#the thing is though I can kind of see it?

[luveline]

shy!reader and spencer who are in the early days of their relationship and are getting more comfortable with initiating physical affection with each other (especially reader lol) and spencer gets her to open up by playing with her hair / hands, tickling her, cuddling, the like <3

The first time Spencer let his head rest against yours, you were sure you’d die right there and then, half-asleep on the subway, then suddenly away as he’d started talking under his breath, his conversation for you and you alone. You'd flushed full body and forced yourself to stay still, until Spencer had confused your shyness for not wanting his weight against you and pulled away. 

This time you’re ready. This time, he’s working his arm over the top of your shoulders. Not a timid first move on the first date, he’d suffered through that already. Spencer lets his arm slip between your back and the couch as he tugs you toward him, resting his cheek against your temple, two points of skin turning hot as a burner. 

“Okay?” he asks quietly. 

You let yourself relax into it. “I’m fine.” 

“Did you want me to run that bath for you?” 

It’s imperative he doesn’t move. “No, I can do it. I’ll do it later, if that’s okay.” 

It’s Spencer’s bath, but he let you take one the last time you stayed the night, so you’ll work it out. You knew he wasn’t gonna peep on you, knew you were totally safe in his bathroom, but your heart hammered fast as a hummingbird’s whenever the floors creaked —just the idea of being near him when you were unclothed set you aflame. Your skin warms with the memory, a nervousness in your chest and hands that grows uncomfortably warm. 

You don’t move, though. You’re sending him all the wrong messages when you reject him out of timidity, you’re more than aware of it, but the longer he sits there gently holding you, the more the temptation to squirm builds. 

Spencer makes a soft, soft sound as his hand trails up your back, curling around your arm, and meandering a path to your elbow. 

“I got…” —Spencer begins, without any inclination to rush— “…more of that bath soak you liked, the camomile… and honey…”

You love the smell. Sometimes you swear you can smell it in his hair when he presses near you. 

“And a loufa, ‘cos you didn’t have one last time,” he adds. 

“Thank you.” 

“…You’re welcome.” He kisses the side of your head. Then, in a betrayal of his character, he laughs breathlessly, saying, “Sorry, I forgot what I was saying. The loufa– It’s purple. I put it on the towel rack, and I got you a new face towel, too, mine’s too rough for you.” 

“Did you get yourself a new one too?” 

“Yeah.” He taps your cheek, the hand you’d forgotten about drawing a short line to your jaw. “You’re pretty.” 

You drop your chin. 

“You are,” he says. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Spencer’s hand slides down your neck, a caress that turns to a kind hold. “Can I…” He snorts softly. “You’re solid,” he says, squeezing your neck with enough pressure to wind you, which isn’t much. “You don’t have to get all tense.” 

“I’m trying really hard not to get tense,” you admit. 

“I know. I’m trying to help, but I’m just making it worse.” 

Spencer isn’t making it worse. Or, he wasn’t. “I thought you were gonna kiss me, is the thing.” 

“I was. Then you tensed up and I didn’t think I should.” His easy smile goes funny. “Could I have?” 

“Of course you could’ve,” you mumble, pressing your face into his shoulder before he can decimate the last of your self respect. He laughs —giggles, really, in a burst of sound— and tugs you in. “Not funny.”

He can hear the lie. “No, it’s not funny,” he agrees anyways, laying back and then moving forward, swaying you enough to turn the giggle into a full blown laugh. 

He murmurs something. You mumble back. His fingertips slip over the dip in your back and he’s saying something nice, if a little shy. It’s been nice getting closer to him, seeing the real Spencer, someone who’s hesitant but gentle beyond words. There’s no reason for him to be touching you like this, to talk sweet nothings behind your ear as he lugs you onto his chest, and maybe there’s no reason for you to melt. Butter in the sun, drifting bonelessly into his lap. 

“You smell like tea,” you say quietly. “I love it.” 

“You love it?” he asks, something oddly awed about him as he shifts your head back to look you in the eyes. 

“Mm. It’s nice. And your eyes are so brown… they’re my favourite thing about you.” 

Spencer teases the stripe of skin exposed by your rising t-shirt until you’re shivering again. “Thank you,” he says, letting one close in a wink as he taps your nose with his. “Am I allowed to say what I like about you, or–” You shake your head so violently he immediately stops. “Fine. But only because I want to sit like this for the rest of the night with you.” 

“I still need a shower.” 

“Later,” he says, his lips resting on your chin. “Way, way later, please.” 

[eroticnekoisa]

Beginner Yoga Class

M!Reader x Aespa Karina

Around 2,750 words

tags: sex, blowjob, titfuck, cumshot, reader has big dick, little bit of fluff, my first smut so don't judge me too harshly please

Recently, you decided to commit to a healthier lifestyle and to try new things. So you thought "Why not do both at once?" and began pondering what kind of activities you could do.

After pondering and searching for a few days, you ultimately decided to sign up for a yoga class. You haven't tried yoga before, plus, it would bring both the healthier lifestyle and new experience you desired. So why not?

When looking at the class options, you found a 1:1 class. Considering you have never done yoga before, you find it more appealing to be alone with the teacher. More focus on you and fewer people around to notice your mistakes, also leading to much less embarrassment from your cluelessness on the subject.

Just you and the teacher. No one else around.

You happily sign up and wait for the days to pass.

Entering the building, you instantly notice the atmosphere change. You proceed as you normally would, the receptionist greeting you before guiding you to your destination, it seems her nametag displays the name "Minjeong". As you enter the room, the receptionist let's you know that you can take one of the candies on her counter when you leave, as she returns to her place. How nice of her!

The kind receptionist shuts the door for you. You notice a dark haired woman standing next to a chair on the opposite side of the room, she appears to be fixing her hair in one of the mirrors on the wall. She doesn't seem to notice you. You approach her and greet her.

"Hello?"

startled by your voice, she quickly turns. "Oh! You're here for the class? You're early." Until now, you didn't notice that you are actually about 10 minutes early. I guess you didn't check the time.

"Sorry, I guess I didn't check the time."

"No, no. It's fine!" she says, "We can start early, just give me a minute. You can sit if you'd like" she offers with a kind smile on her face as she does something in the corner. You can't quite see what she's doing since her back is turned towards you.

You sat on the chair just as she suggested you do. You let her do what she's doing in peace, so you don't talk to her until she's ready. Your eyes wander around the room, eventually focusing on your yoga teacher. You admire her healthy looking hair, her pale skin…You begin to look at her clothing, wearing a fitted tank top, mildly baggy sweatpants, though not baggy enough to hide the curves of her hips and shape of her round ass.

You aren't looking at her with lust, just learning her features. Right? Your eyes seemed to have stopped caring about the room once you saw her ass. She turns around and smiles at you, raising one finger to tell you that she will only be one more minute! You quickly look at her face, hoping she didn't notice you staring at her ass.

She didn't notice anything when looking back at you. However, you did notice something. You noticed her large breasts held by her tank top. You couldn't help it, your thoughts were beginning to go exactly where they shouldn't. You began to think about what her body looks like underneath her clothes, how soft her skin would be, you even wondered what her pussy looks like for a few brief seconds. How dirty of you.

Your thoughts turned you on so much you could practically feel the blood rushing downward, you feel your cock getting harder, bigger, thicker. It's such a bad time to be turned on. You remain sitting in the chair (almost) successfully hiding the bulge in your pants.

"Okay. Can you move the chair now?" Karina says, with her back still turned toward you.

"Fuck." you thought. Just as you stand up, Karina turns around and drops a pen and her phone.

She gasps from seeing her phone separate from its case, she instantly bends over to pick up the items she dropped.

You can now see directly down her top, getting an almost complete view of her large, soft, breasts. Moving slightly as she moves her arms to gather the items she dropped.

Now standing up, you feel your cock firmly pressing against your pants. You can't possibly hide it now, especially considering your size. You hear Karina talking, but you don't seem to be listening. You just continue staring at her big tits, with endless sexual thoughts racing through your mind.

Smiling, Karina quickly stands up to finally get started with the class. She was excited to teach someone new.

"I'm sorry, I'm clumsy!" she says with a laugh, while looking at your face.

Just as you try to gain composure and act natural, she looks down at the chair beside you, but something else caught her attention.

"I really think I-I-" her jaw drops for a few seconds as she stares at the large bulge in your pants before realizing what she was doing, looking up to speak to you. "U-um-heh. Um. I'm sorry, I didn't-"

You turn your back to her, apologizing out of embarrassment. Though her directly looking at it turned you on even more.

"No, I'm sorry. Give me a minute, it's just-"

She interrupts you, saying "It's fine! It's totally fine!" trying to silence her awkward giggle. Now her thoughts were racing.

Awkward silence fills the room for what feels like forever. Karina looking at the floor, trying not to make you feel embarrassed. You don't notice, but she occasionally glances at you in the mirror, trying to get another look at your big cock print.

You hear her walking towards you, you feel a hand on your back and another hand on the side of your arm. She breaks the silence with her pretty voice and says,

"Can…….Can I see it..again?"

You feel so shocked to hear these words come from her mouth, you instantly turn around to look at her. Accidentally giving her exactly what she asked for. "What?!" you exclaim.

The second you face her, she looks directly at the bulge in your pants and covers her mouth in awe. Her eyes focusing on your cock made it twitch, bringing a very sexy looking smile to her face as she bites her lip.

She gets very close, putting one hand on your chest and the fingers of her other hand on the band of your sweatpants. Her face inches away from your own, her tits touching your chest as she leans in. She whispers,

"I want to see more. I….want..I want to touch it…"

You are completely lost and overwhelmed by the situation, you didn't believe it was actually happening. Karina was shy, but she was also very, very horny in this moment. She looked into your eyes, biting her lip even harder as she started gently tugging your pants downward.

You nod to give her permission. She smiles and puts both of her hands on your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear.

Your cock finally released, springing upwards. You feel your heart beating hard, just like your cock that Karina is staring at. She stares with a look of yearning on her face.

She slowly and gently grips the center of your cock with her small, soft, hand. The sight and feel of your cock turned her on so much, she couldn't stop there. She needed to stroke it, suck it, feel it deep inside her.

"Oh my god…it's so….big.." she said slowly, feeling how hard you are, she playfully asks "What got you so excited? Huh?" still holding your cock.

You smile and chuckle, not knowing what to say. She seems to have an idea, but she still wanted to tease you.

She begins stroking your cock, slowly pulling your foreskin back and forward, back and forward. The expression displayed on her gorgeous face clearly shows how aroused she is. It feels so good, you start to breath heavier. She likes the sound of that.

She lets go of your cock and with a devious look on her face, asks "Do you want to sit in the chair now?" hoping you understood what she was hinting at. You understood, but were in disbelief. You sat down in the chair, bringing her much joy.

She gets on her knees in front of you, putting her hands on each of your thighs. You don't believe what's happening, but that's okay. She doesn't mind.

You see Karina staring at your big, hard cock sticking straight up towards the ceiling. Now only inches away from her small, delicate face.

She grabs your cock, pressing it against her face and feeling how hard she made you. You both love the fact that your cock looks huge on her face, making both of you even hornier.

You feel her breath on your cock as she exhales with a soft moan, "Ahhh~"

She holds your cock still as she gives the tip a deep kiss, wetting her lips with your precum before she begins to open her mouth wide to take your sensitive tip in her mouth. You feel her wet, glossy lips sliding down your cock as it glides across her tongue.

You moan as she sucks and licks your cock, feeling her fingers start caressing and massaging your balls. She takes your cock deeper and deeper into her warm, wet mouth, sucking harder and harder. Feeling her saliva mixing with your precum, running down your cock from her lips. She tries to take it deep into her throat, but she can only handle the head entering her throat before she needs to stop.

She lifts her head up, looking at you while breathing heavily. Her lips and chin wet with your fluids. You feel frustrated, since you were right at the edge before she stopped all stimulation. But that's only because you didn't know what else she was planning in that pretty little head of hers.

Still on her knees, she smiles and slides her hands up your shirt, feeling your chest and stomach, brushing your nipples with her soft fingers. "How did my mouth feel?"

"Amazing…I can't believe this. We shouldn't-" you respond as she denies your logic.

"Shhh~ Babyy~" she says, "We have plenty of time, relax~" as she briefly stands up to give you a kiss before returning to her knees.

"I know what you want…" she teases as she removes her top, exposing her black bra. "Right?"

You respond with a "Yes…." and hear a cute yet sexy chuckle. She removes her bra, fully displaying her big, gorgeous tits you were peeping at earlier. Her nipples hard with excitement, as she caresses and softly squeezes her tits for you. Biting her lip at the pleasure and the sight of you.

She moans softly as she pinches her nipples, "And what about this?~"

She moves closer to you again, this time positioning your cock between her tits, pushing them together. She loves the feeling of her large tits surrounding your big cock, sliding up and down, making her swear.

"Fuck….is this what you wanted?" she asks, as if she wasn't the one to take your pants off.

"God…you're so pretty. It feels so good" you couldn't get any harder, the contrast of your hard cock and her soft tits turned you on even more.

Again, as you begin to feel like you'll cum any second, she stops touching you and stands up. Your cock begging for more as she ignores it, moving her body closer to your face. She puts her arms around your head, putting her beautiful tits in your face.

You begin to feel her breasts with your hands, squeezing, kneading, rubbing. She breathes in and out softly, yet heavily. She feels you begin to lick and suck on her sensitive nipples, bringing an involuntary moan out of her.

She continues to make lovely sounds as you play with her perfect tits, before putting her hand on your head and saying the following words

"St-stop….okay.."

You stop, thinking she has had enough and your luck ran out. She takes a moment before speaking again, as if her shyness returned.

"I need….I need more.."

She removes her pants completely, revealing her black panties.

"Please…….stand up.."

She couldn't take it anymore, she needed you to fuck her. She needed to feel your cock inside her pussy. She's been thinking about it since she first saw you.

You stand up as she removes her panties, you can't help but stare when you finally see her shaved pussy. It was a beautiful sight, even more beautiful than you imagined. You take a look at her panties that now lie on the floor, noticing the inside completely soaked with her fluids.

"Come on…" shyly encouraging you as she gets on the chair, her knees on the seat and her arms resting on the back. Bending over, giving you a complete view of her ass and pussy. She was so turned on, even her inner thighs were wet. It was a heavenly sight. The chair was positioned in a way that you can both see each other's faces in the mirrors on the wall.

You rest your cock on her ass and lower back, caressing her upper back with your hands, moving down to her waist as she watches in the mirror. Moving her hips back, pressing her ass onto you, she says "Please.."

Now that she was the desperately horny one, you decide to tease her. "Please what? What do you want?"

"I want it…"

"You want what? I want you to say it"

She looks at you from behind her shoulder, saying exactly what was on her mind "I want you to fuck me with your big, sexy cock. I need to feel your cock deep in my pussy. Please, please, fuck.."

You feel a wave of extreme desire flow through your body, hearing her speak those words. You have no choice but to give her exactly what she wants, after all, it's exactly what you want too.

As you prepare to penetrate her, you see her fingers already rubbing her clit, making her breath shaky. She couldn't resist, and now you can't resist either.

You slowly penetrate her warm, tight, wet pussy, it feels heavenly. Karina moans loudly as your cock travels deeper inside her, stretching her pussy. Her tits moving as you speed up, hitting her hips with your own, her ass jiggling subtly.

"It feels…fuck…so good.." she says between her moans and whimpers, rubbing her clit faster, causing her to arch her back.

"Harder….please!"

You give in and fuck her tight pussy even harder. You feel it squeezing your cock, she's in complete ecstasy. She physically cannot stop making noises.

"I'm so close…fuck. I'm-I'm gonna-ah!" she says loudly, before her legs begin to shake. Hearing those words brought you close once again. However, you were in control this time. You start fucking her faster, preparing to cum, just as you hear Karina loudly exclaim..

"I'M CUMMING"

She breathes heavily, moaning and shaking. You her pussy tightening and contracting around your cock, with her juices flowing out of her. You feel your orgasm approaching, it feels unbelievable.

As Karina watches in the mirror, you almost fail pull out of her perfect pussy as you cum, shooting large, thick ropes of cum on her ass and lower back. She softly moans, as she feels your hot cum covering her.

You both take a moment of silence to catch your breath, before you speak.

"That was…..insane."

Her shyness returns, she answers in a nod, hiding her face "Mmhmm.."

You grab towels to clean her up, and gather your clothes. Wondering about the actual yoga class, you ask her "Can I….still come again for yoga?"

Getting dressed, she answers with a giggle "Yes, next week."

"This was the weirdest class I've ever done, but…."

"…Yeah?" you ask, curious about what she was going to say.

"Um…nothing. It's time for you to leave, class is over!"

She awkwardly chases you back into the lobby, shutting the door. The receptionist glances at you as you walk by, her face very red. She asks,

"Is…uh….everything okay?", with a weird expression on her face.

A little embarrassed, you respond "Yeah, it went great!"

You don't stop walking to save yourself from the awkward and confusing situation that remained in the building. You proceed to travel home, realizing that you did not take the free candy offered by the kind, blonde receptionist.

Thank you for reading if you made it this far~

[voxslays]

in desperate need of some NSFW dae ho head cannons?? 👀👀

DAE HO — NSFW ALPHABET

A/N: M and X are skipped. Warnings: Smut, P in V, oral, soft!Dae-ho, maybe a little OOC.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

✮ Very doting. Always wants to make sure you are okay. Will wipe you off with a towel and have water on both sides of the bed (he knows how exhausted you are) or will just take a nice long, hot bath with his darling.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

✮ He doesn’t really have a favorite part about you, he just loves you the way you are…BUT…he does like being able to hold and compare your small hands to his large calloused ones.

✮ For him, it’s probably his semi-muscular arms. He loves the way they engulf you as he wraps you in his warm embrace. Truly such a wholesome guy. <3

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

✮ Dae-ho cums a lot. Whether he pulls out or not, it’s everywhere. On the sheets, on you, on him. Even when he releases inside of you, he will watch in awe as it trickles out of your pretty hole.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

✮ He kind of has a breeding kink. He desperately wants to get you knocked up so he can experience having a big family again (like how he grew up with so many older sisters). That and he thinks you would look so pretty pregnant.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

✮ Doesn’t have a lot of experience, but he knows what he’s doing and how to make you feel good. Has had one or two partners before you at max.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

✮ Definitely missionary. What can he say? He’s very Vannilla coded. He loves looking down at your beautiful face as he slowly lumos himself in and out of your hole—Holding your hands as he makes love to you and fucks you silly.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

✮ I can see Dae-ho being a very lighthearted individual during steamy time, making maybe one or two jokes as he fucks you dumb.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they?)

✮ Well groomed, not a lot of hair, but it’s definitely managed well.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

✮ So so so romantic! Will constantly be telling you how beautiful you are as he listens to your wanton moans and suckles on your nipples.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

✮ I honestly don’t see him doing this. Why jerk off when he can just go to you? If you aren’t in the mood though, he will probably just want you close as he does his thing.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

✮ Definitely breeding kink, as mentioned earlier. Dae-ho just wants a big family.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

✮ The bedroom (bed) or the shower.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

✮ Anything that makes you uncomfortable. Dae-ho would be a true gentlemen and is the king of consent. He definitely puts your pleasure above his own.

✮ As for him, Dae-ho doesn’t care for roleplay (why would you want him to be anyone but himself? It will hurt his feelings!) or BDSM. Why would he want to purposefully hurt his partner?

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

✮ Prefers to give. He loves tasting your sweet sweet juices.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

✮ Very slow and sensual. You and Dae-ho don’t fuck. You make love.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

✮ Heavily dislikes them. If you’re going to do it, why not do the full thing?

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

✮ Is willing to do (almost) anything to make you happy.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

✮ 3-4 rounds. This guy was in the marines, of course he has stamina. Although, he will stop if you pass out before he’s done.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

✮ Prefers not to use them on you or himself.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

✮ Will tease you with his fingers and tongue only a little bit. Doesn’t want you to suffer too much while waiting for his cock.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

✮ Can get a little loud. Dae-ho will make little grunts, but every once in a while will let out a wanton moan.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

✮ Would put your pleasure and well-being over his any day.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

✮ Like once every two weeks. He doesn’t want to push you to hard or make you uncomfortable, but does love showing how much he loves you through these ‘activities’.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

✮ Always waits until you are asleep, but after that, he is pretty quick to pass out.

