#Efficient Packing Techniques

[goodoldbandit]

The Guide to Packing for Long-Distance Motorcycle Travel

Good Old Bandit. Good Old Bandit. gob.stayingalive.in How to Pack for Long-Distance Motorcycle Travel Master the art of packing for long-distance motorcycle travel with this detailed guide. Learn essential tips for safety, efficiency, and comfort. Long-distance motorcycle travel is more than just a journey—it’s an adventure that fuels the soul and satisfies the wanderlust of every rider.…

[whosashan]

Hi! I love your LADS fics <3 if u dont mind i would love to know how youthink each LI do domestic things like grocery shop w mc, thanks <3

FEELS LIKE HOME

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x reader

SYNOPSIS: Your life together, in its quiet, domestic rhythm.

A/N: Hi there, thank you for your request. Hope you enjoy!

Xavier

Ever since moving in with Xavier, even the simplest errands had taken on an air of unpredictability. Grocery shopping was no exception.

Determined to finally stock the fridge, you clutched a neatly written shopping list as you walked into the store, intent on sticking to it. Xavier, on the other hand, had a more relaxed approach—one that involved significantly less planning and significantly more mischief.

It started small. A bag of chips appearing in the cart when you weren’t looking. Then a carton of ice cream. A six-pack of soda. You narrowed your eyes as you plucked out the offending items, holding one up in mild accusation.

"I didn’t make this list just for fun, you know."

Xavier merely smirked, his blue eyes filled with quiet amusement. "We need essentials."

"Essentials," you echoed, unimpressed, holding up a family-sized pack of cookies.

"Exactly." His voice was light, teasing, but there was something in the way he looked at you that made your stomach flip—like he was enjoying this little back-and-forth just as much as he enjoyed sneaking things into the cart.

What started as minor offenses quickly spiraled into an all-out game. You tried to stay vigilant, but Xavier was faster, smoother, slipping snacks and treats into the cart with the precision of a seasoned thief. You had no choice but to fight back, slipping in a bar of chocolate when he turned to examine the pasta aisle.

"I saw that," he murmured, his voice low with amusement. His lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smile as he plucked the chocolate from the cart and placed it back on the shelf.

You pouted in protest. "Oh, but your three bags of chips get to stay?"

"I work in subtlety," he replied smoothly, nudging the cart forward. "You, on the other hand, have all the stealth of a toddler hiding candy under a pillow."

You gasped in exaggerated offense, swiping the chocolate back and tossing it in with a triumphant smirk. "Then I suppose I’ll have to improve my technique."

By the time you reached the snack aisle, your little competition had escalated into a full-fledged debate over which brand of candy was superior. You stood your ground, arguing passionately, while Xavier, ever laid-back, leaned against the cart with his arms crossed, letting you talk—only to counter with a single, calm statement that completely dismantled your argument.

"You realize we could just get both, right?"

You huffed, grabbing both bags and tossing them into the cart. And somehow, as if by unspoken agreement, you both continued, plucking item after item from the shelves until nearly half the aisle sat stacked in your cart.

"You’re a bad influence," you muttered as you surveyed the damage.

Xavier merely tilted his head. "And yet, you’re the one who just grabbed another pack of cookies."

Before you could argue, he did something entirely typical of him—pushed the cart forward, only to grab your wrist and, with surprising ease, hoist you into the basket, careful not to cause any damage to your groceries or you.

You let out a small yelp, gripping the sides as he casually maneuvered the cart down the aisle. "Xavier!"

"What? You fit." He glanced down at you, his expression unreadable as always, but you caught the slight quirk at the corner of his lips. "Besides, this is efficient. You can’t take things out of the cart if you’re in it."

You wanted to argue, but between the sheer ridiculousness of the situation and the warmth of his hand resting briefly on your knee to steady you, you found yourself grinning instead.

That was, until you locked eyes with an unimpressed store employee.

Xavier slowed the cart to a stop, gaze shifting to the employee, then back to you. The moment of tense silence stretched—before you both burst into laughter. You scrambled out of the cart as Xavier muttered something about "killing all the fun," and the two of you made a swift retreat to checkout before you got kicked out entirely.

By the time you stepped out into the cool evening air, arms laden with overstuffed grocery bags, Xavier glanced at you with that signature, unreadable expression of his. And then, with no warning, he took off running.

"Xavier—" You barely had time to react before instinct kicked in, and you were sprinting after him, the two of you racing down the quiet streets toward home, breathless with laughter.

Your carefully planned grocery trip had turned into something else entirely. Chaotic. Unpredictable. Unapologetically fun. But then again, that was life with Xavier.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Zayne

You stirred in bed, feeling the space beside you empty, the sheets cool where warmth should have been. Zayne had already left for work, but his scent still lingered—a mix of clean soap and the faintest trace of a scent that's just him. Instinctively, you reached for his pillow, pulling it close in half-conscious longing. That’s when you noticed it—a small sticky note resting beside it, the crisp handwriting unmistakably his.

"I made you breakfast. It's on the kitchen counter. Remember to take care of yourself. I love you."

The simple words sent warmth through your chest. Zayne wasn’t one for extravagant displays of affection, nor was he particularly expressive when it came to feelings. But it was in the little things—like these notes, like the way he always made sure you ate, like the way he remembered details most would overlook—that his love showed through.

You stretched and finally climbed out of bed, padding into the kitchen to find the breakfast he’d prepared. The eggs were perfectly cooked, the toast golden, and the coffee just the way you liked it. As expected, everything tasted incredible—sometimes you wondered if there was anything Zayne couldn’t do.

As you ate, your eyes landed on another note stuck to the fridge.

"Check the fridge."

Curious, you opened it and were immediately greeted by the sight of a neatly placed slice of your favorite cake, wrapped carefully in a container with a fork resting beside it. You couldn’t help but grin as you took it out, snapping a quick photo before sending him a message.

"Spoiling me, aren't you?" You attached a picture of yourself mid-bite, looking perhaps a little too pleased.

Zayne’s response was nearly immediate. "It is only natural for me to take care of my lover."

A simple statement, and yet, it sent warmth creeping up your neck. Even after all these years, he still had a way of making you blush without even trying.

The day carried on, and you went about your usual routine, tidying up a little before getting ready to step out for errands. As you slipped your coat on, your fingers brushed against something in the pocket. Frowning slightly, you reached in and pulled out yet another note.

"Remember to dress accordingly to the weather."

A soft laugh escaped you as you shook your head. He must have left this here last night, anticipating that you’d rush out without checking the forecast. Peeking out the window, you realized it was colder than expected—of course, Zayne had been right. You sighed, grabbing a scarf before stepping out, a smile still tugging at your lips.

The rest of the afternoon went by quickly, and by the time you returned home, you were met with the familiar sight of Zayne’s neatly arranged shoes by the door, signaling his return. You found him in the living room, his tie slightly loosened, his posture still composed despite the long hours he’d likely endured.

"You’re home," you murmured, leaning against the doorframe.

His gaze lifted from the book he was reading, his expression as neutral as ever. "I am. Did you eat properly today?"

You smirked, walking over and settling beside him. "I did. Thanks to my very considerate boyfriend."

Something flickered in his eyes—an emotion softer than words, yet unmistakably there. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the exhaustion of the day melt away in the quiet comfort of his presence.

A moment passed before he spoke again, his voice low, careful. "Did you like the cake?"

You tilted your head up to look at him, your smile turning teasing. "Are you fishing for compliments now?"

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to deny it, but instead, he simply sighed, shaking his head. "I am simply ensuring you were satisfied."

You chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. "It was perfect. Just like you."

For a moment, he said nothing—just exhaled, eyes closing briefly as if he was letting himself absorb your words. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it, he murmured:

"Good."

And that, with Zayne, meant more than a thousand words ever could.

Rafayel

Laundry day with Rafayel was never just laundry day.

It started simply enough—sorting through the mountain of clothes that had mysteriously accumulated over the week. You had just finished separating the whites from the colors when Rafayel waltzed into the room, barefoot, a loose button-up hanging off his shoulders in that effortless, disheveled way of his.

He took one look at the scene before him and let out an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand to his chest like you had personally delivered a fatal wound.

"You started without me?" he whined, flopping dramatically onto the nearest pile of clothes. "Cutie, I thought we were in this together."

You snorted, tossing a sock at him. "You say that like you actually planned on helping."

"I was going to!" he defended, sitting up. "But now you've ruined my motivation. My artistic spirit is wounded." He pointedly rolled onto his stomach, chin resting on his hands, watching you with an exaggerated pout. "You should be making it up to me, not assaulting me with socks."

"You are literally lying on dirty laundry, Rafayel. That’s not exactly poetic."

He gasped again, as if personally offended by the very suggestion. "How dare you? Everything I do is poetic!"

Shaking your head, you grabbed a handful of warm clothes from the dryer and began folding. Rafayel, of course, made no move to help. Instead, he idly played with the hem of a shirt before suddenly holding it up with an exaggerated grin.

"Ah-ha! Finally, my masterpiece is complete!"

You blinked. "What?"

He slipped the shirt over his head with a flourish, the fabric way too tight for him. "You see, love, I have transcended fashion. This? This is avant-garde."

You stared at him, deadpan. "That’s my hoodie."

"Our hoodie," he corrected, sauntering over to steal another shirt from your pile and drape it over his shoulder like some kind of runway model. "Face it, darling, all your clothes look better on me."

"You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met."

"And yet," he purred, leaning in dangerously close, "you love me."

You sighed, but you didn’t argue. He grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your nose before finally—finally—deciding to be useful.

Sort of.

Because, of course, Rafayel didn’t fold clothes like a normal person. No, he dramatically shook out every single shirt, twirling them through the air before attempting what could only be described as the worst folding technique you had ever seen.

You groaned. "That’s not how you fold a shirt."

"Ah, but is there truly a right way to fold a shirt?" he mused, lifting one like he was contemplating the mysteries of the universe. "What is folding, but the physical manifestation of conformity?"

You grabbed the shirt from his hands, folding it properly in two swift motions. "It’s this. This is folding."

He let out a scandalized gasp. "You just destroyed art."

"Rafayel."

"Fine, fine," he sighed, plopping down beside you. But then his gaze flickered with something mischievous.

Before you could react, he grabbed a sock from the pile and tossed it at you. You barely dodged before retaliating with a towel.

And just like that, the war began.

Socks flew. Shirts were used as shields. Rafayel dived behind the laundry basket, dramatically crying out, "You betray me, cutie!" when you landed a particularly good hit. Eventually, he tackled you onto the warm pile of unfolded clothes, pinning your wrists above your head with a victorious smirk.

"Yield," he murmured, voice dipping into something softer, something almost sincere.

You swallowed, suddenly all too aware of how close he was, of the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"...We still have laundry to finish," you muttered.

His lips twitched, eyes gleaming. "You’re so practical. Can’t we stay like this a little longer?"

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers curled slightly under his hold. "Five minutes."

Rafayel grinned. "Deal."

And if the laundry still wasn’t done hours later… well, that was just another beautiful tragedy in his book.

Sylus

The first time Sylus attempted to braid your hair, you thought you were about to lose a chunk of your scalp.

“Hold still,” he grumbled from behind you, fingers threading through your strands with the delicacy of a man who had definitely never done this before.

“I am holding still,” you shot back. “You’re just yanking like you’re tying up a hostage—ow!”

He exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and amusement. “Well, excuse me, princess,” he drawled, tugging a little harder just to be a menace. “Didn’t realize I was dealing with such delicate conditions.”

You huffed, swatting at his knee. “You volunteered for this, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I was under the impression that braiding hair wasn’t some arcane ritual requiring years of training.”

“You could’ve just let me do it myself.”

"And miss the chance to watch you suffer? Not a chance."

Despite his relentless teasing, though, he actually kept trying. You caught him watching tutorials on his phone when he thought you weren’t looking, muttering under his breath about over-under techniques and damn YouTube instructors talking too fast.

And after a few weeks of unsolicited (but secretly welcomed) practice, you found yourself sitting in front of the vanity, Sylus standing behind you, fingers surprisingly deft as they worked through your hair.

"Huh," he mused, his breath ghosting over the top of your head. "Not bad."

You blinked at your reflection, reaching up to touch the braid. It was clean, even, woven with precision—shockingly well-done.

"Sylus," you said slowly, turning to look at him. "You actually got good at this."

He smirked, arms crossing over his chest. "I can be gentle when needed, kitten."

You narrowed your eyes, pointing a finger at him. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, here you are, willingly letting me touch your hair," he shot back, smug.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was impossible to ignore. Sylus was like this—sharp words, endless sarcasm, always keeping his true intentions tucked away beneath layers of teasing. But you knew better. You knew the quiet effort he put into things like this, the way he never did anything half-heartedly—not when it came to you.

"Fine," you sighed dramatically, tilting your head in mock defeat. "Guess I’ll just have to keep you around as my personal hairstylist."

Sylus snorted, hands already reaching to undo the braid, just so he could redo it better. "Didn't expect anything less from you, princess."

And as much as he teased, as much as he grumbled, you had no doubt that this would become a new routine—because Sylus, for all his rough edges, was the kind of man who showed his love not through words, but through every little, unspoken action.

Even if it meant begrudgingly mastering the art of braiding, just to spoil you a little more.

Caleb

It started as a joke.

You had been curled up on the couch, flipping through old photos when you stumbled across one from years ago—an old, grainy snapshot of you and Caleb, tangled up in a mess of blankets and pillows, grinning like idiots in the dim glow of a flashlight.

A pillow fort.

You snorted, nudging Caleb’s arm with your foot where he sat beside you, one arm slung lazily over the back of the couch. “Remember this?”

Caleb glanced at the photo, and something flickered in his expression—fondness, amusement, something else you couldn’t quite name. Then, slowly, he smirked.

“Oh, Pipsqueak,” he drawled, tilting his head to look at you. “Are you saying you wanna build one now?”

You scoffed. “I never said that.”

“But you want to.”

“I do not—”

“You so do.”

And that was how, ten minutes later, you found yourself watching Caleb steal every blanket and pillow in the apartment with entirely too much enthusiasm.

He had always been bigger than you—towering over you even as kids—but now, with broad shoulders and an easy confidence to match, he looked even more ridiculous draping a fuzzy pink blanket over the top of the fort like it was some grand architectural achievement.

“You’re taking this way too seriously,” you muttered, watching as he wedged a chair into position for support.

Caleb flashed you a grin. “You say that now, but someone was always the first to throw a tantrum if our forts fell apart.”

Heat rushed to your face. “I was ten!”

“You were dramatic.” He reached over and ruffled your hair, and when you swatted at his hand, he caught your wrist with ease, tugging you closer just to be a menace.

“Still are, actually,” he murmured, voice low as he leaned in. “Kind of cute, though.”

You scowled, pushing at his chest. “Let go.”

Chuckling, he finally released you, settling down inside the finished fort with an exaggerated sigh. The fairy lights you had strung up inside cast everything in a soft golden glow, the air warm and filled with the scent of fabric softener and him.

After a moment, you crawled in after him, adjusting the pillows before flopping down beside him. “Alright, not bad,” you admitted.

“Not bad?” Caleb repeated, raising a brow. “This is my best work yet.”

You rolled your eyes, but the fondness in your chest was undeniable. The last time you’d done this, you’d been kids—sneaking flashlights under blankets, whispering secrets and bad jokes late into the night.

“…Feels kind of nice,” you murmured. “Like old times.”

Caleb’s expression shifted—softer now, something warm flickering behind his gaze. His arm curled around you without hesitation, pulling you into his side, his touch firm but easy.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice a little different now, a little rougher. “But this time, I don’t have to leave when morning comes.”

Your heart skipped.

Because he was right. Back then, your forts had always ended with him sneaking back to his room before sunrise. But now?

Now, he wasn’t going anywhere.

You swallowed, curling into him slightly, fingers toying with the edge of the blanket. Caleb's hand settled at your waist, squeezing just enough to make you squirm, feeling ticklish.

Your face burned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

And, okay—maybe you didn’t. Especially not when he kissed the top of your head, his voice a little quieter when he added,

“…Love you, Pipsqueak.”

And in the glow of the fort, in the warmth of his arms, you smiled.

[joons-cinnamon-bun]

Perfect plan -2-

Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: friends to lovers, friends with benefits? (But the benefit is a baby); crack, a smidge of angst, smut, fluff, happy ending. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings:  mentions of cheating and ‘being the other woman’ (past relationship), reader works at a hospital, Namjoon is just an absolute sweetheart in this, cursing, multiple sex scenes, dirty talking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, just a smidge of size kink, unprotected sex, creampie, intensive orgasms, Namjoon tells you to “Relax, woman” before eating you out, lovemaking, and a quick scene of pregananat sex. Word count: somewhere around 16k. Author's note: Here we gooo, part 2 and the finale. Hope you enjoy.✨✨ and if you do, do not hesitate to comment (let's be friends). Tell me what you liked, what you didn't. I'm writing again after a really long time and could use some feedback. (and friends lol) I stole the name Cosmo from “Castle”- (an oldish detective/crime serries I used to love, and I always found it so funny naming a kid Cosmo that I just couldn’t help myself.) Thank you @callmenoona25 for being my trusted beta reader. You’re the best! ✨ part 1: here

Normally, you weren’t one to brag. However, when it came to your packing techniques, no one could compete. You prided yourself on your ability to fit everything you needed into a single suitcase, neatly organized and perfectly folded. Never went over the set limit, even by a gram. You even made sure to leave room for any souvenirs you might pick up along the way, maximizing both space and efficiency.

