-rotted version of the characters that has been left to evolve in your brain.

like. sorry beau Did dislike yasha at the start — she thought she was hot, but she was also deeply walled off and unwilling to fully take yasha as a genuine person for a while. beauyasha has always been horny. like we’re talking the ceiling mirror fucking, fish market, hot tub stare off couple right? that’s who we’re upset about being too sexual? where am i (and if it’s because ashley and marisha forgot whether their characters were married, all the best to you, your thoughts are simply irrelevant). and fjord is the exact same as always — which is a combination of confidence and awkward at all times, especially when it comes to romance. which has in the past consistently led to jester and him having quieter conversations where he gets to be more vulnerable, including one we had the last time we saw mn in ep 111 where jester point blank brought up that he seemed like maybe he regretted proposing and he shed the bravado demeanour (as he always has) and explained that he doesn’t regret anything.

like. i’m not saying it’s wrong to take issue with the characters choices or perspectives, go for it, but realize that it is the characters and the choices they’re making and not just the cast Forgetting who their characters are. also i am truly sorry for those of you who can’t tell the difference between an out of character but still in character voice joke and an in character delivery . i imagine that makes it very hard to track character development but unfortunately that does not mean the cast have forgotten the hearts of their characters it just means you probably shouldn’t be (and thankfully you are not) the chief determination of whether they have or not.

[a-dragons-journal]

With all the gentleness in my heart, and I hope I don't scare you off with a long answer because I promise I'm not trying to lecture you: you are making a huge generalization equating a vast swathe of furries, therians, kinksters, and hell, even non-offending zoophiles with bestialists, which is untrue and unfair to all of those people. With that phrasing (in a context where we're talking about artificial things), you include people who think anthropomorphic animal characters are hot (and may or may not create and/or consume porn of them), people who use animal-shaped sex toys, people with species dysphoria that includes genital dysphoria, people who fantasize about wolf dick or whatever but would never touch a real animal, and probably a good few more but you get the idea. None of these people are hurting anyone or anything. The vast, vast majority of them will never touch a real animal in a sexual way in their life. They are not the people you're afraid of.

I get where you're coming from here, I really do. Bestiality is a deeply horrifying thing, and it's hard sometimes to not knee-jerk react when something resembles it at first glance. And hell, you can think any of the above is gross and weird if you want! That's your right! But gross and weird don't mean harmful. It does feel strange, that's completely fair - but stop and think about that, really chew on that feeling, before you decide that means it's a bad thing.

Again, to put it a little more seriously: stop and look your disgust in the eye and ask it, why do I care about this? Is it actually dangerous, or is my survival instinct misfiring here? (Because that's fairly common - pattern recognition sometimes sees patterns that aren't there, and it's safer to alert on something that isn't really dangerous than to not alert on something that is! It's a natural thing that we all have to keep an eye on.) Is anyone (or any animal) actually getting hurt here, and if so, who and how, and is that actually inherent to the thing or is it a specific use-case where things have gone wrong?

(Hint: If your initial answer is "yes, this is harmful," but you can't explain who's getting hurt exactly and how, then it may not actually be harmful, your survival instinct may be misfiring. Stop and dig deeper. Is it harmful or is it just gross?)

As a side note: if someone wants a packer shaped like a human penis, do you assume that they find that sexually appealing on other people? If no, why is it different when it's a different packer shape? Why are you jumping to the conclusion that it's a sex thing the minute it gets a little weird, and might that jump be partially fed by internalized things society thinks about being trans being a sex thing in general? (These are genuine questions, but you don't have to answer them to me unless you want to; you can answer them to yourself privately, that's fine. I'm asking to get you thinking and dissecting your own logic a bit, that's all.)

why is there discourse now about nonhuman packers. genuinely, 100% genuinely with my whole heart: grow up. have a little fun with life. what are you afraid of? who cares if the shape someone stuffs their pants with isn't a photorealistic model of a human dick? literally why does it matter to you? who exactly is getting hurt by this? why is it any of your business what is in someone's pants? stop and look your disgust in the eye and ask it why the fuck it cares about this. you too could have something fun and artistic and maybe even species affirming in your pants if it so suits you. you have nothing to lose but your chains. be free my brethren

[sickficideas]

Ooooh since you're doing dandadan now, can I request general headcanons for sick okarun and momo? Like who'd get sick more often, how badly would it affect them, symptoms, caretaking etc? Whether or not it's related to your current wip :)))

YES!!! absolutely anon i am happy to start talking about them...!!!!! You gave me a lot to work with and I tried to include everything you mentioned but if you ever want anything more specific from these feel free to come back !!!! 👽👽💖💖

PS I'm fighting demons on whether to call him Okarun or Ken but he's Okarun for this post since that's what you've called him lol

- Okarun is definitely sick more often but only as a result of his body not being able to handle his Yokai form. Like random high fevers, awful body aches, nausea, tinnitus, nosebleeds (i think even worse things like coughing up blood or absent seizures from over using it)...he's kind of a baby about it, he has a very low pain tolerance and fevers are so overwhelming for him with all of his senses being muddled 😭😭

- Momo isn't necessarily sick often but her similarly her newfound powers give her the gift of frequent headaches and migraines 👍 they don't hold her back most of the time, she just pops a ton of pain killers and moves on (after complaining), but bad with migraines she's huddled up in her dark room and just praying it goes away 😭😭😭

- Momo's fevers don't get as high and aren't as frequent as Okarun's, but the fever really messes with her abilities. She can't use it properly with Any higher temperature, but she gets really weird visual and auditory hallucinations too and she has a hard time distinguishing them from reality. This Deeply concerns Okarun any time he notices and he'll usually pick up on her hallucinations before he realizes she has a fever 😭 she hears him ask her something when he didn't even speak and he's on high alert all of a sudden like, miss Ayase I didn't say anything are you okay what's wrong?????

- Okarun does a good job taking care of Momo if she's sick but he's a tiny bit overbearing (to the point where she might snap and accidently scare him off...she Wants to be taken care of she's just very easily embarrassed) and also Horribly worried. Especially if she's acting weird or quiet he Might cry and she has to comfort him and he feels guilty about it. Vicious cycle lol

- Momo is similarly the overthinker of all time, she's watching all of his movements and focusing on everything he says and does when he's sick because he won't verbalize how he's feeling to avoid worrying her. Dummy. So she tries to figure it all out herself. She takes good care of him though and tries to make sure he's not too overwhelmed 🥺🥺

[animeomegas]

blowing some boys' back out please x3 your choice of 'em

that's 2 imprecise help neji gaara, sasuke, and minato? :3 bonus if the alpha is big in size. I'll be 🍷 anon if not already taken ! mwah

(Hey, welcome 🍷 anon! Let's see~)

N-sfw under cut

Let's set the scene!

It was a rough night last night, enthusiastic, hot, and very heavy.

And some soreness is totally normal after nights like this, especially when you consider your... greater than average size *cough*

But when your omega gets up the next morning, it's clear that the soreness is more than normal.

He's waddling around the house, holding himself gingerly, still kind of dazed from last night.

He probably has some emerging bruises in sensitive places, a few pulled muscles, too.

Maybe you were a little too enthusiastic 😅

But how does he react?

Neji

He is deeply unimpressed by you.

He's sending you dirty looks, blaming you for his current condition and conveniently forgetting how much he was begging for it to be harder last night.

"How am I supposed to go shopping like this? 😠"

You better be pampering him to say sorry.

He's going to settle down on the couch and you'll be doing all the chores and massaging the sore parts of his body.

Bring him snacks and butter him up with lots of lovey dovey apologies and he'll forgive you.

And then ask for that kind of sex again the next week smh.

Gaara

Concerned boy is concerned :(

Rough sex is extremely out of character for him, and so something must have triggered it. Perhaps extremely heightened emotions?

I'm not sure, but he's regretting it so much :(

He knew rough sex was a bad idea. He kind of feels bad about the whole thing.

For a shinobi, his pain tolerance is pretty low, but he still has to get to work because he has a village to run...

He keeps his composure remarkably well at work, but he goes home early and he expects lots of cuddles and kisses and gentle affection.

It's one of the only sex things that he won't overshare with his siblings because he's genuinely embarrassed by injuries that occurred from his perceived lack of control. He feels like he should know better.

Give him lots of love, okay?

Sasuke

He is SOOOOO embarrassed.

And he's pissed at you. But he won't say that because he's too busy pretending that nothing is wrong.

This lasts for all of 5 minutes before he realises that pretending he's fine means leaving the house like this, and he'd rather DIE.

So, the man who would try to train or take a mission while literally delirious with illness, actually takes a day off and hides in bed.

A bed that he kicks you out of by the way.

(but you can probably sneak back in with some well placed nuzzles)

What is he even so embarrassed about?

People knowing he has sex? Kinda, yes.

How fucking ridiculous he looks waddling around? Absolutely.

Not being strong enough to physically take his alpha without injury? Yes...

DO NOT tease him!

Just apologise once and then make him breakfast and don't bring it up ever again 😅

Minato

He's a bit sheepish about the situation, because he remembers begging for it to be harder, and he should have known better.

Oh well! Now he knows better, and well, it was pretty hot.

He gets a bit turned on thinking about it, which probably hurts, so that train of thought dies quickly.

He will probably tease you about being so big and rough lol

To be honest though, he's totally fine, and he'll say "you don't have to do that" everytime you try to apologise or make it up to him.

He would appreciate you running him a bath and making him some food though, just to show him that you love him.

Let's just hope that he's not teaching that day 🙏🏻 Because he is not as subtle as he thinks.