[elikajinnie]

HI!!! can you do the enhypen prompt 16 and 17 with jay?? thank yoouu

P: Boyfriend!Jay X Fem Reader

Warnings: Suggestive Content, Whipped!Jay, we love a man who begs

note: i had time.. so yeah :) This for all my ladies who wear lacey underwear underneath the baggy clothes ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

16. "Do you want me to beg? Because I will." 17. "One more taste, and I swear I’ll lose control."

Jay absolutely loved seeing you, no matter the occasion or what you decided to wear. It didn’t matter if it was a casual hoodie and jeans, a simple summer dress, or the formal gown you once claimed didn’t suit you—it all reminded him of how breathtakingly beautiful you were. And to Jay, there was no arguing against that fact.

He could never understand why you sometimes doubted yourself, saying things like, “I don’t feel pretty today” or “This outfit doesn’t look good on me.” To him, those words simply didn’t make sense. He saw you through a lens tinted with love and admiration, one that made every aspect of you seem flawless. Your beauty wasn’t just about how you looked; it was in the way you carried yourself, the way you laughed, the way you treated others with kindness even when you didn’t have to.

In Jay’s mind, no other woman in the world could ever compare to you. Sure, there were plenty of beautiful women out there, but they weren’t you. You were the one who made him smile just by walking into a room. You were the one who knew him better than he knew himself sometimes, who made him feel safe, valued, and loved. You were the one he’d chosen, and to him, that made you irreplaceable.

There was also a quiet possessiveness about the way he adored you. Not in a controlling or overbearing way, but in the way he took pride in calling you his girlfriend. When he introduced you to his friends or casually mentioned you in conversation, there was always a flicker of pride in his voice. Jay loved showing you off, not because he wanted others to envy him (though, secretly, he didn’t mind if they did), but because he couldn’t help being proud of the fact that you were his.

And in his heart, Jay already knew he wanted you to be more than his girlfriend one day. He often imagined the moment he would ask you to marry him, rehearsing it in his mind and wondering how you might react. He didn’t want to rush you—he’d wait for as long as it took for you to be ready to take that step. But until then, he was more than happy to call you his girlfriend. To him, the title meant everything because it meant you were his, and he was yours.

Every day spent with you was a reminder of how lucky he was, and Jay never wanted you to forget how much he cherished you. In his eyes, you weren’t just beautiful; you were the kind of special that made him believe in soulmates.

He wanted you to be his forever. The thought of waking up next to you every morning, seeing you smile at him as the sunlight filtered through the curtains, was a dream he was determined to make a reality. Jay had no secrets when it came to you. He was like an open book, willingly laying himself bare in front of you, no matter how vulnerable it made him feel.

He trusted you with every corner of his soul, even the parts of himself he once thought were too messy or complicated to share with anyone. With you, there was no hesitation. If something was weighing on his mind, he told you. If he had a silly thought or a random idea, you were the first to hear it. If he made a mistake, he admitted it without shame, knowing you would never judge him harshly.

This honesty, though, also meant that his feelings for you spilled out in the most unfiltered ways. He would often find himself confessing just how much he loved you, even in the smallest, most casual moments. You could be doing something as mundane as scrolling through your phone, and Jay would blurt out, “I love you.” He couldn’t help himself really. His emotions for you were always bubbling just beneath the surface, waiting for the slightest excuse to overflow.

But there was more to his honesty than just his love—there was his desire, too. Jay wasn’t shy about how much he was drawn to you, how you had this effortless ability to captivate him in ways no one else ever could. It was in the way his eyes lingered on you a little too long when you weren’t looking, or the way he would lean in just a little closer than necessary when you spoke.

Sometimes, his words would betray just how deeply he craved you. It wasn’t always something he could control, especially when the thought of you consumed him in the best of ways. You could feel it in the way his hands would gently brush against yours, as if he was trying to be close to you without seeming too eager, but you both knew better.

“I can’t get you out of my head,” he’d admit sometimes. It wasn’t an exaggeration. He often found himself lost in thoughts of you, even when he should have been focused on other things. He would catch himself daydreaming, imagining the soft curve of your smile or the way you looked when you were nestled against him, your head resting on his chest.

Jay was always ready to voice what was on his mind, he wasn’t one to hide his thoughts, especially when it came to you. He didn’t even try to filter his reactions, which made everything he said feel honest.

You had just finished drying your hair after stepping out of the shower, the warmth of the dryer against your skin leaving a pleasant feeling while the bathroom smelled of the shampoo you liked. You stood in your simple, comfortable clothes, the fabric of your loose clothes falling over your skin, paired with a pair of lace underwear that you had bought on your birthday months ago.

It had been tucked away in the back of your closet, forgotten until now. You had never gotten the chance to wear it before, so when you found it still in its bag, the tag untouched, you decided today was the day. You had ripped the tag off without hesitation, and slipped it on, and now you found yourself rediscovering exactly why you had bought it. The way it felt against your skin, the way it hugged your curves, and the way it made you feel undeniably feminine—it was all so perfect.

You stood there for a moment, lost in your own thoughts, admiring the way it made you feel. But you were quickly pulled from your thoughts by the sudden knock on the bathroom door. “Are you finished in there?” Jay’s voice called out.

You quickly turned off the blow dryer and put it away, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of your face as you made your way to the door. You opened it to find Jay standing there with a laundry basket in his arms, his usual smile gracing his face. But when his eyes met yours, they flickered down for a brief second and up. Then, in a split second, they darted downwards again, clearly noticing the lace peeking out from under your clothes.

For a split second, he didn’t react—his eyes widened, and you could see him processing the sight in front of him, almost as if his brain couldn’t quite catch up with his eyes. His gaze lingered for a moment too long, and it was impossible not to notice the way his expression shifted slowly. His lips parted slightly, his breath catching as his eyes darted back up to yours, now a little more intense.

“Is that... lace?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper, like the question wasn’t one of curiosity, but more of surprise.

You could see his mind working, his thoughts clearly running wild as he took in the sight of you standing there. He swallowed hard, and for a moment, you both just stood there.

It wasn’t often that you saw Jay lose a bit of his usual composure, but now, his hands tightened around the laundry basket, his knuckles white as he tried to remain cool.

“You know,” he finally spoke again, his voice slightly more strained than before, “I was going to help with laundry, but I think I need a moment.” He was trying to regain some composure, but the way his eyes never left you made it clear that the sight of you had ignited something he couldn’t easily ignore.

Jay placed the laundry basket down slowly, the sound of it hitting the floor almost too loud in the silence that hung between you both. His eyes never left you, and his body seemed to move on its own, drawn to you like a magnet.

Without a word, his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer until his body was pressed against yours. The sudden closeness made your breath hitch, as his hands trailed around your waist, fingers grazing the fabric of the lace, the sensation sending a wave of warmth across your skin.

“God…” Jay groaned, the sound low and strained as his fingers gently ran along the edge of the lace, tracing the delicate pattern against your skin. His touch was tender and slow, as if he wanted to savor every second of feeling the lace beneath his fingertips.

You could see the struggle in his eyes, the way he fought to hold back, but there was no mistaking the desire that pulsed in him. “You’re killing me right now,” he murmured, his voice thick with longing. The words came out almost like a confession, so unfiltered, as if he couldn’t hide what he was feeling any longer. His breath was warm against your ear as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the side of your neck, the feeling sending a shiver down your spine.

His hands moved down, caressing the lace at your hips before pulling you even closer. The way his body responded to the touch, the way his groan escaped him, it all showed just how much he wanted you. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

Unable to resist, Jay leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was gentle at first, testing, exploring. But it didn’t stay gentle for long. The kiss deepened as he lost a bit of his composure, his hands gripping you more firmly, pulling you closer to him. The heat between you both surged, and you kissed him back just as eagerly, matching his intensity.

Jay guided you across the bedroom, your bodies moving together in sync. He broke the kiss for just a moment, his breath ragged as he led you toward the full-length mirror at the foot of the bed. As he spun you around, the sudden shift in perspective made your heart flutter. Now, you were facing the mirror, your reflection staring back at you, and Jay stood behind you, holding you close, his chest pressed against your back.

For a moment, you both just stood there, breathing in sync, before Jay’s lips found your shoulder, kissing it softly while his hands slid to your waist, holding you tight as he whispered sweet compliments in your ear. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing your skin as he continued to kiss along your neck. “So incredible... everything about you…”

You tried to glance away from the mirror, feeling suddenly self-conscious, but Jay wasn’t having it. His fingers gently but firmly grabbed your jaw, guiding your face back so that your eyes met your reflection once more. You could feel the intensity of his gaze as he held you there, making you face yourself again.

“Look at yourself,” he whispered, “don’t look away.” His words were like a command that made it impossible to do anything but meet your own gaze. His hand remained firm on your jaw, gently guiding you while his other arm stayed wrapped around your waist, holding you securely against him. “You see what I see?” he muttered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath warm. “Do you see how beautiful you are?”

Your reflection stared back at you, and though you felt shy under his attention, there was something about the way he held you that made you feel secure. The way his hands moved—one tracing lazy, gentle patterns at your waist while the other stayed steady at your jaw—was grounding.

He dipped his head again, pressing his lips to your neck, just below your ear, lingering there as though savoring the moment. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and his grip on you tightened slightly. “Every part of you,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection, “is perfect.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as you tried to process his words, his touch, and the way his gaze flicked up to meet yours in the mirror.

Jay’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling against your back as his lips trailed along your neck. The delicate lace seemed to have an almost visceral effect on him, his hands roaming your waist and hips. His fingers brushed against the lace, as if he couldn’t stop himself from feeling it again, marveling at the way it clung to your skin.

“This…” he murmured, his voice rough, nearly a growl, as his hand traced the hemline of the fabric. “You have no idea what this is doing to me.” He paused to take a deep, shuddering breath, his lips brushing against your ear. “You look so—God, I can’t even think straight.”

You couldn’t help but let a soft laugh escape you, the sound teasing in its lightness. “You really like lace that much?” you asked playfully, though you knew full well by the way he was reacting.

Jay groaned, his hand tightening slightly at your waist as he pressed a kiss to the curve of your shoulder. “Like is an understatement,” he said, his tone low and almost desperate. His lips hovered near your ear again, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with so much intensity that it made your heart skip a beat. “You have to wear more of it. All the time. For me.”

His bluntness made you smile, and you couldn’t resist teasing him further. “Oh? Are you saying I should go shopping for more lace?” you asked, turning your head slightly to glance at him, your tone light and filled with playful mischief.

Jay groaned again, his head dropping against your shoulder for a moment as if your teasing was physically affecting him. “Don’t play with me,” he muttered, his voice strained. “Do you want me to beg?” His voice was shaky now, his desperation seeping into every word. He pressed another kiss to your neck before continuing, his voice barely above a growl. “Because I will. I’ll beg if that’s what it takes. Just—please, wear more of this, want more of it.”

You couldn’t help the way your smile widened at his reaction, the teasing in your expression making his jaw tighten. “Jay,” you said, feigning an innocent tone, “you’re really going to beg for me to wear more lace?”

His breath hitched, and his hands moved to grip your hips more firmly. “Don’t tempt me,” he warned, though there was no real bite to his words. His forehead pressed against the back of your head for a moment before he groaned once more, almost as if he was fighting to keep control.

“I’ll do it,” he muttered, his voice low but filled with conviction. “If it means I get to see you like this every day, I’ll fill your closet with lace. Every color, every design—you’ll have so much, you’ll never wear anything else.”

You turned slightly, your smile softening as you reached up to touch his cheek, your fingers brushing against his skin. His eyes met yours in the mirror, filled with so much love that it almost overwhelmed you.

“I don’t think you’re ready for that much lace,” you said, but your tone was softer now, playful without being dismissive.

“Try me,” he challenged you, “I’ll prove it. I’ll make it happen. Just say the word.”

Jay would do anything to show you just how much he adored you, and if it meant filling your wardrobe with lace to see you smile—and to indulge his newfound obsession—he would gladly do it, no hesitation.

.....

And he did do it. After that day, it was as though a switch had flipped in Jay. He started bringing home lace in every imaginable color and design—soft pastels, bold blacks, rich jewel tones, delicate florals. Every type he could find was soon tucked away in your closet. It was thoughtful, sweet even, a little peek into how deeply he cared about you. But his reaction every time you wore it? That was something else entirely.

You weren’t used to seeing him like this, so utterly undone, so out of touch with his usual composed demeanor. But you couldn’t deny how much you loved it. You loved the way he folded for you, how a single glimpse of white lace beneath your clothes could derail him completely. Oh, you had him hooked. So much so that every time you wore it, his eyes would darken, his breaths would hitch, and whatever train of thought he had? Gone, like it had never existed.

Lace was his weakness, yes. But lace on you? He was gone—reduced to a pleading man, desperate for just one look, just one touch. And when you finally gave him permission, the transformation was instant. His hands would tremble slightly as they reached for you, his lips brushing reverently over the fabric like it was sacred.

“One more taste,” he’d whisper, his voice rough with need, “and I swear I’ll lose control.”

But the truth? He’d already lost control. The moment his fingers skimmed the lace against your skin, he was a goner. You saw it in the way he looked at you, like nothing else in the world mattered but you in that moment. His touches grew hungrier, his kisses turned sloppy and uncoordinated. And the marks? Oh, you had plenty. They were proof of just how completely he surrendered himself to you, his passion for you spilling over in ways he could hardly contain. Jay never held back when it came to you, and the lace only seemed to amplify that desire.

It wasn’t just about how beautiful you looked in it, though that played a part. No, it was the way you made it look—how effortlessly you wore it, how it became a part of your natural allure. He was mesmerized by you, completely at your mercy, and he didn’t care one bit.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he’d groan, his voice shaky as he traced the edges of the fabric with his fingertips. And maybe you didn’t. Maybe you didn’t realize just how thoroughly you owned him. But every time he dropped to his knees for you, every time he lost himself completely in the feel of you, the sight of you, the essence of you—you were reminded of just how deep his devotion ran.

Jay was yours in every way, and he wasn’t ashamed to show it. Especially when you wore lace.

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

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[anonymous-dentist]

Maybe there would be less conflict on the server if there wasn’t a faction whose entire life hangs on causing chaos and clip farming.

The admins said it themselves weeks ago- Tango even said it to Pangi directly on stream, the creative kills are meant to be clips. That’s why pvp doesn’t count even though there can be some REALLY creative pvp plays, and even though you can get some really popular clips out of it (see: Pangi killing Tubbo.) It’s also why it’s now against the rules for anyone to give their lives for Red Team like Foolish did, that isn’t ‘exciting’ enough

It’s the same logic that Purgatory was run under: everything had to have the capacity to go viral. Former admins said that the teams were split the way they were to create the most conflict possible, and that seems like what’s going on with the Realm.

A lot of people have started complaining about how much chaos and violence there is on the Realm these days, and they’re also following the Purgatory Way and blaming everything on one specific group of people (Red and Green Teams) rather than acknowledging the flawed server system as a whole.

If Red Team doesn’t get an ‘exciting’ kill, they all die. This is inherently flawed because it forces people into specific actions while ignoring the purpose of the server: personal choice and freedom. The server wasn’t meant for lore! Tubbo said as much before day one, but this was immediately changed as soon as the Red Team was introduced. Now, people joining the server are forced into the Red Team and told they have to kill. Sure, they can not- like Sausage and uh. The majority of Red Team, who haven’t really logged on past day one- but they’re still bullied and attacked by the other characters for the simple crime of being on Red Team. Unlike the other factions, Red Team never got a choice. They aren’t allowed to change teams, and nobody from another team can join their team (except Jack Manifold ig.) They’re all forced into the role of villains with no choice to join, say, Blue or Yellow.

All this has done is created the conflict that people are complaining about. Nobody on Green can show where they live because it’ll be trapped by Ros or Aimsey. Pangi and Pili can’t sit on a roof and talk without being condescended to and accused of wrongdoing. Foolish can’t talk to Pili without being looked down upon by his kingdom.

And then the players who wanted a low-stakes casual server can’t join anymore because everything ties back to ‘Us vs Them’. Slimecicle dipped on day one, probably because he’s done wkth MCRP. How many players stopped logging in once there started being lore and conflict essentially forced upon them by the server’s very rules?

Every time someone on the server has come up with an alternative to the violence and chaos, such as getting people who don’t join to voluntarily get killed by Red Team, it’s shut down by the admins. Meanwhile, there appears to be favoritism towards the server’s ’good guys’, like Ros’ and Tubbo’s protection butterflies or rule changes that only seem to benefit them. While some of those rule changes are because members of Red or Green find out ‘loopholes’, it’s also kind of crazy how every rule change has benefited Yellow and Blue and hurt Green and Red.

Is this favoritism purposeful? Almost absolutely not, but it is convenient for causing conflict. Tensions rise as a result of all these things combined, and it’s all manufactured and really just not fun to watch anymore. Yellow is sick of being ‘targeted’, Blue is sick of Green and Red existing, and Red is sick of having to kill. (Green is just kind of vibing tbh, they’re chaotic and violent even without the killing rule.)

Even if the factions event ends soon, which I hope it does for the sake of the server, the fandom won’t be any less toxic. The conflict will continue in some way because this is what the server has built up as its base for content: conflict. None of it is natural, it’s all manufactured, and it’s all extremely Not Fun.

So don’t get angry at Red for killing and trapping, that’s all they were created to do. And that will never change.

[destinationtoast]

Hello! I keep hearing that fandom culture has changed, and there are less comments now than there were years ago. Have you noticed this in your analysis? Is the percentage of comments being left today lower than before?

Hey! Thanks for the question -- it prompted me to start collecting data about comments (after procrastinating on it for a while, because I had to write new code to gather comment data). I've also seen other discussions from folks also thinking about how to do this kind of analysis (like in the fandom data projects community) -- hopefully we'll end up with multiple people attacking this from different angles and getting a variety of data about comments!

I'll give a sneak preview that partially addresses your question and contains some good news. If we look at the fraction of AO3 works that get at least one comment (focusing just on one-shots for now), I think things have gotten better over the past decade on AO3*:

In other words, it tentatively looks like more works were getting at least one comment in 2024 than in 2014 (for a variety of time periods). One caveat, though -- if a bunch of works with no comments got deleted in the interim, there will be survivor bias here. I'll try to look into that possibility later. Another caveat: this is based on only like ~100 randomly selected works from each year -- this may all change with more data!

Another interesting tidbit: I still see some of the 2014 works getting comments. In fact, ~30% of works have gotten new comments over 5 years after they were posted, and it looks like ~10% of one-shots posted back in Mar 2014 got a new comment in 10 years later, in 2024.

I'm still doing other analyses; there may be other factors that better match with the discourse around how comment culture has changed. It could be that comment activity peters out faster now than it did back then, for instance. Or the total number of comments left on the popular works is less now than it was back then (though my current methods may not be able to capture that). Edit thanks to quick eagle-eyed readers: it's likely that some of what people are thinking about is ratio of comments to hits -- that is hard to compare in 2014 to 2024, because we don't know which hits came from which years. But I am working on some analyses along those lines. :)

If you have other hypotheses about what's changed in commenting culture, feel free to share! I'll look into what I can.

Some methodology notes:

*I've been tackling this by comparing AO3 one-shots posted in early 2014 to one-shots posted in 2024, and comparing activity in the days/weeks/months immediately after the works were posted. (To start with, I'm only scraping the first page of comments for each work -- meaning the first 20 comment threads -- so there are lots of comments I'm potentially missing for the really popular works. But for many works, this captures all the comments, and I think it may be sufficient for a lot of the analyses I am interested in.)

I'm choosing to focus on 2014 vs. 2024 because 2024 is close to now (but it's been long enough for comments to have settled down a bit), and 2014 was well after AO3 was established (thus it was already a pretty lively time on AO3). I don't want to collect data about every single year because it's too time intensive/too hard on AO3's servers. But if people think that I should be looking at different years, I'm interested in feedback.