As you laid out your essentials, you felt a sense of satisfaction. Each outfit was carefully chosen for its versatility, from causal daytime to polished evening. The thrill of the trip only adding to your excitement as you zipped up your suitcase, ready for whatever awaited you in Singapore.

You met Namjoon at the airport, his big bright smile making your heart race when he collected your hand in his, leading you across the airport with familiarity.

The flight was smooth, filled with laughter and light conversation, and before you knew it, you were landing in Changi airport.

The vibrant city welcomed you with its dazzling skyline and warm, humid air. You could hardly contain your excitement as you stepped off the plane and into the bustling airport. Namjoon glanced at you; his eyes sparkling.

As you made your way to baggage claim, a sleek black SUV waited for you outside. The driver greeted you both with a warm smile and opened the door, and you slid into the plush back seat. Namjoon settled beside you, glancing out the window as the city zipped by.

“Look at all the lights! It’s beautiful,” he said, pointing out the iconic sights.

You nodded, mesmerized by the blend of modern architecture and lush greenery. The drive to your hotel felt like a preview of all the excitement that awaited you.

 Once you arrived at the hotel, the luxurious lobby took your breath away, with its stunning decor and welcoming atmosphere.

Your room just as elegant, featuring floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The soft lighting and plush furniture created a cosy yet sophisticated atmosphere. You couldn’t help but smile as you set your bags down.

“Wow! This is incredible” you exclaimed, fully enchanted by the room.

There was a little loune area to your right, complete with mini bar and plush seating that invited relaxation. A small coffee table was set perfectly in the centre, and the soft glow of the lamps added to the cozy ambiance.

The open kitchen was opposite to the lounging area, sleek and modern, with gleaming countertops and high-end appliances.

“This place is amazing.” You beam “I didn’t expect it to be this nice.”

Namjoon chuckles, clearly pleased. “Yeah, one of the job perks.”

You moved to the kitchen, admiring the little details- the stylish bar stools, the complementary snacks neatly arranged on the counters. “This feels like a dream,” you murmured, almost in disbelief as you run your fingers down the counter.

“Just wait until you see the view from the balcony,” Namjoon said, walking over to the sliding door. He opened it, and a warm breeze flowed in, carrying the sounds of the vibrant city below.

You stepped outside, and your breath caught in your throat as you took in the stunning panorama. The skyline shimmered against the dusk sky, a blend of colours painting the horizon. “This is breathtaking!” you exclaimed, stepping closer to the railing. The warm breeze gently collecting your hair from over your shoulder.

Namjoon watches you, undeniable admiration written across his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but his phone beeps, cutting him off.

“Ah. I need to get ready. I have a meeting in half an hour.” He said, glancing down at the screen.

You turned back at him, a little pout on your lips, “Right, of course.”

He sighs, giving you an apologetic smile. “I’ll wrap it up as quickly as I can, then we can maybe go enjoy the city a bit.”

You nodded, but gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry love. I need to check in with the Dean of medicine either way. So, I’ll be stuck in a zoom meeting for the next few hours too.” You check your watch “And then the conference starts, and I want to make sure I snatch a goodie bag” you grin up at him, making him chuckle as he picks out his clothes from his suitcase.

“My little busy bee,” he winks your way before walking to the bathroom.

You smile at the affectionate nickname, feeling a warm flutter in your chest. As he closed the door, you took a moment to gather your thoughts, preparing for your own meetings. You settled at the small desk in the room, pulling out your laptop and opening all the necessary documents, ready to dive into work.

Namjoon walks out a few minutes later, wearing a tailored suit that made him look like he stepped right out of a billboard. The sharp lines accentuated his frame, and the soft fabric seemed to highlight the subtle tan he was sporting, giving him a warm, inviting glow.

“Oh wow,” you say, momentarily speechless as you took him in, “You look incredible.”

He grinned, a hint of shyness creeping into his demeanour. “Thanks! Just wanted to make a good impression.”

“You definitely will,” you completely forgot about your work, staring at him unabashed. He adjusted his collar, and you noticed the way he carried himself with confidence, ready to take on the day.  “Make sure no one falls in love with you.”

He laughs, a light blush creeping across his cheeks. “I can’t make any promises. But I’ll make sure to mention that I’m reserved.”

“Good!” you said, feeling a playful spark in the air. “You’d better.”

“Okay, I’ll be out for a while. Text me if you need anything.” he said, moving toward the door.

“Good luck with your meeting!” you called after him, watching as he stepped out, the door closing softly behind him

You took a deep breath, letting the moment linger, before forcing yourself to dive back into your task. You made sure to schedule and plan everything in advance so you could take this time off. You checked and double checked every detail, ensuring there were no loose ends.

You went through your notes, confirming appointments and reviewing the materials.

Yet, when the Dean logged on, everything seemed to fall apart. “I’m sorry, but there’s been a logistics misunderstanding.” He said, his voice tinged with frustration. “The materials you sent over didn’t reach the hospital committee in time, and now we’re facing delays for the budgeting conference too.”

Your heart sank as you listened, a wave of anxiety washing over you. “What does that mean for my presentation?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

“The committee is postponing the schedule. And now we’ll have to resubmit everything. Your slot might be pushed back or even cancelled.” He explained, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe the situation either. “That means that the budget meeting also gets postponed, and you know just how these jackals like to cut the budget when we delay by even a day.”

You felt your stomach drop. All the careful planning and scheduling, and now the opportunity was slipping through your fingers. “But I’ve prepared so much for this,” you protest your voice cracking softly.

“I understand.” He replied, his tone monotone. “We’ll do our best to rectify this. But it may take some time. I’ll keep you updated.” The dean rubbed his temples, clearly irritated.

As the meeting wrapped up, you closed your laptop with a heavy heart. You lean back in your chair, frustration boiling beneath the surface. But you pushed on, reminding yourself that you were in Singapore, and there were still opportunities ahead.

Future-you will simply have to pick up the pace when you return to the office.

When you glance at the clock again, panic sets in- you were running late for the conference. There wasn’t time to change into your planned outfit, so you quickly refreshed yourself, tossing your hair up in a ponytail and opting for a comfortable yet presentable look. You grabbed your bag and dashed out the door, determined not to let anything else derail your plans.

As you hurried down the stairs, the bustling streets greeted you with their vibrant energy. You hailed a taxi, but of course, the traffic seemed to intensify just when you were in a rush. Cars barely crawled along, and your heart raced as you checked the time repeatedly, feeling the minutes slip away.

“Come on,” you muttered to yourself, willing the driver to find an alternative route. The sight of the city blurred past you, but your focus remained fixed on the conference.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you arrived at the conference venue. You paid the driver and hurried out, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. The grand entrance loomed before you, and as you stepped inside, the bustling atmosphere enveloped you.

You could see attendees mingling.  Doctors, residents and nurses walking around, exchanging ideas and business cards, and you felt a surge of determination. You might have faced a few setbacks, but you were here now, and you intended on making the most of it.

But when you arrived at your scheduled room, your heart sank. The meeting was more than halfway done, and the remainder of the presentation making very little sense to you, seeing as you completely missed the beginning. You tried to catch snippets of information, but it all felt disjointed, and the speakers were already moving on to complex concepts you struggled to grasp.

Frustration bubbled up again as you glanced around the room, hoping to find a familiar face or at least some insight into what you had missed.

Then you remembered the goodie bags you had heard about—swag filled with useful materials and promotional items. You felt a twinge of disappointment as you approached the table at the back, only to find it empty.

“Sorry, we ran out,” the staff member said apologetically.

Great. Just great.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on the remaining presentations, even if they felt like a blur. You tried to jot down key points, hoping to salvage something useful from the experience.  But then you saw him walk on stage.

“Hello everybody, I am Doctor Seong-Min and I’m here today to talk to you about-”

But nothing registers. The sight of your ex triggers a wave of emotions you thought you buried long ago. The memory of the betrayal and heartbreak flood back, eclipsing everything else around you.

You struggled to concentrate as he spoke, his voice smooth and confident, like always, captivating the audience. But all you could think about was the bitterness you felt when you found out about his wife, the lies he told, and the way he casually moved on with his life while you were left picking up the pieces.

Frustration bubbled up inside you, mingling with the hurt that never fully faded. You worked so hard to move on. To establish yourself in your career, only to find yourself face-to-face with the man who caused you so much pain.

And then you caught sight of her- the beautiful trophy wife, her belly big and round as she looked up at her husband with uttermost admiration. The image twisted like a knife in your gut, and you felt like you might puke right there.

You glanced around the room, searching for a distraction, but nothing could pull your focus from the scene unfolding in front of you. You could hear Doctor Seong-Min speaking about his research, but the words felt distant, muffled by the pounding in your chest.

The applause that followed his presentation felt like a weight pressing down on you, suffocating and heavy. You fought to keep your composure, knowing you had to push through this moment. You wouldn’t let him have that power over you anymore.

But then the dick has the audacity to walk over to you, disgusting smirk on his lips as he approached with his wife.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, feigning surprise. The arrogance in his voice made your skin crawl. His wife stood beside him, radiant and blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in the air. You felt your stomach flip as they neared.

“Hello,” you managed, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack your face.

Seong-Min leaned in slightly, the confidence radiating off him. “Enjoying the conference? We’ve been hard at work on this project,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the crowd.

You glanced at his wife, who was looking up at him with adoration, completely oblivious to the tension. “I’m sure it’s great,” you replied coolly, your heart racing.

“Still in the medical field, I see?” he asked, a condescending edge to his voice.

You could feel your frustration boiling beneath the surface, old wounds reopening. “Yes, and making strides.” you said, your tone sharper than intended.

His wife shifted slightly, glancing between you and her husband, confusion written on her face as she gently stroked her bump. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, extending a hand. You shook it, forcing politeness.

“Likewise.” you managed, though the word tasted bitter on your tongue.

Seong-Min flashed that infuriating smirk again. “We should catch up sometimes.” he said, as if you shared some fond memories rather than a history of betrayal. Like the poor woman he cheated on wasn’t standing right there.

“Not interested.” you replied, a bit too quickly.

“Well, enjoy the rest of the conference.” he said, his tone dismissive as he turned away with his wife, who seemed oblivious to the tension.

You felt like the last of your resolve melted away.

 It wasn’t fair.

Why does he get to have what you want? Why does he get to enjoy a loving relationship and a baby while you struggle with heartbreak and disappointment? The unfairness stung like a sharp wound, twisting in your chest.

You watched them walk away, his arm wrapped around her waist, the image of happiness that felt like a cruel joke. It brought back memories of the plans that you once had, the dreams you built, all shattered when you found that wedding band hidden in his desk.

You clenched your fists, grounding yourself in the present. This wasn’t who you were anymore; you moved on.

Or, at least, you thought you had.

Nothing from the conference sticks to you afterwards. A big dark cloud overshadowing the rest of the day, until you reach the hotel room.

You weren’t one to give into your emotions, but now, you needed something, anything to distract you from the building rage and emotion that stirred in your chest. You grabbed one of the bottles of Hennessy from the bar and poured yourself a generous glass. The rich amber liquid shimmering in the light, and you hoped it would help dull the ache in your chest. You took a sip, the warmth spreading through you, and you leaned against the cool counter.

As you stood there, you couldn’t shake the frustration that lived beneath the surface of your composed image. You hated feeling like this- caught between anger and sadness. You took another sip, letting the burn wash away any remnants of your earlier encounter.

Slowly, you let yourself slide to the floor, the tears you fought against all day finally breaking free, cascading down your cheeks in hot, unrestrained waves. You felt like a child again, overwhelmed by emotions that were too big to contain. The frustration, the hurt, the unfairness, the longing, all spilled out in chocked sobs.

Each little cry pulled at the heaviness that settled over your chest. You wrapped your arms around your knees, finding solace in the smallness of your position, trying to make sense of everything that unfolded these past few weeks.

Just then, you heard Namjoon’s footsteps approaching. His concern was palpable as he knelt beside you, his presence grounding as he pulled you in his arms. “Hey, hey,” he said softly, his voice laced with warmth that made it harder to hold back your tears.

You turned your gaze away, the world around you blurring through your tears. He didn’t push you to explain, he simply sat there with you, offering you the safe space you needed to be vulnerable.

Slowly, the intensity if your emotions began to ease. You leaned your head against his shoulder, grateful and a bit frustrated that he was there. Grateful for his unwavering presence, frustrated with yourself for letting your feelings spill over.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you admitted quietly.

Namjoon wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, “You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling,” he reassured, his voice steady and soothing.

“It’s not fair.” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Why does he get to have everything I wanted? It’s not fair.”

Namjoon quickly understood what you were talking about, tightening his grip around you. “I know it hurts. It’s fucked up to see someone who hurt you move on so easily while you’re left grappling with everything.”

“His wife is pregnant, Namjoon!” you start crying again, the weight of the reality crashing down on you. “It just feels like I’m stuck, and he’s living this perfect life.”

He tiled your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re not stuck. You’re on your own path, and it’s okay to take the time you need to heal. You deserve happiness too.”

The sincerity in his eyes made your heart swell, your bottom lip quivering as your throat tightened once more. You wanted to believe him, but the twinge of comparison felt so heavy. “It just hurts so much. I thought I was over this”

Namjoon shook his head, brushing a stray tear with his thumb. “Healing isn’t linear. It’s okay to have a few setbacks. I’m right here for you.”  

The warmth of his presence began to ease the ache in your chest. You took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the moment. “Thank you,” you whispered, the sincerity of your gratitude palpable.

“Always,” he replied softly, holding you tighter. “Now come on, let me take care of you tonight.”

You sniffle, whipping your nose with the back of your hand. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I know, but I want to. Just let me help,” he said, his tone firm yet gentle.

You hesitated, but the sincerity in his eyes made it hard to resist. “Okay.” you finally agreed, feeling relief and vulnerability wash over you.

“Good,” he smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Let’s order some food, and we can watch a movie, something to make you laugh while I draw you a bath.” He helps you up, a small smile managing to form on your lips when you let yourself lean into his warmth.

“Sounds perfect.”

As he set up the movie, you felt the burden on your shoulders start to lift. There was something comforting about seeing him move around the room with such confidence. He ordered room service, even adding a bottle of wine to the mix, which you gladly shared with him over dinner.

Once the bath was ready, he returned to you with a warm smile. “Everything’s ready.”

You look up at him, a tiny smile playing on your lips. “You really don’t have to do all this,” you said, but he just shrugged it off.

“Let me pamper you a little.”

With a laugh, you let him take your hand, “Alright. I accept.”

He lifted you effortlessly into his arms, and you give a small gasp of surprise. “What are you doing?” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Carrying you to the bath. It’s part of the pampering,” he said, his tone playful.

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling both giddy and relaxed as he walked you to the bathroom. The soft glow of candles flickered around the tub, the warm water inviting you in.

“Okay, okay, you can put me down now.” you said, and he gently lowered you to your feet, his hands lingering on your waist for a moment longer.

He stepped back, watching you with a soft smile as you took in the scene. “Enjoy, and I’ll be right here.” he promised, before stepping out to give you some privacy.

As you sank into the warm water, the soothing heat enveloped you, dissolving any lingering stress from earlier. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth seep into your muscles, feeling the tightness begin to fade. After a while, you hear the door open.

“Can I come in?”

You chuckle at the absurdity of his question, “Yes,” you smile when you see him peeking his head around the door.

“How’s the bath?” he asked, his voice light and teasing.

“Perfect,” you smile at him “You should join me.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by the suggestion. “Tempting, but I think I’ll stick to being your attendant for now.”

You laugh, splashing a little water in his direction. “You’re missing out.”

“I’m sure I’ll survive.” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “But I did bring you your wine glass. I figured you might want something to enjoy while you soak.” He said, setting it down on the edge of the tub.

“That’s perfect, thank you!” You reach for the glass, taking a long sip, savouring the flavours as they wash over your tongue.

Namjoon sat on the edge of the tub, his expression turning earnest “You know, I’m really glad we’re here together,” he said, watching you. “You deserve this time to unwind.”

You meet his gaze, feeling a warmth spread in your chest, “I didn’t think I needed it until today.” You admitted. “But this is really nice. Thank you.”

“I’m just glad I could be here for you. You’ve been carrying so much,” his look is so soft as he watches you “It’s okay to take a break.”

You took another sip of wine, letting the warmth of his words settle in your belly.

“Thank you, and I’m sorry we couldn’t go out.” You place your hand on his thigh, apologizing as you look up to meet his eyes.

“It’s really no problem.” He leans closer, his voice lowering “Just let me know if you need anything else.”

With a smile, you take another sip of your glass, feeing a sense of comfort envelop you, “For now, this is perfect. Just being here with you.”

You both settled into a comfortable silence, the warm water wrapping around you and melting away the tension in your muscles. However, after some time, the water began to cool. You took one last sip of your wine, savouring it, before setting the glass down on the edge of the tub.