Or working as Hokage... Because his guard definitely know how he spent yesterday evening 😏

[hey-august]

Helloooo, I was just curious if you’re still (or are) taking requests. I was wondering if we can get some Dom!Buggy and a Siren reader smut thing? I would love to see what you can come up with! If not then feel free to ignore this. I hope you have a great day!! ✨✨

Hello hello, anon!! I apologize for the delay in getting to your request. I was hoping the words would put themselves into the story, but we had to compromise on a different format. 😅

I hope that this bullet list / outline captures enough of what you were hoping for!

WC: ~720 Warning: nsfw, buggy x siren!reader, gn!reader, established relationship, mention of a blowjob, implied getting frisky in a semi-public setting, insertion sex - reader receiving, creampie

Reader/You would either be shape-shifting (human form), or maaabye the half human and half bird variant, and a part of Buggy's crew.

Established relationship, with low key PDA and flirting.

You'd rile Buggy up throughout the day through little touches, looks, and sing-songy comments. Maybe getting a little naughty yourself when Buggy is paying attention - a sneaky hand between your legs or just spreading your legs wide under a table to give him a peek, licking something off your finger etc

Your comments would get more teasing and explicit the longer this goes on. Talking about how worked up Buggy is, he's gotta control that cannon in his pants, how can he think when all the blood is in the wrong head, is he even thinking about the next treasure heist or is he thinking about you moaning his name - like this~

At one point, it seemed like you were going to give him a little extra attention. A make out session that might end with a blow job somewhere quiet. You're kneeling, Buggy is already sweating, and his pants aren't even unbuckled.

Aaaaaand someone interrupts.

He's pissed, you're amused. You send him off, again sing-songy just to rub some salt in that wound. You can't help it, he's just so cute when he's angry.

And you get the reap the benefits, because when Buggy's done with all the other shit that needed him, you're next on the list.

Bent over his vanity, something shoved in your mouth (bandana, scarf, gloves, whatever he has within reach), and he's railing you to kingdom come.

Making you look at yourself in the mirror, telling you to keep the shit from falling off the table top, all while fucking you harder and jostling the poor vanity. It wasn't made for this. Hell, some of the lights flicker from how hard he's bucking into you.

You're practically hugging the shit on his vanity that threatened to fall to the floor. You're soaking the fabric in your mouth with spit. Blinking away tears. And, requested by Buggy, watching yourself in the mirror get wrecked.

Your calves are getting sore from being on tiptoe, the edge of the tabletop is digging into your pelvis. You're aching from how his thickness is keeping you stretched.

Buggy's hands are everywhere, holding your hip, on your shoulder, around your neck, in your hair.

Eventually, his stumped arms are on either side of your waist, holding you in place. One disembodied hand is on your chin and squeezing your cheeks, making sure you have a lovely view straight ahead. Buggy's other hand is holding his own hair out of his sweaty face.

With that sight, you whine and bite down on the soaked fabric as you hit the peak. You're rounding your back and curling inwards, at least as much as you can.

Buggy's ending isn't that much further away. He's hunched over you and his thrusts are frantic as he chases his end with dogged determination.

His movements don't immediately stop when he finishes, there's still an unfed hunger. But it teeters out and he finally stops fucking you.

You're both breathing heavily, although your lungs can't inflate as deeply because of his weight still draped on you. His hand comes up to pull the soggy fabric from your mouth. Your jaw is sore, it feels strange to be able to close your mouth without resistance.

It's not until your shakes come from still standing on tiptoes that Buggy finally moves. Kisses on the back of your ear and little murmurs about how good you feel, how good you make him feel, that you belong to him, while he pulls out.

But not entirely.

His dick is still half-hard enough for him to lazily thrust in and out, more affectionately than lustfully.

Only a few times, though, before he does ease himself out entirely.

You can finally lower your heels to the ground, although you're still leaning on the vanity table.

Buggy gives a nice firm slap to your ass and chuckles. Sure, you might have manipulated him with all your teasing and singing, but he is a very willing participant in this game.

And looking at you - faced covered in spit and sweat, hand still clutching random make-up items, cum dripping down your thighs - Buggy is damn pleased with himself.

[loopdile]

loopdile so real. i have a Vision of both siffrin and loop being Deeply Deeply Closeted Repressed Transfem and having gender envy over odile and i feel like that'd do Something to the Dynamic. Something......... Something........................... well i'm not successfully envisioning it but maybe YOU are?

i am positively plagued by loopdile gender visions!!! maybe not the exact same as you're thinking but i think you will enjoy them. walk with me, anon, through the garden of my loop gender headcanons. it's kind of a big garden but we'll get to the odile part eventually i promise.

Before they were Siffrin, Siffrin had their gender on lock: something transfem, but also tied to unique cultural elements in some way, either the specific identity or the way of thinking about it or just the particular set of presentation options. Perhaps they even started fantasy HRT! But then they forget everything, obviously, including their identity and transition plans. They decide pretty quickly that they're not a man, but none of the alternatives feel exactly correct either; if their previous identity was presented as an option, maybe it would click and they'd settle into it pretty fast, but unfortunately that is literally impossible.

So, no clear goals in mind. And because of his forgotten past, continued memory problems, and constant traveling, Siffrin starts to really value the few things he can count on to stay consistent. He'd rather wear his comfortable hat and cloak than leave them behind in favor of anything more gendered. He'd rather stick with his familiar body than risk changing it. Still, maybe there are some changes he'd be happier in the long run to have made... but the process would be stressful, and he's got enough stressful things to worry about already!

But then we get to Loop. Who has already been changed, suddenly and irrevocably and so very, very accidentally. They are not Siffrin anymore, they do not have the hat and cloak, they aren't even human. They don't even really remember who they were pre-loops. There is no familiarity for them to cling to; instead, they're desperate to find things they can control, things they can change, proof that the world moves forward and they're in charge of their place in it. The motivation that Siffrin lacked, Loop now has in spades!

However, their negative feelings are more intense as well. They struggle to face real stakes, to put effort into anything too complicated, to try anything that might disappoint them. They take risks, yes, but not about things they care about; they take risks because they don't care. And they have a lot of other things going on, too, both practically and psychologically, so gender isn't their immediate priority. "Who and what am I?" is a very difficult question for them right now on multiple levels, a difficult question with only difficult answers.

But, starting with the practical: wearing clothes is an easy way to look and feel a little bit more normal, right? So they experiment, and they decide that dresses are just similar enough to the cloak to be comfortable, but distinct enough to not be as emotionally fraught. And they like them in a frivolous way that Siffrin was never willing to lean all the way into. Siffrin didn't put much thought or energy into his appearance, but Loop's inhuman form is a constant issue, so they might as well dress it in a way they like! Something good to balance out the bad, since they can't be neutral any longer.

And of course they think about body craft, though in a different context from most people. Even the nearly-human parts of their body are lacking detail, without all the right functions behind the form, and then other parts aren't human at all. Their body feels wrong, distracting, constricting. They don't understand how it works, and it draws attention they don't want, and it's not them. And yet, isn't it? Even if they'd been put back into a Siffrin body again, they aren't Siffrin anymore, either. Loop is what the loops made them. They want to change their body, to make it something they can be comfortable in, but they can't. Because body craft is a method of changing flesh and blood and bone, and Loop is not made of such human stuff anymore.

So we've got Loop. Trying to find themself, and maybe succeeding in some ways, but stymied or uncertain in others. Desperate to change, but scared to hope. To make a long story short, they join back up with the party, which brings its own set of problems, and yet... it's also a step towards fixing some of their problems, too. Most relevant to our post, here: Odile is a craft expert with a unique set of experiences. She's got a wide foundation of knowledge, since she's familiar with all three main craft types. She used to be part of Ka Bue's underground body-crafting scene, where she not only crafted her own body but also helped and taught other people; and unlike in Vaugarde, where Houses provide resources and education, Odile and her peers had to do their own research and experiments, develop their own techniques. She even has some knowledge of wish craft from Siffrin, and the way she stopped Siffrin from looping proves that she's unusually good at analyzing and adapting to new forms of craft.

So once Loop's dissatisfaction with and ignorance regarding their own physical form comes to Odile's attention, of course she offers to help. To see if she can figure out what their body is made of, and how it works, and hopefully, in what ways it can be changed.

And this dynamic with her... it's totally different from her relationship with Siffrin, both pre-loops and post. And Loop has always admired her, and here she is, talking about the confidence and determination with which she changed her own body, not without fear or frustration but not letting herself be slowed down by them, either. Taking her fate into her own hands and refusing to be anyone other than herself. And Loop used to feel that Odile understood them best, and losing that connection felt like the end of the world, but here she is, still! Observant and caring as ever. Dedicated to figuring them out again. Unflinching as she sees them for the strange thing they currently are, but equally unshakable in her insistence that they do not have to stay exactly as they are.

So Odile helps them figure out their body. Helps them with the craft itself, too, but even more than that — through both encouragement and example, she helps them be brave enough to genuinely try. To ask themself what they really want. To strike a balance between Siffrin's complacent hesitation and Loop's miserable desperation. To experiment, and face both the chance of failure and the chance of success with head held high. To hope.

Odile is not one for platitudes and empty positivity, after all. If she says something's possible, then it is, or she will make it so, one way or another, despite any setback. Isn't she proof? She remade herself, and she can remake Loop, too. Changing them, slowly and carefully and so very, very deliberately. Loop will never be human again, but they can decide who they are and become themself.