Because it's only been ~10 months since March 2024, I am limiting a lot of my analyses to only look at commenting activity the first ~10 months after works were posted in both cases.

[ilovetomdaya]

Yes I do. That's exactly what HE did and what HE'S doing. He's the one who said HE wanted to ban tik tok in 2020. If you don't believe me just look it up yourself. Now he's trying to swoop in and look like the "hero" just so he can win the public over and get even more people to like him/ be on his side. Unfortunately it's worked on a lot people. But ya'll NEED to see through his bs and lies. He's NOT a good man at all. He has an agenda and a plan. He's starting that agenda/ plan right now. So please DON'T trust that man or his words/ actions. DON'T left him fool you. I'm terrified of what the next 4 years are going to like/ be like. That man is evil and who knows what kind of things he's going to do. I'm hopeful and I'm praying that we all can stick together and get through it though.

usamericans, do you remember in the incredibles when syndrome made the robot go haywire just so he could swoop in and 'save the day'

[s4kura-tr3]

Hiya! Back, back again >:)

I was thinking about JJK men with an anxious reader? (I’ve personally been super anxious cause I’ve been sick and get SUPER anxious while I’m idle, especially with the ADHD simply- not letting me, so I’ve been thinking about it :P)

If you do this, thanks so much!! If you don’t, that’s totally cool too!! Have a fantastic day/night!! :D <3

(Sorry for the slow post, school has been kicking my butt..🥲)

Gojo satoru — You sat at the corner of the café, the soft hum of conversations and clinking coffee cups around you doing little to quiet the buzzing thoughts in your head. Your fingers tapped against the ceramic of your untouched drink, and your leg bounced under the table as your eyes darted around the room.

“Are you waiting for someone?” a familiar, cheerful voice chirped from above you.

Your head snapped up, startled. There he was—Gojo Satoru, all six feet three inches of him, leaning over the back of the chair across from you, his trademark sunglasses sliding slightly down his nose to reveal his brilliant blue eyes.

“I—I didn’t think you’d come,” you stammered, your cheeks flushing.

“Didn’t think I’d come? I wouldn’t miss a date with you for the world!” He grinned, sitting down without invitation. “Though, I’m offended you underestimated my charm.”

His playful teasing made you smile, even as your heart continued its anxious rhythm. “I-I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought…maybe you’d have something better to do.”

Gojo’s expression softened, his usually smug demeanor replaced with something more sincere. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward, close enough that you could see the faint scar just beneath his glasses.

“Better than hanging out with the most captivating person in this city? Nope,” he said, his voice gentle now. “Besides, I promised you last time that I’d be here. I don’t break promises, you know.”

You swallowed hard, glancing down at your cup. “I just…sometimes I think you’ll realize I’m not worth it. I’m not like you, Satoru. I’m not confident or fearless. I overthink everything, and sometimes I can’t even breathe because it all feels like too much.”

Gojo’s hand reached out across the table, covering yours. His touch was warm, grounding. “Hey,” he said softly, “first of all, you’re allowed to feel like that. Life can be overwhelming, and I get it. But don’t ever think you’re not worth my time. You’re worth everything, okay?”

Your eyes widened, and he continued, his thumb lightly brushing the back of your hand. “You don’t have to be like me. You don’t have to be anyone but yourself. And if your brain gets too loud sometimes, that’s okay. I’ve got the loudest brain ever, so I know how it feels.” He grinned, trying to ease the tension.

A small laugh escaped you, and he beamed. “See? There’s that smile. You’re braver than you think, you know. Just showing up here today? That takes guts. And lucky for you, you’ve got me to help when things feel heavy. You don’t have to do it alone.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, chasing away some of the weight in your chest. You let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Thank you, Satoru.”

“Anytime,” he said, leaning back in his chair. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added, “Now, let’s get some cake. You can’t be anxious when there’s cake. It’s scientifically impossible.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin spreading across your face. “Fine. But you’re paying.”

“For you? Always.”

Geto Suguru — The evening was quiet, the kind of stillness that made your thoughts louder than you wanted them to be. You sat on the couch in your small apartment, knees pulled to your chest as your mind raced with worries—about work, about people, about things that didn’t even make sense anymore.

The knock on your door startled you, and you hesitated before standing. You didn’t need to check to know who it was. He always had this perfect timing, as if he could sense when you needed him most.

When you opened the door, there he stood: Geto Suguru, dressed in his usual black robe-like outfit, his long dark hair tied neatly behind him. He held a small bag in one hand and gave you a gentle smile.

“I figured you hadn’t eaten yet,” he said softly, stepping inside as you moved aside. “So I brought your favorite.”

You blinked at him, warmth blooming in your chest despite the anxious haze clouding your thoughts. “You didn’t have to—”

“Shh.” He held up a finger, his expression teasing but kind. “I wanted to. Sit down, and I’ll set it up for you.”

You followed his instructions without protest, sinking back onto the couch as Geto moved around the kitchen like he’d been there a thousand times before. The smell of the food he brought began to fill the space, grounding you in the present.

When he finally joined you, he placed the neatly arranged meal on the coffee table, but his focus remained on you. “Rough day?” he asked, his voice as calm as always.

You bit your lip, your hands twisting in your lap. “It’s just…everything. I feel like I can’t keep up, like I’m always messing something up, and it just won’t stop.”

Geto’s brows furrowed slightly, but his expression wasn’t pitying—it was understanding. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before letting his hand rest lightly on your shoulder.

“I know how that feels,” he said quietly. “When it feels like the world is closing in, and you can’t catch your breath. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?”

You nodded, surprised at how easily he seemed to understand.

“But,” he continued, his thumb tracing comforting circles against your shoulder, “you don’t have to face it all at once. It’s okay to take things slow. One step at a time, one thought at a time. And if it gets too overwhelming, you’ve got me. I’ll carry as much as I can for you.

Tears prickled at your eyes, but you blinked them away. “Why are you so nice to me?”

He chuckled, leaning back slightly. “Because you’re important to me, that’s why. I care about you. And I’ll do whatever I can to remind you that you’re not alone, even when your mind tries to tell you otherwise.”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight on your chest easing just a little. “Thank you, Suguru. For being here.”

“Always,” he said with a soft smile. Then, his eyes lit with a playful glint as he gestured toward the food. “Now eat before I have to feed you myself.”

You laughed, the sound surprising even you. As the two of you settled into a comfortable rhythm—him making jokes to distract you and you letting yourself be pulled into the warmth of his presence—you realized just how much lighter the room felt with him there.

Nanami kento — The soft click of the front door closing echoed through the quiet apartment. You sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the edge of the blanket draped over your lap. The weight in your chest felt immovable, like no amount of deep breaths or distractions could lift it.

“(Y/N), I’m home,” Nanami’s steady voice called from the entryway. His tone was the same as always—calm, measured—but there was an undercurrent of concern beneath it.

“In here,” you managed to reply, your voice quieter than usual.

It didn’t take him long to find you. He stepped into the room, his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up. When his eyes landed on you, his sharp gaze softened instantly.

“Rough day?” he asked, crossing the room and crouching in front of you so you were eye level.

You nodded, avoiding his gaze as your fingers twisted the fabric of the blanket. “It’s…a lot. Everything feels too much. I don’t even know why.”

Nanami tilted his head, studying you for a moment before he reached out to take your hands in his. His grip was firm but gentle, grounding you in the present. “You don’t have to justify it,” he said simply. “Sometimes things feel heavy without a clear reason. That doesn’t make your feelings any less valid.”

Your breath hitched, the calm conviction in his voice making your throat tighten with emotion. “I feel like I’m drowning, Kento. And I’m so tired of feeling like this.”

Nanami’s thumbs rubbed slow circles against your knuckles, his steady movements as comforting as his presence. “You don’t have to face it alone,” he said softly. “I’m here. We’ll take it one step at a time, together.”

You let out a shaky breath, finally meeting his eyes. The weight in your chest didn’t disappear, but the tight knot loosened ever so slightly under his steady gaze.

“Let’s focus on the basics,” he continued, his tone practical but kind. “Have you eaten today?”

You shook your head, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed.

“Then we’ll start there,” he said firmly, standing and offering you his hand. “Come on. I’ll make something quick, and we’ll sit together. No pressure to talk if you’re not ready.”

You hesitated, but the look on his face—warm, patient, unwavering—made it hard to resist. Taking his hand, you let him guide you into the kitchen.

As he moved around with practiced ease, slicing vegetables and boiling water, he made quiet conversation, nothing too heavy. He told you about a coworker’s antics at the office and how the new bakery he passed had a line around the block. His voice was calm, steady, a soothing balm to your racing thoughts.

When he finally placed the bowl of food in front of you, he sat beside you at the table, his hand resting lightly on your back. “Take your time,” he said, his tone as soft as his touch.

You took a bite, the warmth of the food spreading through you like the comfort of his presence. “Thank you,” you murmured, glancing at him.

His lips curved into a small, rare smile. “You don’t need to thank me. Just remember, no matter how heavy it feels, you’re not alone in carrying it.”

Toji fushiguro — You sat curled up on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around your knees. The TV was on, but the sound was muted—just background noise to fill the heavy silence in your apartment. Your chest felt tight, and no amount of shifting or deep breathing seemed to make it better.

The sound of keys jingling snapped you out of your thoughts. The door opened with a quiet creak, and Toji stepped inside, his broad frame instantly making the small space feel smaller. He kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket over the back of a chair, his sharp green eyes flicking to you almost immediately.

“You’ve been like this all day, huh?” he asked, his voice low and gruff but not unkind.

You glanced away, embarrassed. “I’m fine,” you mumbled, though your voice cracked on the last word.

Toji let out a short, knowing laugh. “Yeah, that’s convincing.” He walked over, dropping onto the couch beside you with a heavy thud. His body heat radiated toward you, and though he didn’t touch you yet, his presence alone was grounding.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” he asked, leaning back and draping one arm along the back of the couch, his tone softer now.

You hesitated, staring down at your hands. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Everything just feels…wrong. I can’t stop overthinking, and it’s like no matter what I do, I can’t calm down.”

Toji’s brow furrowed as he watched you, but he didn’t rush you to say more. After a moment, he let out a low sigh and reached out, his rough hand resting on your knee.

“Hey,” he said, his voice steadier now. “First of all, cut yourself some slack. You’re allowed to feel like this. Nobody’s got it all figured out, not even me.”

You glanced at him, raising a skeptical brow. “You sure about that?”

Toji smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m serious. You think I’ve never had nights where I felt like ripping my own damn hair out? Life’s messy, and sometimes it gets too loud up here.” He tapped his temple lightly.

His words caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected him to open up, even a little.

“But,” he continued, giving your knee a gentle squeeze, “you don’t have to deal with it on your own. You’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere. Got it?”

Your throat tightened, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I just feel so stupid sometimes. Like I’m making a big deal out of nothing.”

Toji’s expression darkened slightly, his tone firm. “Stop that. Your feelings aren’t stupid, and you’re not a damn burden. If it matters to you, it matters. Don’t let anyone, not even yourself, tell you otherwise.”

His words struck something deep inside you, and before you knew it, you were leaning into him, resting your head on his shoulder. He didn’t hesitate, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The weight on your chest was still there, but it felt a little lighter with his steady presence grounding you.

“Feel like getting some fresh air?” he asked after a while, his voice low and rumbling. “Sometimes a walk helps. If not, we’ll come back, and I’ll make you something to eat. Or we can just sit here, your call.”

You nodded against his shoulder, his straightforwardness cutting through the fog in your mind. “A walk sounds nice.”

Toji stood, pulling you to your feet with ease. He grabbed your coat and handed it to you, his lips quirking into a small grin. “Good. And if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, I’ll take care of it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his dramatic threat, the tension in your chest easing just a little more.

With Toji by your side, the world didn’t feel quite as overwhelming.

Sukuna ryomen — You sat on the floor of your room, back pressed against the wall, trying to breathe through the crushing weight in your chest. Everything felt wrong—your thoughts raced, your heart pounded, and no matter what you tried, the panic refused to let go. You buried your face in your knees, squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

“Oi.”

The familiar deep voice cut through the haze in your mind. You didn’t have to look up to know it was Sukuna. His presence always carried an undeniable weight, like the air itself bent around him.

You didn’t respond. Maybe if you ignored him, he’d leave.

“Are you seriously going to sit there like that?” he said, his tone sharp but lacking its usual venom. You could hear his footsteps as he crossed the room. “You’re better than this.”

You finally lifted your head, glaring at him through tear-filled eyes. “Better than what? Feeling like this? I can’t just make it stop, Sukuna.”

He crouched down in front of you, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Tch. No one said you had to ‘just make it stop.’” His voice was quieter now, almost calm. “But you’re not going to get through it by curling up and letting it win, either.”

You scoffed, turning your head away. “Why do you even care?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he shot back without hesitation. His words were blunt, but his tone softened slightly. “You’re mine. If you think I’m going to let some invisible nonsense bring you down, you’re wrong.”

Your breath hitched, his declaration catching you off guard. Sukuna, of all people, wasn’t exactly known for kindness or concern. Yet here he was, crouched in front of you, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“You don’t have to fight this alone,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now, more controlled. “But you do need to fight it. Let it scream all it wants. Let it throw its punches. Then stand up and remind it who you are.”

His words struck something deep within you, and tears began to fall despite your best efforts. “I don’t know if I can,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Sukuna sighed, leaning back slightly but staying close. “You can,” he said firmly. “And even if you stumble, I’m here. I’ll drag you back to your feet if I have to.”

You looked up at him, your vision blurred with tears. “You’d really do that?”

He smirked, but it wasn’t as sharp as usual. There was something softer in the way he looked at you. “Of course. Can’t have my little human breaking apart, now can I?”

A shaky laugh escaped you, and Sukuna’s smirk widened slightly. He extended a clawed hand toward you, palm up. “Come on. You’re not staying on the floor all night.”

You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand in his. His grip was warm and surprisingly gentle as he pulled you to your feet. He didn’t let go immediately, his hand lingering in yours for just a second longer than necessary.

“Better,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You don’t need to be perfect. Just keep moving forward, little one. That’s enough.”

You nodded, his words settling in your chest like a spark of light. With Sukuna beside you, the weight on your shoulders didn’t seem quite as heavy anymore.

Megumi fushiguro — You sat at the edge of your bed, gripping the fabric of your pants as your mind spiraled. Your chest felt tight, and your breaths came shallow, no matter how hard you tried to slow them. You hated this feeling—this overwhelming, suffocating anxiety that left you frozen in place.

A knock at the door broke through your haze

“Hey,” Megumi’s soft, steady voice called from the other side. “Can I come in?”

You hesitated, debating whether to send him away, but before you could answer, the door creaked open just enough for his head to peek through. His dark eyes locked onto yours, scanning your face with quiet concern.

“Thought so,” he said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He didn’t say anything else right away, just walked over and sat beside you on the bed, leaving a small but comforting distance between you.

You stared at the floor, ashamed to even look at him. “I’m fine,” you mumbled, though the tremble in your voice gave you away.

Megumi let out a quiet sigh, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to say that,” he said, his voice calm and even. “I can tell you’re not.”

You bit your lip, feeling the tears start to build. “I hate this,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hate feeling like I’m stuck in my own head, and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Megumi glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t have to figure it out alone,” he said after a moment. “I know it feels like you’re drowning, but you’re not. I’m right here.”

His words made something in your chest ache, and you let out a shaky breath. “I just—I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” Megumi said firmly, finally turning to face you. “Don’t even think that. Everyone needs help sometimes. Even me.”

You blinked, looking at him in surprise. “You?”

He gave a small, almost self-deprecating smile. “Yeah. You’ve seen how I can get—shutting people out, trying to deal with everything on my own. It doesn’t work.” He hesitated, his voice softening. “You’ve been there for me before. Let me be here for you now.”

The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and Megumi didn’t hesitate. He scooted closer, his hand reaching out to gently rest on yours. His touch was warm and grounding, steady in a way that made your chest feel a little less tight.

“Breathe with me,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Just focus on my voice.”

You nodded, following his lead as he guided you through slow, deep breaths. His voice was calm, his presence unshakable, and gradually, the suffocating weight in your chest began to ease.

“Better?” he asked after a while, his tone gentle but hopeful.

You nodded again, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “A little,” you admitted.

Megumi gave you a small smile, the kind that was rare but always genuine. “Good. It doesn’t have to be perfect right now. Just one step at a time.”

He stayed by your side, his hand still resting over yours, and for the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe again. With Megumi’s quiet strength grounding you, the storm in your mind didn’t seem so impossible to face.

Yuji itadori — You sat on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the floor. Your chest felt heavy, and your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t untangle. Everything felt like too much, and no matter how hard you tried to calm down, nothing seemed to work.

The sound of the door opening barely registered in your mind.

“Hey, I’m back!” Yuji’s cheerful voice echoed through the room, followed by the sound of a bag hitting the floor. “I got your favorite snack—” He stopped mid-sentence when he saw you. “Wait…what’s wrong?”

You didn’t look up, trying to blink back the tears threatening to fall. “It’s nothing,” you murmured, though your shaky voice betrayed you.

Yuji was by your side in an instant, crouching in front of you with a concerned expression. “Hey,” he said softly, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “Don’t say that. If something’s bothering you, it’s not nothing.”

You shook your head, burying your face in your knees. “I just… I don’t know how to explain it. My head won’t stop racing, and everything feels like it’s too much.”

Yuji sat down on the floor in front of you, crossing his legs and resting his arms on his knees. “Okay,” he said gently. “Then you don’t have to explain it. But you don’t have to deal with it alone either, okay? I’m here.”

You peeked at him through watery eyes. “I don’t want to ruin your day, Yuji. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

He frowned, his face softening as he reached out to rest a hand on your knee. “Hey, don’t say that. You’re never ruining my day, okay? You’re important to me. If you’re feeling bad, then I want to help.”

His words broke something in you, and a tear slid down your cheek. Yuji’s expression didn’t falter. Instead, he smiled, soft and reassuring. “You know what we’ll do? We’ll take it one step at a time. No pressure, no rush. Just little steps until it feels better.”

“How?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“First, we breathe,” he said, shifting to sit beside you on the couch. “Come on, match my breathing. In for four, out for four.” He exaggerated each breath, making it easy for you to follow.

You mimicked him hesitantly, the steady rhythm of his breathing drawing you out of your head little by little.

“See? You’re doing great,” he said, beaming at you once you both settled into a calmer pace. “Now, do you want to talk about it? Or do you just want to sit here for a while?”

You glanced at him, his warm smile easing the tightness in your chest. “Just…sit here for now.”

“Okay,” he said simply. Without hesitation, Yuji wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you gently against him. “We’ll just sit. I’ll be here as long as you need.”

The warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his breathing grounded you in the moment. With Yuji by your side, the weight pressing down on you didn’t feel quite as heavy. He didn’t need to say anything else—his presence alone was enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Every Day That You Want

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, tooth-rotting fluff, pregnancy, pre-established relationship, marriage proposal

Summary/Warnings: You have big news for Dean. News you have to tell him, wether he likes it or not. You really hope he likes it, though.

Author's Note: Kind of a prequel to another fic of mine (Still You Want Me), but can be read alone. I just love putting big scary men in normal situations.

Word Count: 2.9k

You can do this. You’ve been to hell and back, you’ve killed angels, you’ve survived at least three apocalypses, and you’ve helped raise the Anti-Christ. This should, comparatively, be easy. 

It’s not. It’s the most daunting and terrifying thing you’ve ever done. It’s just words, but you’re going to choke on them because they could ruin your life. You’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror until your voice didn’t sound like yours anymore and nothing you said seemed real. It had been like repeating the same one word over and over again, until it’s nothing but an odd sound. Until it meant nothing.