“Joon,” you said, glancing over at him, “I think I’m ready to get out now.”

“Need help?” he asked, his tone shifting to one of concern.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I think I can manage, but could you hand me a towel?”

“Sure thing.” He stood up, grabbing a fluffy towel from the rack and handing it to you. “Here you go.”

You took the towel, feeling its softness against your skin. As you carefully stood up, the cool air brushed over you, sending a little shiver down your spine. You wrapped the towel around yourself, feeling a mix of warmth and comfort.

“Thanks, love.” You said, stepping out of the tub and onto the plush rug.

He watched you with a soft smile, “Any time, baby.” He carefully reaches out for you, pulling you into his arms, and you melt into him, the warmth of his embrace wrapping around you like a blanket.

You move your hands down his back, pulling back to meet his gaze, a smile creeping on your face. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, let’s make the rest of the evening just as cozy.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he easily scooped you up, and carried you to the bed with effortless grace. You laughed in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he settles you down on the pillows.

“See? Cozy already.” He said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You giggle, pulling him closer until your lips slot together, his tongue quickly working your mouth open, tasting the lingering sweetness from the wine on your lips.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm light over your skin as you tangle your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to you.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and as you wrapped your legs around him, you sensed his heart racing in perfect harmony with yours. He trailed kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of warmth in his wake, his hands exploring your body with gentle reverence.

With each touch, every lingering kiss against your skin, you feel yourself growing more aroused, your breath hitching in your throat as the heat between you quickly intensified.

You tugged at his shirt, fumbling to unbutton it, but Namjoon stopped you, instead gathering your hands in his and pinning them above your head.

“Take it easy,” He whispered against your jaw, kissing it softly, “We have all the time in the world.” His lips met yours again, and you could feel his harness press against you, as if testing you. You arched your back, pressing your body closer to his but he held you pinned to the bed until you huffed and gave up, pleading him with your eyes.

“Keep your hands there for me.”

Only when he saw you obey did Namjoon’s hands begin to roam your body again, pulling away your towel and throwing it somewhere over his shoulder. He traced the curve of your waist, the dip of your hips and the swell of your breasts. His fingers dancing along your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake and eliciting soft gasps from your lips.

You moaned when he took a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before giving it a gentle bite, while squeezing your other breast with his hand, your peaked nipple hard against his palm. The sensation made you jolt, and you heard him chuckle against your skin, urging you to push further into his touch.

As his mouth worshipped your breasts, his hand slid between your legs, fingers finding you slick with desire. Instinctively, your hips bucked against his hand, a rush of need flooding your senses as he explored your wetness slowly.

“That’s my good girl.” He murmured, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he trailed a finger along your folds. You shivered at the sensation, gasping as he flicked your clit.

“Namjoon…”

Without warning, he slipped a finger inside, then another, curling them in a way that made your stomach flutter with delight. He applied just the right amount of pressure, his fingers pumping in and out of you in a maddening rhythm that had you squirming with pleasure.

Once again, his is mouth found your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his tongue swirled around the hard peak. You moan, your fingers clenching the sheets as he continued to explore your body with languid ease.

Suddenly, he struck that sweet spot that made your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. A long, drawn-out moan escaped your lips, a clear sign that he had found the place that sends waves of ecstasy coursing through you.

“Ah, there it is,” Namjoon said with a satisfied smirk, his gaze fixed on you as you writhe beneath him, breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. His fingers hit that spot again, each stroke sending waves of pleasure rippling through you, building you higher and higher until you feel like you're teetering on the edge.

Your release hovers just out of reach, intensifying with every pulse of his hand, each scissor of his fingers within you. He maintains a steady rhythm, each move precise, the slick sound mingling with your soft, breathless pleas.

When his thumb circles your clit, the final surge tips you over the edge. Your body arches, surrendering fully as ecstasy crashes over you in waves, leaving you weak and trembling.

Namjoon holds you close as he moves up, pressing a soft kiss against your temple. “That’s it baby, cum on my fingers.” His hand slows, coaxing every last tremor from you until, with a soft gasp, you weakly push him away, spent and breathless in his embrace.  

A soft moan leaves your lips, eyes fluttering shut as you watch him draw his fingers from you and bring them to his mouth. His gaze holds yours, intense and unwavering as he slips his fingers past his lips, his tongue cleaning them completely, savouring the taste of you with a hum of satisfaction. The sight alone sends a fresh shiver down your spine, every nerve still tingling.

He was still fully dressed, looking so fucking handsome in his suit sans the overcoat. And there you were, flushed, completely bare and fucked out just from his fingers.

But then he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss, his mouth then trailing down your neck and collarbones, leaving a new path of warmth across your skin. He moves lower, pressing kisses along your chest until he settles on his knees besides the bed, looking up at you with an intensity that steals your breath away.

That image of him, gaze smouldering and devoted, is one that will haunt you for the rest of your life.

 With a gentle pull, he drags you closer to the edge of the bed, your core exposed to him. His hands glide up your legs, spreading them further apart as he goes, his eyes locked on yours as he leans forward, his beath hot against your skin.

You quickly sit up on your elbows, a hand reaching out as you speak, “You don’t have to.”

“Will you just relax woman?” Namjoon chuckles, gently pressing down on your belly in order to make you lie back down. “I want to.”

Before you could respond, he leans in, nipping at your thigh with a mischievous grin, then quickly soothes the bite with a warm flick of his tongue. The mix of pleasure and unexpected sweetness has you melting back into the mattress.

“You just enjoy.” he murmured, his fingers gently parting you folds “And let me take care of you.”

He looks up at you one more time, his eyes dark with desire and need. Slowly, he lowers his mouth to your clit, his lips soft and warm as they press against your sensitive skin. You let out a loud moan, feeling the pleasure shoot straight to your core, amplifying the lingering shockwave of your last climax, making every touch feel unbearably intense. His lips and tongue dance against your folds, gently parting you with his fingers as he drags a slow, thick line from your entrance to your clit.

“Namjoon, please.” You cry, your voice breathless, not even sure what you’re asking for. But he knows exactly what you need.

He responds with a gentle, rhythmic suction, mixed with teasing nips that made you gasp, his tongue darting in and out of your folds, exploring until you’re dizzy with pleasure. You can feel your body tensing up again, and when you make a move to close your legs, his arms hook around your thighs, keeping you spread and vulnerable, completely at his mercy.

Namjoon plunges his tongue deep inside you, his lips sealing around your entrance as he drinks you in, savouring every drop. He laps at your wetness, drawing you into further his mouth, his movements slow and indulgent, as through he wants to taste every single part of you.

The pleasure is too intense, it’s overwhelming, leaving you helpless as you mewl, thrash around and buck against his mouth. Your orgasm building deep within. But he doesn’t let up; if anything, his efforts double, his mouth and tongue moving with relentless intent, devouring you completely. Your hands tangle in his hair, your earlier protests forgotten as you lose yourself in the sensations he’s pulling from you.

“God, Namjoon, baby, you feel so good,” you breathe, your mind barely processing the confessions that tumble from your lips. “God, your mouth is divine, baby.”

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You feel him moan and groan against your core and your orgasm crashes through you. You cry out his name, feeling every single nerve in your body ignite in surges of bliss. His arms stay wrapped firmly around you, holding you steady as he shows no signs of stopping his abuse of your poor sensitive clit, drinking your release, drawing out every last tremor as you tremble, weak and utterly spent in his arms.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are glazed over with pleasure, his chin glistening with the evidence of your climax. You bite back a moan as he runs his tongue over his lips, savouring every last drop.

“You’re like heaven baby,” he murmured, leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, consuming kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, the blend of sensation only heightening your arousal further as his tongue moves against yours.

“Joonie, just fuck me.” You mumble in between kisses, your voice edged with desperation, aching for him to fill you up and ease the ache that he had been building inside of you. But he remains maddeningly patient, his hands moving casually over your skin, teasing and touching every inch of skin as though committing each detail to memory.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally breaks away and stands, leaving you longing for his warmth. His eyes never leave yours as he starts to undress, each movement slow and deliberate, drawing out the anticipation. His fingers work through each button of his shirt with practiced ease, revealing his skin inch by inch, his expression heavy with intent. When his shirt slides off, your eyes trace over the lean muscles of his chest and the sculpted lines of his torso, drinking in the sight of him.

You urgently motion for him to continue, but he only smirks, clearly savouring your impatience. You huff in frustration and sink back onto the mattress. Despite the growing ache within you, you’re utterly mesmerized by the way he moves, completely caught up in every motion as he lets your anticipation build with each lingering moment, before he finally reaches for his belt.

With a quiet clink, he unfastens it, his eyes watching your reaction as he lets it slide free with maddening slowness. Your breath catches, heart pounding as he unzips his pants, pushing them down just enough to reveal the hard lines of his hips. He steps out of his clothing, completely bare now, standing before you with an air of confident vulnerability that leaves you spellbound.

For a moment, he pauses, letting you drink in every detail —the muscles of his chest, the strength in his frame, his ridable thighs and his hard cock pressed against his stomach, the tip glistening with precum.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks, his voice low and teasing, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. The challenge in his tone ignites a thrill within you, and you nod, your mouth suddenly dry with desire.

Slowly, he steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours and he climbs on top of you, his body warm and solid as he positions himself between your legs.

“I can be on top.” You declare, suddenly finding your voice, grabbing his shoulders and trying to pull him down. But once again, Namjoon stops you.

“I’ve got this, you relax.” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as he eases you from your tensed position, allowing him to mould you as he pleases. His hands find your ass, squeezing it tightly as he positions you exactly how he wants.

A broken moan escapes your lips as he presses his erection against your aching pussy, the head of his cock catching against your clit, collecting your wetness. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer still, craving the connection between you.

Slowly, he enters you, filling you up in a way that takes your breath away. “Ah baby, so tight for me.” He moans against your neck, his voice thick with desire as he stretches you, despite all the foreplay. Namjoon pauses once he’s fully inside, relishing in the sensation until you begin to claw at his skin, urging him to move.

“God Namjoon, please, move. Please.” You beg, desperation flooding your voice and easing any shame you might have ever felt when it came to begging a man in bed. Yet here you were, the need in your tone was unmistakable, breaking you softly as you urged him to take action. “Please, my love.”

And obediently, Namjoon begins to move, pulling out and thrusting back into you with a steady rhythm. But with each movement, you can sense a subtle adjustment in his hips, as if he's searching for something deeper. You give him a confused look, ready to beg again, when suddenly he hits your g-spot, making you scream in pleasure.

“There we go,” he looks so proud of himself as he locks in, his hips thrusting against yours with expert precision now, in a rhythm that has you spiralling into ecstasy.

Yet, something feels different — like there’s something more here than just another steamy ‘baby-making’ session.

There is no urgency in his movements, no hurried pace. This feels more like lovemaking, like a slow and sensual dance that allows him to explore every inch of you as you surrender yourself completely to him. His lips and hands tease you constantly, leaving trails of electricity pulsing through your body as his hips maintain a steady rhythm. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as he worships you, revelling in the pleasure he gives you with each stroke of his cock.

As the tension builds within you, your breath hitches, and you feel yourself getting closer, his moans against your skin igniting the fire that threatens to consume you whole.

“Namjoon, I’m close.” You barely manage to get the words out, your voice trembling, as tears prick at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity building within.

“Come for me, babygirl. Let go,” He whisperers in your ear, “I’ve got you.” And you cry out, grabbing onto his shoulders tightly, your nails dragging down his back as you urge him on.

In response, he thrusts harder, faster, driving you to the brink of pleasure until, with a final push, he sends you over the edge. You scream out as your orgasm washes over you, your body shaking with the force of your release. Namjoon follows soon after, his body tensing, then shuddering as he empties himself inside of you, filling you to the brim. He gives a few final, slow trusts, the wet, slick sounds echoing softly around you.

He collapses on top of you, skin warm and damp, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both savour the lingering warmth of your lovemaking, riding the waves of pleasure as you come down from the high together.

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

“What the fuck are you reading?” Yoongi’s eyes are wide with shock as he looks over at Namjoon, who is sitting across from him at the conference table.

“Uhm-” Namjoon glances at the cover of the book, quickly realizing his mistake “What to expect when you’re expecting” he mumbles, his face turning a deep shade of red.

“Should I even ask?”

“It would be easier for the both of us if you don’t.” Namjoon replies, avoiding eye contact, his embarrassment palpable.  

Yoongi smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Now I’m definitely curious. Are congratulations in order?”

Namjoon lets out a groan, rubbing the back of his neck “It’s not what you think.”

Yoongi chuckles, clearly enjoying Namjoon’s discomfort. “Oh really? So, you’re just doing some light reading on pregnancy for fun?”

“More like… research,” Namjoon stammers, his cheeks still flushed. “For a friend. Just a friend.”

“Right,” Yoongi replies, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eye. “So, I get it that this weird plan of yours worked?”

“She’s not expecting yet,” Namjoon insists, a bit too defensively, before confusion strikes him. “At least, I think. I tend to get lost when it comes to the logistics.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. He lets the silence stretch, watching as Namjoon grows increasingly uncomfortable. Despite knowing he should stop talking, there’s something about Yoongi’s gaze that makes him continue.

“It’s complicated, okay? She has everything figured out, and I thought I should probably read up on it instead of sounding completely clueless.”

“Sounds like you’re in deeper than you think.” Yoongi laughs, his smirk widening. “Next thing you know, you’ll be attending prenatal classes with her.”

“Not a chance!” Namjoon shoots back, his tone half-serious and half-joking. “I just wanted to be a good friend. I didn’t sign up for this!”

Yoongi leans back, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the banter. “Come on, admit it. You’re secretly excited about it.”

“Maybe I am!” Namjoon bursts out, then quickly lowers his voice, glancing around the conference room as if expecting someone to overhear. “But it’s not about me. It’s about her.”

“Didn’t she say she wants to be a single parent?” Yoongi asks, raising an eyebrow.

Namjoon nods, his expression turning serious for a moment.

“I’m not going to interfere.” Namjoon says, shoving the book at the bottom of his backpack. “I just want to help.”

“You really like ‘helping’ her.” The teasing edge in Yoongi’s voice makes it clear this won’t end well for Namjoon, yet he can’t seem to keep his mouth shut.

“Don’t phrase it like that.” Namjoon’s face turns an even deeper shade of red.

Yoongi chuckles, clearly enjoying the moment “Come on, it’s just us here. You can admit it. You’re totally invested.”

Namjoon shakes his head, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “I’m just trying to be supportive, okay? She’s going through a lot, and I need to be there for her.”

“Supportive or not, sounds like there are more emotions involved than the ‘plan’ initially asked for.”

Namjoon groans, burying his face in his hands. “Can we please drop this?”

“Relax, your secret’s safe with me.” Yoongi says, finally easing up a bit. “But you owe me a favour for this.”

“What kind of favour?”

“Just remember who kept your secret, and maybe take me to lunch next week?”

Namjoon shakes his head, chuckling. “Fine, you’ve got yourself a deal. But no more pregnancy talks.”

“Deal.” Yoongi nods, still grinning. “But maybe don’t bring any more of those books to work. It’s not a good look.”

“Good idea.” Namjoon says, leaning back in his chair as the meeting starts to take shape.

As the discussions unfold, Namjoon finds himself glancing at the clock, his mind wandering to thoughts of you and the city exploring he’s been dreaming about. The day drags on with endless presentations and updates, and he can’t shake the desire to escape the conference room.

Finally, as the last agenda item wraps up, he feels a wave of relief wash over him, the long day is finally over. He stands up, stretching his arms above his head and quickly shoots you a text message.

Joonie 🎍🫀: Hey love. I’m done for the day. How about we grab dinner and check out the Gardens by the Bay? We can catch the skyline at night too! Baby-momma 💕:  Sounds wonderful! Can’t wait to see the skyline!

Namjoon smiles at your reply, feeling a rush of excitement.

Joonie 🎍🫀: Great. I’ll meet you at the hotel in 20. Wear something red for me 😏 Baby-momma 💕:  See you then! 🥰

He quickly gathers his things and heads out, a bounce in his step as he thinks about the evening ahead. The drive is quiet, but his mind races with possibilities. When he arrives at the hotel, he spots you waiting for him by the entrance, looking absolutely radiant in a black dress that perfectly accentuates your waist. The square neckline draws his gaze to the little mark he left just above your chest, making him smile wider.

“Hey there,” he says, a smile breaking across his face as he approaches, “You look amazing, even if it’s not red.”

You twirl playfully, your dress flowing around you. “I hope this is good enough.” you beam, your smile quickly turning into a teasing one as you take his hand and guide it to the strap of your dress. You lift it just enough to reveal a glimpse of red lace underneath. “The red is for later.”

Namjoon’s breath catches, his eyes widening with surprise and delight. “Well, now I’m even more excited for tonight.” he replies, eyes still glued to your chest.

You pull him closer, the energy between you sparking with anticipation. “Lead the way, baby.” you say, your voice playful and oh-so inviting.

He chuckles, feeling a rush of confidence as he guides you towards the exit. “I hope you’re ready for an adventure.” He teases, glancing down at your hand still intertwined with his.