[shinigami-social]

This is probably going to be massively controversial, but I just feel like it needs to be said at this point. I desperately need people to read this very carefully and approach this in good faith. General blanket warning for intersexism, transphobia, and intersectional misogyny with both of these I just wonder how many people in the intersex community just like… fundamentally don’t understand the way being intersex impacts your gender. I know that sounds fucking wild because obviously being intersex impacts your gender but like… it feels like a lot of people reach for comparisons to the binary over just, like, the label intersex itself. The thing on my mind in particular is the stark difference in what transfemininity seems to mean inside and outside the intersex community. This isn’t to refer to AMAB and/or CTM intersex transfems, but in particular people who were AFAB and/or CTF.

I want to clarify before I get into the main body of this post that I fully believe people can be AFAB and/or CTF and be transfem. This post isn’t to say that this never happens, no one ever experiences the combination of these two* things, or that people who identify this way are wrong for it. I just want to open up a discussion about why people are identifying this way, I guess. It’s not about invalidating anyone or their experiences, on the contrary, I really want to discuss the varied nature of the intersex experience.

I was AFAB, and I would generally consider myself CTF. I have simple virilizing classic CAH. I experienced many of the events which a lot of people talk about as why they relate to the transfem experience or consider themselves to be transfem. I grew up with a tenuous connection to girl/womanhood at best, I had the locker room harassment, I was widely rumored to be a hermaphrodite and transgender (no one could decide in which direction), I was put into situations specifically to attempt to uncover my “real” sex/gender. Even when I was seen as a girl/woman, I was Wrong about it. When I was seen as a boy/man, it was before I had ever come to terms with that identity for myself, and it was instead something thrust on me against my will for being a girl/woman Wrong. I was, for much of my life, locked out of womanhood in various ways.

I can very easily understand why people with experiences such as these would relate to transfemininity (and on a “relation” basis, yes, I would say I relate), and perhaps even identify with it based on how these sorts of things impacted them in particular. That being said… I have never understood why people think this is somehow not just being intersex. I’m not trying to say it can’t possibly be both, but sometimes it feels like people just refuse to acknowledge that this is a very common experience of the intersection of misogyny and intersexism. There are certainly transmisogynistic elements to it, I think transmisogyny and intersexism are deeply intertwined and always have been, but like… to act like this is solely transmisogyny feels like a denial of the intersex experience. For intersex people who were AFAB, are CTF, and/or likely some other types of intersex people depending on their circumstances, this is entirely par for the course because they are intersex. The things I described are, above all else, intersexist in nature. They happen to people for being intersex. There are aspects reminiscent of transmisogyny and perhaps even motivated by transmisogyny in many cases, but this distinct experience that I see many, many intersex people have experienced, it is to me such a classic experience of growing up intersex.

This is to say nothing of the appropriation of the transfem experience (no, I’m not accusing you or anyone else specifically of doing this, if it doesn’t apply to you, it doesn’t apply to you, but yes some people are objectively doing this). I am not focused on that. It is its own separate issue, but the thing I am trying to communicate here is why people struggle to find themselves in the word intersex when the thing that caused them these traumas is being intersex. The denial of intersexness and intersexism as explanations for the experiences directly caused by being intersex. The need to use terms broadly conceived of within perisex communities to describe perisex experiences of sex and gender to describe experiences inherently outside of the perisex view. To me, it seems like there is a very clear difference between using intersex transfem to describe “I have Klinefelter and also I am a trans woman” and “due to my experiences with PCOS, my relationship with femininity is deeply complicated and I use transfem as a sort of code for reclaiming my womanhood that I feel has been denied to me.” And like. I am not saying that these couldn’t possibly both be transfem experiences! I am not the decider of what makes people transfem, and it’s not really my business at the end of the day, but these are still just like, objectively different concepts being described. This is what I meant at the beginning of the post by the inside-outside usage of the term. It feels like transfem, in intersex spaces, is often used as a shorthand to describe a specific relationship to femininity and womanhood and this relationship is not necessarily “transitioning to femininity.” At the same time, it feels like it is being used this way because in some way, perhaps, the community is lacking in language that adequately communicates “my being intersex locked me out of womanhood, even though womanhood is what I was assigned and expected to conform to” which is, to me, a fundamental difference between most (not all, I’m aware we cannot ever make absolute statements when it comes to intersex experiences) AFAB/CTF and AMAB/CTM transfem experiences.

To me, I feel that intersex does adequately express these sentiments. Or, at least, it can if you let it. Intersex people pretty much inherently experience a complicated relationship to their sex and gender, and I wish we were allowed to talk about this without there being an obligatory comparison of how every intersex experience is always analogous to some equivalent transgender experience. Intersexism is intersexism, and intersex people experience it because we are intersex, and maybe we should fucking talk about that sometimes.

[dayabelle]

Close Enough to Stay

Pairings: Shota Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Lmk if I made any mistakes I didn't proofread at all

---

Y/n had never been one for grand entrances or dramatic encounters. She preferred the quiet moments—the kind where you could sit in the corner of a bustling coffee shop, headphones on, and let the world blur around you. But life had a way of throwing her into unexpected situations, and that’s how she met Shota.

Shota had the kind of presence that could fill a room without saying a word. He was stoic and reserved, the type of man who rarely showed what he was feeling but somehow made you feel it anyway. To most people, he seemed distant, almost indifferent. But beneath his quiet exterior was a man who noticed everything and cared more deeply than he’d ever admit.

They met in the most unremarkable way: in a library. Y/n had been browsing the shelves for something—anything—to take her mind off the noise in her head. She’d been struggling to choose between two books when a deep, even voice spoke behind her.

“That one’s better.”

She turned, startled, to find Shota standing there. His dark eyes scanned the book in her left hand.

“The author has a way with words,” he added, his tone as neutral as if he were commenting on the weather.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “And what if I prefer this one?” she countered, lifting the book in her right hand.

“Then you’d be wrong.”

She blinked, unsure whether to laugh or take offense. But there was a subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth—the barest hint of amusement—that made her set the book back on the shelf and take his recommendation instead.

That was the beginning.

Their encounters in the library became routine. Y/n would always arrive with her bag slung over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up when she spotted him. Shota, ever punctual, was already there—usually seated at the same table near the back, where the sunlight filtered through the high windows. They’d share the space in comfortable silence, Y/n engrossed in her books, and Shota pretended to focus on his paperwork he always had, though he often found himself glancing at her instead.

Their conversations began gradually. At first, it was book recommendations or brief observations about the weather. But over time, their words grew longer, deeper. Y/n would tell him about her day as a nurse, the patients she cared for, and the challenges of being quirkless in a world that often underestimated her. Shota listened intently, his gaze steady and unwavering, offering the occasional thoughtful comment. He rarely spoke about himself, but Y/n learned to read between the lines, piecing together the puzzle of his life as a pro hero.

There were small touches, almost accidental at first—a brush of fingers when they reached for the same book, the fleeting warmth of his hand on her back as he guided her through a crowded aisle. Each touch sent a quiet thrill through her, though she tried not to let it show. Shota, for his part, seemed unaffected, but there were moments when his gaze lingered just a little too long, or his voice softened in a way that betrayed his carefully guarded demeanor. The curve of her lower back, her hair and the way she kept it, her eyes and how she looked at certain things, how warm his hand felt against her skin.

One rainy afternoon, their library routine changed. Y/n had been late, rushing in with windblown hair and an apology tumbling from her lips. She’d forgotten an umbrella, and the rain had left her soaked. Without a word, Shota shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, the faint smell of his cologne mingling with the dampness. Y/n looked up, startled by the gesture.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he said simply, his tone as even as ever. But there was a softness in his eyes that made her heart stutter.

From that day, their connection began to extend beyond the library. Shota learned more about her world—how she worked tirelessly as a nurse, caring for others despite the challenges of being quirkless. He admired her resilience, though he struggled to express it. Y/n, in turn, discovered the weight Shota carried as a pro hero. She noticed the faint scars on his hands, the shadows under his eyes after long nights, and the quiet way he carried the burden of protecting others.

One evening, after a particularly grueling shift, Y/n found herself sitting on the steps outside the hospital. She was exhausted, her scrubs wrinkled and her hair a mess. Shota appeared out of nowhere, his presence as grounding as ever. He didn’t say much—just handed her a cup of coffee and sat beside her. They didn’t need words; the quiet companionship was enough.

Over time, their bond deepened. Shota started showing up at her apartment unannounced, usually with takeout in hand. Y/n began leaving him notes in the books she returned to him, little snippets of encouragement or observations she thought he’d appreciate. Despite his initial attempts to deny it, Shota found himself looking forward to their moments together. She became the exception to his self-imposed rules, the person who slipped past his defenses without even trying.

For Y/n, Shota was a quiet strength, a steady presence in her unpredictable life. And for Shota, Y/n was a light he hadn’t realized he needed, someone who reminded him that even the most guarded hearts could find solace in another. Together, they built a connection that was quiet but unshakable, a bond that transcended words and grew stronger with each passing day.

---

The Christmas tree twinkled softly in the corner of Y/n’s apartment, casting a warm glow that danced across the room. Snow gently fell outside the window, muffling the sounds of the city and wrapping the world in a quiet blanket of white. The faint scent of pine mingled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies cooling on the counter.

Shota sat on the couch, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, wearing a pair of navy pajamas Y/n had bought but misjudged the size of. They were just a little snug on him, and she’d teased him about it earlier, laughing at the rare sight of him in anything remotely silly. She, meanwhile, wore her favorite penguin pajamas—bright and cheerful, with little birds in scarves and hats printed all over.

“I don’t know how you can take yourself seriously in those,” Shota said, his voice laced with dry humor, though his expression softened as he watched her.

She grinned, holding up a cookie she’d decorated earlier. “Says the man in too-tight pajamas. And besides, they’re festive.”

He smirked but didn’t argue. It was rare for him to relax like this, but somehow, in her presence, it felt natural. Easy.