But this has to mean something. You have to be able to say this to Dean, and you have to try and not get lost in the possibilities of how he’ll respond. He won’t leave you—Dean would never leave you—but he might tell you he doesn’t want this, and then you’ll have to make a choice. You don’t want to make a choice. You don’t want to hear Dean tell you that, with the lives you lead, this wouldn’t be a good idea. That it doesn’t matter what either of you want, because this isn’t something you get to have.

You want to have this, though. You want to have Dean and the baby. You want to have him as you’ve always had him before—strong and tired, always fighting because it’s all he knows how to do, but resting his head on your chest in the dark and humming against your lips when he kisses you—but you also want to have him in this new way. Where he’d smile for more reasons than just you and Sam and Cas. Where he’d get to direct some of that undying loyalty to someone who’d never be ungrateful, who’d would see him as a hero in a way he might finally believe. 

He’d be so good at it. Dean would spoil the kid, and teach them everything he knew, and care for them more than he’d ever care for himself. It breaks your heart sometimes, how he doesn’t kill himself for Sam, and he doesn’t drink himself to death for Cas, and he tries to get better for you, but he still doesn’t really know how to look in the mirror and not see a shadow.

And this would be the piece of him that’s never been tainted. The piece of him that crawls over you in bed just to hold you, that still watches cartoons and gets excited when he sees a cool car or hears an awesome drumline. The part of him that still cares, against all odds, and cares so much you’ve been worried it would kill him. The part of him that’s so simply made of light and love, crushed under years of his soul being bruised and beaten.

A part of him that won’t break. A part of him you love just as much as the rest of his wreckage, but that you still try to tend to, because you’ll love him the same if it vanishes, but you don’t think he deserves that. Dean deserves to only have that piece of him expand, to have it absorb all the love you throw at him, to grow until he can see it too. Until he can believe it’s there.

You know that it’s all so fucking hard. That Dean will never be all light, but you wouldn’t ever expect him to be. You know that a baby won’t fix him, not by far, but you also know it will show him he can create something. That he doesn’t poison everything he touches. 

That he made something entirely good, with you.

And if he tells you he doesn’t want this, you’ll live with that. You’ve lived with worse.

But you don’t even want to try to live with it. You’ll probably have to, but you’d like to pretend you won’t. 

The most you’re daring to pray for is that he doesn’t freak out. But angels don’t really take your calls anymore. 

So you’ll just have to hope.

You’ve set this up perfectly. There’s a pie in the oven that you will not let burn. There’s bacon and pancakes on a plate waiting for him when he finally gets his ass up. You have the whole bunker to yourself, because Sam’s off to see Eileen.

You’re not allowed to tell Dean that—Sam says he gets annoying—but you will in order to get him in a better mood. Sam’s fatal mistake was believing that you wouldn’t do anything to make Dean happy. So this is really on Sam. He’s the one that introduced you to Dean in the first place. Just because you were his friend first doesn’t mean he didn’t lose your automatic allegiance the moment he said this is my brother and his brother was the hottest man you’d ever seen. 

Sam should’ve known better. His big head should’ve understood that letting you anywhere near Dean—let enough so close that you’d be allowed to fall in love with him—would have always resulted in you using his secrets against him to make Dean happy, so you could slip in the fact that you were pregnant with Dean’s baby as easily as possible. 

Like any sane person would.

Although you have been up for hours, after only sleeping two. And you might be losing your mind. But anyone would lose their mind in a situation like this. Waiting for their dumb boyfriend to wake up so they can change his life forever. 

But Dean’s still asleep. You’re starting to get worried. He usually sleeps in late, especially after hunts, but not this late. Not past noon, long enough for you to stress eat half of his pie, then make a whole second one. Not long enough for the coffee to go cold three times.

You’re about to go check on him when he appears in the kitchen door. Bleary eyes and mussed hair, his glazed eyes focusing slightly when they land on you.

He starts to shuffle towards you, and you forget everything you’d rehearsed. He looks sleepy and adorable, and you’ve seen him like this before but you’d like to see it a million times more. You’d like Dean to always drop his head on your shoulder and wrap his arms around your torso, to always slump over you with a low hum. To always kiss the crook of your neck and let out a long breath when your hands snake around his neck and your fingers tangle in his soft hair.

You could have him like this forever. 

You just have to tell him. 

“Dean-“

“Why’re you up.” He speaks against your skin, his voice slurring slightly, tugging you a little closer. “’S early.”

“It’s 3pm, baby.” You draw back to smile at him, and he just blinks at you. “You’ve been knocked out for fourteen hours.”

He shakes his head, pouting slightly as he takes your hand in his. “Nah. Doesn’t feel it. C’mon.”

Dean starts to walk away, taking you with him, and you’re snapped out of the daze.

“Wait,” You pull on his grip, and he turns with a frown. “Where are you going?”

“We’re goin’ back to bed.”

You give him an amused look, your affection briefly overpowering your panic. “We?”

He nods, tugging your hand in his until you’re pressed right against his chest. “Only up ‘cause you weren’t there. Need to get my girl back to bed, you need sleep too-“

You do need sleep, but until you tell Dean, you might as well be injecting caffeine right into your bloodstream.

“But I made you bacon-“

“Course you did.” He grins, pressing a light kiss to your nose. “You’re awesome, baby.” 

You feel your stomach flutter, and at this stage it has to only be nerves, but that doesn’t make anything easier. “Can we please eat?”

Dean hums, scanning carefully over your face. “You eat already?”

“I had some applesauce-“

“Then we’re good.” He starts to move again, and now you’re attached to him like a magnet. You couldn’t move away if you tried. “Bed.”

You’re frayed and wired and on edge, trying so hard to find the will to insist he stay and eat, but Dean’s so warm and suddenly you’re drunk on him. He’s sturdy and soft in all the right places, herding you back to bed with hands on your shoulders and mumbled praise about being his dream girl, making him bacon for breakfast and lovin’ him more than he deserves, and you wish you had enough backbone to just shout at him that he does deserve your love. He deserves whatever you can give him, including a baby that he needs to know about now before you explode.

But he gets you back into bed, splaying his body over yours and pinning you down.

“Didn’t see Sammy,” his head is buried in your chest, his voice muffled against your skin. “Where’dhe go?”

“Eileen’s.” You sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “I’m not supposed to tell you that, though.”

Dean chuckles, his hands drawing slow circles on your hips. “You’re a little backstabber, sweetheart. I’m never tellin’ you anything again.”

“I’m backstabbing Sam for you.” You shrug, smiling at the air. “I’d never backstab you.”

“’S exactly what a backstabber would say.”

You giggle. “You’re tired, Dean. Your brain’s not working right. Maybe if we get up-“

“Not getting up.” He grunts, squeezing your body. “Not until you get your own fourteen hours.”

“I’m okay, Dean-“

“No. Sleep.”

You sigh, squirming slightly under him. “You know, it’s bad for you to sleep in. It’ll mess up your circadian rhythm-“ 

Dean tilts his head up, frowning at you. “What’s going on with you?”

“I, um-“ You swallow, your whole body suddenly far too warm. “Huh?”

“You always make me sleep extra after hunts.” His voice is a little stronger, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why’re you suddenly trying to get me up?”

“Nothing’s going on-“

“No.” Dean’s sitting up now, rolling onto his back and pulling you over his lap, his gaze stern. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong either-“

He says your name, squeezing your waist as he rubs his jaw. “Please just tell me. If it’s a body we can hide it, but I need to know if it’s a monster body or person body-“

“Why the hell would it be a person body-“

“I dunno, but if it is you gotta tell me, so I can grab the salt.” He cups your cheek, offering you on his charming, downright boyish grins. “I’m not letting any ghosts haunt your hot ass, babygirl.”

“Thank you.” You mumble, dropping your brow to his. “But it’s not a body.”

“So there is something.”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “But I… I’m not-“

“Hey,” Dean leans back, holding your gaze as he tucks some hair behind your ear. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. I’m helping you.”

You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, like it’s simple. Like this will really be that easy. “For you? Always.”

It takes deep breathes, and hands curled in Dean’s t-shirt—gripping him hard, making sure he won’t fly away or vanish into the air when you speak—but you do it. You run over your entire rehearsal one last time and let it all go, because Dean’s right here, in front of you, and you just need to-

“I’m pregnant.”

You say it, and he doesn’t vanish into nothing. Dean just stares at you, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them, and whispers, “With a baby?”

“Yeah, Dean.” You offer him a small smile. “A baby.”

“My- my baby?” 

You open your mouth with a slight frown, and Dean’s hand flies to cover your mouth before you can speak.

“Wait, shit, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just-“ He groans, his eyes seeming to drive right into your soul as his voice because hoarse. “You’re sure? That you’re… growing one?”

You wish you could read him better right now. You’d laugh at him saying growing one.

Instead you just nod, and it’s like something flips in Dean. He grins—wide and toothy and unrestrained—and you barely have time for the relief to hit when he’s kissing you. Long and deep and passionate, until you’re dizzy and grinding down onto him, falling over his chest and clinging to his shoulders.

“Dean,” you gasp as he dives down to kiss a line over your collarbone. “Shouldn’t we, shit-“ He starts suck on a soft spot behind your ear, and all your exhaustion is starting to catch back up with you, so everything is really just a haze. “Don’t we need to talk-“

“No,” he mutters, rutting slightly up into you and chuckling against your skin when you whine. “Just need you, baby, need to- son of a bitch!”

Dean’s yanks himself up and twists to his bedside table—his hand on your hips holding you steadily against him—scrambling around the drawers as he mutters low words you can’t hear.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your hand fisting in his shirt once more. “I mean, I know you might have doubts about-“

You’re cut off as Dean surges back up to kiss you again, this one shorter and soft, but still firm. 

“No doubts, sweetheart.” He mutters against your lips. “And I’m better than okay. I’m fucking amazing.”

“Good.” You sigh, pulling back to scan over his face. “What was that, then?”

Dean smiles at you, and it’s… nervous. He’s almost never really, truly nervous, but this smile has no edge, no carefully designed charm. It’s just Dean, purely him, smiling at you like you’re holding his heart in your body.

You kind of are.

“I know I, uh, I don’t say it enough. You know I’m not good at saying it. But I do love you,” Dean says your name, and you blink at him. This sounds like a speech. “I love you so much it drives me insane. And I’d never want this, want a baby, with anyone but you. But, I, uh, I want all of this. Whole stupid, apple pie thing, just with you.” He takes a long breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “Marry me.”

You gape at him. “What?”

“Marry- shit, wait-“ Dean reaches slightly behind him, grabbing a small box, and pops it open with his thumb. There’s a diamond ring inside, and it looks like a real one. Not the ones you’d use on cases, that would give you a rash for a week after. This looks… carefully made.

Made for you.

“Dean-“

“Marry me?” Dean looks between your slack jaw and the box, his voice almost nervous. “Please?”

“I-“ This is going better than you could’ve ever even imagined. You’re not sure how to handle it. “I don’t want you to marry me just because you knocked me up-“

“Baby, I didn’t pull this ring out of my ass.” He drawls, his voice a little firmer. “I’ve been getting ready to ask you for months. I was going to kick Sammy out next week, make a picnic in the library-“

“Really?”

“Yeah, I-“ He frowns. “Why’d you think I was poking about your ring size?”

“I don’t, um, I don’t remember you doing that.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head slightly. “That’s good. I was worried I ruined it. I, um-“ he glances down at the ring, his face falling back to the nerves, and you realize you haven’t actually answered him yet. “I haven’t-“

It’s your turn to kiss Dean, and these words aren’t difficult to say at all. “Yes,” you whisper, pressing another, smaller kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll marry you.”

“Awesome.” He grins, and the ring is barely on your finger when he’s diving back into you, kissing you until you can’t ever remember anything has been difficult in your life. 

You yawn right as Dean pulls away, and he chuckles. 

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You hum, nodding. “I’m good. So good. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Dean says your name in your ear, and it’s quiet and gentle. Not like a secret, but a promise. “How’s a day in bed sound? We can try and get you pregnant again.”

“That’s not how it works, babe.” You giggle, folding a little deeper into his hold. “I’m gonna have to buy you some books.”

“I’ll read them.” Dean kisses the top of your head, and you can feel his smile on your skin. “For you.”

“Thank you.”

“Course.” He sighs, squeezing your body slightly. “We’re having a fucking baby.”

“Yeah.” You smile, and there’s that piece of him, shining on the surface. All joy and wonder for something that’s really just good. “We are.”

End Note: Dean Winchester in my head this is indeed the life you live every day. Season 15 isn't real it can't hurt me.

Title from Waste by Foster the People

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reacting to their s/o who loves smiles but feels insecure about showing their teeth

Request: Halooo I am the same anon that req wisdom tooth drabble!!! So can I req for svt ot13 s/o that love smile but never showed their teeth cause they're insecure with it?? I do have an open bite and I do be jealous w ppl that can smile with their normal teeth 🥲🥲 Also can I be ur ⭐️ anon??

A/N: This is dedicated to all kinds of smiles—big, small, toothy, closed, crooked, or perfectly aligned. It’s easy to compare ourselves to others, especially when society has such rigid standards for something as personal as a smile. But the truth is, the world isn’t looking for perfect smiles; it’s looking for your smile—the one that lights up the people around you, the one that reflects your joy, and the one that makes you you. Whether you’re someone who shows off their teeth confidently or someone who keeps their smiles shy, you are absolutely radiant just the way you are. I hope this reaction brings you warmth, and maybe even a little courage to embrace your smile, because SEVENTEEN and I think it’s the best one there is. Thank you for reading, and remember: your smile is a gift, not just to you but to everyone lucky enough to see it! 💛

I definitely encourage you to read everyone's part, especially Minghao's.

Seungcheol: Cheol would notice right away how you always smile with your lips closed. He’d encourage you without pushing too hard, so you’d catch him saying things like, “I love it when you smile—it’s my favorite thing about you.” And when you explain why you’re self-conscious, his protective mode kicks in. In his mind, you’re perfect exactly as you are. He’d make a habit of kissing your forehead after every smile, as if to say, Thank you for sharing this with me. Warm, comforting, and always your biggest cheerleader.

Jeonghan: Jeonghan is a tease—but in the sweetest way possible. He’d catch you hiding your teeth and tease you playfully about how even your shy smile could start a fan club. But deep down, he’d be the FIRST to remind you that nobody’s smile is ‘wrong’. He’d even come up with ridiculous scenarios like, “If anyone says anything about your teeth, I’ll report them to Smile Security.” Sure, it’s dramatic, but somehow it’s comforting. With him, you’d slowly start to see your smile through his eyes: bright, genuine, and absolutely worth showing off.

Joshua: Shua’s the ‘patient and reassuring’ type. He’d never rush you into anything but would always make it known how much he loves your smile—whether or not it shows your teeth. He’d probably sit with you one evening and casually mention how he used to be insecure about something too, just to remind you that everyone has their struggles. The way he’d look at you every time you smiled? Pure love and admiration. Slowly but surely, you’d start feeling like, Maybe my smile isn’t so bad after all.

Jun: Junhui wouldn’t even let you finish explaining your insecurity before he’d start showering you with compliments. He’d be so sweet and genuine about it too, like, “What? But your smile is so pretty! Have you seen yourself?” He’d probably find little ways to make you smile more, through goofy antics or heartfelt gestures. The best part? He’d never let you feel like you had to change—he loves your smile, whether it’s teeth-showing or not. And his genuine enthusiasm? It’s impossible not to feel a little brighter around him.

Hoshi: Hoshi would make it his personal mission to see your biggest, toothiest smile. He’s dramatic like that. He'd do the silliest things to make you laugh, like impersonating the other members or dancing in the weirdest ways (mind you he's performance team leader TT). When you finally let out a full smile, he’d stop mid-act and just stare. “Wow. That’s the one. That’s the smile that could light up a stadium.” And you’d know he’s not exaggerating (even though he’s Hoshi and exaggerates everything). It’s just how he loves—with his whole heart. I'm feeling soft :(

Wonwoo: He’d notice your insecurities but wouldn’t bring them up directly. Instead, would focus on making you comfortable and appreciated. He’d probably start complimenting you in subtle ways, like, “Your smile is really nice,” or “You look happiest when you smile.” Over time, his steady reassurance would make you feel less self-conscious. And when you finally smile without holding back, he’d just give you that soft, proud look, as if to say, See? I knew it was beautiful.

Woozi: Woozi would be a mix of logical and sweet about it. He’d listen to your reasons and then quietly debunk every single one of them, like, “Who said teeth have to be perfect to make a smile beautiful? That’s nonsense.” He’d focus more on how your smile makes him feel—happy, loved, and lucky to know you. And if you ever caught him sneaking a photo of you smiling? Just know it’s because he wants to remember how happy you looked in that moment.

Dokyeom: Oh boy, Seokmin would be all over this. He lives for smiles, especially yours. He’d probably start a whole campaign to make you feel better about it, complete with compliments, funny jokes, and random bursts of Look at that gorgeous smile! energy. You’d have no choice but to smile around him because he’s just that infectious. And when you finally let out a toothy grin, he’d gasp like, “I KNEW IT! YOU HAVE THE BEST SMILE IN THE WORLD!” Dramatic? Yes. Effective? Absolutely.

Mingyu: Kim Mingyu, the man he is, would be the type to go above and beyond to make you feel good about your smile. He’d start by complimenting you constantly and taking candid photos where you look natural and happy. Then, he’d show them to you like, “Look at this—your smile could cure my bad days.” He’d probably even bring it up to the members like, “Isn’t her smile the best thing ever?” And when you roll your eyes at him, he’d just grin and say, “See? Even your eyeroll smile is perfect.” AHHGHTCGTCGCFFCCT

Minghao: Hao would be supportive and no-nonsense. He’d listen to your insecurities, acknowledge your feelings, and then remind you that nobody’s perfect. “Imperfections make us human,” he’d say, and it would somehow hit deeper than you expected. He’d probably encourage you to focus on how your smile feels rather than how it looks, and over time, his grounded perspective would help you see your smile in a whole new light. With him (with others too), you’d start to appreciate the beauty in being uniquely you.

Seungkwan: Seungkwan would be the loudest advocate for your smile. “Are you kidding me!” He’d probably start hyping you up every time you smiled, to the point where it becomes impossible not to feel confident about it. And if anyone dared to say something negative about your teeth? Oh, he’d drag them to filth, no hesitation I'm telling you. With Seungkwan in your corner, you’d never have to doubt your smile again.

Vernon: He would be ridiculously sweet. He’d casually drop comments like, “Your smile’s cool,” and then act like it’s no big deal—when really, he’s melting inside every time he sees it. He’d never pressure you to show your teeth but would secretly be over the moon whenever you did. And the way he’d look at you in those moments? Pure adoration. Honestly, he’d make you feel like the coolest person in the world, open bite or not.

Dino: Chan would be all about boosting your confidence. He’d give you a pep talk about how unique smiles are the best smiles and how yours is his favorite thing about you. He’d hype you up so much that you’d almost feel like a celebrity. And when you finally smiled without holding back, he’d act like it’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen. “That’s it! That’s the smile that could rules my heart!” That’s just how much he cares.