The evening air is warm as you step outside, the city lights beginning to flickering to life around you.

You stop for dinner at the most charming little noodle shop, a hidden gem that Namjoon found online. And just like the reviews promised, the food was incredible.

After dinner, you head to the Gardens by the Bay, where the towering structures are beautifully illuminated against the night sky. As you stroll through the gardens, the sweet scent of flowers fills the air, and the sounds of the city fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

Namjoon leads you to a quiet spot overlooking the skyline. The city sprawls out before you, all the light shimmering like stars in the night sky.

“Wow.” you whisper, taking in the breathtaking view.

Namjoon leans closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. “It’s like a painting, isn’t it?” his arms wrap protectively around your waist, holding you close to his chest.

You nod, leaning into him, feeling safe and content as you stand together, soaking in the beauty of the moment. The skyline reflects in your eyes, but it’s the way he holds you close that makes everything feel so much more vibrant.

After a while, you feel his lips brush against your neck, softly kissing his way up to your ear. “Want to head back? I think I could use dessert after this.” He murmurs.

You giggle, nodding slowly and leaning into his touch. “Sounds good. I saw this little pastry shop near the hotel.”

“Not quite what I was suggesting.” he smirks against your skin and you feel a flush rising in your cheeks.

“Oh…” you reply, biting your lip to stifle a grin. “What did you have in mind?”

“Didn’t I tell you? You taste like heaven.”

Your heart races at his words, and you can’t help but smile back at him. “That sounds tempting.”

“Good.” He kisses your neck once more, taking your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze as you begin to walk back towards the hotel.

As you stroll, the city lights twinkle above, creating a magical backdrop. The conversation flows effortlessly, laughter punctuating your words. Every shared glance feels charged with anticipation, heightening your senses and making the moment feel even more special.

When you finally reach the hotel, Namjoon keeps his word. Fucking you good and hard into the mattress, over the couch and pressed up against the window, overlooking the city as you come completely undone around his cock.

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

“Okay, since when does making a baby require you travel to Singapore?” Sumi looks at you, utterly bewildered.

The little coffee shop was cozy, its warm, pink ambiance wrapping around you like a comforting hug, chasing away the chill of a long workday. Aera suggested the place, and now, the three of you are huddled together at a small table, indulging in some much-needed girl talk.

You stare at the picturesque slice of sponge cake on your plate, next to the steaming cup of coffee you’ve been craving all day.  

“I was sad, and he just did a nice thing for me.” you mumble between spoonfuls of cake.

“Wow. When I’m sad Jungkook just tells me to cheer up!” Aera replies, her eyes wide with disbelief, mirroring Sumi’s expression.  

You chuckle a little, completely absorbed by the dessert.

“Seriously! How is that even fair?” Sumi adds, shaking her head. “You’ve got yourself a good one over there.”

You chuckle, feeling a mix of embarrassment and warmth at their reactions. “It wasn’t like that. We just had a moment, you know?”

“Sure, a moment that requires international travel?” Aera teases, nudging you playfully.

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling “It’s not like that! He just helped me unwind.”

Sumi laughs, shaking her head. “This is a whole different kind of ‘helping’ you’ve got going on.”

You take a sip from your coffee, feeling flustered under their relentless stares. “Can we just enjoy our cakes without analyzing my life choices?”

“Never! This is so much better than cake!” Aera declares dramatically, making you all laugh. “Spill the tea, babe.”

“I would, but there’s no tea to spill.”

“You’re a lying liar.” Sumi smirks, “I think I speak for everyone at the table when I say, Namjoon was basically undressing you with his eyes the last time we were at Seokjin’s.”

You feel your cheeks heat up remembering that night- how intense his gaze felt, the way he pulled you into the spare bedroom and kissed you until you were breathless, leaving you both flustered and frustrated.

 “What? No! He wasn’t.” you protest, though your voice lacks any conviction.

Aera leans in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, come on! You can’t tell me you didn’t feel that chemistry!”

You did feel it- The same way you felt him all the way back to your apartment.

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to deflect, “He was just being friendly!”

“Friendly? Please!” Sumi rolls her eyes. “He’s totally smitten.”

“I really don’t see it.” You confess, taking a cautious sip of your coffee to buy some time.

Aera raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, “Really? You think he spends that much time with you just because he’s being nice?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve always been close.” you reply, trying to sound more convincing that you feel. “It’s not like he’s making any moves.”

“My dude! You’ve been sleeping together for what? Three months? How is that not a move?” Sumi argues, quickly realizing her slip up.

“You’ve been what?!” Aera’s eyes blow wide, her mouth dropping open in shock.

Your face burns as you scramble for words. “Wait, wait, wait! It’s not like that!” you stammer, panic rising in your chest. “We’re not— I mean, we are. But it’s complicated!”

Sumi smirks, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

“Oh, it sounds pretty straightforward to me! You’ve been sharing a bed for months and you didn’t think to tell me?” Aera’s expression shifts through a whirlwind of emotions.

“It’s not something I just bring up!” you protest, trying to collect your thoughts. “He’s just helping me get pregnant. We’ve been navigating this… situation, and it just didn’t feel right to tell anyone.”

“I know because I came up with the idea!” Sumi beams, overly proud of herself.

Aera leans in closer, her curiosity piqued. “So, you really are sleeping with him? Like, romantically?”

“Only recently!” you admit, your heart racing. “And it’s still really new and confusing.”

“Confusing or not, this sounds like a plot twist waiting to happen.” Sumi laughs, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Aera’s eyes widen even further, and Sumi bursts into laughter. “Girl, you’re in deeper than you realize!”

“Can you keep your voice down?” you say, glancing around the cozy shop to make sure no one’s listening. “It’s not that simple!”

“But it sounds like it is!” Aera is shocked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, what’s it like? I mean, are you two a thing now?”

You fidget with your cup. “No. Nothing like that. He’s just helping me get pregnant.”

Sumi raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Really? You think he’d go to all this trouble if he didn’t have feelings for you?”

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away. “I mean, he’s just being nice. He wants to help me, that’s all.”

Aera leans in closer, her curiosity growing. “But you like him, right? I mean, there has to be something more than just… helping.”

You feel your cheeks warm. “Of course I like him! But that doesn’t mean he feels the same way.”

“You need to tell him!” Aera urges, her excitement bubbling over. “You can’t just keep pretending it’s all casual.”

At that, you feel the bubble burst and reality crashes in. The consequences of your actions suddenly feel all too real.

How could you even bring it up with him?

Relationships always have a way of complicating things. Even if by some miracle, you two become a couple, it could easily spiral out of control. The thought of him potentially leaving your life is a risk you can’t bear. 

After all, if this is a number’s game, 50% of marriages end in divorce. And the odds are far worse for dating. 

“No. I’m fine as is.” you glance down at your coffee, stirring it absentmindedly. “This is just about the baby and nothing more.”

Sumi furrows her brow, unconvinced. “But what if it’s more for him? You could miss out on something special.”

“It’s safer this way.” You insist, though doubt creeps in your voice “I don’t want to complicate things.”

“Complications are already there.” Aera points out gently, “You’re both invested. Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

You take a deep breath, the weight of their words settling heavily on your chest. “I want the baby. That’s my only focus right now.”

Sumi’s expression softens. “But what if you could have both? A baby and a relationship? Isn’t that worth exploring?”

The idea lingers, tempting yet terrifying. You want to believe that could happen, but the fear of risking everything holds you back. “I don’t want to lose what we have.”

Sumi leans in, her voice gentle but firm. “But what if there’s more to gain than just what you might lose? You both care about each other—why not see where that can take you?”

You chew your lip, caught between the fear of the unknown and the hope for something deeper. “I don’t want to push him away. If I tell him how I really feel, what if he doesn’t feel the same? It could ruin everything.”

Aera nods, understanding but not letting you off the hook. “But keeping it bottled up could ruin things too. You’re both navigating this together, right? Just talk to him.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I planned any of this!” you sigh, frustration creeping in. “I just wanted a baby. This was supposed to be a straightforward arrangement!”

“And sometimes the best things come from the unexpected,” Sumi counters, using her favourite line. “Look at how much you’ve already shared. Maybe it’s time to be honest about your feelings?”

You sit back in your chair, the weight of their words sinking in. What if this really could be something more? But then the fear rushes back in—what if it all falls apart?

“No. We have this arrangement, and it works.” You state firmly. “That’s where this conversation ends.”

Aera opens her mouth to respond, but Sumi places a calming hand on her arm. “Okay, we’ll drop it. We just want what’s best for you.” she says gently, her eyes still filled with concern.

“Yeah, I get it.” you reply, appreciating their support even as you feel the tension in the air. “I really do. But right now, I need to focus on the baby and what that means for me.”

Aera leans back, her expression softening. “Just promise us you’ll think about it. You deserve to be happy too, you know.”

“The plan makes me happy. Namjoon just isn’t part of it.”

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

The two lines stare innocently at you. The test waits patiently for you on your desk, and each time you walk by a new flutter of emotions washes over you.

You were pregnant. You had to be- You took five tests. They all came back positive.

You blink again at the small plastic device, feeling the reality of the situation settle in. Five tests, all confirming what you’ve been hoping and working for.

What now?

Sumi 🏥: Welcome to club knocked-up.

The phone buzzes, the message arriving alongside your blood work results. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you read Sumi’s message. Her humour cuts through the tension, and for a moment, you feel like you could float. Club knocked-up. It feels surreal, like stepping into a world you’ve only heard about from others.

You typed back quickly, your fingers dancing over the screen.

Idiot 🌺💫: Thank you, Sumi! Can’t believe this is happening. 

The blood work is another confirmation. Your mind races with questions: What was the next step? How will you tell the others?

Sumi🏥: You’ve got this! We need to meet up and celebrate! Idiot 🌺💫: Yes! I’ll add it to my to-do list!! Sumi🏥: 🙄 🙄 🙄 Sumi🏥: I also pencilled in an appointment with Dr. Mi-Ja. Best Dr I know. (Even if she’s a stuck-up bitch at the watercooler). Idiot 🌺💫: Thank you. Love you 💕 Sumi🏥: Right. Sure. Just tell me if u want me to add Namjoon as a guest or nah. Idiot 🌺💫: Nah.

Three letters and a punctuation mark. That's all it took to tie up your resolve with a pretty bow of logic. He had done enough; you didn’t need to bring him into this any further. From now on, it would be just you.

The appointment comes as a welcomed relief. Dr. Mi-ja exuded kindness and experience, her calming presence putting you at ease. She laid out the next steps and the best options available, cementing that sense of control you’ve been longing for in this new chapter of your life.

The next few weeks rolled on by, the initial shock of the pregnancy transforming into an all-consuming obsession. Your agenda and calendar became constant companions, filled with notes and reminders. You dove headfirst into planning-diaper storage solutions, the perfect formula temperature, baby-proofing the rooms- each detail meticulously organized and perfectly planned. 

 But, as it turns out, you could factor in morning sickness as a part of the package, but you can’t really plan for it… some days you are perfectly fine, and others, you were completely sidelined, battling nausea while trying to tackle your growing to-do’s.

One minute you’re dreaming about baby names, and the next, you’re sprinting for the bathroom, feeling like your world is spinning.

Ginger tea and saltines became a new staple in your home. A makeshift remedy for the relentless waves of nausea. The mere scent of coffee knotted your stomach, an ironic twist for someone who once had more coffee than blood running through their veins.

But despite the discomfort, you kept life moving forward. Now more grateful than ever that you work in a hospital and have an arsenal of doctors on quick-dial for any inquiries you might meet along the way.

Still, Sumi was your constant support, always checking in and making sure you had everything you needed. Even when you insisted you were just fine, with your head in the toilet. “You can’t fool me.” she’d tease over the phone, her laughter lightening the mood just a smidge.

You only hope you manage to keep the contents of your stomach intact when Namjoon comes over with dinner. It was Sunday, and you hadn’t seen him since you got the results. The thought of facing him stirring a cocktail of nerves and excitement inside you. What would you say? What would he say?  Would it be awkward?

As you tidied up your space, the familiar sound of a mommy-to-be audiobook filled the background, almost pulling you out of your deep thoughts. You move on to set the table, choosing instead to focus on the details: napkins folded neatly, an empty vase in the middle-since the smell of flowers made you sick-, plates arranged just-so, and a cushy ambiance created by the setting sun peeking through the sheer curtains.

You didn’t plan the sun. But it added a beautiful touch to the atmosphere, casting a golden hue over everything.

The sound of the key in the lock sends your heart racing. You take a big breath, steeling yourself as Namjoon enters, a big smile on his face and a bag of take-out in his hands.

“Hey! I missed you!” he said, stepping inside and wrapping you in a tight embrace, his lips sweetly meeting yours for a quick kiss.

The warm scent of bulgogi drifted through the air, making your stomach rumble-despite your best efforts to quell the impending nausea.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” he murmurs in your hair, making your stomach twist again, only this time with guilt. His warmth surrounds you, but the reality of your situation gnawed at the edges of your mind.

He doesn’t know, so he’s still acting like he has some kind responsibility towards you.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” you reply, pulling back to look up at him. His smile is genuine, deepening the dimples on his cheeks, only stressing your fluttering nerves further and bringing a fresh wave of discomfort over you.

He holds up the take-out bag with a grin. “I brought Bulgogi and all the fixings. Figured we could have a little feast.”

“Great.” you said, trying to match his enthusiasm, but your voice falls flat.  Much like your actions, because you feel more like a robot as you lead him to the table, quickly taking a seat and pouring yourself a tall glass of water.

As Namjoon begins to unpack the food, the rich aroma wafted towards you, and before you could even react, a wave of nausea hits you. You jump up and dash to the bathroom, barely making it in time.

Once inside, you leaned over the toilet, feeling the contents of your stomach spill out. Each heave bringing a mix of frustration and embarrassment. You didn’t even notice the sound of the door creaking open, too caught up in your misery to register it.

“Oh shit,” Namjoon says softly, his voice filled with concern. You feel his hands collect your hair away from your face, gently rubbing your back.

You’re too embarrassed to look at him. But his presence brings you some semblance of comfort. He doesn’t say anything. Just stays there with you, holding your hair back and massaging your back until you’re done.

Once you feel comfortable standing up, he brings you a wet washcloth and a glass of water. You sit on the edge of the bathtub, grateful for the small gestures of care amidst the tension that hangs between you.

A heavy silence settles, broken only by the sound of running water from the sink. You know Namjoon isn't oblivious; he's pieced together the clues—the missed calls, the unread messages—and now the truth hangs in the air like an unspoken accusation.

He doesn’t rush to speak, instead, taking his time to look at you, weighing his next words carefully.

“Congratulations.”

You give a small nod, not quite feeling like celebrating right now.

“How long have you known?” His voice is raw with hurt as he breaks the silence, his eyes searching yours for answers.

You draw in a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “A few weeks now.”

He blinks, the realization settling in. “A few weeks?” His voice is a mix of disbelief and pain. “When did you plan on telling me?”

“I-I don’t know.”

The weight of those words hung thick between you, like a dense fog, blurring the outlines of what was sure to be a life-altering conversation. You could see the cogs turning in Namjoon’s mind, processing the truth that lay before him.

“You plan for everything-” There is a mix of emotions that crosses his face in that split second, somehow, heartache being the most evident of them all “Is this why you’ve been ignoring me?”

You look away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. The weight of your decision feels heavier than before, almost like it could crush your chest under the pressure.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” You admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to involve you any more than necessary.”

Namjoon’s laugh is bitter, devoid of any humour, “Is that what you think I am? Just a means to an end? Someone to use and then discard when you no longer have need for me?”

You flinch at the accusation, the pain in his words cutting deeper than you could have ever imagined. “No, that’s not it at all!” You insist, reaching out to touch his arm, but he pulls away from your grasp.

“Then what is it?” He demands. “Because from where I’m standing it looks like you used me. You used my trust, my emotions, and then you tossed me aside like a piece of trash when you got what you wanted.”

You shake your head, tears filling your eyes “Namjoon, we had an agreement.”

“Yes. We also set up rules- rules, mind you- that we willingly broke with the first opportunity that showed up.”

The tension crackles in the air, and you feel your heart race as he takes a step back, putting distance between you. His words sting, but they cut close to the truth. You know he’s right; the lines blurred the moment you started sharing a bed.

You had anticipated every scenario, but this—seeing the hurt in Namjoon’s eyes, the disappointment etched across his face—was something you hadn’t prepared for

“Namjoon, please…” you plead, searching for the right words. “This wasn’t what I intended. I wanted a baby, yes, but I never meant for things to get complicated like this.”

He looks at you, his expression softening just a fraction, but the hurt is still there. You’ve never seen him like this- grasping at his emotions, struggling to keep them contained. He falls silent, looking away from you, and you sense the weight of his disappointment pressing down on you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“You’re cruel,” he says your name, the pain evident in his voice, as if the word itself is a wound. The rawness of his voice stabs at your heart, each word a reminder of the walls you’ve singlehandedly build between you.

You look away, letting your tears spill, no words fit for the damages you’ve caused.

 “What about my feelings? My part in this? Did you ever stop to consider that maybe I’d want to be involved in this kid’s life too? In your life?” Namjoon continues, his voice slightly rising with a mix of frustration and pain. Each word causing you to sob further, and you can’t help but flinch at the reality of what you’ve done.