The night had been filled with a string of small, intimate moments. They’d debated over which book was better—one of her favorites versus one of his. That had led to a spirited conversation about the merits of storytelling, Shota’s quiet baritone weaving effortlessly with her animated retorts. Then, a detour into movie discussions while a Christmas classic played in the background, neither of them paying much attention to the screen.

There had been laughter, soft and unguarded, over their attempts at decorating cookies—his looked like a chaotic mess compared to her meticulously crafted designs. “I don’t think frosting symmetry is a transferable skill for a hero,” he’d deadpanned, and she’d nearly choked on her laughter.

The snow fell softly outside Y/n's apartment window, muffling the world beyond and wrapping the night in a serene quiet. Inside, the glow of string lights reflected off the silver and red ornaments they’d just hung on the small but charming Christmas tree. The room smelled of fresh-baked cookies, mingling with the subtle scent of pine from the tree.

Y/n laughed, holding up a penguin-shaped ornament. "This one’s my favorite."

Shota tilted his head slightly. "Why penguins?"

"Because they’re clumsy on land but elegant in the water," she said, hanging it carefully on a branch. "They remind me that everyone has their own kind of grace, even if it’s not obvious."

He glanced at her, a faint warmth flickering in his usually unreadable eyes. "That’s... surprisingly insightful."

She smirked. "Surprisingly? Thanks a lot."

Shota’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers as he adjusted a crooked ornament. The casual touch made her heart skip, though she tried not to show it.

After a while, they settled on the couch, the soft glow of the tree illuminating the almost pitch black room. Y/n curled up with a steaming mug of cocoa, the silly penguin pajamas she wore making her look both cozy and endearing. Shota sat beside her, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the borrowed pajama pants making him look slightly out of place but entirely comfortable.

"This is nice," she said softly, glancing at him. "I’m glad you’re here."

Shota turned his head, his dark eyes meeting hers. There was something unspoken in his gaze, a depth of emotion he rarely let anyone see. "I’m glad, too," he admitted, his voice quieter than usual.

For a moment, the world outside seemed to vanish. Y/n felt the heat rise to her cheeks, and she quickly turned her attention back to her cocoa. "You’re surprisingly good at this Christmas thing," she teased, hoping to lighten the mood. "I thought you’d be more of a Grinch."

"I don’t usually do this," he replied, his voice steady. "Decorating, baking, any of it."

"Then why now?" she asked, her tone gentle.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the mug in his hands. "Because it’s you."

Her breath caught, the simplicity of his words hitting her harder than any grand declaration could. She set her mug down on the coffee table, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her pajama top. "You know... I don’t really know how to say this without sounding cheesy, but—"

Before she could finish, Shota reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered for a moment, the calloused warmth of his fingers brushing against her skin. "You don’t have to say anything," he murmured. "I already know."

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, and for once, she didn’t try to fill the silence with words. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her eyes searching his face for any sign that this moment wasn’t real. Shota’s expression remained calm, but there was a softness in his eyes that spoke volumes.

He leaned back slightly, giving her space, but the closeness between them remained. "You’re special to me, Y/n," he said quietly. "I can’t always show it the way I want to, but... you are."

Her lips parted, but the words she wanted to say caught in her throat. Instead, she reached out and took his hand, her fingers lacing with his. "You’re special to me too," she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

They sat like that for what felt like hours, the quiet crackle of the heater filling the room. Outside, the snow continued to fall, but inside, everything felt warm and safe—as if the world had shrunk down to just the two of them.

"Do you think," Y/n began hesitantly, breaking the silence, "we’ll ever get tired of this?"

Shota’s thumb brushed over the back of her hand in a slow, deliberate motion. "No," he said simply. "Not with you."

Her chest tightened at his words, and she couldn’t help the small, tearful laugh that escaped her. "You’re really bad at being a Grinch, you know that?"

He raised an eyebrow. "If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it."

She laughed again, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Your secret’s safe with me."

And as they sat together, the world outside blanketed in snow, Y/n realized that this—the warmth, the laughter, the quiet moments shared with him—was everything she’d ever wanted. And for Shota, who had spent so much of his life keeping people at arm’s length, it was a reminder that sometimes, letting someone in was worth the risk. Now he finally realized what Yamada was trying to tell him.

Now, as they sat on the couch, a comfortable silence fell between them. Y/n tucked her legs beneath her, sitting cross-legged as she absentmindedly toyed with the hem of her pajama pants. Her gaze flickered to Shota, her heart beating just a little faster as she studied him. The light from the tree played across his face, casting shadows that softened his usually sharp features. He looked so at peace—so different from the weary hero she’d come to know.

But something weighed on her. The warmth of the evening, the intimacy of their moments together—it felt like a fragile bubble, one she was terrified of bursting. She didn’t want to let this night end with regret for something she was too scared to do.

Shota turned his head, his dark eyes meeting hers. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low and steady, as if he could sense the conflict brewing within her.

Y/n hesitated, her hands tightening around her ankles. She bit her lip, unsure how to voice what she was feeling. Finally, she shifted slightly closer, her movements tentative, her breath catching as the distance between them lessened. Her gaze flickered to his lips for the briefest moment before darting back to his eyes.

She didn’t move further, frozen by her own nerves. But Shota did.

Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against her cheek. His touch was warm, calloused yet gentle, and it sent a shiver down her spine. He studied her for a moment, as if searching for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, he leaned in, closing the gap between them.

His lips met hers softly, tentatively, as if testing the waters. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them bathed in the soft glow of the Christmas tree. Y/n’s eyes fluttered closed, her hands instinctively reaching for him, one settling lightly on his chest while the other rested on his arm. His hand remained on her cheek, steady and grounding, his thumb brushing against her skin.

The kiss was unhurried but then deepened as the seconds stretched, each heartbeat louder than the snowfall outside. Shota's hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, anchoring her in the moment, while Y/n's fingers curled into the fabric of his borrowed pajamas. The warmth between them was in stark contrast to the cold world outside, and the glow of the Christmas tree made the whole scene feel surreal.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested against each other, both catching their breath. Shota’s dark eyes searched hers, a mix of vulnerability and something stronger lingering in his gaze.

“Y/n…” His voice was quieter than she had ever heard it, a near-whisper, but it carried weight.

Her lips curved into a small smile as she ran her fingers over the edge of his sleeve. “I didn’t want to end tonight with regrets,” she admitted softly, her cheeks flushed, both from the kiss and the courage it took to say it.

“You won’t,” he replied, his tone firm, as if making a promise.

The tension in the air softened, and Y/n let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Shota’s hand lingered on her neck a moment longer before falling away, but he didn’t retreat. Instead, he shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his chest. She nestled against him, her head resting just below his chin as the two sat quietly, letting the peace of the moment envelop them.

She was layed on top of him, his kegs stretched across the long couch fully. He squeezed her close to him, afraid to let go and lose her. Somebody that became so special in his dull life.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the city in quiet. Inside, Y/n and Shota stayed wrapped in their own little world, a sanctuary they had built together without even realizing it.

But she wanted more. The kiss had only stirred a longing within her that had been growing for months, ever since the first time he’d let his guard slip around her. The soft glow of the Christmas tree, the faint scent of pine, the gentle hum of the heater—it all felt too perfect, too fleeting. Y/n wasn’t ready for this moment to end.

She lifted her head from his chest, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. Shota's dark eyes, half-lidded from the quiet peace that had settled between them, opened fully to her. For a moment, she simply stared, memorizing every line and shadow of his features. The faint stubble along his jaw, the sharp angles softened by the warm light, the way his messy hair fell over his forehead—it was all uniquely him. She thought he’d never looked more handsome than he did right now, relaxed and unguarded in her presence.

Her heart raced as he caught her staring, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she smiled nervously, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

Shota’s brows furrowed slightly, his expression curious yet unreadable. “What?” he asked softly, his deep voice a quiet rumble that sent a shiver down her spine.

Y/n shook her head, her cheeks flushing. “Nothing… it’s just… you look different like this. Comfortable.”

He smirked faintly, though his eyes softened. “I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not.”

“It is,” she said quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze dropped to his lips for a fleeting moment before darting back to his eyes. “It is,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

Shota’s hand moved again, brushing against her arm in a subtle yet deliberate gesture. He was quiet for a moment, studying her as if trying to read the unspoken words in her expression. He traced his fingers lightly up and down her arm, and he pulled the blanket over them when he felt her shiver. Though she was only shivering because of him, at his touch.

“You’re different too,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Not many people make me feel… like this.”

Y/n’s breath caught. The tension between them thickened, the air heavy with unspoken feelings. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as she leaned closer, her nerves trembling with the weight of her actions. She wasn’t sure if she was being too bold, but her patience was wearing thin.

Still, she stopped just short of closing the distance between them, her lips hovering a breath away from his. Her eyes searched his face, silently asking him to meet her halfway.

And he did.

Shota’s hand came up to cradle her cheek once more, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. His movements were deliberate yet tender, as if reassuring her that this was exactly what he wanted, too. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was deeper, more certain than the first.

The world around them faded—the twinkling lights of the tree, the faint crackle of the heater, even the soft snow falling outside the window. All that mattered was this moment, this connection that felt as natural as breathing.

Y/n melted into him, her hands sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Shota’s free hand moved to the small of her back, pulling her closer as the kiss lingered, filled with everything they hadn’t said aloud but had always felt.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingled in the stillness. Y/n opened her eyes to find Shota watching her intently, his expression softer than she’d ever seen it.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.

His lips curved into the faintest of smiles, and he brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “So have I.”

The honesty in his words made her heart swell, and she couldn’t help but smile back, her earlier nervousness dissolving into a quiet, shared joy.