[thinkingaboutbees]

Hi, I'm the OP of this thread on Bluesky. I thought I'd come on here and upload some of the analysis I've done in later-additions to this thread, which weren't online when Tumblr-OP @carucath made this post, as well as a recent interaction with Rhianna Pratchett, all of which I think are useful bits of contextual info/expansion. I've seen a few people in the notes/reblogs saying things about the fan-desire to rush to defend their faves etc., and kind of discounting my analysis because of that. While I agree that fandom spaces absolutely do have a huge problem with that, and that retrospectively reading Neil Gaiman's work looking for 'signs' that he was a piece of shit the whole time isn't actually constructive/doesn't really add anything useful to the discourse, my intent with this thread wasn't to try to absolve PTerry or put distance between him and Gaiman (though I can see how it reads that way). I'm more interested in looking at how 'known' people like Gaiman move within fandom spaces, as well as how our parasocial relationships with public figures, and the cult of personality which some people build up around them, can often help to protect them or even enable their behaviour (worth remembering that a number of the women Gaiman assaulted/abused have talked about being fans of his work, or meeting him through fandom spaces, or, even when not fans of his work as in the case of Scarlett, still being a bit over-awed by his fame and reputation). I suspect that Gaiman's embellishment of his relationship with PTerry helped to build up his persona in SF/Fantasy fandom spaces after Pratchett's death, contributing to his personal Cult of Personality and fandom parasocial relationships with him. Over the last 5 years especially, Gaiman has had a pretty meteoric rise in the public eye outside of online SF/Fantasy fandom spaces & conventions. In particular a number of his works have been adapted for TV across various large streaming-platforms following the success of Good Omens, with high-profile names attached to them, and large marketing campaigns. By positioning his Good Omens adaptation as 'Terry's dying wish' of him, Gaiman has gained a lot of attention for it and for his other work, increased his own public standing, and thus directly profited off of Pratchett's legacy and the public perception that the two were close friends. (Obviously GO was adapted with the support of Rhianna & Rob, but, as you'll see in these other threads, we probably should think of it as being primarily a PTerry novel, with some minor input from Gaiman). Some personal context: I hold two degrees in English literature (both with Firsts, or a 3.7-4.0 GPA for the Americans on this thread), as well as a research-Masters degree in Creative Writing (with a high 2.1, because I developed a chronic illness which made me bedbound for 6 months of that degree lmao). I have a long-standing personal and academic interest in both Gaiman and Pratchett's work, and have written multiple essays on Terry Pratchett's style & his approach to genre, including some for my Masters degree. I generally stay out of fandom spaces these days, and these threads have sprung out of my own prior research and academic work. While I'm yet to seek a PhD, I have previously been employed by the English Literature department of the main university in my city, where I was the tutor for one of their undergraduate courses (this means I was responsible for organising and running the weekly group tutorials/workshops which make up the other contact-hours for students outside of lectures, providing one-on-one support and feedback for students who asked for extra guidance but didn't feel it was complex enough to go to the head lecturer, and for marking student-essays). I do eventually hope to go in to academia/lecturing, but right now am taking a few years off from studying since finishing my Masters to pay off some of my student loan debt, get my health back on track, and to focus on my creative practice and writing career.

There was an interesting thread on Bluesky dissecting Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's relationship

TL:DR - It seems like Gaiman has been exaggerating the level of closeness between them for YEARS

[elryuse]

jang wonyoung-------- where oc is three years older than wony and have been dating before ive debut but its a secret in the public eye,but then thing happened wony kind of cheated oc finds out about it but he just can't let her goo so he endure at first but then it become worse and then they kind of parted ways even though wony doesnt seem to want to let go of oc.They really cant stay away from each other even though wony and oc parted ways they are still intertwined.Lets say oc is in the palm of wony hands kind of pretty toxic but sweet yeah...

Toxic Till The End

Wonyoung X Male Reader

Disclaimer : Don't Be Toxic Kiddo, :D

You glance at the clock hanging on the wall behind the counter, wiping your hands on your apron as you wait for the next customer. It's early afternoon, a little after lunch, and the regular crowd has started to trickle in. Your café, tucked away in a quiet alley just a short walk from the busy corporate district, has always had a steady stream of customers. But lately, you’ve noticed a particular customer who has caught your attention.

It’s Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung. You’ve known her face for a while, even before she began frequenting your café. As a popular idol, her posters and commercials are everywhere, but the first time she came into your café, it felt different. You weren’t just seeing her through a screen. She was right there, in front of you, asking for a latte with the softest voice.

At first, it was nothing special. Just a polite exchange, like with any customer. You kept your cool, even though you were a little starstruck. But the more she visited, the more those polite exchanges became something more. A smile here, a small compliment there. You found yourself looking forward to the days when she’d step through the door, her eyes scanning the room before they settled on you with a glimmer of recognition.

The bell above the door jingles, and like clockwork, Wonyoung steps inside. She’s wearing a simple, oversized coat and a cap pulled low over her face, but you’d recognize her anywhere. Today, though, something is different. She looks tired, her shoulders slightly slouched, and her usually bright expression is dimmer.

“Hey,” you greet her, offering a warm smile. “The usual?”

She nods, pulling her cap a little lower as she approaches the counter. “Yeah, please. One vanilla latte.”

As you start preparing her drink, you decide to strike up a conversation like you’ve done before. “Rough day?”

She chuckles softly, leaning her elbows on the counter. “You have no idea. It's been non-stop meetings and rehearsals. I just needed a break.”

You hand her the drink, watching her fingers brush against yours as she takes the cup. The small contact makes your heart skip a beat, but you quickly focus back on the conversation. “Well, I’m glad you came here to take that break. The world can wait a little, right?”

She looks up at you through her lashes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I guess so. This place has kind of become my escape.”

Her words stir something in you. An idol like her, with the entire world watching her every move, finding a sense of peace in your small café? It’s flattering. You lean against the counter, trying to play it cool, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable.

“You’re welcome here anytime, you know that,” you say, your voice dropping slightly. It’s an invitation you’ve given before, but somehow it feels more meaningful now.

Wonyoung sips her latte, the steam rising between you two as she lets out a content sigh. “Thanks. That really means a lot.”

There’s a comfortable silence for a moment, the two of you just enjoying each other’s company. But then, as you’re about to ask her something, a group of fans passing by outside catches your eye. They don’t seem to have noticed her yet, but you know it’s only a matter of time. Wonyoung must sense your unease because she follows your gaze and tenses slightly.

“Do you need to go?” you ask, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

She hesitates, glancing toward the door. “I probably should…”

You don’t want her to leave. Not yet. Not when it feels like you’re finally getting closer. Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Would you maybe want to hang out sometime? Outside of here, I mean.”

Her eyes widen slightly, surprised by your sudden boldness. You can feel your palms getting sweaty, and you mentally curse yourself for being too forward. But then, to your surprise, she smiles—a real, genuine smile that lights up her face.

“Are you asking me out?” she teases, her tone light but her gaze intense.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Uh, yeah. I guess I am.”

She looks down at her drink, her fingers tracing the rim of the cup. For a moment, you think she’s going to turn you down, but then she looks up again, her smile still there.

“I’d like that,” she says softly, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “But… we’d have to keep it a secret. My company has strict rules about… well, you know.”

You nod, understanding immediately. Dating an idol? You’ve heard the horror stories of how fans react. But the thrill of the secrecy only adds to your excitement. “I can keep a secret if you can.”

She giggles, the sound like music to your ears. “I guess we’ll see.”

As she stands to leave, you can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline. You just asked out Jang Wonyoung—and she said yes.

“When should we—” you begin, but she interrupts with a sly smile.

“I’ll text you. We’ll figure it out.”

She waves goodbye, leaving you standing behind the counter, your heart pounding in your chest. You watch her disappear down the street, the bell on the door chiming softly as it swings shut behind her.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like something big is about to happen. Something that could change everything.

The days that followed felt like a blur of anticipation. Every time your phone buzzed, your heart would leap, hoping it was her. And then, one night, just as you were closing up the café, her name flashed across your screen.

“Tomorrow. 8 PM. I know a quiet place.”

You read the text over and over, a smile creeping across your face. It was happening. You were actually going on a date with Wonyoung, and no one else knew.

The next day, you close the café a little earlier than usual, making sure everything is perfect before you head out. The nerves hit you the moment you step outside. What would it be like? What would you talk about? But there’s also an excitement bubbling beneath the surface—a thrill you haven’t felt in years.

When you arrive at the spot she mentioned, you’re surprised to find it’s a small, dimly lit park, tucked away from the busy streets. It’s quiet, serene, and the perfect place for two people who didn’t want to be seen.

Wonyoung is already there, sitting on a bench, her face partially hidden by the hood of her coat. But when she looks up and sees you, her face breaks into a smile.

“You came,” she says softly, standing to greet you.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice a little shaky. You try to play it cool, but your heart is racing.

You sit beside her on the bench, the cool evening air wrapping around the two of you. For a moment, neither of you says anything, just enjoying the rare moment of privacy.

“So,” she begins, breaking the silence. “You really weren’t scared to ask me out? Most people wouldn’t dare.”

You chuckle nervously. “Well, I guess I’m not like most people.”

She grins, her eyes sparkling. “No, you’re not. That’s why I said yes.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but feel drawn to her in a way that’s both intoxicating and terrifying. The fact that you’re sitting here, in the dark, in secret, makes everything feel a little more dangerous. But you like it. You like her.

As the conversation flows, it becomes clear that there’s more to Wonyoung than what the world sees. She tells you about the pressures of being an idol, the constant scrutiny, the expectations that weigh on her shoulders. You listen intently, feeling protective over her in a way you hadn’t expected.

“You must get lonely,” you say, your voice soft.

She nods, looking down at her hands. “I do. Sometimes it feels like I’m living two lives—one for the public and one for myself. But the lines get blurred, and I don’t know which one is real anymore.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand over hers. “This is real,” you say firmly. “Whatever this is between us—it’s real.”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable. For a moment, you think she’s going to pull away, but then she squeezes your hand, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

“I hope so,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

The warmth of your bond with Wonyoung had grown over the years, weaving itself into every corner of your life. From stolen evenings in the quiet corners of the city to shared laughter over cups of coffee in the dim glow of your café, your relationship had become something sacred. She trusted you, and you loved her with every fiber of your being.

But things started to shift when Wonyoung sat across from you one evening, her face pale and serious.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

You set down your cup, leaning forward. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her mug. “It’s… good news, really. But…” Her words faltered, and the worry in her eyes twisted your gut.

“Wonyoung, just tell me,” you urged gently.

“I’m debuting,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You stared at her, trying to process what she’d just said. Wonyoung had always talked about her dreams of becoming a star, of standing on the biggest stages and sharing her talent with the world. You should have been happy for her, proud even. But all you could feel was the growing pit in your stomach.

“That’s… amazing,” you said, forcing a smile.

She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It is. It’s everything I’ve worked for. But… you know what this means, right?”

Your heart sank. “What are you saying?”

She looked down, her hands gripping her mug tightly. “The company’s rules are even stricter now. I’ll be busier than ever. Training, schedules, promotions… I won’t have time for…” Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip, trying to hold back her emotions.

“For us,” you finished for her, your voice hollow.

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t what I want, but I don’t have a choice. If they find out about us, it could ruin everything—for both of us.”

You sat back, the weight of her words pressing down on your chest. This was it. The moment you’d feared since the day you started dating her. You knew the risks of being with an idol, but you’d always hoped you could make it work. Now, it felt like that hope was slipping away.

“I understand,” you said quietly, your throat tight. “Your dream has always come first. I don’t want to hold you back.”

She reached across the table, taking your hand in hers. “You’ve never held me back. You’ve been my anchor, my safe place. I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” you promised, squeezing her hand. “Even if we can’t be together the way we want, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

Her tears spilled over, and you pulled her into your arms, holding her tightly as she cried. You wanted to believe your own words, but deep down, you knew this was the beginning of the end.

The days that followed were the hardest of your life. Wonyoung’s visits became less frequent, her texts and calls more sporadic. You understood why, but that didn’t make it any easier. You poured yourself into your work, trying to distract yourself from the emptiness she left behind.

Then, one day, the messages stopped altogether.

At first, you told yourself she was just busy. Her debut was approaching, after all. But as weeks turned into months, the silence became deafening. You stared at your phone every night, hoping for a message, a call—anything. But nothing came.

You threw yourself into your café, hoping the familiar routine would keep you grounded. But even there, reminders of her were everywhere. The table by the window where she always sat, the scent of vanilla lattes that lingered in the air—it all made your heart ache.

Your only solace was watching her from afar. You followed her career, watching every performance, every interview, every commercial. She was incredible, just as you always knew she would be. But the bright lights and the adoring fans only reminded you of how far away she was now.

Still, you held onto hope. You told yourself that one day, when the world wasn’t watching so closely, she’d come back to you.

Years passed, and your life settled into a routine. The café grew busier, and you built a reputation for being the cozy little spot that people loved. But no matter how much time passed, Wonyoung was always in the back of your mind.

Every time the bell above the door jingled, your heart leapt, hoping it was her. Every time you saw someone with long, dark hair or heard a soft laugh, you thought of her.

One evening, after closing up, you sat alone in the café, a cup of coffee growing cold in your hands. The dim light from the streetlamps outside cast long shadows across the walls, and the quietness of the night only amplified the loneliness in your heart.

You pulled out your phone, scrolling through old messages from Wonyoung. You hadn’t deleted them, even though it hurt to read them. They were all you had left of her.

“I miss you,” you whispered into the empty room, your voice breaking.

You didn’t know if she’d ever come back. You didn’t know if she even thought about you anymore. But you couldn’t let go. She was your first love, and a part of you would always belong to her.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you continued to wait. You didn’t know what the future held, but you knew one thing for sure: if Wonyoung ever walked through that door again, you’d welcome her with open arms.

For now, all you could do was hope. Hope that somewhere, in the midst of her glittering, chaotic life, she still remembered the little café where it all began.

The bell above the café door jingled softly as another customer walked in, but your mind was elsewhere. The days had blended into a monotonous cycle—serving coffee, cleaning tables, and quietly hoping. Hoping that one day, Wonyoung would return, her familiar presence lighting up the small café once more.

You told yourself every day that it was foolish. That she had likely moved on, swept away by the tidal wave of her career. But a small part of you clung to the memories, refusing to let go.

Then, one fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, you saw her.

It was a glimpse at first—a flash of her unmistakable silhouette passing by the large window of your café. Your heart leaped, the familiar rush of emotions flooding your chest. Without thinking, you dropped the cloth in your hand and hurried to the door, your pulse racing.

“Wonyoung!” you called out, stepping onto the quiet street.

She didn’t turn around.

You froze, your voice caught in your throat as your eyes locked onto her. She was walking down the street, her delicate figure wrapped in a soft beige coat. But she wasn’t alone.

There was a man beside her, tall and well-dressed, with an air of casual confidence. Wonyoung clung to his arm, her smile bright and carefree. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, watching as she tugged his arm playfully, her laughter floating through the crisp evening air. It was a sound you knew all too well, one that used to be yours. And that smile—the same radiant smile she’d given you on your first date—was now meant for someone else.

Your heart clenched painfully, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Was it just a colleague? A friend? Or… something more?

The rational part of you tried to dismiss it. She’s an idol. She must have many colleagues, right? But deep down, a gnawing doubt began to take hold, and with it came a wave of desperation.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. The image of Wonyoung with that man replayed in your mind like a cruel, endless loop. You tried to push it aside, to reason with yourself, but the knot in your chest refused to loosen.

You kept telling yourself that it didn’t mean anything. That there had to be an explanation. But the doubt lingered, growing stronger with each passing day.

“She’ll come back,” you whispered to yourself as you cleaned the counter the next morning. “She’ll explain everything.”

But she didn’t.

Days turned into weeks, and Wonyoung never walked through your door. You scrolled through her social media, searching for clues, but found nothing. Her life seemed to be as glamorous and untouchable as ever. Meanwhile, you felt yourself spiraling.

Your thoughts became consumed with her. You replayed every moment, every smile, every touch. You clung to the memories like a lifeline, even as they began to feel like a weight pulling you under.

Every night, you prayed silently, your hands clutching your phone as you stared at her name. You prayed that she’d text, that she’d call, that she’d walk through the door with that familiar shy smile.

But she never did.

One evening, as you closed up the café, you found yourself back at the place where you’d seen her with the man. You didn’t even know why you were there, only that you couldn’t stop yourself.

You sat on a bench nearby, staring at the street as if willing her to appear. The desperation in your chest had grown into a hollow ache, one that refused to go away.

“She wouldn’t do this to me,” you muttered under your breath, your hands gripping your knees. “She wouldn’t cheat on me.”

But the memory of her smile—the one she gave that man—gnawed at your resolve.

Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of her. Your friends began to notice the change in you. They asked if you were okay, if something was wrong. But you brushed them off, retreating further into yourself.

Your café became your only refuge, the one place where you could pretend everything was still normal. But even there, the memories of her lingered like ghosts.

Every time the bell above the door jingled, you looked up, hoping it was her. Every time someone ordered a vanilla latte, your chest tightened with longing.

But Wonyoung never came.

The toxic cycle began to take its toll. You stopped sleeping, your nights spent staring at your phone, waiting for a message that never came. You stopped eating, your appetite replaced by a gnawing emptiness that nothing could fill.

Your friends tried to pull you out of it, but their words fell on deaf ears. How could they understand? They didn’t know what it was like to love someone like Wonyoung. To love her so deeply that it consumed you.

“She’ll come back,” you told yourself again and again, your voice growing weaker each time. “She has to.”

But deep down, a part of you knew the truth. You’d seen it with your own eyes. Wonyoung had moved on. She had someone else now.

And yet, you couldn’t let go.

You kept praying, day after day, for her to come back. You told yourself that if you just held on a little longer, she’d walk through the door and everything would be okay again.

But as the weeks turned into months, the hope that had once sustained you began to wither away.

You were losing yourself in the waiting, in the longing, in the toxic spiral of loving someone who no longer cared.

And still, you couldn’t stop. Because as much as it hurt, the thought of letting go hurt even more.

The rain came down in heavy sheets, drumming against the windows of the café as the sky wept its sorrow. You stood behind the counter, absentmindedly drying a mug as you stared out into the gray, dismal street. The café was quiet tonight, save for the occasional rattle of thunder in the distance.

Then, through the streaks of rain on the glass, you saw her.

Your breath caught in your throat as Wonyoung’s familiar figure emerged from the downpour, standing just outside the café. Her hair clung to her face, wet from the rain, and her shoulders trembled as she hugged herself tightly. She looked… broken.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing. This was the moment you’d prayed for countless nights. Yet now that it was here, something inside you felt different.

With a deep breath, you walked to the door and gently pushed it open.

The bell jingled softly, but Wonyoung didn’t move. She stood in the rain, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the raindrops.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice trembling.

You stood there, watching her cry, her words cutting through the sound of the rain. In the past, you would have rushed to her, held her close, and whispered soothing words until her tears stopped. But tonight, something in you had changed.

You stepped aside, motioning for her to come in. “You’ll catch a cold out there,” you said quietly, your tone calm but distant.

She looked up at you, her eyes red and swollen, and hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

Wonyoung sat at her usual spot by the window, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea you’d prepared without a word. The warm light of the café cast soft shadows across her face, accentuating the sadness in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. “For everything.”

You sat across from her, your expression unreadable. “What exactly are you sorry for, Wonyoung?”

She flinched at the coldness in your tone, her fingers tightening around the cup. “For… disappearing. For not calling. For—” Her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes again. “For hurting you.”

Your heart clenched at her words, but you forced yourself to remain composed. You couldn’t fall into the same cycle again. Not this time.

“Why are you here, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice firm but not unkind.

She looked up at you, her eyes searching your face for some sign of warmth, of forgiveness. “I missed you,” she said softly.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Missed me?” you echoed, your voice tinged with skepticism. “Or are you just bored?”

Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, she was speechless. “How could you say that?”

“Because, Wonyoung,” you said, your voice steady, “you walked away. You left me here, waiting for you, while you moved on with your life. And now, after all this time, you show up out of nowhere, crying and saying you’re sorry. What am I supposed to think?”

She stared at you, her lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought… I thought you’d understand.”

“Understand what?” you asked, leaning forward. “That I wasn’t worth even a text? That you could just show up whenever it suited you and expect me to be here, waiting with open arms?”

Her tears spilled over, and she buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t know what to do,” she sobbed. “I was scared. Scared of losing everything.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I understand fear, Wonyoung. But you don’t get to use that as an excuse to treat me like I don’t matter.”

Her sobs quieted, and she looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of guilt and confusion. “You’ve never talked to me like this before,” she said softly.

“Maybe I should have,” you replied. “Maybe if I’d been more honest with you from the start, we wouldn’t be here now.”

The silence between you was heavy, broken only by the sound of rain tapping against the windows. For the first time, Wonyoung seemed at a loss for words.

“You’ve always been there for me,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. I don’t want to lose you.”

You sighed, leaning forward and resting your elbows on the table. “Wonyoung, this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what’s fair—for both of us. I’ve spent years waiting for you, hoping for something that might never happen. And it’s taken me this long to realize that I deserve more than that.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she reached across the table, her hand trembling. “Please… don’t give up on me.”