“I didn’t think-” you begin, but the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly! You don’t think,” he interrupts, his hands balling into fists by his side “You just plan.” He lets out a frustrated breath, “I actually thought you loved me back. God. I’m such an idiot.” He turns away, his back facing you, as if the distance between you somehow lessens the weight of the moment.

The silence stretches, heavy and unbearable, filled only by the sound of your ragged breathing.

“Namjoon, please,” you call out, your voice cracking. “Don’t go.”

He takes a slow, deliberate breath before responding, his voice low and strained. “What else can I do? You’ve already made your choice.”

Your heart aches at the hurt in his expression. “I was scared, Namjoon. Scared of how you’d react, scared of what this all meant.”

“Scared?” He scoffs, the bitterness returning to his voice. “Scared of what? Of being a family? Of letting me in?” He shakes his head, as if he can’t comprehend the distance you’ve created.

“Please,” you whisper, feeling the tears stream down your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to get complicated like this. I wanted to share this with you, I really did.”

He takes a step back, the distance between you growing again. “You wanted a baby, not me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s what hurts the most.”

“Namjoon…” you say, your voice breaking.

He turns away, facing the door, the weight of his decision clear in his posture. “I need to go,” he says, his voice heavy with finality.

“Don’t,” you urge, panic rising, “Please, just… let’s talk about this.”

“I can’t.” Namjoon replies, his voice strained. “I can’t do this right now.”

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

You never liked waiting rooms.

There was something about the sterile white walls, the sickly-looking people, the occasional coughing and the wailing baby that made your stomach churn with anxiety.

Normally, you’d use your ‘connections’ to skip the line, asking your colleagues to check you out when they had a moment.  

But this time felt different. Surrounded by a sea of pregnant women, each one rounder and fuller than the next, guilt washed over you for even considering it.

So instead, you settled in next to a woman with a crying baby, constantly refreshing your messaging app, hoping Namjoon would respond to your messages.

You: First ultrasound appointment. I’d be glad if you can make it…

And you forwarded the message from the hospital with all the details about the appointment.

The message was flagged as read since you sent it, two weeks ago. But no response came.

The minutes stretched on, each second amplifying your unease. You glanced around the waiting room, feeling like an outsider among the expecting mothers. Their laughter and chatter felt detached from reality, and you couldn’t shake the knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach.

You opened the messaging app again, staring at Namjoon’s contact. Maybe if you focused hard enough, those three little typing dots would appear. A follow-up message might coax a reply, but a small voice warned you against it. You didn’t want to seem desperate, even though you felt that way deep down.

Taking a deep breath, you put your phone down and tried to centre yourself. You could hear the soft coos of the woman besides you as she rocked her baby, and you took a moment to admired her calming demeanour. It was such a stark contrast to your own swirling thoughts, that you found a bit of peace in her tranquillity.

 After a moment, the woman caught your eye. “Is this your first?”

You nodded, trying to muster a smile as you placed a hand over your still flat stomach “Yeah, I’m a nervous wreck.”  

You weren’t quite sure why you felt compelled to open up to this random lady, yet here you were, being more honest with a stranger than you had been with your partner.

She smiled back, her big eyes filled with warmth. “That’s normal. Just take it one step at a time. You’ll be just fine.”

You appreciated her kindness, but at that moment, it did little to ease any of the mounting worries you’ve been collecting since your last conversation with Namjoon. The pain in his eyes was still etched in your memory, surfacing at the most inopportune of times and reminding you of just how easily you could tangle up your own life.  Each thought felt like a thread unravelling, pulling you deeper into a sea of uncertainty- about your future, your relationship, your entire damned plan.

You checked the message again, hoping for something-anything- from Namjoon. Still, nothing changed.

Then, faster than you expected, a nurse called out your name. You barely fumbled to collect all your belongings before heading into her office, your heart feeling more like a speck of sand in your chest. Each of your steps felt heavy, a whirlwind of emotions swirling through you harder still.

Dr Mi-ja greeted you with the usual warmth and quickly launched into a series of tests and questions about your well-being— checking vitals, asking about symptoms, energy levels, nausea and anything else that seemed relevant.

“Have you had any cravings or aversions?” she inquired, glancing up from her clipboard.

“Just a strong aversion to hospital waiting rooms,” you joked, forcing a small strained laugh.

She chuckled, her head shaking lightly “That’s a common one. But overall, it seems like you’re doing well. Now, let’s move on to the ultrasound. That’s the exciting part!”

As you followed her to the ultrasound room, a mix of excitement and nervousness boils in you with every step down the hall. This was one of those moments you had dreamed about, meticulously planning every detail for-the outfit you’d wear, how you’d react, all the little other moments that filled your mind. 

Yet, as the moment draws near, a wave of sadness washed over you at the thought that Namjoon wasn’t by your side. Even if he hadn’t been part of the plan initially, you had hoped he would be here to share this significant milestone. His absence felt heavy, casting a bittersweet shadow over the excitement. You took a deep breath, trying to focus on the experience ahead, but the longing for his presence lingered in the back of your mind.  

“Is the father coming?” Dr Mi-ja asks, sparing a glance in your direction as you enter the ultrasound room. You paused, hesitant to speak the truth out loud.

“I don’t think he can make it,” you finally admit, the weight of your words hanging in the air.

Dr Mi-ja nodded, her expression understanding. “It’s okay if he can’t be here. What matters is that you’re here, and we’ll take very good care of you.”

You appreciated her kindness, but it did little to ease the pang of discouragement as you accepted this new reality.

As you settled on the examination table, Dr Mi-ja prepared the ultrasound machine. “I’m going to need you to unbutton your shirt.” She said gently. You nodded, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before following her instructions. Sitting at the edge of the table, you began unbuttoning your shirt, taking your time as you wrestled with the lingering sadness.

Just then, a loud bang echoed through the room, startling you. Sumi's voice carried through the door, her muffled voice scolding whoever slammed against the door, before the ID swipe beeped, signalling the door had unlocked. In walks a slightly pissed Sumi, closely followed by a very flustered Namjoon.

“Sorry we’re late! Someone wasn’t aware you had to fill out forms at the hospital,” She shot a glare at Namjoon, before addressing you, as if you had somehow contributed to that chaos.

“This is a private meeting.” Dr Mi-ja began, preparing to escort them out. But you stopped her.

“No. This is the father.” As you introduced Namjoon, a new wave of emotions crashes over you. But Namjoon stepped forward confidently, his eyes reflecting relief and apprehension.

“Sorry for the mix-up.” he said, glancing at Sumi, who looked taken aback but quickly masked her surprise with a supportive smile.

Dr Mi-ja softened her stance, clearly sensing the significance of the moment. “Alright then. Let’s proceed without further interruptions, preferably.” She shot a pointed look Sumi, but her demeanour shifted to one of professionalism as she gestured to the both of you to take a seat.

You caught Sumi roll her eyes, muttering a “Bitch” under her breath before she exited the room with a soft click of the door behind her. 

As you settle back onto the examination table, your gaze met Namjoon’s. There is no shock or hesitation in his eyes- just a steady presence that made you feel a little more grounded, even as the situation felt heavier with him there. He offered you a reassuring smile, and for the first time in weeks, the clouds that loomed in your brain began to shift, even if just slightly.

“Now, let’s see how your little one is doing,” Dr Mi-ja said, smiling at both of you.

Namjoon’s hand found yours as he leaned closer to the screen, his grip anchoring you before the anticipation and nerves got a chance to settle.

Dr Mi-ja applied the cool gel to your abdomen, the sensation catching you off guard. “Are you ready?” she asked, glancing at you with an encouraging smile.

You nod, your heart racing.

“Alright, let’s take a look,” she said, positioning the wand with careful precision.

As the screen flickered to life, your breath caught in your throat.

There it was—a tiny blob pulsing rhythmically, the heartbeat a steady echo that filled the room. It was surreal, overwhelming, and suddenly everything else outside this tiny moment faded away.

“There’s your baby,” Dr Mi-ja said, her voice warm with enthusiasm. “And that heartbeat is strong.”

You looked over at Namjoon, who was completely absorbed in the image on the screen, his eyes shimmering with wonder.

The doctor continued, tracing the contours of the tiny form. “Everything looks good so far. The heartbeat is strong, and the measurements are right on track. You’re about ten weeks along, correct?”

Your heart swelled with a mix of joy and relief. “Yes, that’s right.”

Namjoon’s fingers tightened around yours, a silent promise as he gazed at the screen, his expression softening even further.

“Everything looks normal,” Dr Mi-ja confirmed. “Your next appointment in a few weeks to monitor progress.”

A sense of reassurance washes over you. “Thank you,” you said, your voice steadying now, as you absorbed the information.

As the ultrasound session wrapped up, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Namjoon while Dr Mi-ja cleaned up and provided her parting advice- encouraging you to reach out with any concerns, telling you about the parenting classes- and the handover of a written confirmation for your next appointment.

You buttoned your shirt back up, catching Namjoon’s thoughtful gaze, his head bowed respectfully, offering you a semblance of privacy, despite having seen every inch of your skin already. In his presence, your heart ached anew.

It was always in these quiet moments that the weight of everything settled more clearly upon your shoulders—times when you couldn’t retreat into your agenda or your planner. In his presence, you were compelled to confront your emotions, even without a single word being exchanged between you.

As you stepped into the hospital parking lot, your uncertainty clung to you like a shadow, whispering doubts in your ear. You knew you needed to speak, to give a voice to the turmoil that twisted in your heart before he disappeared again. You needed to apologize, and even if he couldn’t find it in himself to forgive you, you longed for even a crumb of closure.

But just as you prepared to part ways, Namjoon glanced over at you; his eyes filled with a depth that kept you rooted in your place, making it even harder to find your voice.

“Let’s grab lunch and talk,” he suggested, his voice steady.

And you could only give a shy nod in response.

You never imagined the first meaningful conversation with Namjoon would take place at a sandwich shop near his apartment. The inviting little deli was filled with the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and savoury fillings. As you settled at a corner table, the weight of the morning’s events unwrapped around you, mingling with the scent of sandwiches and freshly brewed coffee.

Namjoon ordered a turkey club while you opted for a BLT, and a long, uneasy silence settled between you. The hum of conversation around you felt distant, your mind still trying to conjure just what you were about to say to him.

“You look good,” he said, breaking the silence, his eyes warm and sincere as they met yours across the small table. A rush of warmth flooded through you at his compliment, a small comfort amidst the tension.

“Thanks,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you didn’t quite believe him despite the earnestness reflected in his gaze.

And the silence wrapped around you once more.

The sandwiches arrived, yet neither one of you made a move to eat, the plates sitting untouched between you, like a barrier that mirrored the distance you felt.

“I didn’t think you’d come today,” you ventured, daring to meet his gaze, memories of your last conversation flicking through your mind.

“I almost didn’t.” Namjoon admitted. “But I figured you might appreciate some support.” He offered a warm smile, adding “Not that you need it.”

His last comment drew an unsatisfied laugh from your lips, helping to ease some of the apprehension that had backed up inside you. “I need it more than you know.”

Namjoon leaned back, his expression contemplative. “Seeing the ultrasound… it’s a big deal,” he said gently, a seriousness in his tone that hinted at the weight of what had happened between you. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“You deserve to be here.” you admitted, “You’re a part of this as much as I am.”

Namjoon studied you quietly, the warmth in his gaze revealing a combination of gratitude and vulnerability “It means a lot to hear you say that.” He said, glancing around the shop before adding “I really want to be a part of this baby’s life. However we agree to do that.”

His words settle heavily between you, and you could sense the tension beneath the surface.

“I want that too,” you replied, your voice trembling as you fought to maintain steadiness. “I’m sorry I made everything so complicated.”

“It’s okay. I helped,” he said, a hint of self-awareness in his tone. “But the baby shouldn’t have to pay for our mistakes.”

You nodded, the gravity of his words wrapping around you like a shroud and you instinctively placed a protective hand over your belly.

“You’re right.”

Namjoon was careful choosing his next words, concern deeply etched on his face before he finally spoke. “But that might mean letting go of some of your control.”

His words struck you like ice, sending a chill down your spine and igniting a surge of defensiveness within you. You straightened, meeting his gaze with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “Control?” You question, vexed. “I’m just trying to ensure everything goes perfectly! Isn’t that what you want? A stable life for our child?"

“I know,” Namjoon replied softly, holding your gaze. “But we both have to be on the same page. It can’t be just your decision alone.”

Tears started to sting your eyes, and you angrily blink them away, choosing instead to look out the window at the busy streets.

“All I’ve ever done has been for this baby. You know that.” You say, jaw set, despite the tears that threatened to spill.

Namjoon says your name softly, drawing your attention back to him “You plan every detail obsessively. It’s like you’re trying to control everything around you. You can’t even enjoy the moment because you’re too busy scheduling the next ten!"

"It’s better than living like you do!” you shot back, your anger bubbling to the surface. “Letting life tremble all over you only to look back and make sense of it! At least I’m trying to prevent a disaster, not understand it! "

“And what about us? Aren’t we a disaster?” he pressed; his voice steady but laced with emotion. “I feel like I’m just a means to an end for you. Like this baby is just another project for you to manage. You don’t even see me anymore.”

Your breath quickened as you leaned forward, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “That’s not true! I care about you- goddamn it, I love you! But I can’t let my guard down. Not when I have so much at stake!”

“But I want to be a part of this!” Namjoon said earnestly, leaning in closer. “I want to be involved, not just the guy you called to help you make the baby. This is supposed to be a journey we take together!”

You ran a hand through your hair, frustration still clawing at your insides. You didn’t even realize you’ve been crying until you felt the warmth on your cheeks.

 “I... I don’t know how to do that Namjoon. I’ve been hurt too many times. It’s just easier to plan than to hope.” A wave of defeat crashed over you with that admission, and in an instant, the floodgates opened, releasing a torrent of unspoken fears and buried tears.  

Namjoon leans back slightly, giving you the space to breathe.

“Planning is fine, but it can’t be everything. We need to figure this out together. We need to create space for our uncertainties.”

Your shoulders sagged, the tension in your body softening. “I just… I’m scared.” You hiccupped in between sobs “What if I let go and it all falls apart? What if I lose you?”

 “We’ll figure it out. Together.”  He reached for your hand, gently squeezing it. “But we can’t do that if you keep pushing me away.”

You finally met his gaze, feeling vulnerability flickering within you like never before. “I don’t want to push you away. I just... don’t know how to trust.”’

“Then let me help you learn.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you look down at your clasped hands, tears spilling freely, each drop a silent testament to the weight you’ve carried alone for so long.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy or that we won’t argue,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, “But I’ll always fight for us. I just need you to meet me halfway.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, unravelling the layers of your defences, leaving you feeling exposed and fragile. Yet, amidst the vulnerability, a flickering of hope ignited in your chest- a whisper that maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of something new, something different. That something you’ve been looking for…

Namjoon watched as tears spilled down your cheeks, his heart aching at the sight. He reached across the table, offering you a handful of napkins. “Here,” he said softly, his voice an anchor amidst your chaos.

You took them, dabbing at your eyes and blowing your nose, feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. The weight of everything hung between you, thickening the air with each second you stayed quiet.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your lip quivering “I didn’t mean to break down like this.”

“It’s okay,” he replied, his expression as gentle as it always was with you. “You’re allowed to feel, to let it out.”

The warmth of his understanding buoyed you, validating your feelings and bringing you closer to the surface, where you could finally breathe again, where you could be weak and yet know that he would never use that to harm you. Because your hurt, in turn was his own. He understood that your struggles affected him too.

“Joon, I know we’re in the middle of a fight. But do you think you could hold me just a bit?”

Namjoon’s gaze softened at your request, a sliver of surprise giving way to warmth. Without hesitation, he slid his chair closer, wrapping his arms around you and you leaned into him. The familiar scent of him grounding you amidst the storm of emotions as you nuzzled closer.

“I’ve got you.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he tucked you against his side.

In his embrace, the world outside faded- the bustling kitchen, the other patrons- leaving just the two of you, cocooned in a fragile moment of closure.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

He tightened his hold, his breath warm against your hair. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling. We’re in this together, remember?”

You nodded, letting his words sink in. The vulnerability of the moment washed over you like a wave, only this time, it was comforting rather than overwhelming.

“Yes. Together.”

As you sat there, the rhythm of his heartbeat echoed in your ears, grounding you. “But did you hear the part where I said ‘I love you’? because I can say it again if you need me to.”  You said after a moment, your voice still soft as you looked up at him.

Namjoon’s eyes softened, and a warm smile spread across his face. “I heard you,” he replied, his voice low and sincere. “And you already know I love your right? Because I can say it again too”

You couldn’t help but smile at his playful response. “I do know,” you replied, feeling warmth blossom in your chest. “But hearing it never hurts.”

Namjoon chuckled softly, the sound soothing your frayed nerves. “Well then, I love you,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “I love you more than words can say.”

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

“Ah, fuck, fuck, Namjoon, baby, fuck.” You moaned; your fingers twisted in the sheets as he worked his magic in between your legs. Your huge belly was in the way, blocking your view of him, but you could feel the warmth of his body, and the flick of his tongue against your clit.