The night stretched on, filled with soft laughter, whispered conversations, and quiet touches that spoke louder than words. For the first time in years, Shota allowed himself to feel something he’d always been afraid of. Love.

Y/n felt herself drifting off, her body sinking into Shota’s warmth as the exhaustion of the evening began to take over. Her head went limp against his chest, and her breathing grew steady and soft. Shota glanced down at her, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

For someone who kept his walls so high, Y/n had slipped past them with ease. He didn’t know how or when it had happened, but now that she was here, he couldn’t imagine letting her go.

Carefully, he shifted her weight and stood, cradling her in his arms as though she were fragile. She clung to him loosely, her fingers brushing against his shoulder in her half-asleep state, resembling a baby sloth clinging to a branch. Shota couldn’t help but chuckle softly, the rare sound barely audible.

He carried her to her bedroom, the soft glow of the Christmas lights following them as he navigated her cozy apartment. He knew some people might consider this an intrusion, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t leaving her tonight—not when she’d become so much more than just a companion to him. Not when the thought of leaving her alone made something in his chest tighten.

Gently, he laid her down on the bed, his hands careful as he adjusted the blankets around her. But as he pulled back, Y/n stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

“Shota?” she murmured, her voice groggy but soft.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, his voice uncharacteristically tender. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just didn’t want you sleeping on the couch.”

Y/n blinked at him, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Don’t apologize,” she said, her hand reaching out to grab his wrist before he could pull away.

Before he could say anything else, she tugged him down, her movements quick and decisive despite her sleepiness. She kissed him again, her lips pressing firmly against his in a way that left no room for doubt about what she wanted.

This time, she didn’t pull away.

Instead, the kiss deepened, her fingers tangling in his hair as she shifted, pulling him down onto the bed with her. Shota’s surprise was fleeting, his body responding before his mind could catch up. He leaned into her, one arm sliding around her waist to steady her as she moved to lie on top of him again, mirroring their earlier position on the couch.

Her weight against him felt comforting, grounding, as if she were meant to be there. Their lips moved together with an urgency that hadn’t been there before, the kiss growing more heated, more intense. Shota’s hands moved instinctively, one settling on the curve of her back while the other cupped her cheek, anchoring her to him.

Y/n pressed closer, her body molding to his as her kisses became bolder. The soft sound of her breath against his lips sent shivers down his spine, and he couldn’t help but respond in kind, his usual stoicism melting away in the warmth of her embrace.

The world outside disappeared, leaving only the two of them tangled together in the quiet intimacy of her bedroom. The twinkle of the Christmas lights spilled faintly through the doorway, casting their figures in a dim, golden and red glow.

For Shota, the moment felt surreal—like something he’d only allowed himself to imagine in his loneliest moments. But now, with Y/n in his arms, her lips against his, it felt real in a way that nothing else ever had.

And for Y/n, every touch, every kiss, was a culmination of all the moments she’d spent longing for him. The quiet tension that had always simmered between them had finally reached its breaking point, and now there was no holding back.

Neither of them spoke after they parted, breathing heavily, they didn’t need to. Every movement, every touch, said what words couldn’t—that they’d found something rare, something worth holding onto, even in a world as chaotic and unpredictable as theirs.

After her lips left his, she began trailing a slow, deliberate path down his jawline, her breath warm against his skin. Shota’s chest rose and fell beneath her as she shifted slightly, pressing herself closer as her kisses wandered lower. She paused at his neck, her lips brushing the sensitive skin there.

Shota froze.

It wasn’t a visible flinch—anyone else might have missed the tension that suddenly gripped his body—but Y/n could feel it. His hands, which had been resting on her waist and back, stilled, his fingers curling slightly as if unsure of what to do.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her brows knitting together in concern. “Shota?” she murmured softly, her voice laced with uncertainty.

His dark eyes met hers, and for a moment, he seemed caught between wanting to pull her closer and needing to put distance between them. His usual stoic expression faltered, vulnerability flickering across his features.

“I—” He hesitated, his voice low and rough. “I’ve never…”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Shota Aizawa, the reserved and unflappable pro hero, had never been in this position before. He wasn’t used to letting people get this close, wasn’t used to giving in to the kind of intimacy that left him exposed.

Y/n’s eyes softened as understanding dawned. She cupped his face gently, her thumb brushing over the faint stubble on his jaw. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice steady and soothing. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Her reassurance was met with silence, but she could see the conflict in his eyes. He wanted this—wanted her—but the unfamiliarity of it all left him uncertain.

“I’m not…” He sighed, his gaze shifting as he searched for the right words. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” she assured him, leaning down to rest her forehead against his. “We’re figuring this out together, Shota. There’s no right or wrong here.”

His arms tightened around her slightly, grounding himself in the feel of her against him. The tension in his body slowly began to ease, though there was still a cautious edge to his movements.

“Just tell me if I’m going too fast,” Y/n said, her lips curving into a small, reassuring smile.

He nodded, his grip on her waist steadying as he let out a slow breath. “You’re not,” he said quietly, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly in what could almost be called a smile.

Encouraged, Y/n leaned in again, her lips brushing against his neck once more. This time, his reaction was different—his hands relaxed, and his head tilted slightly to give her better access. She continued her gentle kisses, her movements slow and careful, giving him time to adjust.

As her lips lingered on his skin, Shota closed his eyes, letting himself feel the moment fully. It was new, unfamiliar, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Y/n’s warmth, her tenderness, made it easier for him to let go of the doubts and fears that had always kept him at a distance.

He wasn’t used to being cared for like this, wasn’t used to being vulnerable. But with her, it felt… safe.

For the first time in a long time, Shota allowed himself to trust—to be fully present with someone who saw all of him and didn’t shy away.

Y/n could feel Shota start to melt beneath her, his initial hesitation giving way to quiet acceptance. She continued leaving gentle kisses along the column of his neck, pausing every so often to let her lips linger, savoring the way his pulse quickened under her touch. Each kiss seemed to pull him further from the walls he’d so carefully built around himself.

His hands moved from her waist, one sliding up her back to rest between her shoulder blades, the other threading cautiously into her hair. It wasn’t rushed or forceful—just a quiet acknowledgment of the connection they were forging in this moment.

"Y/n," he murmured, his voice a quiet rasp that sent a shiver down her spine. There was something raw and unguarded in the way he said her name, like she’d broken through to a part of him that no one else had ever reached.

She lifted her head, her lips brushing against his jawline one last time before meeting his gaze. The soft glow of the Christmas tree illuminated the vulnerability in his eyes, a rare glimpse of the man behind the stoic exterior.

“Is this okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t want to push too far, too fast—not with him.

Instead of answering with words, Shota pulled her closer, his lips finding hers again in a kiss that was deeper, more assured than before. It wasn’t hurried or frantic—it was steady and deliberate, a reflection of the quiet strength that defined him. Y/n responded in kind, her hands sliding from his shoulders to frame his face, her thumbs brushing against the rough stubble of his jaw.

The world outside the apartment seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them cocooned in the warmth of each other’s presence. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree cast shifting patterns on the walls, the only witnesses to the intimacy they were sharing.

When they finally broke apart, both of them slightly breathless, Shota rested his forehead against hers, his dark hair falling into his eyes.

“You’re different,” he murmured, his voice low and almost reverent.

Y/n tilted her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “Different how?”

Shota’s fingers trailed lightly through her hair, his touch both tender and grounding. “You make me feel… less like a hero. And more like a man.”

Her smile softened, her heart swelling at the quiet confession. “You are a man, Shota. A good one. And you don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders when you’re with me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if letting her words sink in, before pulling her into a tight embrace. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Do you want to continue.. or no. I'm not saying we have to I just, if you want to-'" he groaned, unable to find the words and afraid of messing anything up. She just laughed and played with his hair.

"Shota, do you want to go any further? You don't have to be afraid to ask. I just don't want you to feel pressured" she spoke quietly, looking at him with the purest intentions. She thought fir a moment. He knew this moment would come eventually, and with someone as special as her. He wanted to, he's wanted her so badly.

"Yes" He said, unsure of how to proceed. She sat up from on top of him and giggled at his nervousness that he tried to hide.

As Y/N sat up slightly, the soft glow of the Christmas lights cast a warm ambiance around them, illuminating the desire in her eyes. She took a moment to meet his gaze, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling between them. With a gentle motion, she lifted her shirt over her head, letting it fall to the side, revealing her bare skin beneath.

He couldn’t help but admire her bravery, his heart racing as he reached out, his fingertips grazing her waist, feeling the warmth radiating from her. The connection between them intensified, their breathing deepening as he navigated this new territory together with her. Y/n leaned in closer, her hands finding their way to his shoulders, while he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her.

The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, each heartbeat echoing in the silence as they explored the depths of their emotions, savoring this newfound intimacy amidst the twinkling lights.

As Y/N settled atop him, the closeness ignited a rush of feelings that they had both been holding back. She leaned forward, capturing his lips in a deeper kiss, her heart racing with each passing second. He responded eagerly, his hands finding their way to her back, gently tracing the curve of her spine as she felt the weight of his gaze on her.

The world around them seemed to fade away, the only sounds being the soft rustle of fabric and their synchronized breaths. With each kiss, they explored not just each other’s lips, but the connection that had blossomed between them over time. Y/N’s hands wandered to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips—a rhythm that matched her own growing excitement.

Feeling bold, she shifted her weight, moving her hips against him, seeking that electric connection. He gasped softly, placing his hands on her hips, guiding her movements as they found a rhythm that felt both exhilarating and new. The combination of cool air and their rising heat made the moment feel surreal.