You hesitated, staring at her outstretched hand. Every part of you wanted to take it, to pull her into your arms and pretend everything was okay. But you knew that would only lead to more pain.

“I’m not giving up on you,” you said quietly. “But I can’t keep doing this. If you want me in your life, you need to show me that I matter. Not just when it’s convenient, but always.”

Her hand faltered, and she pulled it back, clutching it to her chest. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

You nodded, your heart breaking all over again. “Then maybe it’s time we stop pretending this can work.”

She stared at you, her face a mixture of shock and devastation. “Are you saying it’s over?”

You took a deep breath, the words catching in your throat. “I’m saying that I can’t keep holding onto something that’s tearing me apart.”

Her tears fell freely now, but she didn’t argue. She simply nodded, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

The rain continued to fall outside as you sat there, the weight of your decision settling over you like a heavy blanket. For the first time in years, you felt a strange sense of clarity.

This wasn’t the ending you’d hoped for, but maybe it was the one you needed.

The days that followed Wonyoung’s tearful return were bittersweet. She seemed genuinely sorry, her apologies heartfelt and tear-streaked. For a while, it felt like things might finally be different. She softened around you, her laughter returning, her gentle touches and warm smiles reminding you of the Wonyoung you had first fallen for.

But as time passed, the cracks began to show again.

It started small—missed calls, vague excuses about her schedule, and moments where she seemed distracted even when she was with you. You told yourself it was fine. That she was busy. That you could be patient.

But then came the nights when she wouldn’t respond to your texts at all. The whispers online about her being spotted with someone else. The photos of her arm linked with another man’s, her smile radiant and carefree, just like it had been the first time you saw her with someone else.

You confronted her one evening when she finally came back to the café, her expression tense but defensive.

“Who is he, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice quiet but trembling with restrained emotion.

She froze, her eyes wide, then quickly looked away. “It’s not what you think,” she said, her tone evasive.

“Then tell me what it is,” you pressed, your patience wearing thin. “Because this keeps happening, Wonyoung. You disappear, you’re seen with other guys, and then you come back here, apologizing like it’ll make everything okay.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached out to you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered. “You have to believe me.”

You pulled back, avoiding her touch. “That’s what you always say. But you keep doing it.”

She began to cry, her hands trembling. “I love you. I just… I don’t know how to handle everything. The pressure, the expectations. You’re the only thing that feels real, but sometimes it’s too much.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to hold onto the idea that she loved you, even if her actions said otherwise.

But the truth was undeniable. This wasn’t love. It was something toxic, something that was slowly destroying you both.

The cycle continued. Wonyoung would vanish for days, sometimes weeks, only to return with teary apologies and promises to do better. And every time, you forgave her.

You hated yourself for it. Hated how weak you felt, how easily you crumbled under the weight of her tears and her soft words. But no matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t let her go.

Until one night, when everything came crashing down.

You’d seen her again, smiling and laughing with someone else. The sight was like a knife twisting in your chest, and for the first time, something inside you snapped.

You went home that night and stared at your phone, the screen glowing with her name. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of anger, sadness, and despair.

Finally, you began to type.

“Wonyoung, I can’t do this anymore. You’ve hurt me too many times, and I can’t keep pretending that this is okay. I love you, but I need to love myself more. Goodbye.”

Your thumb hovered over the send button, your chest tightening. You knew this was the right thing to do, but it felt like tearing a piece of your soul away.

With a deep breath, you pressed send.

The message delivered instantly, the small checkmark mocking you as you stared at it. And then, you turned off your phone, the weight of your decision crashing down on you.

The days that followed were a blur of pain and emptiness. You tried to focus on the café, on the simple routines that had once brought you comfort. But everything reminded you of her—the scent of vanilla lattes, the sound of the bell above the door, the corner seat where she used to sit.

And then, one evening, your phone buzzed.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you stared at the screen. It was her.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”

You closed your eyes, the familiar ache in your chest returning. You knew you shouldn’t reply. You knew this was just another loop, another step in the endless cycle of pain and forgiveness.

But even as you told yourself to ignore it, your fingers betrayed you, typing a response before you could stop them.

“I’m here.”

You hated yourself for it. Hated how easily she pulled you back in, how much power she had over you. But deep down, you knew the truth.

You and Wonyoung were toxic. You hurt each other, over and over, and yet you couldn’t let go.

Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how broken it made you feel, you still loved her.

And some part of you always would.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER ELEVEN ━━ The Story of Us

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 5.8K

❀ ━ warnings: mentions of cheating

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: never date a penn state boy (i say this from experience)

JO FEELS her body move before her mind can fully catch up, her legs shaky as she pushes herself off the bed. The room feels suffocating, suddenly too small, too loud in its silence. Asher’s phone is still in her hand, the weight of it like a lead anchor pulling her into the crushing reality she can’t seem to process. Her fingers tighten around it, her knuckles white, but her face betrays nothing. Not yet.

“Asher,” she says, her voice calm, steadier than she expects, even though it feels like there’s venom in her blood, poisoning her. “Get your shoes on.”

He’s standing near the bedroom door, mid-step. Confusion flashes across his face, his brows furrowing. “What? Why?”

Jo meets his eyes. The familiar green she’s known her whole life. But then his gaze flickers down, just for a split second, to the phone in her hand, and she sees it—the faint, fleeting flicker of something that looks like realization. Panic, maybe. Guilt.

Her chest tightens, and she feels like she might choke on the sudden wave of nausea that rises in her throat. But she doesn’t let it show.

“Just… put your shoes on,” she repeats quietly, her voice still calm, still too steady. She doesn’t trust herself to say anything else yet.

Asher hesitates, his mouth opening like he might argue. But then he closes it again, his jaw tightening. He nods, moving toward the corner of the room where his sneakers lay. He doesn’t ask any more questions, but Jo can feel his unease growing with every passing second.

She starts to walk, leaving the bedroom to go put on her slippers near the apartment door. Her grip on the phone is still so tight that her hand aches, but she doesn’t let go. Her thoughts are loud, a deafening roar in her head, but at the same time, she feels hollow. Empty.

This isn’t real. It can’t be real.

The words keep looping in her mind, a desperate chant she clings to even as the truth sits in her hand, undeniable. She doesn’t want to do this. She doesn’t want to have this conversation, doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t want to see whatever’s written in his face when she says the words she knows she has to say.

She’s not a fighter. She never has been. She’s kind, and forgiving, and willing to let things slide because she hates conflict, hates the way it leaves scars on her heart and the hearts of the people she loves. But this? This is too big to let slide.

She thought she knew him. She thought he was hers.

Asher’s been her constant, her everything, for as long as she can remember. The boy next door who she used to finger paint with when they were kids. The boy who held her hand when she was anxious on the first day of middle school. The boy who kissed her for the first time in eighth grade, on one of the picnic tables at their neighborhood park.

He’s the only boy she’s ever thought about, ever wanted, ever loved. She built her future around him in her head—her dreams of getting married, of starting a life together, of building something that would last forever.

Forever.

The word feels bitter in her mouth now, a cruel joke. She can feel the cracks forming in her heart, the fissures that threaten to split her in half.

When Asher finally walks out of her bedroom, his shoes tied and on, he looks at her, his face unreadable. Jo avoids his gaze, focusing on the door instead. “Come on,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He follows her without a word, and they step out into the hallway, the soft click of the door closing behind them echoing in the stillness. They have to do this outside; Jo doesn’t want to wake up Paige.

The Jacobson girl stops a few steps from the door, turning to face Asher. She keeps her grip on his phone, her fingers trembling now despite her best efforts to stay composed. Asher stands there, his hand shoved into his pockets, his eyes darting between her face and the phone. She can see it in his posture now, the way his shoulders are tense, the way he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. He knows.

But he doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting for her to speak first, and for a moment, she almost can’t. She stares at him, her lips parted but no sound coming out, her throat tight and dry.

She doesn’t want to do this.

But she has to.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she takes a deep breath, the sound shaky and uneven in the quiet hallway. Her voice is soft, almost fragile, when she finally speaks.

“So, her name’s Brooke?”

The moment the words leave her mouth, Jo watches as Asher’s expression crumbles. His face twists, guilt flashing so obviously across his features that she doesn’t even need to hear him confirm it. But then he does, stumbling over his words in a rush to apologize.

“Jo, I—God, I messed up. It was a mistake, okay? It—it only happened once, I swear.”

For a second, she just stares at him, her mind short-circuiting as it processes the words. Her heart feels like it’s collapsing in on itself, cracking with every beat, and yet she somehow still finds the strength to blink back the tears threatening to spill over. She gives him a look then, one that she knows has to cut deep.

“Why are you still lying?” she asks, her voice quieter now, but sharper, trembling at the edges. “I looked through your texts. You’ve been seeing her since September.”

The tears in her eyes blur her vision slightly, but she can still see the way his face falls completely at her words. His mouth opens, like he’s about to defend himself, about to deny it or say something—anything—that might patch up the gaping wound he’s just ripped open. But no words come out. Jo can tell he’s scrambling now, reaching for an explanation, a lifeline, but nothing comes.

Jo lets out a small, bitter laugh that feels foreign to her, a sound so unlike the person she usually is. Her body feels cold, her chest hollow, like everything inside her has been scooped out and left her with nothing but this raw, gnawing ache.

Her voice wavers as she speaks again, the tears finally slipping free, her composure fracturing under the weight of it all. “If you wanted to break up for college, we could’ve. You could’ve just told me that long distance would be too hard and you wanted to see other people. I would’ve—I would’ve understood.” Her voice cracks at the end, and she hates how small she sounds, how stupid she feels. She’s giving him too much credit, too much grace, but she doesn’t know how to be any other way.

“You didn’t have to cheat on me,” she continues, her voice rising a little now, her hurt spilling over into anger, “and then—then pretend like you still love me.”

The tears come faster now, hot and unrelenting, but she doesn’t wipe them away. She lets them fall, lets him see the full weight of what he’s done.

Asher steps toward her then, closing the space between them, his hands reaching out as if to comfort her. “Jo,” he says desperately. “I do love you. I love you so much. I’m so fucking in love with you, okay? I just—” he pauses, choking before continuing, “—you weren’t around, and I was missing you so much, and you’ve been so busy with basketball—”

She steps back before he can touch her, shaking her head, her voice cutting through his excuses. “—when then gives you the right to have sex with another girl? To tell her she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen?”

Her words seem to hit him like a physical blow, his face paling as he shuts up. Jo doesn’t stop, though. Her voice is sharp now, full of a fury she rarely ever allows herself to feel.

“I saw the texts,” she says again, now shoving the phone back into his hands. Her breath hitches as another sob escapes her throat. “It doesn’t really seem like you still love me when you’re talking to someone else like that.”

Jo feels the air in her lungs grow heavier. The hallway is too quiet, every sound—her shallow breaths, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead—feels deafening in the stillness between them. Asher stares at her, his lips once again parting and closing uselessly, trying to find words that might somehow undo all of this.

“Jo, please,” he says finally, his voice thin and frantic, like he’s clutching at straws. “It didn’t mean anything—she doesn’t mean anything. I was lonely, okay? I was missing you so much, Jo, so much, and I just—I made a mistake. A huge mistake. But it doesn’t change how much I love you.”

His words hit her like a stab to the chest. The sheer audacity of them leaves her feeling sick, like her body can’t keep up with the reality of what’s happening.

“Why would anyone do this to someone they love?” she asks slowly.

Asher shakes his head, stepping toward her again, but Jo takes another step back, hitting the wall. She’s never felt so trapped—trapped between the ghost of what they were and the cruelness of what they’ve become.

“It wasn’t like that,” he says, his hands gesturing wildly, desperate to make her understand. “You were always on my mind, Jo. You’re always on my mind. But you weren’t there, and I was—God, I was so fucking stupid.”

Her chest tightens, a sob clawing it’s way up her throat. “You knew I wouldn’t be there!” she says loudly. “You knew since I committed nearly two years ago! That’s why I’m saying you could’ve just broken up with me before we both went to college instead of doing—this!” She gestures to the phone in his hand, the tears still spilling freely down her cheeks, mixing with her mascara. She probably looks insane.

Asher takes another step closer, and Jo flinches without meaning to. She sees the way his face crumples at her reaction.

“Jo, I’m sorry,” he says pleadingly. “I’ll do anything—anything to make it up to you. Please, baby, I’ll never talk to her again. I’ll block her, I’ll delete her number, I’ll—”

Jo cuts him off, shaking her head violently. “It’s not about Brooke!” she cries, the name tearing through her like glass. “It’s about you! It’s about the fact that you lied to me, that you betrayed me, that you’ve been doing this for months! It’s about the fact that you’ve made me feel like I’m not even enough for you anymore.”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says weakly.

Jo lets out a noise between a laugh and a sob. “Well, you did,” she tells him firmly.

She doesn’t know when she starts crying harder, but suddenly, her body is wracked with sobs, her chest heaving as everything she’s been holding in comes pouring out. She can hardly even breathe.

And then Asher’s dropping to his knees in front of her, his hands reaching for here. “Jo, baby, please,” he begs, tears forming in his own eyes. “Please, let me make it up to you. I’ll transfer if you want me to—I’ll come here, be closer. I just—I love you. I love you so much. I can’t lose you. I can’t lose us.”

His hands are warm against hers, but she barely feels it through the numbness creeping into her limbs. She stares down at him, her vision blurred with tears, and for a moment, she thinks about all the years they spent together. When they were younger, when they were older. Every moment, every memory—they flash before her eyes like a cruel montage of everything they’ll never be again.

Jo pulls her hands away from his, her chest aching like it’s being ripped in half. Her voice is small, barely above a whisper, but it’s absolute. “No matter what, I’ll never be able to trust you again,” she says, the finality of her words settling heavily between them. “I can’t have a relationship with no trust, Ash. I love you—I’ve always loved you—but I can’t do it. I can’t.”

The words ring out and, for a moment, they stay where they are. And then Jo turns and opens the door to the apartment. Her fingers tremble against the knob as she pushes it open, but she doesn’t stop. She can feel the way Asher stands from his knees behind her, hovering a mix of desperate and disbelief radiating off him like a suffocating heat. She steps inside, her legs feeling like jelly beneath her, and she doesn’t turn back to look at him when she hears his footsteps following her.

“Jo, please,” Asher says again, his voice cracking, the way it always does when he’s on the verge of tears. “Let’s just—keep talking, okay? I’ll do whatever you want, just… don’t do this.”

But there’s nothing left to talk about. Not now. Not after everything.

Jo’s head pounds as she crosses the room, her eyes scanning for the things he’ll need to leave. His coat is slung on the back of one of the chairs, and his keys and wallet sit on the table. She grabs both, her hands shaking, and turns back to him.

“Asher,” she says, raw and unsteady, “please.” She holds out the coat and keys to him, her arm outstretched like it’s the only way she can keep any distance between them. “If you love me like you say you do, please leave. Please.”

He doesn’t take them at first. He just stands there, staring at her with wide, red-rimmed eyes that make him look younger than he is, like the boy she used to know. Her next-door neighbor, the boy who used to race her to the ice cream truck every summer. The boy who brought her flowers from his mom’s garden the first time he asked her to a school dance in eighth grade, nervously holding them out to her like they were the most precious thing he’d ever touched. The boy who kissed her on the Ferris wheel, telling her he’d never seen anything prettier than the way the lights reflected in her eyes.

Jo thought that boy was perfect.

But now, that boy is clearly gone.

“So this is really it?” Asher asks, his voice barely a whisper. He finally takes the coat and keys from her, his movements slow, almost mechanical, like he’s not fully in his body. His words hang in the air, heavy and final, and Jo feels like they have hands and they’re suffocating her.

She bites her lip hard, the metallic tang of blood sharp on her tongue. A sob claws at her throat, but she swallows it down, refusing to let it out. Because—God—she doesn’t want this to be it. She doesn’t want to end this chapter of her life, doesn’t want to say goodbye to the person who’s been by her side through everything. She thinks about all the time they’ve spent together, the endless summers of childhood spent chasing fireflies in their backyards, the countless nights they stayed up late talking about everything and nothing. She thinks about the way he used to cheer for her at every basketball game, the way his laugh uses to make her feel like the world wasn’t so big and scary.

But then she thinks about the texts. Brooke. The lies. The betrayal. The pain of knowing that the person she loved most in the world didn’t love her enough to stay faithful. And she knows—she knows—that she can’t stay with him. Not after this.

So, with a terrible, gut-wrenching finality, Jo forces herself to meet his eyes. Seafoam. She’ll never look at them the same again. “Yeah,” she tells him. “It is.”

Asher flinches like she’s just slapped him, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to say something else, like he’s going to keep fighting. But then his shoulders sag, and the fight leaves his body all at once. He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, and the sheer heartbreak in his expression nearly undoes her.

Jo takes a shaky breath and steps toward the door, her movements stiff and unnatural, like her body doesn’t belong to her anymore. She holds the door open and watches as Asher hesitates, lingering in the threshold like he’s waiting for her to change her mind.

“Um,” she starts, staring at the floor, unable to meet his eyes anymore. “I’m not gonna be back in Boston for break. I’ll be on that ski trip with my family. So, uh, when they get back, you just… you get your stuff from the house and bring mine back to them, okay?”

For a long, excruciating moment, Asher just stands there, staring at her like he’s trying to memorize every detail of her face. Then, finally, he nods. “Okay,” he says quietly.

He steps out into the hallway, and Jo closes the door behind him with trembling hands. The moment the latch clicks into place, she presses her back against the door, her knees nearly buckling. She buried her face in her hands and keys the sobs come.

PAIGE LIES in Celeste’s bed, staring at the ceiling, her body tangled in soft sheets that smell faintly of sex and Celeste’s perfume. The room is dark except for the faint orange glow of the streetlamp outside the window, cutting through the blinds and casting uneven stripes across her skin. Celeste is already asleep, her breathing slow and steady beside her, an arm draped lazily over Paige’s stomach.

The weight of the arm feels suffocating. The room feels too still, too warm, and Paige can feel the alcohol from earlier churning in her stomach. She hadn’t realized how much she drank until she laid down, the world tilting slightly when she closed her eyes. She shifts uncomfortably, trying to focus on anything but the growing nausea.

Her phone sits on the nightstand, and she reaches for it, squinting at the brightness when the screen lights up. 3:08 AM. Jo and Asher should be asleep by now, she thinks. The thought is a small relief, though she hates that it’s on her mind at all. When she’d come here earlier—straight from Ted’s—it wasn’t just for Celeste’s company. It was to avoid them. Avoid the sight of them fueled up on the couch, or worse, the sound of them behind Jo’s closed bedroom door.

But lying here now, with the alcohol making her stomach roil and Celeste’s soft breathing only amplifying the pounding in her head, Paige knows she can’t stay. She hates being sick, hates it even more when it happens in someone else’s space.

Carefully, she moves Celeste’s arm off of her, sliding out of bed with practiced quiet. She pulls on her jeans and shirt, then her coat, then slips on her sneakers and grabs her phone. By the time she’s in the hallway, she’s regretting every drink she had tonight.

The walk back to the apartment feels endless. The streets are deserted, the air sharp and cold against her flushed skin. She shoves her hands into her coat pockets, her breath visible in the air. Her head spins with every step, her stomach twisting tighter and tighter until—without much warning—she’s doubled over, throwing her guts up into a bush. It’s humiliating, even though no one’s there to see it.

But after, she feels marginally better. Her legs are still shaky, and her throat burns, but the nausea ebbs, replaced by exhaustion. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, cursing herself under her breath, and resumes the walk home.

When she gets to the apartment, it’s quiet. Thank God. She lets herself in carefully, taking care not to let the door slam, and moves toward the bathroom in the dark. She brushes her teeth quickly before going to her bedroom. There, she toes off her shoes, drops her phone onto her own nightstand, and collapses into bed. The sheets are cold, her pillow soft, and she burrows into them, hoping sleep will come quickly.

It doesn’t.

Instead, Paige ends up staring at her phone, her thumb absently scrolling through TikTok, then Instagram, then TikTok again.