You had read all the books, knew all the facts about pregnancy and sex. But nothing could have prepared you for this feeling. For the way Namjoon made your body come alive with each pass of his tongue. You completely lost count of how many times you came, your legs trembling and breath coming in sharp, short gasps.

You were so in the moment you didn’t even register the fact that Namjoon was giggling like a little kid against your pussy instead of actually eating it.

“What?” you were completely dazed.

“You can’t cuss like that! The baby might hear you.” Namjoon said as he came up for air, still grinning from ear to ear, dimples evident on his cheeks.

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful demeanour. "Oh, you're so funny. The baby can't hear me, he’s still in the womb."

"But still, I don't want my child to come out into this world thinking his mother has such a dirty mouth," he said, his tone serious but his eyes betraying his amusement.

"Well, I'll watch it then," you said, your hand reaching out to playfully mess up his hair. "But for now, I think you have some unfinished business to attend to." You place your foot on his shoulder and push him back down.

Namjoon’s grin widened as he lowered his head between your legs once again, and you close your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of his tongue and the knowledge that you crated a life with this amazing man.

 As you reach your climax, you let out a loud moan, not caring if the baby can hear you or not. Namjoon continues to lick and suck, drawing out your orgasm until you're left breathless and satisfied.

And then you gasp suddenly, not the pleasure-induced gasps you've been slipping out for the past hour, but like realisation just struck you.

"Namjoon!" you said, placing a hand on his shoulder and pinching him to draw his attention. At that Namjoon almost jumps out of his skin, panic settling in.

“What? Is the baby coming? Did I hurt you?"

"No! No! Look!" you quickly grab his hand and place it over your belly, right as your little baby boy decided to kick again. "He's moving!"

Namjoon's face lit up with awe as he felt the baby kick for the first time.

“Little Cosmo is moving!”

You groan, falling back into the pillows, “We are not naming him Cosmo!”

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

Epilogue:

“Joonie! Dae!” you called out, your voice ringing out over the crashing waves “Come over for sun screen!”  

The sun hung high in the clear blue sky, casting a golden glow over the tropical island. Waves lapped gently against the shore, creating a soothing rhythm that blended perfectly with the distant sounds of waves breaking against the cliffs, and occasional seagull that seemed to laugh at the world below.

You’re secretly glad you listened to Namjoon’s advice to go on this trip in June instead of September as you initially planned. You thought visiting during a quieter time would help you avoid the crowds, but it turns out that’s not a concern at all when your sweet husband can simply rent a private beach for you.

You spread the towel on the warm sand, glancing around at the vibrant scenery- the lush palm trees swaying in the light breeze, and the sparking blue ocean stretching endlessly before you.

A moment later you spotted them- Namjoon, his broad smile bright against the backdrop of the beach, wearing his swimming trunks and looking absolutely delicious, holding Dae in his arms. The little one’s laughter was infectious, bubbling up like the waves crashing nearby. Dae’s tiny limbs waved in the air, delighting in the freedom of the open space.

“Coming!” Namjoon replied, his tone playful. He jogged over, the sun glinting off his skin, showcasing his pretty abs and the carefree spirit of the day.

You watched, your heart swelling with happiness, as he settled down on the towel next to you, carefully placing Dae between you.

“Alright, little man,” you said, taking the sunscreen and squirting a generous amount into your palm “Time to protect this adorable face of yours.”

Dae giggles, showcasing his dimples, squirming in delight as you rubbed the sunscreen on his cheeks. His soft, sun-kisses skin felt warm beneath your fingertips, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly he was growing. Just a few months ago, he was a tiny bundle in your arms, and now he was a full-grown toddler, potty trained and everything.

And just like planned, he was the perfect mix between you and Namjoon. You noticed that the first time he started crawling- how he would stop to investigate his surroundings, cautiously moving around as if he was planning his next best step. But when it came to Namjoon, he felt safe enough to throw caution to the wind. 

Your heart almost stopped the first time you saw your precious little angel climb to the top of the tallest slide in the park, a feat that made you want to rush over and pull him back. But there he was, beaming with confidence, looking back at his father with pure trust in his eyes, before fully leaping off the edge without a hint of hesitation, knowing Namjoon was right there to catch him.

You quickly retrieved Dae’s bucket hat before he managed to squirm off, expertly equipping him, pushing his dark hair out of the way adjusting the hat snugly on his head. “My handsome little man,” you said proudly, earning a delighted squeal from Dae, followed by an enthusiastic “Mommy, go splash!”

“Okay, okay, go splash.” You giggle, letting him dart ahead towards the water. The moment his little feet hit the wet sand, he was off like a rocket, his laughter ringing out as he ran towards the waves.

You followed closely behind, your heart light with joy as you watched him dip his toes into the ocean.

He paused for a moment, eyes wide with wonder, before jumping back as a wave rolled in, soaking his legs. He laughed, grinning from ear to ear.

“That’s it baby!”

Namjoon walked over, his arms wrapping against your waist, pulling you into his hard chest, placing a quick kiss on your neck. “You know, I’ve been thinking-”

“That’s not good,” you tease, a smile spreading across your face as your gazes stayed on Dae, who was poking at the sand.

Namjoon chuckled softly, biting your neck playfully. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts again, making sure you listen before continuing “maybe it’s time we give Dae a little sister.”

You turn to him, surprised and delighted. “A sister? Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “I can just imagine Dae being the best big brother. He’s so loving and protective.”

“Well, maybe you won’t have to wait so long for that.” You teased, your heart racing at the thought.

Namjoon’s eyes widened slightly, a grin spreading across his face. “Are you serious?”

“Maybe,” you said, a playful glint in your eyes. “What if I told you I’ve been thinking about this too?”

“Now you’ve got me curious,” he replied, leaning in closer, his expression a mix of excitement and surprise. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

You laughed, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin and the joy of the moment. “I guess we’ll just have to see where life takes us.”

Namjoon’s smile grew wider, and he pulled you in for a quick kiss, but it was quickly interrupted by a little wet, sandy hand pulling at your leg.

“Mommy! Look!”

Dae’s eyes shimmered as he held up his tiny little fist, opening it to reveal a little yellow crab desperately trying to escape.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” you laugh, bending down to get a closer look.

The little creature wiggled its legs, clearly unimpressed with its current situation.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Action Story

Great action writing draws in your audience, getting their adrenaline pumping as they turn the page.

Elements of a Good Action Story

There are many elements that come together to form a good action story and allow you to tell your own story in your own perfect way:

Sentence length. Writing action scenes involves knowing how to pace the narrative so that readers are fed the action at a steady and satisfying speed. If your action sequences are built with long-winded sentences full of verbs and descriptions, it will likely confuse and overwhelm your audience. Shorter sentences get to the point more simply, delivering the visual quickly and efficiently, cutting down on bulky filler words.

Active voice. Keeping the narrative voice active keeps up the momentum of your story. Readers see how the main characters are actively working and reacting in their environment in what feels like real time, packing more punch into the syntax and keeping the narrative lively.

Character goals. Action should occur for a reason—characters’ actions should be based on their motivations, their points of view, and their previous choices. A protagonist’s actions should always propel them towards their main goal in a way that is related to the plot events at hand. A character’s goals affect their character development, forcing them to change and evolve depending on the way events unfold in your story.

Consequences. Action can be fun to see unfold, but without the element of danger or a potentially disastrous outcome, it lacks that exciting element that keeps audiences on the edges of their seats. Action writing should make the audience feel like something could happen to the hero at any moment, without being overwhelmed with events and losing their place in the narrative.

Tips for Writing Effective Action Scenes

Show cause and effect. From the first time your character receives their call to action, follow up activity with the consequences of their decision. Sometimes the character is causing the action to occur, and other times they’re reeling from action that just occurred. Moments can also be built up so that the cause of certain effects or the effects themselves aren’t realized in their entirety until much later.

Create visuals. Use action in a concise, impactful manner in order to deliver strong images for the audience. The clearer your scenes are, the more easily the audience can understand and absorb them. You don’t want readers or viewers to be hung up on seemingly impossible details or sequences that don’t flow. Visuals that get right to the point and can be quickly understood are best for conveying action.

Drive the story forward. In a great story, the moments in between where the action is happening should still feel alive and like the story is always progressing. Even if your hero isn’t facing off against the villain just yet, the scenes without action should still be driven by the character’s goals—readers or viewers may become disinterested by a sudden slump in energy and stagnancy to the writing. Use montage, flashbacks, or other story writing techniques to keep up the pace while delivering necessary narrative information.

Keep action moments short. Action-adventure stories have many moments of high-intensity activity, and it’s best that they happen in short spurts so that the reader does not get exhausted with high-octane events. The battle against the rogue android in your science fiction action story shouldn’t be one scene that’s 50 pages long—the readers need a breather once in a while in order to reset the intensity and have it built back up for them all over again.

Use effective language. When you write a fight scene or a chase scene, the action is moving quickly, so your language should too. Short sentences packed with powerful images that move at a logical pace are useful in conveying strong action sequences that are easy to visualize. A character should bolt to their destination, not just run. Specific diction can make all the difference in how the action of your story is perceived and how your story is experienced overall.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[writingpandagoth]

Hello hello! I really really love your work and talent with all my being! You have helped me through these hectic weeks in my work and believe me you made me smile and laugh :) Could I ask for a request? If you like of course, don't worry if you cannot.

Reader has been in love with Professor Severus Snape since her 5th year (or any year you decide) , but of course because of their status and age (10 years of difference max) she never tells him so she writes a diary about him. Now, she teaches in Hogwarts (you can choose the subject) and has never stopped loving him (and the diary continues) but treats with respect and kindness...one day she forgets the diary and he finds it and, of course read it...fluff fluff please 🫣

(Could the reader be his first and only love please? Sorry I am being such a romantic 😥)

Thank you so much!❤️

I am glad that my writing has brought you joy and I hope that it will be less stressful for you.😘❤️

Of course I can do that for you!

I hope this will bring you just as much joy as all the other stories.

Ink Stained Secrets

The office was cold.

Not because of the dungeons, though they certainly didn’t help—but because it didn’t feel like his yet. The shelves were still too empty. The desk too polished. The walls too bare.

He had returned to Hogwarts not as a student this time, but as a professor.

The offer had come unexpectedly. A last-minute resignation. A quiet note from Dumbledore. An understanding that he was... available. And brilliant.

“Professor Snape,” the Headmaster had said with a smile. “It suits you.”

He wasn’t so sure.

The students didn’t fear him yet. That would come later.

Right now, they whispered when he walked past. Stared at him like they couldn’t decide if he was still one of them. Some still knew his name. They remembered the rumors.

He kept his tone clipped, his robes immaculate, his expression unreadable. It was armor he wore well. He put Students into their place with such an authority that even the seventh years shut up the second he walked into the room.

The fifth years were the worst. Old enough to question his authority but still young enough to not do it out loud.

Students would come to class silently and leave as fast as possible once it was over. They started to fear his strict teaching and his coldness he always brought with him.

But under all those students one wouldn't quite wrap his head around.

He noticed you early on. Not because you were loud or disobedient—but because you were precise, focused and strangely unafraid of him.

Severus would catch you watching him closely almost like you were trying to understand something no one else saw.

He wasn’t foolish. He knew what it looked like, knew what a too-long gaze or a soft-spoken compliment might be misread as, especially him still being young and closer to the students ages than the other Professors.

So he carried on like every other day.

--

The dungeons are quieter after hours.

Most students bolt the moment class ends, eager to escape the chill and the lingering smell of crushed root and scorched cauldron. But you’ve always stayed a little longer. You tell yourself it’s to perfect your technique. To clean your station just right. To ask one more question, even if you already know the answer.

Professor Snape never sends you away.

He never says much at all, really. Sometimes he’ll offer a curt nod when you hand him a particularly well-brewed vial. Other times, he lingers at his desk while you pack up, eyes flicking briefly in your direction—but never long enough to feel like permission.

Today, your potion was perfect. Even he said so.

“Efficient,” he muttered when he passed your table, barely glancing at the pale violet swirl in your vial. “Clean execution.”

It wasn’t much.

But from him? It was everything.

Now you’re curled into your usual corner of the library—a hidden spot behind the stacks, where a small stone window lets in just enough moonlight to see by. Your school bag sits beside you. In your lap: your diary.

The cover is worn from your hands, the spine already soft from nightly use. You open to a fresh page and press your quill to it.

October 19th Professor Snape said my potion was efficient today. He didn’t frown. He didn’t sigh. He just said it and walked away like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. It was… more than I expected. More than I probably deserved. I think I admire him. Not just for his knowledge—though he’s brilliant—but for the way he carries himself. How he never bends for anyone. How he sees everything, even if he pretends not to. I think there’s something lonely in him. Something he doesn’t show the students. I don’t know why I notice it. I just do. He’s not kind. Not gentle. But… I think there’s a softness in him anyway. Somewhere. I saw it today. Just for a moment.

You stop writing, suddenly self-conscious.

It’s just a diary. Just ink. No one will ever read it. It doesn’t matter.

But still, you press your palm to the page, as if to seal the words in place. As if naming them out loud would make them too real.

He’s your professor, you shouldn't think of him like that despite him being only older by 6 years but already, you know: this feeling won’t fade easily.

It doesn’t happen all at once.

Falling for him is slow—like water slipping between cracks in stone. Quiet. Patient. Unstoppable.

At first, you really just admire him. His knowledge. His precision. The way his lectures never waste a single word. You start staying after class—not because you need help, but because it means one more minute in his presence. One more question. One more chance to hear him speak directly to you.

Other students think he’s cold, cruel, detached.

But you start to see something else.

He doesn’t smile, but he remembers things. Your favorite base ingredients. That you prefer silver knives to pewter. That you always adjust your heat clockwise when reducing. He never praises you, but he stops correcting you. That, in his language, says more than enough.

You start watching him more than you should. In class. At meals. When he walks the halls, robes sweeping like a shadow you’d gladly step into.

You start writing about him every night.

Not just about what he says, or how he moves. But how you feel.

November 1st I caught myself staring at his hands again. The way he handles ingredients—so careful, so exact. He never fumbles. He always knows what comes next. I wonder if he’s like that with everything. If his touch is always that sure.

November 13th Today he leaned over my cauldron. His sleeve brushed mine. My brain stopped working for a full five seconds. I hope he didn’t notice. He noticed. I’m doomed.

December 2nd The poem I wrote tonight is awful. Melodramatic. Completely unrealistic. He’d mock it if he read it. But I can’t help it. I dreamt about him again.

It gets worse before it gets better.

You don’t mean to let it grow this big. But it’s hard not to. He’s there, every day. And he’s not cruel to you. Not distant. Not warm either, but… real. Constant.

You write him into metaphors.

Into dreams you wake up blushing from.

Into quiet fantasies you’d never speak aloud.

And your diary that once was filled with your days, It becomes his.

Page after page, filled with his name and your love.

January 18th If I said it—if I looked him in the eyes and told him what’s in this book—what would he do? Would he laugh? Would he be kind? Would he look at me like I’m just a silly child with a crush on someone she doesn’t understand? I understand him. I see him. Even if he’ll never see me the same way.

But you never tell him. Of course you don’t.

He’s your professor after all and you are just his students whose heart can't stop screaming out for him.

So you carry on into your sixth and seventh year, never stop writing and never once stop looking at him.

You carry on even as your trunk is packed for the last time.

The dormitory is half-empty, voices echoing down the corridor as students say rushed, cheerful goodbyes. You stand in front of the mirror with your robes fastened, hair smoothed down, pretending your heart doesn’t feel like it’s caught behind your ribs.

You haven’t seen him since your last Potions exam. He handed you your marks without comment, eyes skimming over you like you were nothing more than a formality.

You wanted to speak to him, to just say something, to make him remember you but you stayed silent.

instead you went to the corner of the library, hidden behind the shelves with your diary in your lap—just like you were the first time you ever wrote about him. Your quill hovers over the blank page.

You take a breath. And begin.

June 24th I leave in the morning. I don’t think I’ll see him again. Not really. I could have gone down to the dungeons. Said goodbye. Thanked him. But I didn’t. Because if he looks at me like I’m just another student again, I think I might break. So I’ll say it here instead. Goodbye, Severus Snape. Thank you for the way you saw me, even when you pretended not to. Thank you for every second you let me stay behind after class. For every moment you didn’t push me away. I know you never asked for this affection. I know I never told you the truth but it’s yours. Every word. Every page. It was always you.

You close the diary and press your hand to the cover.

You don’t cry.

But you don’t smile either.

You just hold it to your chest, and walk away without looking back.

--

It has been nearly nine years since you last walked these halls. You were different now, Older, more open.

And yet, when your boots touch the stone floor, it’s like nothing ever changed. The same chill in the dungeons. The same hum in the walls. The same faint, citrusy-clean scent that hangs in the air when Filch is on a warpath.

You told yourself you’d accepted the post for the opportunity. That the role—Professor of Magical Theory—was a step forward. A chance to teach, to explore the subject you fell in love with before you ever picked up a wand.

You told yourself it had nothing to do with the man who used to haunt your dreams and walks these halls like a shadow.