She caught his eye, her expression a sweet mix of eagerness and a bit of trepidation. “How about this far for tonight, sound okay?” she whispered, searching for affirmation. He hummed.

Encouraged, she leaned back in for another kiss, one that spoke of unspoken promises and the thrilling unknowns that lay ahead. As they continued exploring, kisses turning softer and more passionate, they both knew they were crossing into a beautifully shared moment that would deepen their bond in ways they had yet to fully grasp.

After the quiet intimacy of the moment, Shota and Y/n lay side by side, the weight of everything between them settling into a comfortable silence. The Christmas tree lights flickered softly in the corner, casting a gentle glow over them both, but it was the warmth of their closeness that truly filled the room.

Shota, still processing the emotions rushing through him, turned to face her. His heart was steady, but there was something tender in the way he looked at Y/n—something that spoke volumes of the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. He reached over, pulling her close, his arm wrapping gently around her. She nestled against him, her head resting on his chest, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. It was as if the very act of being in each other's presence was enough to say everything.

Y/n, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of him—the faint trace of cologne, the comforting warmth of his skin. She felt safe, more than she ever had before. In his arms, everything felt right, as if the pieces of her world had finally fallen into place.

She could feel the weight of the day—the events, the shared laughter, the quiet connection that had deepened into something neither of them had fully expected. But now, in this moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the connection between them. She could sense the steadiness in Shota, his emotions not easily given away but there in the subtle tension of his muscles, the quiet way he held her close.

Shota, for his part, was just as quiet, content in the calm that had settled over them both. He knew this moment would stay with him forever. He had never allowed himself to get this close to someone—had never let someone in this far—but with Y/n, it felt natural. She wasn’t like anyone else. She didn’t ask for anything more than his presence, and in return, she gave him a peace he hadn’t known he was missing.

He had always been cautious, protective of his heart, of the life he led as a pro hero. But here, with Y/n, he felt like he could finally exhale. He could finally be himself, not the hero or the stoic man everyone saw, but simply Shota. And that meant more to him than he could express.

As they lay there, the room growing quiet as the night deepened, both of them felt the pull of sleep. The day’s emotions had worn them out, but neither of them wanted to break this moment. So they stayed where they were, comfortable and close, the silence between them a peaceful one.

Y/n shifted slightly, her hand resting gently on his chest, the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat lulling her into a sense of calm. She felt the tension in her own body ease, her thoughts drifting. This was a moment she would carry with her, and she knew that in the days, months, and years to come, it would be a memory etched in her mind.

Shota, too, felt the pull of sleep, his eyelids growing heavier. He knew it would come to this eventually—the closeness, the bond that was formed between them. He was glad it was with someone like Y/n. Someone who was patient, understanding, and who made him feel something he had been afraid to feel for a long time: at peace.

As they both drifted off to sleep, the world outside faded away. The snow continued to fall softly, blanketing the world in quiet, and in the warmth of each other’s arms, Shota and Y/n knew they were exactly where they were meant to be.

[dragonsoulage]

Fighting with his beloved nurse...

feat. Giyuu Tomioka

Giyuu is not used to people that like him and that are concerned for him. He does not even understand why you were angry when he got hurt a little too bad for your taste. Afraid he would need to split apart from his favourite nurse. So you two ended up arguing

Hello world I am still sick but I wrote a little Giyuu stuff here. Idk why I feel like he always would think he is not good enough, poor boy so we need to show him that he is precious ✨ anyways I still suck in proof reading but have fun. That's just the first time I wrote something for Demon Slayer 💖

Wordcount: 2,0 k

Warnings: fluff, fighting, a little suggestive in the end

The situation was kinda frustrating. He just came back from a mission a few days ago.

You were a nurse around from the butterfly estate. Stunning, gorgeous, breathtaking...all these words that popped in Giyuus head when you appeared in his sight. But not only that, you were indeed a kind soul. Always gifting him with the sweetest smiles of all when he returned.

Slowly over the years you build a connection with him. He was a cold man, not really social, so it was not that easy. But you were kind from the bottom of your heart. Not even could harm a fly.

Patients you card for all said the same, you were an angel walking on earth.

But even angels can be mad, right?

You and Giyuu, never really named what this was between you two.

All you knew was that when he came back from a mission, and you saw him, you came walking toward him in a quick pace. Hugging him so tight to make sure he was really there. And Giyuu? He always breathed in your scent. One hand on your face needing to look in the depth of your orbs to make sure, you were there and wouldn't leave, like everyone else.

He grew attached, more than that he loved you. He cared deeply, and yet saying it out loud felt so dangerous.

That poor boy was afraid you would slip away when he wasn't careful enough. Although you would never fade, for what reason?

He may be quiet, but he listened to you, he loved when you were yapping around. Or even the deep talk you two had sometimes in the middle of the night, when you slipped into his room after your late night shift was done.   

But right now? Oh, you were mad. And why? He did his job, as a Hashira eliminated a demon.

But when he had been coming back it was so close that he could've died, you were freaking out...because you were afraid. "Don't act like that would've been nothing. Look at you." you scolded him, as he stood in front of you. You looked everywhere except his eyes.

"I did my job, you are fully aware that I am a demon slayer, what is the trouble. That's not the first time I come back and not be unharmed." he asked, his voice sounded nonchalant.

He wasn't sure how to respond to your subtle anger, especially not when he was wounded.

Probably he didn't even understand the fact that you liked him so much, that you were actually worried. You sighted trying to make the bandage sit a little better.

"Are you mad?" he asked you then, he sat there shirtless as you personally took care of his wounds. Just a little more to the left and his wound would have been critical. You didn't just see Giyyu as a demon slayer or Hashira anymore. You were afraid that someday, he wouldn't come back. Furthermore, you never doubted his talent, but you were worried.

"Do I look happy?" you asked him back, shortly narrowing your eyes. Now he sighted, he thought he did something wrong. Disappointing? Fighting not hard enough? Being not good enough because he was harmed?

These were his thoughts, although it was quite the opposite.

"You don't." he replied curtly, with a heavy voice, his head was making scenarios.

"Right I am not, when that demon would have hit you just a little more left....you would have been dangerously wounded." you meant while you reached around his torso for the bandage. 

  "I endured worse things. I don't understand why you are making a fuss." probably this was not the answer you wanted to hear. Or that anyone want to hear. You loved him, cared so deep for him. It was not a fuss, at least not for you. You saw a lot of demon slayers die in your job, and you didn't want to have him on the list. You were done with the bandage and looked at him, sad eyes coupled with angry ones.

"A fuss? Is that what you think I do when you get back?" You asked him, your voice carried a hint of annoyance. Both of you kinda talking, not straight to the topic. You were worried, and he thought he was not good enough.

"(Y/N)...you patch me up. You come looking for me, I don't mean that you don't do your duty as nurse I..." Giyuu was lost for words. Well, what happened when he came back?

Yeah, it was you, you took your sweet time patching him up carefully. Listened to his dangerous adventure and after that? Showering him with praise and kisses, just to see how badly wounded he is and when it was not, that exhausting, you gifted him with passionate nights.

He grew accustomed to this routine, always wanting to be good for you. Not a lot of people liked him or took even interest in him. Not at all. He was just so afraid he would lose you, before he had the chance to acknowledge his feelings.

"We both know I do more than that...it's not what I meant." you said, and you were done patching him up at least as good as it could get now, because after this he stood up, ignored the pain in his ribs just to take his haori and put it on.

Giyuus face had a slight scowl in his brows, his black long ponytail just slightly disheveled from the journey back and the exhaustion. The bandage around his lower torso, his strong chest showing off even when the haori was already over his shoulders. He made his way to the door.

"I know that we...we are having a thing. That you do more than every other nurse in this estate would do. I just don't understand what is different now then before...." maybe he even mumbled that to himself. With a sigh he opened the door ready to go outside, he was not good dealing with arguments. Not that he couldn't say anything, but with you, it was different. He didn't want to say the wrong thing. He couldn't even bear the face you made. This was when it hit you, he was not going because he was angry too, he was going because he was afraid he fucked up and didn't even know why. Your steps then went fast over to him, and you grabbed the door with your hand before you stopped him from leaving. Gently closing it. "What do you think will happen when we fight, Tomioka?" you asked him, clearly a whole different topic than before. You looked a little strict but your features softer now.   

  Should he be honest? That he was simply afraid he did something truly wrong and lost you? Well, this was at least what he was thinking. Losing that pretty nurse, that made him feel...loved.

"We split, isn't it like that? Not that it would be a surprise." he spoke then, looking everywhere, but not in your face.

"Look at me, when you talk to me. I taught you manners." you meant, it was sounding a little sharp but with that edge...you were softer now. You saw what his problem had been, he didn't got the fact that you were concerned for him, afraid he could die. You liked him too...maybe even more than like. Then Giyuu looked up, poor boy, he was so distance and cold until he met you. He loved your warmth, the way you made him feel prickly in his chest. The way you smiled, the way you brushed strands of his raven hair out of his face. The way your waist felt in his hands, when he pulled you close. The way you smelled when he nuzzled his face in your neck.

"Giyuu..." you started and used his first name, your sweet voice filled with a little regret that you didn't see it that he was insecure, afraid to even.

"Just because I am mad don't mean we split... I am sorry when I made you feel unwanted. It was not-" before you could even finish, he stepped closer, his one hand reaching out cupping your cheek. It was even enough for him to hear that you don't split. You were his only person he wanted to have close now, where he allowed himself to be close.

"You didn't make me feel unwanted. It was just...the way you scolded me, making me...fear I did something that upset you so much you would change your mind about me." he said to you, his voice was now lower. "And I don't want to upset you. I just can't change the fact that fighting demons is my job, and apparently I am quite good at it." he added.