It’s probably a half hour later when she hears footsteps outside her room. She doesn’t think much of it, only registers that Jo and Asher are awake. She thinks she hears the apartment door open, but she can’t really tell. She just resumes her scrolling.

Maybe another twenty minutes pass before she hears the door reopen. There are voices this time, too—Jo and Asher’s. They’re too low to make out what they’re saying, but there’s something off about the tone.

Paige feels her stomach twist again, though this time it has nothing to do with alcohol.

She tries to ignore it, forcing herself to keep scrolling, but the voices continue. Then, suddenly, the sound of the apartment door shutting—loud enough to make her flinch.

Paige sits up in bed. She stares at her closed bedroom door, debating. Curiosity—and something heavier—wins out. Slowly, cautiously, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands.

The floor is cold beneath her bare feet as she crosses to the door. She hesitates for a moment, hand on the knob, before turning it and pulling the door open. She steps into the hallway, walking slowly at first, unsure of what to expect. But as she rounds the corner, the sight in front of her makes her heart twist painfully in her chest.

Jo is pressed against the front door, her back flat against it as though it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Her face is buried in her hands, her shoulders trembling with sobs that Paige can hear from a few feet away. The sound cuts through her like a knife, raw and unrelenting.

Paige’s stomach drops, dread pooling deep and cold inside her. She can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen Jo cry, and not even the panic attack she had before the first game of the season looked like this. The sight freezes her for a second, but then she’s moving, instinctively, her feet carrying her closer without hesitation.

“Joey,” Paige says softly, her voice a little unsteady as she steps in front of her. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

She hates seeing Jo like this, hates the helplessness it churns up in her. Jo’s supposed to sunshine and rainbows and butterflies and happiness. Seeing her like this, crumpled and sobbing, feels wrong, like the world has tilted off its axis.

Paige notices, too, that Asher is nowhere to be found, and her stomach knots tighter at the implication. There are only a few reasons why Jo would be crying like this in the middle of the night, and Paige doesn’t like any of the possibilities running through her mind.

She steps closer, only inches away from Jo. She gently reaches out to tug Jo’s hands away from her face. The brunette resists at first, her fingers curling tighter, as if she’s trying to shield herself from the world. But Paige persists, her touch gentle but firm, until Jo lets her pull them down.

She looks wrecked, utterly and completely undone. Her mascara is streaked across her cheeks, smudging into the skin where her tears have carved wet paths. Her lips are trembling, and her eyes—red-rimmed and glassy—hold a look of devastation that Paige has never seen before.

Paige’s stomach drops a little. This isn’t just a bad night. This is something worse.

“Joey,” Paige says again, her voice soft but coaxing. “Joey, talk to me. What happened?”

Jo shakes her head violently, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks. “I feel so stupid,” she chokes out.

Paige’s protective instincts kick in hard, a fierce surge of anger and worry burning in her chest. Jo is her best friend, and Paige can’t stand seeing her like this, so small and hurt and vulnerable. It makes her want to fix it, to fix everything, to hunt down whatever or whoever made Jo feel like this and give them a piece of her mind.

“You’re not stupid,” Paige says quickly, her hands moving to Jo’s face. She cups her cheeks gently, her thumbs brushing over the tears as they fall, even though it’s futile. The tears keep coming, harder and faster, and Jo’s sobs are so harsh now that Paige worries she’s going to make herself sick.

“Jo,” Paige whispers, her tone soothing, steady. “Joey, you’re not stupid. Just tell me what happened. Please.”

Jo looks at her then, and the brokenness in her expression hits Paige like a tidal wave. Jo’s breaths are short and uneven, catching in her throat as she struggles to speak. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she manages to force out a choked answer:

“He’s been cheating on me since September.”

Paige isn’t sure how to react at first. Not because she doesn’t care—no, she cares too much—but because it feels incomprehensible. Asher? Cheating? On Jo? It’s like trying to convince herself the sky isn’t blue or that the sun doesn’t rise in the east. Jo is the kind of person who radiates light, who gives more than she takes, who makes everyone around her better by simply existing. The idea that anyone—anyone, let alone Asher, who Jo has loved since they were kids—could betray her like this? Paige’s chest tightens, a painful knot forming deep inside her.

“Oh, Joey,” Paige says softly, her voice breaking. She steps forward without thinking, wrapping her arms around Jo and pulling her in close. Jo is stiff at first, her body trembling like she’s holding herself together by a thread. But then she leans into Paige, her arms coming around her back, and she crumples completely.

The sobs come harder now, racking Jo’s body as she buries her face in Paige’s shoulder. Paige can feel her shirt dampening with tears, but she doesn’t care. Not even a little. All that matters is keeping Jo held together in this moment when she clearly feels like she’s falling apart. Paige’s chin rests against Jo’s hair, and she squeezes her tighter, as if that might somehow protect her from all of this—might take away the pain.

Her mind flashes to Asher, and the anger that surges through her is immediate, white-hot, and consuming. How the fuck could he do this? Asher, who seemed to adore Jo, who, just earlier tonight, had looked at her like the world revolved around her. He’s the guy everyone thought Jo would marry, the guy Paige didn’t want to like because of her own feelings for Jo but begrudgingly respected because he seemed like he loved her. Paige’s fists clench at the thought of him, the betrayal he’s inflicted on someone so good, so perfect.

Jo pulls back just enough to speak, her voice trembling through the sobs. “I just—I don’t get it,” she chokes out. Her hands are fisted in the back of Paige’s shirt now, clutching at her like she’s a lifeline. “He never seemed like—he would do that. He was never distant or anything. I—I don’t know. It’s just—it’s been us forever. He’s—he’s literally all I know.”

Paige closes her eyes for a moment, biting back her own emotions. She knows this—of course she knows this. Jo and Asher are the couple everyone compares themselves to, the pair who grew up together, who went to prom together, who everyone thought would get married and have a picturesque life together. Paige knows this betrayal isn’t just about the cheating—it’s about the loss of something Jo has held onto her entire life.

And as much as Paige didn’t want to like Asher, she can’t deny that even tonight, when they were all together, he seemed so in love with Jo. He didn’t seem like the type to cheat. Then again, Paige thinks bitterly, a lot of them don’t.

Paige hesitates, her voice careful. “Did you…?” She doesn’t have to finish the question; Jo knows what she’s asking.

Jo nods against Paige’s shoulder, her tears warm against Paige’s skin. “Yeah,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I broke up with him.”

Paige lets out a slow breath, one she didn’t realize she was holding. She always thought if this moment ever came, she’d feel something else—relief, maybe even happiness. She thought it would mean she finally had a chance with Jo, that the door might crack open. But as Jo sobs in her arms, as her heartbreak bleeds out into the quiet hallway, Paige feels none of that.

Because Jo isn’t happy. She’s broken, and Paige would rather suffer her unrequited feelings forever than see Jo like this. All she’s ever truly wanted is for Jo to be happy, to be the kind of happy that lights up her eyes and makes her laugh the way she does when she’s teasing Paige. This? This is not that.

Paige pulls back just enough so they’re face to face. Her hands come up to Jo’s cheeks once more, cradling her face gently. Jo’s eyes are red and swollen, tears still spilling over. Paige’s thumbs brush over her cheeks, wiping away some of the tears, though they’re still coming faster than she can catch them.

“Joey,” Paige says softly, her voice low and firm, “you are the most beautiful, selfless, talented, smart person I’ve ever fucking met. You don’t deserve any of this, okay? He doesn’t deserve you. Not even close.” She shakes her head slightly, her throat tightening as she continues. “I’m so sorry, Jo.”

Jo nods slowly, her breath hitching as she tries to calm down, but the tears are still there, streaming down her face.

Eventually, Paige convinces Jo to come with her, leading the brunette to her bedroom, keeping a steady hand on the small of her back as they navigate the dark hallway. Paige can feel the exhaustion radiating off of her in waves—emotional, physical, every kind of tired there is. She figures Jo doesn’t want to go to her own room, where everything probably still smells like Asher. And Paige figures Jo doesn’t want to be alone, either. That much is obvious in the way she stays close, almost leaning into Paige as they walk.

Once inside Paige’s room, Jo hesitates by the bed, looking small in a way Paige isn’t used to seeing. Jo’s always been the kind of person who fills up a space just by being in it—confident, easygoing, happy. Now, she’s quiet and folded into herself, arms crossed protectively over her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together. Paige doesn’t like it.

“Stay here for a sec, yeah?” Paige says softly, her voice careful, like she’s afraid to push Jo too far or say the wrong thing. Jo nods, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and Paige slips out of the room.

She goes to the bathroom first, grabbing some makeup wipes from the cabinet. Her mind races as she moves, filled with anger toward Asher, with concern for Jo, with guilt that a small, selfish part of her is glad to have Jo here, with her, instead of with him.

On her way back, she detours into Jo’s room just long enough to grab the emotional support stuffed animal—Bubbles. She tucks the little turtle under her arm and heads back to her room.

Jo hasn’t moved. She’s still sitting there, looking at her hands, the way her fingers twist together nervously. Paige kneels in front of her, setting Bubbles aside for now. She doesn’t say anything at first; she just takes one of the makeup wipes and gently starts to clean the streaks of mascara from Jo’s face. Jo blinks in surprise, a ghost of a smile flickering across her lips.

“I could’ve done it myself,” Jo mumbles, her voice thick and uneven.

“I know,” Paige says simply, and there’s the smallest hint of a smile tugging at her own lips.

It’s a quiet, intimate thing, wiping away Jo’s makeup. Paige works slowly, carefully, brushing over her skin with a tenderness she hopes Jo can feel. When she’s finished, she tosses the wipes aside into her mini trash can and hands Jo the stuffed turtle.

Jo takes Bubbles with both hands, clutching him close to her chest. There’s a tiny moment of relief in Paige’s chest when Jo actually smiles a little at the sight of him. It’s fleeting, but it’s there.

Paige climbs onto the bed beside her, hesitating for a second. The air between them feels heavy, uncertain. Jo curls up on her side, facing away from Paige, and for a moment, Paige wonders if she should leave her alone, give her space. But before she can decide, Jo’s voice breaks through the silence, shaky and fragile.

“Can you—can you just hold me?”

Paige’s heart clenches. Of course. Of course, she can. “Yeah,” she says softly, already shifting closer.

She slides in behind Jo, wrapping an arm around her waist. Her hand comes to rest gently on Jo’s stomach, fingers brushing over the fabric of her shirt in smooth, soothing patterns. Paige doesn’t think much about it; she just does what feels natural. Her face ends up close to the back of Jo’s neck, and she can feel the faint hitch in Jo’s breathing, the way it stutters each time another quiet sob escapes her.

Every time Jo shakes or cries, Paige instinctively tightens her hold, pulling her closer, letting her know she’s there. Jo doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Paige. The silence is filled with the faint rustle of the blankets, the sound of their breathing.

Paige focuses on the rise and fall of Jo’s chest, on the feeling of her heartbeat beneath her hand. It’s comforting, in a way, even though everything about the situation feels wrong. Jo deserves better than this—better than Asher, better than heartbreak. And if Paige could take it all away, if she could somehow absorb all of Jo’s pain just to see her smile again, she would.

But all she can do is hold her, keep her safe in this moment. So she does. She stays there, tracing patterns on Jo’s stomach, her own breathing falling in time with Jo’s. Eventually, Jo’s crying slows, her breaths evening out into something softer, something closer to sleep. Paige doesn’t let go.

She feels her own eyelids growing heavy, the exhaustion of the day—and mostly the night—catching up to her. She doesn’t remember exactly when she drifts off, but the last thing she’s aware of is the warmth of Jo in her arms, the quiet sound of her breathing, and the hope that maybe things will feel a little better in the morning.

[itsnesss]

Request where fem!reader was a winner of the games and helps Jun-ho’s search in season two. He’s very respectful/cautious with her because of her trauma. After a certain point they both like each other but he’s still trying to be professional (?)/and a gentleman until the reader gets so fed up and is just like bro?? Kiss me 🤨 I’ll even throw in a snickers bar if there’s smut

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | post trauma themes, smut, explicit content, fingering (reader!receives), oral sex (jun-ho!receives), p in v, unprotected sex

word count | 3.8 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The sea breeze blows gently as you walk alongside Jun-ho. The tension between you is palpable, though the silence remains. The ocean seems endless, just like the memories you carry since you survived the Games. Here, in this unfamiliar place, the answers you seek feel increasingly distant. But you can’t stop. You won’t.

"Are you ready?" Jun-ho’s voice is deep, almost as if he’s hoping you’ll say no.

You glance at him sideways. Always so serious, so controlled. If there’s one thing you’ve learned since surviving the Games, it’s that you can’t fully trust anyone—not yet. But Jun-ho, he’s different. His respect for you is clear, and though his professional demeanor keeps him distant, you know that, somehow, he cares.

"Yes," you reply firmly, though deep down, an unease grows. It’s not just the island that frightens you, but everything that might have been left behind. Everything you’ll never know.

Jun-ho approaches but keeps his distance, as he always does. He’s not one to touch you or show affection, and though you appreciate it, something inside you yearns for him to break that barrier. To see you as more than just a survivor, as someone with feelings.

The boat ride feels long, but the worst is yet to come. The island remains out of reach, a shadow on the horizon that seems to shift with the wind. Each time you look at it, anxiety grows within you.

Once on solid ground, you head into the island’s interior. The dense vegetation and towering trees seem to swallow every step you take. The air is heavy, and every sound, every crack, feels threatening. The tension rises as you navigate the terrain, but there’s no sign of what you’re looking for.

Time passes, and though you don’t want to admit it, discouragement begins to seep into your bones. Jun-ho says nothing. He knows you won’t find anything here—he knows it as well as you do. But he keeps searching, as if his footsteps could force the island to reveal its darkest secret.

You stop, staring at the horizon. The island is empty. The memory of what happened here drowns in the stillness of the landscape, but that doesn’t change how you feel: a sense of emptiness, of something missing, something you’ll never complete.

Jun-ho stops beside you, his breathing steady, though his posture is tense. He doesn’t look at you directly, as if waiting for a signal that it’s over, that you can both leave.

"We tried," he says finally, his voice calm yet slightly broken. As if he already knew but needed you to accept it. "But it’s not here."

Silence settles between you. Frustration consumes you, but there’s something else, something you can’t name. The way his voice falters, how he shows vulnerability in front of you, is something you’ve never seen before.

"And now what?" you ask, your tone laced with frustration. "Is that it? We just leave and forget what happened?"

Jun-ho takes a moment before answering, looking into the distance as if hoping the scenery might inspire some kind of answer.

"No, this isn’t everything. But maybe the answers aren’t here," he says, and at the end of his words, his tone changes—something more personal. He steps closer to you, and though he doesn’t touch you, you feel the space between you shrink.

His presence feels more tangible, and for a moment, forgetting everything else, you wonder if you can truly trust him. Not just as an ally, but as someone who might understand you beyond the Games, beyond survival.

"What will you do now?" you ask, this time your voice tinged with uncertainty, with an emotion you don’t know how to handle.

Jun-ho watches you closely. The way he does, as if measuring every word, unsettles you. You can’t read what’s going on in his head, but there’s something in his eyes that seems to say more than his voice could. As if he’s inviting you to step closer, to seek something between you both that neither of you has dared to name.

The tension between you is undeniable. The silence, though heavy, is a witness to the unspoken emotions. For a moment, the distance between you feels like an abyss, but in his gaze, there’s something inviting you to bridge it.

You don’t know what to do. Confusion, exhaustion, and anxiety swirl within you, and the desire for him to make a decision consumes you. But Jun-ho doesn’t take the step, doesn’t touch you, doesn’t say anything more.

Finally, frustration takes over. You’ve stayed strong for so long, but this… this is breaking you. You need something more, something to make you feel whole again. And for some reason, you seek it in him, in someone you’ve come to respect deeply.

Without thinking, you lean in and kiss him. A quick, impulsive kiss, but filled with everything you’ve kept inside: the pain, the fear, the need for something more. You don’t know why you do it, but in that instant, everything seems to overflow.

Jun-ho freezes at first, surprised by your action, but he quickly responds. His hands settle on your waist, and the contact, though unexpected, sparks something between you both. The tension that had built for so long finally erupts in a single gesture.

When you pull away, both of you are breathing heavily. His expression is hard to read, but he doesn’t look upset—not at all. There’s a mix of astonishment and something else, something that makes you wonder if this tension has been there all along.

"Why didn’t we say anything before?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

Jun-ho doesn’t answer immediately. He takes a moment, as if carefully choosing his words. Finally, he leans closer, his face so near to yours that you can feel his breath.

"Because I don’t want you to regret it," he replies softly.

...

The boat ride back is marked by a heavy silence, but not for lack of words. Everything has changed since you kissed him on the island. Jun-ho sits across from you, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours. You can see how his hands rest on his knees, tense, as if he’s making a monumental effort to keep his composure.

You’re not any better. The closeness in that moment, the way his lips responded to yours, still burns in your mind. Your skin seems to remember every place where he touched you, his warmth, the way his body leaned into yours. And now, the tension you’d both ignored for days feels like it’s finally spilled over.

Eventually, the rocking of the waves forces you to steady yourself. You lean on the ship’s railing, and when you do, you feel his hand brush against yours. It’s an accidental touch, you know, but it sends a shiver down your spine. You look at him, and his eyes are fixed on you.

No words are needed. You lean toward him, and this time there’s no hesitation. Jun-ho pulls you into his arms and kisses you with an intensity you never imagined. His lips are firm, desperate, as if he’s held back all that desire for days, weeks, maybe months.

The sound of the sea and the sway of the boat fade away. There’s only him, his body close to yours, his hands finding their way to your waist. You can’t stop him, and you don’t want to. Every time you try to pull back to breathe, his lips find yours again, hungry, eager, as if you both know this moment can’t be enough.

"This isn’t professional," he murmurs against your mouth, though he makes no effort to pull away.

"Then stop doing it," you reply, your fingers tangling in his hair, forcing him to continue.

He laughs against your lips, a low, rough sound, before surrendering completely. What started as a kiss ends in desperate caresses, his hands exploring your body with a mix of tenderness and restrained passion. Every touch ignites a fire inside you that you didn’t know existed.

Finally, you both separate as the boat reaches the dock. The return to reality is abrupt, but the heat between you doesn’t dissipate. You walk to your house in silence, though your fingers graze his as you move forward, as if neither of you can bear the idea of being too far apart.

When you finally open your front door, the initial awkwardness returns. Jun-ho seems hesitant, as if debating whether to stay or not.

"Do you want to come in?" you ask, though the answer is evident in his eyes.

"Only if you’re sure," he replies, his tone low but full of emotion.

You don’t give him time to think. You take his hand and guide him inside, closing the door behind you.

The atmosphere changes immediately. The intimacy of your home seems to amplify what’s already happening between you. You barely have time to turn toward him before Jun-ho takes your waist and gently presses you against the wall. His lips find yours again, this time with more urgency, as if everything he held back during the journey is spilling out.

His hands explore your body with a perfect mix of softness and determination. You feel alive under his touch, every caress sending waves of heat through your skin. Your hands also explore, sliding over his chest, his shoulders, feeling the tense muscles beneath his clothes.

Her breath quickens, her eyes shining with contained desire.

The moment he moves away from you a little, you can see the effort he makes to control himself.

"I promise you won't want this to end," he whispers, as if waiting for your response.

You don't wait. Your mouth finds his again, and this time the kiss transforms into something hungrier, more intense. His lips part just enough to allow his hand to remove your blouse, his gaze resting on your bare breasts with a mix of admiration and lust.

The feeling of being naked in front of him is exciting, and although a part of you feels the temptation to cover yourself, the look in his eyes stops you. You had never seen him like this, as someone who surrenders to passion. He is so different from what you expected, and yet, he is as real as the man who accompanies him.

A second later, Jun-ho kneels and begins to kiss your chest gently, as if it were your first encounter. Your breath quickens as his lips travel across your skin, kissing and caressing your breasts. His fingers glide over your shoulders to the waistband of your pants, unbuttoning them with a skill that makes you feel like a novice.