You were lying.

It’s all still here.

And so is he.

You don’t see him right away.

Your first day is a blur of meetings, scrolls, schedules, a tour you don’t need and polite, distant greetings from professors who once gave you homework. It’s strange, being one of them now. Stranger still to stand at the staff table instead of staring up at it.

Your classroom is near the library. Quiet, sunlit in the mornings. You arrange the shelves just the way you want them. You unpack your books in careful stacks, placing your old, worn diary in the desk drawer with trembling fingers.

You’re not sure why you brought it.

Habit, maybe. Hope. The words are still there. The old pages. The poems. The confessions. The longing.

You tell yourself you won’t write about him again. You know you’re lying this time too.

You see him that evening on your way back from dinner, lingering in the corridor just outside the staffroom, when the door opens and he steps out.

Time doesn’t stop.

But it does stutter.

He looks almost exactly the same. A little older. A little sharper around the eyes. But still in those same dark robes. Still walking like he owns the silence around him.

Your breath catches before you can help it. He stops when he sees you. For a moment, you’re fifteen again but then he says your name.

No title. No surname. Just… you and just like that, you’re not a student anymore.

You manage a smile. “Hello, Professor Snape.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Not anymore.”

You try not to beam.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to call you Severus?”

His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in his eyes. Warmer, just for a second.

“Long overdue,” he says, and walks past you.

Your heart doesn’t stop racing for a long, long time.

That night, you write again.

The first entry in nearly two months.

He said my name. Not like I was a student. Not like I was anyone he had to tolerate. Just my name. It shouldn’t matter. But it does. I missed him. Gods, I missed him.

It’s not awkward, the first time you sit beside him the next day.

You think it might be. You think maybe he’ll raise an eyebrow, make a comment, shift his chair ever so slightly away from yours.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t say anything when you slide into the seat next to him at the staffroom table. Just nods once in quiet acknowledgment and pushes the sugar bowl a little closer to your side of the table.

The silence between you is companionable. The fire crackles gently. A few professors murmur nearby, caught in a conversation about House Cup logistics.

You sip your tea and glance at him over the rim of your cup. “Is it really tradition to bet on which first-year will cry first?”

His eyes flick toward you. “I wouldn’t know. Minerva usually handles the gambling pool.”

You grin. “But you do keep count, don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer. Just lifts his teacup to his lips, the barest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

You find yourself sitting beside him again the next day.

And the next.

It becomes a pattern before you realize it. Not something either of you speaks about, but something you both seem to expect.

The empty chair is always waiting. So is the second cup of tea.

One afternoon, you pass each other in the corridor outside the library. You nod politely. He pauses.

“You’ve started leaving your classroom door open,” he says, voice low.

You raise an eyebrow. “Observing my behavior now, Severus?”

“I hear less screaming when it’s open.”

You snort. “That’s because I bribe them with chocolate.”

“Unethical.”

“Effective.”

He hums. “You were always insufferably clever.”

You offer a bright smile. “Still am.”

He turns to go, but you catch the smallest flicker of amusement as he walks away.

You float through the rest of your afternoon.

He insulted me today. Or tried to. The way his voice softens when he teases—he doesn’t do that for anyone else. I shouldn’t read into it. But gods, it’s hard not to.

That night, you’re in the staffroom again, curled into your usual chair with a pile of scrolls and a quill that’s trying very hard to die. Severus walks in, his robes brushing the floor, and without looking, sets a steaming cup of tea beside you.

You smile up at him. “You’re going to spoil me.”

“Unlikely.”

Still, he sits beside you. Still, he stays.

And when you reach for your diary again that evening, fingers stained with ink and heart a little too full, you write:

He brings me tea like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal. Like it doesn’t make my chest ache every time he does it.

He doesn’t speak much in meetings. You’ve noticed.

He listens, eyes half-lidded, arms crossed, contributing only when something truly ridiculous is said. Most of the staff steer clear of him. Or, more accurately, speak around him.

You don’t.

You sit beside him. Pass him notes with sarcastic commentary when the new Muggle Studies professor rambles. He rarely responds—but once in a while, he writes something back in tight, elegant script that makes you bite back a laugh and elbow him under the table.

And he doesn’t move away.

That part still surprises you. It shouldn’t. But it does.

You start to learn his rhythms again. When he’s had a bad day, he walks faster. Sharper turns. Less patience.

When he’s distracted, he fiddles with the edge of his sleeve. When he’s focused, nothing else exists.

You pass him in the corridor between classes and offer a half-smile. He nods once, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might return it. You file that moment away like treasure.

One evening, you find yourselves alone in the staffroom. There’s a pot of tea already brewed. The fire is low. You’ve both had long days, judging by the slump in your shoulders and the stiffness in his jaw.

He doesn’t speak as you walk in. Just nods, gestures vaguely at the armchair across from his, and fills your mug when you settle.

For a while, you both sit in silence.

The kind that feels earned.

Comfortable.

You watch him as he reads, eyes flicking over the page of a worn book, one hand turning pages, the other cradling his mug. He looks tired. Older. But not hard. Not now. Not like this.

“You never drink tea during staff meetings,” you murmur, voice low.

“I never had to stay awake for them before,” he replies.

You smile. “So I’m not the only one who finds Professor Binns’s voice... soothing in a near-lethal way?”

“He sounds like someone enchanted a foghorn.”

You laugh softly. “I didn’t know you were this funny back then.”

“I wasn’t,” he says simply. “You were a student.”

There’s something in the way he says it. Not harsh. Not regretful. Just true.

“But I’m not anymore,” you say.

You don’t mean for it to come out that way. So quiet. So certain.

He looks at you. Really looks.

“No,” he says after a long moment. “You’re not.”

Later that night, curled in your office chair, you pull out your diary again.

The pages know your truths better than anyone ever has.

We’re not student and teacher anymore. I know that. But sometimes I wonder if he’s noticed. If he hears it in my voice. If he sees it in the way I sit beside him now instead of behind him. Sometimes he looks at me like he’s remembering something. And sometimes I think he’s trying not to.

--

You’re in your office when he knocks—two short raps, followed by the familiar creak of your door swinging open before you’ve even answered.

Only one person ever enters like that.

You don’t look up right away. You’re in the middle of writing—lesson notes on one scroll, your diary open on the other side of the desk, its worn cover tucked against your elbow like a secret kept close.

“Afternoon, Severus,” you say, dipping your quill again. “Didn’t expect you.”

He steps inside, hands folded neatly behind his back. “I came to return this.”

He places a slim book—Magical Chaos: A Theoretical Study—on the corner of your desk. A loan from your personal shelves, one you’d half-forgotten he took.

You glance up and smile. “Did it bore you senseless or was there a grudging ounce of value?”

He raises an eyebrow. “It was Tolerable.”

You grin. “High praise.”

His gaze drops then—to your desk. To the open pages of parchment and the small, leather-bound diary tucked beside them.

You see it the moment his eyes flick there.

“That thing,” he mutters. “You’re always scribbling in it.I think you even had it when I started teaching.”

You casually slide a spare scroll over it. Not rushed. Not guilty. Just... protective.

“I like to write,” you say, carefully breezy. “Some habits never die.”

He doesn’t look away and watches your every move. "Writing cryptic little secrets are we?”

You glance at him, smile teasing. “Always.”

His tone turns dry. “Plotting against me?”

“Of course,” you reply. “It’s filled with plans to subtly replace all your potion ingredients with decaffeinated alternatives.”

He steps a little closer, brow raised. “I suspected treason.”

You shift the scroll a bit more. “You never be able to prove it in court.”

He watches you in silence for a second longer, then makes a low sound—not quite a chuckle—and turns away, the book you lent him now forgotten on the desk.

“You’ve always been insufferable,” he says.

“And yet, here you are,” you murmur.

He pauses at the door.

Then, over his shoulder, so quiet it’s almost lost:

“I suppose I don’t mind the insufferable ones anymore.”

And then he’s gone.

You stare at the door long after he leaves, the ghost of a grin tugging at your lips.

You open your diary.

He asked about this book today. Stared at it like he was trying to read it through the cover. I wonder what he’d do if he actually opened it. If he saw everything I never said. The poems. The dreams. The little notes about how he looks when he’s tired or how he sounds when he says my name. I think he’d laugh. Or worse—he leaves. I wish I could tell him the truth.

The staffroom is dim and quiet that night, lit by the soft flicker of the fireplace. Most of the others have gone off to bed. You linger, scrolls abandoned in your satchel, the smell of tea steeping in the air between you and him.

Severus is reading. As always. One leg crossed neatly over the other, a book balanced in one hand, his tea in the other. You’ve lost count of how many nights have ended like this.

You don’t talk constantly. You don’t have to.

There’s a peace in simply sharing space with him.

You cradle your mug, watching the firelight flicker in the curve of his jaw. He looks softer like this. Not unguarded. Just... human.

You want to memorize him.

Instead, you say, “If someone had told me in fifth year I’d be having tea with you after curfew like it’s the most normal thing in the world…”

He glances up. “You’d have reported them to Pomfrey?”

“I’d have laughed first” you say, smiling faintly.

His mouth twitches. “Of course.”

A comfortable silence stretches again.

Then he says it—offhanded, casual.

“You were always kind of the exception. Most students never stayed in my memory after they left.”

It’s not meant to hurt but it lands anyway.

You keep your smile in place, because you’ve practiced it for years.

“You remember me?” you say lightly, teasing. “And care to tell what you remember of me?”

He gives a slow, deliberate nod. “You were curious. Persistent. Unafraid.”

You hold your breath. Waiting for more but that’s it.

Just a compliment tucked neatly into the past tense.

Just a memory. Nothing more.

You sip your tea, letting it hide the ache in your throat. You sit a while longer. He doesn’t notice that you’ve stopped speaking.

That night, you can’t sleep.

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why it still hurts after all these years.

He sees you but not in the way you see him.

He sees the girl who stayed behind after class and he taught but he doesn't see the woman who loves him in silence with everything she has.

An in the darkness this hurts more than the years you lived without seeing him.

Eventually, you get up and light your wand, just enough to open your diary.

He said I was the exception. I think he meant it kindly but it only reminded me that I’m still just a memory to him. A fond recollection. One of the good ones. He’ll never know I loved him then and that I stayed in love with him all this time. And I think I’d rather break than have him pity me for it.

You wake up twenty minutes late.

The clock is cruel. Your robes are wrinkled. Your notes are in a tragic half-stack on your desk, and the rain outside is doing a frankly unnecessary impression of a full-blown thunderstorm.

You curse as you grab your satchel—too full, too heavy—and sling it over your shoulder while stuffing a half-eaten piece of toast into your mouth. The strap twists. The toast falls. You mutter something unprintable.

Your students are expecting you in ten minutes.

You are, officially, in chaos.

You charge down the corridor, hair clinging to your damp face, satchel slipping down your arm—and then you round the corner just outside the library and crash directly into someone solid.

Everything goes flying.

Scrolls, books, your wand, a quill or two, and—somewhere—your diary.

You stumble backward, completely winded—except a firm hand catches your arm before you fall.

You blink.

It’s him.

Of course it’s him.

Severus is standing there in his usual dark robes, a slightly startled expression flickering across his face.

His hand lingers at your elbow for a moment longer than necessary.

“Merlin,” you breathe, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry—I'm late—I wasn’t watching—bloody hell, everything’s a mess—”

“I can see that,” he says calmly, already crouching to gather your fallen things.

You follow, scrambling to collect scattered parchment and your now-soggy notes. Your heart is racing—not from the fall, not really—but from the way his fingers brushed your arm. The way he steadied you without hesitation.

“I overslept,” you say breathlessly, reaching for a scroll. “Horribly. I haven’t done that since my seventh year. My toast burned and then fell down, my ink exploded, I think I left my wand cap in the butter dish, and now I’ve just bowled over you and your books are a mess too.”

“Well be glad it wasn't Binns otherwise you would be never getting to class,” he says dryly, handing you a book.

You blink at him. “Was that… a joke?”

He doesn’t answer. Just lifts another book and passes it to you. Your hands brush.

You don’t notice the diary isn’t among the books he hands you or that instead he is the one picking it up with his own Books.

You’re already gathering your scattered dignity and rushing off down the corridor, muttering thanks over your shoulder and trying to tame your hair with one hand while clutching your scrolls in the other.

You don’t look back.

You don’t see the way Severus turns the leather-bound book over in his hand.

You don’t see the way his brow furrows—just slightly—as he recognizes it.

--

It’s later—long after the corridors have emptied, after the last of the lamplight has been extinguished—that Severus finally returns to his chambers.

The rain has dulled to a whisper against the windows. The fire in the hearth crackles low, casting shadows along the stone walls. A single candle flickers on his desk, already near its base.

And beside it, resting in the soft pool of amber light—

Your diary.

He sits down in silence.

His hand moves to it almost of its own accord. The leather is warm from where he carried it earlier. Worn at the edges. A deep crease in the spine, from being opened too many times to count.

He remembers it now—more clearly than he expected. You used to keep it tucked beside your textbooks in class, fingers curling around it when you thought no one noticed. You never wrote in it during his lectures, but afterward… always afterward, when you lingered.

He never asked what you wrote.

But now, the answer is in his hands.

He opens it slowly.

The first page is harmless—doodles in the margins, a few lines about Potions theory in your looping, careful hand.

And then—

His name.

Written small at first. Barely noticeable.

Then again. And again.

Some entries are dated other are just scattered notes.

He said “efficient.” I know it was just a word. But it meant something. From him, it always does.

His voice when he’s lecturing—cold, precise. But when he says my name, it softens. Only slightly. I might be imagining it. But I hope I’m not.

Then come the poems. He hadn’t expected those.

You touch the edge of a vial like it might flinch. You speak like your words are spells— measured, exact, never wasted. I could write pages about your hands, but I think it’s your silence that undoes me.

My essays. My notes. My dreams. You’re in every metaphor. Every margin. I want to stop. I do. But loving you feels like breathing now. Unnoticed. Constant. Essential.

He reads one. Then another. Then five more.

Some are clumsy, full of schoolgirl longing and nervous adoration. Others are refined. Raw. Painfully adult.

I wonder what your voice sounds like when it breaks. Not in pain— but in pleasure. Low. Ragged. Caught somewhere between a growl and my name. I imagine it too often. It never leaves me whole.

You’ve never given me detention. But I’ve imagined it. Alone with you after hours. Your voice lower, sharper— the kind of tone that makes me want to misbehave again just to hear it. And if you leaned over my desk and told me to watch my mouth? Gods, I wouldn’t.

He turns the pages like they might burn.

There are passages that stop him entirely:

I dreamt of him again. Nothing inappropriate this time. Just tea. A fire. Silence between us. He looked at me like I was something good. I think that’s all I want. For him to look and see me.

He doesn't know he made me love books differently. I used to think they were just stories. But he makes words feel like weapons, like gifts, like truths. I think I love him because he speaks like everything matters.

And further in—entries written years after you left school:

It’s been three years. I should be over it. I’m not. I don’t want to be. Loving him is the one constant thing I’ve ever carried with me.

Saw him at the Ministry today. He didn’t see me. But I knew that voice before I turned around. I still would’ve found him blind.

And finally, the more recent ones. The ones written after you returned to Hogwarts.

I sit next to him now. Drink his tea. Hear his quiet jokes meant only for me. He has no idea I write about him still. But every moment I spend beside him feels like stealing fire. And still I keep my hand in the flame. But I stay silent because I know he doesn't. And I rather have him like this than not at all.

If he ever read this, I think I’d die of embarrassment. But part of me hopes—just a little—that if he did, he might understand how deeply I’ve always, always loved him.

By the time he reaches the end, the candle has burned nearly to nothing.

The fire in the hearth has gone low. The room is full of shadow and quiet.

He closes the book. His hand lingers on the cover, fingertips pressed against the leather like it might still be warm from your touch.

He doesn’t speak because he’s just read every secret you were too afraid to say.

Now he knows.

--

You don’t realize the diary is gone until well past dinner.

You’re in your office, reorganizing your desk, pulling scrolls from your satchel when your fingers brush an empty space that should never be empty.

Your heart skips.

You pause, check again.

Not in the drawer. Not beneath the folders. Not tucked into your notes or behind your lesson plans.

Gone.

Your diary is gone.

You tear through your office, frantic. Check your classroom. Your quarters. Your desk again. It doesn’t make sense. You had it this morning. You know you did. You always keep it close.

And then—

You remember the crash in the corridor. The scrolls. The books. The way he helped you pick them up. The way he handed you everything but that.

Severus.

You don’t think.

You just go.

The hall to his chambers is quiet. The castle feels too big, too echoing. You knock once, sharp and breathless. You can hear his voice saying to come in and so you do.

The candlelight spills gently into his chambers as you step inside, heart pounding so hard it echoes in your ears.

Severus is seated in his armchair by the fire.

He’s calm. Still. Too still.

You don’t notice the diary at first. Not really. You’re too busy scanning the shelves, the table, the space around him.