You laid your hand over his. It was a tender gesture. Nearly like all the tension flew away suddenly.   

  "I was just afraid... I don't want to lose you. You know? I see demon slayers die every day... I like you, you know. You don't complain about my yapping, the way you hold me close. I like all these things, and I was just concerned. Sorry that it overwhelm me and that I was being too hard to you." alone the fact that you apologized because you maybe reacted a little over in such a moment. The fact you spoke out you didn't want to lose him, that you liked him. Giyuu was anything than good at expressing his feelings. He pulled you just a little closer to give you such a loving kiss on your forehead. Before his forehead rested against yours. He took a deep breath.

"Actually (Y/N), I like you more than just...like. That is why I fear you wouldn't keep me around when I wasn't good enough." it was a little plain, not the passionate confessing others dreamed off. But it was his confession. The way he told you he loved you.

"You are a Hashira, you are one of the best, the best. My best." you answered him before you then reached out and placed a kiss on his lips. It was sweet at first, all the feeling you two had poured into this kiss. All at once. Then your hands slid up his bare chest. You felt his muscles tensing slightly, the way he shivered when your cold fingertips went over his skin. Before you laid your hands around the back of his neck.

"So we are going back to the usual routine when you patch me up?" he then asked, with flushed cheeks his one hand had grabbed gently your waist pulling you closer. He was still injured, and in pain, at least with certain movements. He just spoke in between the kiss, loving the way your lips felt against his.

"Depends on how much are you hurt?" you asked in between before gently guiding him back to the bed for patients. Where he sat down. Looking up at you with such ocean eyes. It was always so cute when he blushed because he was excited. "Not that much...you could be on top." He suggested with a tone kinda desperate for you. He would lie when he said he wouldn't love the fact that after you patched him up that you gave him such a delightful treatment. You guided him to lay down and straddled his lap, your cute nurse skirt rising up a little, and his hands went to the new exposed creamy skin he found. Rough hands caressing you. You then tilted your head just a little. Maybe one round he could take before he really should rest. "Oh, is that so? Not so much? Well while I will try to make you feel better, you can just continue to tell me how much you like me, that's a deal right?" Your voice was sweet when you said that, the whole argument forgotten, but of course not the fact that he admitted he liked you more than just a bit. And you would use this now to your advantage and gifting him with his beloved patching up routine...  

[panpanghost]

Part 6 of this,

Macaque kept his eyes on Wukong as he flew away. When he couldn't see him anymore, loneliness took over his heart.

He just left, Why do I miss him already? Daaaamn *sigh* I'm so pathetic. No time to think like that. Macaque slapped his face with both hands.

The kid is still out there. If only I could use my glamour and talk to him. Come on Macaque, think! There should be a way to talk to him without having to show myself.

Macaque flopped on the bed.

But... Wukong truts him. He left my life in his hands. Maybe I could trust him too. He was with me and Wukong in the room when I woke up. But then I still had my glamour on, I lost most of my magic when I tried to open a portal to get to the kitchen. The more I tried to use my powers the more I lost them. I can't believe how much I've fallen. I need to get better soon, I can't keep being a burden to Wukong. If only I can remember what this crown is, I can break the spell, but most of my memories are gone!

Macaque grabbed a pillow and put it on his face to muffle the scream he was about to let out _"AAAAAGGGHHH!!!! THIS IS FRUSTRATING!"

Macaque let out an angry growl then got up and paced in the room, here and there, thinking of a plan to suck the information dry from that kid.

I only need one spell to work, one to cover my ears, it's ok if the scars stay, I'll just cover them with some clothes, not my eye though...

Something pinched Macaque's heart as he traced his eye. Whatever happened that day, even with no memories, he knows it hurt him deeply. He shook his head and pushed these thoughts back. If it were something important, Wukong would've told him.

Maybe I can cast a strong spell and keep feeding the crown until I've finished with the kid. It'll hurt though... so damn much... Even if I lose my memories again, Wukong will take care of me. I hate the way he treats me like some delicate flower but I hate feeling like a lost idiot even more. I have a lot of information in my brain, hopefully I'll lose some unimportant ones.

This is my only choice.

Macaque stood in the middle of the room. He took a few deep breaths preparing himself for the pain to come. He will regret this, He knows.

One spell later and he could feel needles through his entire body, he wanted to scream but held it in and breathed the pain out as much as he could. On the other hand, one look at the mirror showed him that his plan worked, he just needs to make it for a few minutes without falling or showing he's about to pass out. Easy....

A few steps to the door made him reconsider, it was too much to handle, he must stop-

*Knock knock knock* the knock startled Macaque, he was too focused on the pain to hear anything around him.

_"Macaque are you in there?" the kid spoke to him from behind the door, "I don't mean to bother you but I got some extra noodles for you. It's a get well gift from the gang and me."

Gang? What gang? It doesn't matter. He's here. An opportunity I can't miss.

Macaque opened the door feeling cuts through his body with every move. Just a few more minutes...

_"Oh Macaque!" the kid spoke, his eyes big and full of delight, all because he saw Macaque, it somehow hit a soft spot in Macaque's heart,

"I was worried you wouldn't want to see me. I'm sorry I didn't mean to intrude but I was really worried because I haven't seen you in weeks and whenever I ask Monkey King he'd say you're busy or something and I started to think that you hate me now and don't want to see me because I let you down and..."

This kid needs therapy.

_"Easy kiddo." Macaque said, trying to sound normal, it's like shards of broken glass in his face and throat. But he can handle it, he'll feel worse if he kept being useless to Wukong. "I was just upset that's all."

_"Really?" the kid looked at him like a puppy in the rain. Why does he look so much like Wukong?!

_"Of course. You've done nothing wrong." Macaque spoke trying his best to hold on, this kid is a chatty one, a golden goose for information.

_"Thanks.." The kid said, looking a little relieved, "Uhh... Can I come in?" he asked, hints of anxiety on his face even with the smile.

_"Sure." Macaque stepped away from the door, holding his breath, holding the sounds of pain, then let out a long exhale,

_"You seem down." The kid said, putting the bags on the table then turning to face Macaque, eying him with worry.

_"This whole thing is tiring me." Macaque said with a little reassuring smile,

_"Yeh.. ok..." the kid looked down, then sat on the bed before he spoke again, "Umm... Thank you."

_"Hm?" What for?

_"You know... For staying, even though you and monkey king aren't on good terms." the kid still couldn't hold his gaze up to Macaque, he just looked to his side,

_"Good terms?" I'm not on good terms with Wukong? Why?

_"OK. Fine. You hate each other. But still... I'm happy you accepted our help. I was so worried you'd dissappear the second you got better."

We hate each other? I left before? When? Why?

_"Well, I hit a dead end at one point, the sooner this is over, the better it is." Macaque shrugged then headed to the noodles, he can hold on just a little longer,

_"Are you- Are you leaving once we solve this?"

_"..." What is he talking about?

_"Can't you stay? I mean is it really that bad to be around us?"

_"I'll think about it once this thing is off." I don't know either kid,

_"You're staying!" the kid literally glowed,

_"I didn't say that. I said I'll think about it when we get to it." Macaque said turning to face the kid,

_"I'll take that as a maybe." he smiled at him that mischievous smile,

_"*sigh* So?"

_"Hm?"

_"Did you find anything useful?" Macaque could feel his heartbeat grow faster, he's runnig out of time,

_"Oh! We found out its name but we still can't tell what it's for. Monkey king said he'd look into it, so we're waiting for him."

_"What's its name?" Hurry up kid!

_"Monkey king didn't tell you? It's the corrupted king's crown, but the info we found about it-" The kid stopped as he saw Macaque's face fill with terror, "Macaque?"

_"The corrupted king's crown..." Macaque muttered before the pain got 10× worse, the crown isn't just taking his magic anymore, it's trying to kill him,

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" he yelled and fell to his knees holding his head, trying desperately to get the crown off,

_"Macaque!" the kid yelled and ran to him,

_"KID LISTEN! AGH! They want- They want to put- *pant pant* egh- someone- else's soul in my body-"

_"Who?!" MK doesn't understand anything, what's happening to Macaque?!

_"The- The king has guards- AAAAAAAAAGH!"

_"I'll get Monkey King!" The kid stood up, looking around for help or where to start,

_"DON'T. AAAAAGH! DON'T-" Macaque couldn't say another word before he passed out.

The room fell silent. MK stood there for a second not knowing what to do. He needs help, Macaque is in worse shape than he thought, what should he do? Who should he call? Should he just wait for Macaque to wake up? What should he do?

(I know it took too long and it's not that good but I tried my best ok? T^T. I still don't like it though but I'm glad it ended.

And yes, still no title, I don't know where this is going so I can't come up with a name.)

[eliotquillon]

WAIT ACTUALLY you don't have to do this prompt unless you want to, but in all in cameron is like "your shark story is good but not that good," he has told her the goddamn shark story, he is gonna win her over with his personality--

bless chase’s cotton socks:

The shark story always works.

It does not work on Cameron.

*

He tells it to her in a moment of weakness: they have ditched Foreman to go out for post-case solve drinks, just the two of them, and for once it’s Cameron’s idea to sneak off instead of Chase’s. Logically, he knows that dating Cameron is a bad idea—and he would bet money that she isn’t at all in favour of casual sex. There is no reason to tell her the shark story, especially not while she’s giggly off three vodka sodas and sharing a bag of peanuts with him, but it trips out of his mouth anyway while he’s staring at the strand of hair that has come loose from her tight ponytail. It feels like a metaphor: Cameron, so contained and controlled, loosening up around him. It’s an ego boost. It could be a bit more than an ego boost, if Chase ever bothered to examine it more deeply, but something in him balks whenever he gets too close.