You don't protest. You don't want him to stop, although you don't want him to undress you completely just yet. There is still something you hope will happen, something you feel you can't lose.

A moment later, your pants are on the floor and his hands are sliding up your thighs, reaching the edge of your panties. You look him in the eyes, seeing how his pupils dilate as his fingers slide under the cotton.

Her touch is light, but it makes you shiver, as if you had never been touched like this before. Her fingers continue exploring, finding your clitoris with a gentle yet determined touch. The sensation is so good that you can't hold back a moan.

"Do you like it?" he asks in a low voice, although his gaze shines with the answer.

You nod your head, although your response seems insufficient for him. His fingers begin to caress your lips with a skill you didn't expect. His rhythm is fast at first, then it slows down, as if he were waiting for you to get used to his touch.

The pleasure is overwhelming. His fingers seem to know exactly what you need to feel to surrender. The rhythm picks up again, and you can feel something inside you approaching the edge.

"Jun-ho" you moan, your hips starting to move in search of more.

He smiles against your mouth, his fingers increasing their pace once more. The feeling that you're going to explode is getting stronger, but you can't stop. You don't want to stop.

Finally, a wave of pleasure consumes you, making you moan his name. His fingers don't stop until you feel exhausted, your breath ragged, your body trembling.

But the pleasure doesn't end there. Jun-ho continues caressing you while kissing you softly on the mouth, on the neck, on your shoulders. His fingers reach your clitoris again, this time faster, more determined.

"God!" you moan when the pleasure returns, as if you hadn't been on the verge of exploding just minutes before.

Jun-ho smiles again, but his eyes shine with a lustful desire. His fingers continue to caress you mercilessly, as if he expects to push you to the limit once more.

"How many times can you?" he asks, his breath quickening, his lips on your neck.

You can't respond. Your body trembles with pleasure, but somehow, you feel you can go on longer. Jun-ho smiles once more, and a second later, his fingers caress your clitoris again, this time with demonic skill.

You moan his name when the sensation of orgasm returns, although this time it is stronger. The pleasure is overwhelming, so intense that you might feel yourself collapse into his arms.

Finally, his fingers stop and you take a moment to catch your breath. But the tension remains, palpable between the two of you.

"How do you feel?" Jun-ho whispers softly, his breath on your neck.

Your fingers tangle in her hair, and you catch her to kiss her mouth. Her response is instantaneous, her tongue finding yours as she presses you against her body.

"I don't feel complete" you reply softly, looking directly at him. "Not yet".

Jun-ho nods, and a second later his mouth meets yours once again. His fingers touch you everywhere, roaming your body with desire. Finally, you feel his fingers searching for the zipper of his pants, and an emotion consumes you as you realize what is about to happen.

When his fingers reach the zipper, a second of indecision floods you. You haven't seen him like this, naked and vulnerable in front of you. How will he feel?

You don't have time to ask yourself anything else. His fingers release his erection, and surprise floods you as you see how big it is. You didn't know what to expect, but this is much more than you imagined.

His fingers caress her, as if she were offering herself to you.

"Do you want to taste" he whispers in a low voice, and something in his tone makes you understand that he doesn't have much experience with this.

You nod your head. It's your opportunity to touch, to feel, to do something more than just feel.

You bend down and touch his erection. It's hard, but soft at the same time. Your fingers caress her skin, feeling it pulse beneath your touch.

"Do you want me to do it?" you ask in a low voice, your gaze meeting theirs.

Jun-ho nods, his eyes shining with desire. The way he looks at you makes you feel strong, as if nothing can stop you.

You move a little closer and gently kiss the tip of his erection. The sensation is strange but pleasant. His fingers rest on your shoulders as he watches you, as if he can't believe what's happening.

Even though you are not a virgin, Jun-ho's size is intimidating, but you don't stop. You take his erection into your mouth and gently touch it with the tip of your tongue.

Jun-ho moans when he feels your touch. His gaze pierces you, his breath ragged. His fingers search for your hair and cradle you as you kiss his erection with more passion.

Finally, his erection begins to enter your mouth. The sensation is overwhelming, but you don't stop, feeling every inch that enters you. Jun-ho moans again when you feel his testicles against your lips.

Her breathing becomes erratic, her fingers tightening in your hair.

"No, I can't take it anymore!" he screams, gently pulling you out of her body.

You look at him in surprise, but his fingers pull you closer and he kisses you desperately. The need between the two of you is palpable.

"Are you sure?" he asks a moment later, his breath still ragged.

"Yes" you respond in a low voice. "Yes, I want to do it".

Jun-ho nods a moment later, and his fingers take you by the waist. A second later, you find yourself in your bed, with him between your legs.

"Do you mind if this is quick?" he asks, his fingers brushing your inner lips gently.

"No" you respond quickly. You can't wait any longer.

You feel him brushing against your entrance with his member. His fingers continue to caress your clitoris as he slowly enters you. The sensation is incredible, his erection so big that you can feel it throbbing in your body.

The penetration is slow and painful, but it is also exciting. Finally, his erection enters you completely, and Jun-ho pauses for a moment to let you get used to his size.

"You're so tight" he whispers very softly, his lips brushing against yours.

"So perfect".

"Don't stop" you moan.

Jun-ho laughs for a second before he starts to move, his rhythm initially slow but then quick and desperate. The sound of their bodies joining is audible in the room, sweat covering their bodies as they move with desperation.

The feeling is overwhelming. You didn't expect something like this, something so intense, but here it is. Everything comes down to this moment, to his body inside yours.

Pleasure takes hold of you once again. His fingers caress your clitoris once more as he moves inside you, and you can feel something within you starting to grow.

Finally, a third orgasm consumes you. You moan his name as his body tightens around you, the sensation that he also reaches climax.

"God... " shouts Jun-ho, his breath very agitated as he collapses onto you.

Your arms wrap around his body, feeling his fingers gently touch your back. You can't stop looking at him, the expression of pleasure on his face is incredible. You didn't expect it to be like this.

[zero-up]

"Shooters are still A thing. Therefore: no one shouldn't complain when someone kills A CEO. Because making rich people unrelated to the suffering of 6-year-olds is totally good because."

What was the point of killing that CEO? How will it improve the health care system? Doesn't it just make it harder to attack the corporation he was in charge of, which role likely just continue honest though nothing happened anyway? Even if the CEO was completely evil, what was the point? Was it just to make someone you don't like suffer? Did you even know the CEO before this incident?

Gosh, I hate the Luigi apology! Especially when they try to pull the "so we should just sit down and politely ask for rides?". My dude, what will violence accomplish? How will killing anyone illegally make anything better in any way shape or form? What is the process here? How does this work? What is the step 2? Because unless your goal is to literally overthrow the government, I'm not really seeing how killing people can help you accomplish your goals.

You want to know how peace can actually solve the issue? By voting! Your elected officials rely on votes in order to keep power. You're elected officials have to care about their voters, because if they don't: they lose power. And if you do not vote: you do not have power over your elected officials. Doing research and voting sound like work? Fine then, don't vote, I don't either for that very reason. But at least I'm not saying "ViOlEnCe Is ThE oNlY aNsWeR" when I can't even be bother to vote!

And everyone sympathizing for the CEO because they don't want to live in a society that normalizes violence. And trust me: you don't either. You don't want the average person to think it's justified to resort to violence for political reasons. Because long beliefs don't magically have A different effect on one's psychology than true beliefs, and the vast majority of people think they are good, and that people they don't like are guilty.

If you normalize good people killing the guilty, then you also normalize bad people killing the innocent. That's not a slippery slope fallacy, that's A logical consequence of most bad people think their good people.

I generally do not like or trust the cops. If there's no other reason to hate them: let it be for how they conduct interrogations. And I have many problems with the US legal system. But I recognize the benefit of the law is that it forces people to abide by a standard that maximizes the punishment of the guilty and minimizes the punishment of the innocent. We can definitely do way better, but the easiest way to do that is to improving the system we currently have, and trying to ignore it or circumvent it is way more likely to make things incredibly worse than they are to make it better.

And trust me, I could go on, I have at least one extra point I could make right now that's alluded to in a previous point. I actually have A Reddit post draft that I barely started a while ago that I should probably finish at some point. But right now I'm really just venting because this gets me angry every time I see it, and I'm kind of annoyed that someone I followed unironically unironically reposted this, I still they thought it was so obviously correct that they didn't need to worry about backlash. And honestly, the Luigi-simping is just an example of a greater problem where people unironically think political violence is justified without ever putting A single iota of thought into how that would actually work. They come to conclusions based entirely off of what feels right, and then they call others naive when they point out how absurd their conclusions are.

I just want people to critically examine the own beliefs more, or at least honestly listen to what others critiques of theirs more.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Lunch Date

Summary: Steve Rogers x fe!Reader -> You have a lunch date with Steve Rogers before you realise who he is to the rest of the world.

Disclaimer: This has been sat in my WIP for a while. Mostly fluff, humour? Reader works as a historian. I haven't written for any MCU characters for a while so hopefully this isn't terrible. Not Proof Read.

If someone had told you when you were six years old and running through the park playing superheroes that one day you would be having lunch with the Steve Rogers…

You probably would have believed them since you were six and was going to have lunch with your next door neighbour who was the one with the trash can lid as a shield. 

But it was true. 

You’d been working at the museum since you graduated from University. First as just a tour guide but it wasn’t long before a spot opened up to become one of the curators. Mostly you worked with war artifacts. You still did the tours, though. 

You found it fun, walking a new group around every couple of hours, seeing their faces light up with wonder as they looked at the plane parts and the genuine diaries of some of the soldiers. 

Then one day after finishing the second tour of the day, you took your lunch break. 

“I’m sorry, is this seat taken?”

You looked up and found a man dressed in a blue shirt and black trousers. He was handsome, but the thing you noticed was the look in his eyes. 

Kindness. 

“No, go ahead.”

You were a little surprised when he sat down, rather than taking the chair to another table. But when you looked around, you noticed how busy the place had gotten. 

“Sorry for disturbing you.” The stranger nodded over to the book that was laid open at the side of you. 

You shook your head. “It’s no issue. Besides, I think I’ve read the same page three times.”

It was from him asking what you were reading that you started continuing the conversation to the point where you’d learned he’d actually taken one of your tours once. 

“Be honest with me, is it boring?”

“Boring?” He shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

You gave a sigh of relief. “Are you sure?”

He gave you a genuine smile. “Of course, I’m sure. Why? Did someone give you a bad review?”

You shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

You laughed a little. “There is-” 

You caught a glimpse at your watch and almost died. “Shit- sorry. Shoot, I’m gonna be late.”

He panicked along with you. “I’m sorry if I kept-”

You shook your head as you went to stand and pack your things away. “No, no. Trust me, it’s not often I enjoy a conversation so much that I lose track of time. I-I have to get to another tour but if you…” You were about to offer him your number but then you thought of something a little better. “Actually, would you like to tag along? I-I know you’ve seen it before but if you’re not doing anything…”

And for a moment, you thought you’d fucked up. But then he smiled. 

“I’d love to.”

“Great.” You looked at your watch again. “I-I will meet you there. I have to hand out the fact sheets and- you already know. See you there?”

He smiled. “See you there.”

You smiled too before rushing off in the opposite direction. By the time you were catching your breath, half way through handing out instructions, facts sheets, some promotional sheets, too, he met you there. 

“Hi, again.”

You smiled, handing him his pile. “Hi.”

And for the next hour you led him and the rest of the group on a tour of the museum giving every fact you already knew and each time you looked back to the tour group, he caught your eye and you found yourself unable to stop smiling. 

You probably looked like some mad cheshire cat by the end of the tour; especially after you and him continued your conversation privately as the tour group were given freedom for ten minutes to look around one of the larger exhibits. 

“You know what I’ve just realised?”

“What is that?”

“I don’t know your name.” You said as you looked up at him. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He smiled and shook your hand. “Steve.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Steve.”

“Same to you, Y/n.”

By the time the tour finished and everyone dispersed either to go home or return to the exhibits they wanted to spend more time in, you and Steve took a walk back around the museum. 

“So, what brings you here? If you’ve already been before, why come again?”

Steve shrugged. “I had free time and I was in the city. Plus, it’s nice to come somewhere that feels familiar.”

“Familiar?”

Steve didn’t know how to answer your question without completely telling you who he actually was, or completely lying. 

“I grew up with a lot of historical stuff so sometimes walking around a museum can feel like home.”

You smiled and looked around. “I know what you mean.”

The museum, ever since you were a kid, had felt like a second home. One filled with even more wonder and amazement. 

Then Steve asked you a question. 

“Forgive me if this is a little forward, but would you like to have dinner with me this week?”

You stopped walking and turned towards him. 

“I’ve been told I’m meant to direct message and do a lot of ‘in between’ conversations but, if I’m being honest, I don’t see the point in it.”

You couldn’t help but smile. 

“But if you have someone already, or if you don’t want to, you can just…tell me to leave and you never-”

You stepped forward a little and laid your hand on his arm. “Steve, Steve, Steve. Stop. I would love to have dinner with you. And thank you for asking me.”

Then that smile that you’d come to find comfort in, despite only meeting him a few hours ago, flashed onto his face. 

“Thank you for saying yes.”

It took two days from swapping numbers at the museum for you to both find a time you were available and for Steve to turn up outside your apartment with a bunch of flowers in his hand. 

“These are for you. I-I didn’t know if you were allergic to any so I picked the ones that shouldn’t affect you as much if you were.”

You politely took them from him and smiled. “They’re beautiful, Steve. Thank you. Let me just find a vase.”

You invited him in and he slowly walked a little further into your apartment, taking everything all in. Your walls were lined with dark wooden bookshelves where an array of different books were stationed. A desk was under one of the windows where sheets of paper were cast. Your sofa was worn in, but not in a bad way. It was well-loved and looked after. Your kitchen was similar. He could imagine you on a Sunday morning cooking yourself dinner as one of the movies from under your TV were playing inside the DVD player. 

Placing the flowers in the centre of the kitchen island, you grabbed your bag and Steve followed you out of the door. 

Every door you came to, Steve held it open for you. He walked on the outside of you as you both walked down the street since the restaurant wasn’t too far from your apartment block. He held out your chair for you before seating himself. It was the first date you’d been on in a long time where the guy hadn’t ordered for you. The conversation was constantly flowing, so were the smiles and the laughter. At some point between you going to the bathroom and coming back, the bill had been paid for. 

If he had waited, you would have fought him to split it, but it was nice to accept something for a change. He helped you get your coat on and for the next hour, you both just walked through the city. 

It was still relatively early so you just walked and talked. At some point, he’d taken your hand in his. Your gut had erupted in butterflies, and so had his. Especially when you leaned a little into him and held onto his arm. 

And as you both reached a small community park, you sat on the bench together. 

That was where you had your first kiss. It was equal parts shy, unnerving and steady. With his arm around your shoulders and his other hand holding onto yours, you found something in your kiss with Steve. 

It was unlike any other you’d experienced. It wasn’t lustful or yearning. But it was…strong. Your head, heart, gut and lungs were doing summersaults inside your body, but at the same time, you felt safe. 

Almost as if, despite it being your first kiss, it also felt like your millionth with him. 

And you both couldn’t help but want more. 

However, that was cut short by the ringing phone in your pocket. 

“Shit, sorry.”

Steve just laughed a little. “It’s okay.”

Pulling it from your pocket, the Museum ID badge flashed across the top. “It’s work.”

“Answer it.”

You did so and pulled the phone to your ear. 

“O-okay, just, stay calm. I’ll be right there.”

“Is everything okay?” Steve asked. 

“There’s something about a shipment. I think I need to go.”

Steve just nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

“Thank you.”

Taking his hand, you both hurried back towards your apartment where Steve helped you onto the back of his motorbike. 

“Are you sure this is safe?”

Steve gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m sure. Just hold on tightly.”

And you did. 

By the time he pulled up outside of the museum, the lights were still on inside but all the shutters were down except for one. You unclipped the helmet and hopped off before hearing your heels click up the stone stairs towards the door. 

Steve was quick on your tail following you through the museum and towards the employees only area. Finally, you both made it to the storage lock-up. 

“I’m here, what’s going on?”

“We’ve been sent these but there’s apparently been a mix up with the deliveries. All the fact cards and processing files are missing and the exhibits are meant to be ready for Monday.”

You took a breath and looked at all the new crates surrounding you. “Okay. Okay, it’s okay.”

Immediately, you got to work. 

“I’m sorry about this.”

“Don’t apologise. Do you want some help? I don’t know what I can do but I might be able to do something.”

You nodded. “That would be amazing.”

Setting Steve to work helping move some of the crates out of the way so they could be opened. Most of the items were from the thirties and forties, but mostly early war days. 

Which, you soon came to find out, was a personal favourite of Steve’s when he, somehow, knew what each item was and where it was from. Between the heavy lifting, directing and processing, you heard him mention something about cereal numbers and a manufacturer he had met. 

But despite all of that, the biggest shock was still yet to come to you. 

There was a piece of a plane that was delivered. You had made some estimations for when it was made and who for when Steve had given you an exact date and a few different locations. 

That was when something clicked. 

You didn’t know why it had only just clicked, or why it had taken you so long to realise, but it had. 

And something must have clicked for Steve, too. 

You gasped. “Oh, my god!”

One of the other curators looked at you. “What?”

You looked at some of the artifacts before looking at Steve and back again. Between the shock on your face that you tried to swallow back, Steve grinned. 

“N-nothing.” You plastered a smile on your face. “Nothing. I just thought I’d seen…” You looked at Steve and your words trailed away, but you snapped yourself back into reality. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter. Sorry.”

The curator just shrugged and went back to trying to contact the shipping company of the items. 

“Oh, my god. I can’t believe it…no, no you’re not. Are you? No, you can’t be. But the…” You put your head in your hands, finally accepting it. “Oh, my god, you are.”

Steve just chuckled and walked over to you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Didn’t tell me?” You lowered your hands and looked at him. “I’m sorry it didn’t click sooner. I’m a historian for crying out loud, I should have known. I’m so sorry.” 

You hid your head in your hands again as you heard Steve chuckle. Gently holding onto your wrists, he lowered your hands from your face.

“Does this change anything?”

“Steve,” you lowered your voice. “You’re freaking Captain America.”

“But does it change anything?”

“Not particularly, no. But you’re…you’re a superhero. You-you’re an Agent and a superhero. You rescue people for a living and put your life on the line. Oh, my god, I can’t believe I asked you what you did for a living. Is this even legal? Are you allowed to go on dates with total strangers who don’t do some kind of highly secure, world-saving, job and, like, Shield level background checks?”

“Why? Is there something I should know about?”

You leaned back, realising how it sounded. “What? No. No, nothing. Not unless I’ve done something I didn’t realise I did. No, nothing.”

Steve smiled. “Relax, I was kidding. God knows I lied enough times to try and get into the army.”

“Wow, is Captain America a rule breaker?”

He just chuckled. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Does this mean I have to salute you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Good, because I don’t know how to salute. I’d probably do it wrong anyway.”

Steve laughed once more before pulling you into his chest. “I can’t believe I didn’t realise.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. It was nice for someone to treat me as me without them treating me like Captain America.”

As you leaned back from him, you admitted something to him. “I feel like my history degree is going to be taken off me for not knowing.”

Steve laughed, rubbing his hand up and down your spine before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Come on, let's get this packed away.”

A few hours later, items that could be given an info card were before being locked away safely with the rest. 

Steve drove you home and walked you to your front door. 

“I’m sorry our date got cut short.”

Steve just shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, it was kinda fun having it come full circle with us back at the museum. It was also fun seeing you figure out how I knew what everything was.”

You groaned a little. “I can’t believe it never clicked with me, but I am kinda glad it didn’t. It was nice to get to know you.”

“Do you still want to?”

You nodded slowly. “So long as it’s Steve and not Captain America.”

Steve smiled and nodded. “It will be, I can promise you that.”

You smiled. “Good, I’m glad.”

Kissing you goodnight, Steve waved up at you from the street below before riding back home, already planning your next date.