Cameron’s verging on tipsy, but Chase is closer to sober—he’s got a better tolerance, and drinks slower; being the son of an alcoholic teaches restraint to the lucky few. He knows he tells it perfectly. He knows he hits all the right notes. And Cameron smiles along, laughs in all the right places, but it feels…just a touch indulgent. She does not lean closer during the part where he punches the shark square in the nose. She does not bat her lashes when he talks about how cold the water was. It isn’t a bad reaction, but it is—underwhelming. Platonic. Friendly.

Worth a shot, Chase thinks miserably, and then wonders why he was trying to get a shot in with Cameron in the first place. He doesn’t like her that way. They only go out for drinks together because Foreman drives him up the wall and it feels wrong to just drink by himself. That’s why it didn’t work, he decides. There was no real intent behind it. He puts Cameron in a cab home, retries the shark story on a girl at the next bar he gets to, and goes home with her an hour later.

*

“I have a question,” Chase says, three and a bit years later; they’re meant to be going out to a bar later to catch up with Foreman, but from the way Cameron keeps yawning and resting her head pointedly on his shoulder it feels like she’s gunning for a night in. “But you can’t laugh at me.”

“You ruin all my fun,” Cameron complains, shifting her weight closer against him on the couch. “I heard laughter is the best medicine.”

“Allison,” he says pointedly, and she laughs.

“Alright, okay,” she says, “I promise. But only if you call Foreman to cancel.”

Chase, already prepared to do as much, gives her his hand to shake; instead of relinquishing it afterwards, Cameron laces their fingers together and leans back to look at him expectantly. “I’m listening,” she says, and Chase winces.

“Do you remember,” he starts carefully, “when I told you my shark story?”

Cameron opens her mouth, closes it, and blinks innocently up at him. “Of course I do,” she says. She is not smiling, but she has the wide-eyed look that suggests she’s going to explode into a fit of laughter as soon as Chase is out of earshot. “What about it?”

This is the worst part. Chase has to grit his teeth to get the words out. “Why didn’t it…work?”

This time, Cameron’s blink is borne more out of confusion than laughter. “Was it…supposed to?” she asks, echoing his hesitant tone. Chase’s embarrassed silence isn’t a yes, but it sure as hell isn’t a no. Her eyebrows fly up, and she says, mock-chastising, “Robert.”

“I’m just wondering,” he insists, fighting to ignore his burning ears. He is suddenly grateful to his longer hair for covering them. “Pretty much every other woman I told that story to ended up making a move on me afterwards. How come you didn’t?”

Cameron shrugs. She’s smiling now, but not mockingly—it’s fond and soft, a warmer version of the quick grin she shoots him whenever they pass each other in the corridor at work. “Like I told you at the gala two years ago,” she says, “it’s good. But not that good. I think it only works if the recipient already wants to sleep with you. Which I didn’t, back then.” Blunt, but true; Chase accepts the explanation for what it is, and nods.

“But it’s been a while since I heard that story anyway,” Cameron adds. Her smile has turned wicked. “Why don’t you try telling me it again and see where it gets you?”

*

The shark story always works.

[papercranepoets]

A wall of books surrounded Hermione. Books on wards, charms, messaging via magic and other means in the wizarding world. Draco was clever, but she could not wrap her head around this morning’s message.

Or the horrible dream she had…

Hermione had slipped halfway down the large wooden chair, her legs folded like a pretzel. Her wild hair acted as a cushion. Normally she’d appear proper while sitting. Despite her strong feminist ideals, she knew that she had to work four times as hard as every one else and any “improper” image would work against this hard work. However it was not even 6:30 in the morning. No student in their right mind would be in the library at this time.

So when a low and annoyed “Mione” can out of nowhere, she nearly jumped out of her skin, knocking the book on the edge of her knee down with a thud.

Ron was on the opposite end of the table, eyes wide, “sorry… Mione, I’m glad you’re here. Parvati said you never got back last night.”

Hermione sat up, eyes furrowing. “I didn’t know you could get up this early, Ron,” she drawled. Clearly Draco was rubbing off on her because Ron looked shocked.

She reeled it in, “Ron, excuse me, I’m positively pissed off. I was locked out last night because of our incredibly stupid argument.” Reel it in more, Hermione. “So, you can probably tell that I slept horribly.”

“Yeah, anyway, I was worried.” He mumbled looking away.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. He could have looked for her. Although… then he would have found her out. Still, him being worried was just words at this point.

“Ron, I appreciate your worry, but I’m a big girl. We’re fine. Just let me get back to my work and we can see each other at breakfast.” She quickly picked up her book and made to start her research again, looking away from a very exhausted looking redhead.

She heard a chair being pulled up to her and nearly groaned. Hermione refused to look up until a warm hand was placed on her thigh.

“Mione,” Ron whispered leaning into her, “that’s just it. We’re not fine.”

Hermione stared into his eyes. Although Ron fell into irrational thinking and was quick to anger, he was a smart guy… he was perceptive enough. She knew he cared deeply for her. Pain and guilt hit her like a ton of bricks. Ron may not know what was wrong, but he knew she was not just building a wall of books. Hermione had been distancing herself for quite some time.

“Ron, I’m so sorry. I haven’t been myself,” she touched his cheek and he closed his eyes leaning into her more. “None of us have been ourselves. Harry is more paranoid than ever…”

“For good reason,” he whispered bringing his hand to the back of her neck.

“Yes for good reason…” Hermione said. The three of them were scared. The order was scared… not that any of the older members would ever admit it around them. Hermione’s thoughts began to spiral and she was chewing her lip so hard she was sure the skin would break.

“Hey, hey,” Ron grabbed her face with both hands bringing her focus back to him, “we’re okay. We’ll get through this together.”

He leaned in to gently kiss her while rubbing her temples with his thumbs. And this is why she had started something with Ron in the first place. He could bring her out of those thoughts for a moment… he just couldn’t keep her out of them. And Hermione quickly realized that her puppy dog love was not romantic love but deep love for a friend.

Her heart hurt again, but instead of distracting herself with thought, she wanted to distract herself with touch. Hermione deepened their kiss, fully turning to him. She leaned into him as his mouth opened up for her to explore.

How could she even have started this thing with Draco when Ron could give her this comfort.

Draco. She remembered Draco’s hand on her hips and in her hair and… well, everywhere. A shiver ran up her spine and heat pooled in her stomach.

This. This was why. Ron didn’t make her feel like that at all. So when Ron started inching his hand up her skirt, she pulled away.

“Sorry, Ron…” Hermione saw the frown forming on his face, “not now. Not in public.”

“Of course. I just love kissing you Mione.” He squeezed her leg before sitting back. He panned his eyes over the 40 books stacked on the table, “what the bloody hell are you researching?”

“Oh, uh charms and messages and such. Nothing interesting,” she answered quickly. Going too far into it would only bring more questions.

“Right, I’m already bored out of my mind.” Ron chuckled. Hermione smoothed her features trying not to react in annoyance. She supposed this was her other reason. She needed someone who was interested in the pursuit of knowledge. Ron had checked out on schooling.

“See you at breakfast?” Hermione asked, wanting to get back to her reading.

Pushing his chair back as he stood, he gave her a final squeeze on her shoulder, “I suppose. See you soon. Maybe I can catch another hour of sleep.”

Ron sauntered off and Hermione let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding.

Hermione paced the library after hours needing time to clear her head after a row with Ron.

“Well, well, well… what do we have here?”

Hermione’s eyes snapped towards the uppity, sharp sounding voice.

“Shut up, Malfoy. Let’s not pretend you don’t know why I’m here.”

Malfoy smirked, looking her up and down slowly. Then he was crowding her space, grabbing her arms and pushing her against the table.

“Weasel couldn’t get you there??” He sneered grabbing her chin.

“I’m not here to talk.” Hermione stared into his icy eyes trying not to think about his other hand digging into her hip.

“Not here to talk. Is that right, Granger?” He hoisted her onto the table and stepped between her. Leaning into her neck, Granger fluttered her eyes closed. Now it was time for some relief.

Malfoy chuckled breathing onto her neck and swiping her mane away. No kiss came. “What if I wanted to talk?” He breathed into her.

Grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer, Hermione tried to shut him up. For gods sake, why was he not just kissing her already!?

He nuzzled his nose into her neck and chuckled again before pushing away.

“What the hell!?” Hermione was enraged. From Ron to Malfoy and his snooty, rich, asshole, strikingly handsome self, men were really pissing her off tonight.

She met his eyes, red painting her cheeks in embarrassment. Malfoy was already staring at her, eyes dark and predatory.

“First you want to talk and now you’re barely even breathing. Gods, you’re so fucking moody and weird sometimes?”

His nostrils flared as he looked at Hermione sprawled on the table. He looked like he could avara her on the spot. Her eyes widened as she straightened up.

“Stop using me every time you have a little fight with your boyfriend.” His jaw ticked. Was he actually pissed off? “Better, yet. Stop talking to me altogether until you’ve fixed that situation.”

Hermione’s brows stitched together, “fixed the situation? What…”

“Oh, please, don’t play fucking dumb. You’re much brighter than this.” Malfoy scoffed, “maybe we can resume this and move our little library rendezvous to something more comfortable. Dump your little weasel and we’ll talk.”

“I…” Hermione was completely bewildered.

“No.” He breathed sharply, “Send me a note when you decide what to do.”

And with that he was half way down the aisle.

Hermione didn’t realize she was holding her breath… so much for clearing her mind.

[stripesysheaven]

.