“I—um—sorry to bother you,” you start, breathless, “but I think I might’ve left something behind earlier. A small book. Leather cover. Old. I didn’t notice it was missing until just now…”

Your voice trails off and your breath catches when you see it—your diary, resting closed on his lap. His hand lays lightly across the cover, fingers splayed as if he’s trying to absorb the words through touch alone. His face is unreadable, but not cold. Just… thoughtful.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he rises. His movements are quiet. Deliberate.

He steps toward you, crossing the room with slow certainty, and holds out the diary—fingers gripping the spine gently, like he’s handling something fragile.

You reach for it but he doesn’t let go. Your fingers pause against his, and that’s when your eyes lift to meet his. That’s when you see it.

The silence. The weight in his gaze. The way he’s not surprised. Not confused.

Your stomach twists.

“You read it,” you whisper.

Still, he says nothing and the panic crashes over you like a wave.

“Oh no—oh Merlin—okay, okay, I can explain—sort of, I think—I mean, not really, but I swear I wasn’t trying to be creepy or obsessive or anything weird like that, it’s just—I’ve had it for years and it’s stupid and sentimental and it was never meant to be read, not by you—not by anyone—and the poems? Those were a joke, a bad joke, and the dream stuff—well that was just me being overdramatic and half-asleep, and that thing about your voice? That was a metaphor that got wildly out of hand and not meant to sound like I was obsessed even though maybe it—okay, it did, but I was fifteen! And then I just kept writing, and I should have stopped, but I didn’t, because I couldn’t, because you were still—”

You don’t even see it coming. One second you’re mid-ramble, on the verge of hyperventilating—

The next, his hand is at your cheek and his mouth is on yours.

Your breath catches—a tiny, stunned sound escapes you, soft and startled against his lips.

And then your hands rise—unsure, trembling—and press lightly to his chest as you kiss him back.

It’s slow. Tender. Full of unspoken things. Not rushed, not hungry.

Just… true.

When he pulls away, his dark eyes meeting yours.

Your hands are still lightly pressed against his chest. You can feel the beat of his heart beneath your palms—calm, steady. Like yours is enough for both of you right now.

The room is quiet. The fire crackles in the hearth. You’re still holding your diary, but it doesn’t feel heavy anymore.

You try to speak. You open your mouth, something halfway between a gasp and a laugh rising in your chest, but—

Severus leans a fraction closer and murmurs, very softly, very fondly:

“You talk too much.”

Your breath catches and then you laugh. It’s shaky, bright, half-sob, half-joy.

“Do you blame me?” you whisper. “You read everything.”

“I did,” he says.

He tilts his head slightly, just enough to catch your eyes again. And you see it—the softness, finally uncovered. Not hidden. Not buried beneath sarcasm or shadow.

“I noticed you back then,” he says. “You were brilliant. Quiet. Stubborn. You never were scared of me and I really couldn't understand just what exactly what going on in your head when you looked at me.”

Your throat tightens.

“But when you came back,” he continues, voice gentler now, almost reverent, “you weren’t just the clever girl who stayed after class. You were this… calm, steady presence. Always lingering just long enough. Always close. And I—”

He pauses, then huffs a soft breath of a laugh.

“I thought I’d imagined it. That I was reading into your smiles. Your teasing. The way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t paying attention.”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You were paying attention.”

His hand lifts to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Always.”

You’re both quiet for a beat. The silence isn’t tense. It’s full. Safe.

Then his eyes flick down to the diary still tucked between you.

“I do have to say some of those entries are very...intresting,” he says, utterly deadpan. “Poetic. A little dramatic. Especially the ones about detention.”

Your entire face goes hot.

“Oh my god—”

“I was flattered,” he says smoothly.

“You’re awful.”

“‘I believe the phrasing was 'the kind of tone that makes you want to misbehave again just to hear it'?”

You let out a strangled groan and bury your face against his shoulder, laughing and dying all at once.

He’s smiling now—actually smiling—and it’s everything you ever hoped for.

You feel his arms come around you slowly, gently, holding you close like he’s still not quite sure you’re real. Like he’s afraid letting go will send you back into his imagination.

You don’t pull away.

You press your lips to his again—softer this time, slower. He kisses you back without hesitation, like he’s spent a decade imagining this exact moment.

Your nose brushes his when you pull back, just enough to catch your breath.

He doesn't let go. Doesn’t step away.

Instead, his hand slips from your cheek to your fingers, curling gently around them—warm, steady, a wordless invitation.

He gives the lightest tug.

And you follow.

He leads you across the room in silence, the flicker of firelight dancing in your peripheral vision, until you reach the settee near the hearth. He sits first, his fingers still entwined with yours, and when he looks up at you—it’s not a question.

It’s home.

You sink down beside him, legs brushing his, heart still racing. And when he exhales, it’s like he’s been holding that breath for years.

You lean into him without thinking.

And he holds you like he’s never going to stop.

The fire burns low, casting golden light across the walls, across his face, across the place where your legs are tangled gently with his on the settee.

You’re both quiet now. Not because there’s nothing to say, but because the silence feels like part of him. Like something sacred.

His hand moves slowly against your arm, tracing soft, aimless patterns into your sleeve, as if he’s still memorizing the fact that you’re here—that you chose to be.

You lean into him just slightly. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, his hold around you deepens, anchoring you to his side like you’ve always belonged there.

Outside the castle walls, you hear the wind shift.

“I should probably go, it's getting quite late.” you murmur, not moving.

It isn’t a real suggestion. Not yet.

His hand stills. For a moment, he says nothing. Just breathes in the space between you. Then, so quietly it barely reaches above the crackle of the fire:

“Don’t.”

You look up.

His eyes are steady. Not guarded. Not questioning. Just sure.

You feel the ache in your chest swell, full and warm and impossibly tender.

“You want me to stay?” you ask, small, unsure.

He nods once, as if the thought of saying it aloud again might unravel something in him.

“Yes,” he says. Just that. “Stay.”

And somehow, that simple word undoes you more than any kiss. So you lean into him. You let yourself rest. You let your fingers curl over the hand he’s still holding against your arm.

“I will,” you whisper.

--

The study is quiet.

Only the ticking of the old brass clock on the mantel breaks the hush, its rhythm steady, grounding. The faint rustle of your quill glides across parchment—slow, deliberate, like your hand knows it’s writing an ending you’ll never rewrite.

Morning light spills through the tall windows in soft, golden waves. It warms the wood beneath your hands. Illuminates the leather cover of the book open before you.

Your diary.

The same one you’ve carried since you were fifteen.

There’s only one page left.

You breathe in slowly, steadying your hand. The ink is rich, even, but your heart stumbles with every word—not from nerves. No, not today.

But because it’s the last thing you’ll ever need to write.

You smile softly, and let the words come.

A knock breaks the stillness.

You turn, smile already forming.

Minerva peeks in, her eyes warm with affection. “They’re ready for you, dear.”

You nod, putting your quill away with careful fingers, brushing the cover like you’re saying goodbye to an old friend who kept all your secrets.

You rise.

And as you step into the sunlit corridor, your hand gently resting on her arm, your gown trailing behind you like moonlight on stone—

The room falls quiet once more. Behind you, the diary lies open on the desk, ink drying on the final page.

I never thought I’d reach the end of this book. I was fifteen when I started it. I wrote my heart into these pages—my secrets, my fears, my impossible hopes. All of it was him. And now, as I write this, Severus is downstairs—probably pacing, pretending he isn’t nervous. He’ll never admit it. But I know him too well by now. He kissed my shoulder this morning while pretending to look for his cufflinks. I think he just needed to touch me. I still can’t believe it’s real. That he read every word I ever wrote, and chose to stay. Today, he’ll choose me again and I’ll choose him, as I always have. I’m not writing this for closure. I’m writing it to say thank you. To the girl who never gave up. To the man who found his way to her. To the pages that held us until we were ready to hold each other. This is my last entry. The last words you will ever need to keep. I’m going to marry Severus Snape today. And I’ve never felt more certain of anything in my life.

[girlactionfigure]

Yes, You Are Right, 6 Million Is Not a True Number... It Might Actually Be Higher...

To those who dare question the reality of the Holocaust or minimize its horrors: your denial is an insult to history, truth, and the memory of millions who perished. plus the evidence is overwhelming, the testimonies irrefutable, and the suffering immeasurable. Holocaust denial is not just ignorance—it's an sinister form of antisemitism that seeks to erase the atrocities committed by the Nazis. 

As we witness more and more how some try to deny out painful history, here's a detailed account to reaffirm the undeniable truth, we will review some of the death camps, killing techniques, and casualty figures.

1/ Intro: The Holocaust, well recorded.

Orchestrated by Nazi Germany, it resulted in the systematic murder of approximately 6 million Jews. However, recent research suggests this figure might be even higher. The full extent of the atrocities is staggering and still being uncovered. The scope of this genocide went beyond the initial estimates, with ongoing studies revealing more mass graves, hidden documents, and survivor testimonies that paint a grimmer picture of the Holocaust's true scale. The meticulous records kept by the Germans provide detailed insights into the numbers and methods of murder, underscoring the planned and methodical nature of this genocide.

2/ Auschwitz-Birkenau.

The largest and most infamous Nazi concentration and extermination camp, saw the deaths of at least 1.1 million Jews. Located in Poland, it became a symbol of the Holocaust's horror. Victims were subjected to inhumane conditions, forced labor, and medical experiments before being murdered. The camp's infrastructure, designed for maximum extermination efficiency, included gas chambers capable of killing thousands at a time and crematoriums to dispose of the bodies, highlighting the industrial nature of the genocide. Detailed records of transports, prisoner numbers, and deaths were meticulously kept, leaving a chilling account of the atrocities committed.

3/ Treblinka.

Another extermination camp in Poland, witnessed the murder of around 870,000 Jews. The camp operated with a singular purpose: mass murder, primarily through gas chambers. Victims were transported to Treblinka in tightly packed trains that was made to use to transport livestock, often enduring days without food or water, only to be killed upon arrival. The camp's operations were covered in secrecy, with few survivors to testify to the horrors. This near-total annihilation of those sent to Treblinka exemplifies the ruthless efficiency of the Nazi death machine, and here again they detailed and saved all transport lists and death counts and meticulously recorded it.

4/ At Belzec. 

Also in Poland, approximately 600,000 Jews were killed. The camp's efficiency in extermination, with most victims murdered upon arrival, underscores the industrial scale of the Holocaust. Belzec's gas chambers, initially primitive and later more sophisticated, were capable of killing thousands daily. The camp's location, chosen for its proximity to major Jewish populations, ensured a steady stream of victims. The methods of murder at Belzec were continuously refined, demonstrating the Nazis' relentless pursuit of their genocidal goals. Detailed records of each transport and extermination were kept, providing a grim accounting of the lives lost.

5/ Sobibor. 

Yet another death camp in Poland, saw the deaths of about 250,000 Jews. Sobibor was part of Operation Reinhard, the Nazi plan to exterminate the Jews of occupied Poland. The camp's gas chambers, disguised as showers, were used to deceive and murder. Despite its short operational period, Sobibor's impact was devastating. The camp's destruction by the Nazis in an attempt to hide their crimes could not erase the evidence of the atrocities committed there, which have been painstakingly reconstructed through survivor testimonies and archaeological efforts. The Nazis' meticulous record-keeping included transport lists and death counts, which have been crucial in reconstructing the scale of the atrocities.

6/ Majdanek. 

A concentration and extermination camp near Lublin, Poland, resulted in the deaths of around 78,000 Jews. Originally a labor camp, it later incorporated gas chambers to increase the killing efficiency. Unlike other camps, Majdanek was liberated largely intact, providing a grimly detailed picture of the Holocaust's mechanisms. The camp's dual function as a labor and death camp highlights the varied methods the Nazis used to exploit and exterminate Jews. The vast array of personal belongings left behind bears silent witness to the lives lost. Detailed German records, including death certificates and transport logs, provide further evidence of the systematic nature of the genocide.

7/ Chelmno. 

The first extermination camp established, killed approximately 152,000 Jews. Located in Poland, Chelmno used gas vans to murder its victims. The victims were deceived into entering these mobile gas chambers, believing they were being transported to new locations. This method of murder, though less well-known, was an early experiment in mass killing that paved the way for the more extensive gas chambers of other camps. Chelmno's role in the Holocaust was crucial, setting a precedent for subsequent extermination efforts. The Germans kept detailed records of each transport and the number of victims, underscoring the methodical planning behind the genocide.

8/ The Einsatzgruppen. 

Nazi death squads, were responsible for the mass shootings of over 1 million Jews across Eastern Europe, particularly in the Soviet Union. Mass graves continue to be discovered, revealing the true scale of their operations. These mobile killing units followed the advancing German army, executing Jews and other perceived enemies in mass shootings. The Einsatzgruppen's activities are among the most brutal and direct forms of genocide, often involving local collaborators and leaving behind a legacy of terror and loss in countless communities. The Germans meticulously documented these operations, with reports detailing the number of victims and locations of mass shootings.

9/ Ghettos.

In addition to extermination camps, ghettos played a significant role in the Holocaust. The Warsaw Ghetto, the largest, confined over 400,000 Jews. Starvation, disease, and deportations to death camps decimated the population. The living conditions in the ghetto were inhumane, with overcrowding, insufficient food, and rampant disease. The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, a heroic but doomed resistance effort, stands as a testament to the resilience and courage of the Jewish people in the face of systematic annihilation. The ghetto's eventual destruction symbolized the relentless nature of Nazi persecution. German records of ghetto populations and deportations provide detailed accounts of the suffering endured by its inhabitants.

10/ The Lodz Ghetto. 

With around 160,000 Jews, suffered similar fates. Ghettos served as holding areas before deportations to extermination camps, with many inhabitants perishing due to inhumane conditions. The Lodz Ghetto, one of the longest-lasting, was marked by forced labor and brutal living conditions. Its eventual liquidation sent tens of thousands to their deaths in Auschwitz. The ghettos' purpose was multifaceted: to isolate Jews, strip them of their possessions, and ultimately, to facilitate their extermination. The Nazis kept detailed records of ghetto inhabitants, work assignments, and deportation lists, all of which contribute to the historical understanding of the genocide's scope.

11/ Theresienstadt.

Presented as a "model ghetto" to deceive the world, was actually a transit camp for Jews sent to extermination camps. Around 33,000 Jews died within its walls, while many more were deported to their deaths. Theresienstadt was used for Nazi propaganda, showcasing it as a "self-governing" Jewish settlement to mislead international observers. In reality, it was a place of suffering and death, where cultural and intellectual life persisted only as a fragile form of resistance against the overwhelming oppression and impending doom.

Too much for 1 thread.

There are dozens of more camps, massacres, events and figures, that it is impossible to include everyone, so in the next chapter we will briefly go over all the other known facts. 

Summing up the horrific toll, we have:

- Auschwitz-Birkenau: 1.1 million Jews - Treblinka: 870,000 Jews - Belzec: 600,000 Jews - Sobibor: 250,000 Jews - Majdanek: 78,000 Jews - Chelmno: 152,000 Jews - Einsatzgruppen mass shootings: 1 million Jews - Warsaw Ghetto: over 400,000 Jews - Lodz Ghetto: 160,000 Jews - Theresienstadt: 33,000 Jews - Mauthausen: approximately 38,000 Jews - Bergen-Belsen: around 37,000 Jews - Dachau: about 28,000 Jews - Buchenwald: approximately 56,000 Jews - Ravensbrück: around 20,000 Jews - Sachsenhausen: about 30,000 Jews - Gross-Rosen: around 46,000 Jews - Stutthof: approximately 65,000 Jews - Plaszow: around 8,000 Jews - Westerbork: about 103,000 Jews - Drancy: approximately 70,000 Jews - Natzweiler-Struthof: around 20,000 Jews - Neuengamme: approximately 42,000 Jews - Poniatowa: approximately 14,000 Jews - Janowska: about 40,000 Jews - Kaiserwald: around 25,000 Jews - Malines (Mechelen): approximately 17,000 Jews - Sered: around 12,000 Jews - Jasenovac: around 25,000 Jews - Maly Trostenets: about 65,000 Jews - Babi Yar: over 33,000 Jews killed in just two days - Kovno Ghetto: approximately 30,000 Jews - Vilna Ghetto: about 55,000 Jews - Rumbula: around 25,000 Jews - Riga Ghetto: approximately 30,000 Jews - Minsk Ghetto: around 50,000 Jews - Kaunas Ninth Fort: over 30,000 Jews - Minsk Fort: around 65,000 Jews - Lublin Ghetto: about 40,000 Jews - Lvov Ghetto: approximately 100,000 Jews

Adding these additional figures gives us: 1.1 million (Auschwitz-Birkenau) + 870,000 (Treblinka) + 600,000 (Belzec) + 250,000 (Sobibor) + 78,000 (Majdanek) + 152,000 (Chelmno) + 1 million (Einsatzgruppen mass shootings) + 400,000 (Warsaw Ghetto) + 160,000 (Lodz Ghetto) + 33,000 (Theresienstadt) + 38,000 (Mauthausen) + 37,000 (Bergen-Belsen) + 28,000 (Dachau) + 56,000 (Buchenwald) + 20,000 (Ravensbrück) + 30,000 (Sachsenhausen) + 46,000 (Gross-Rosen) + 65,000 (Stutthof) + 8,000 (Plaszow) + 103,000 (Westerbork) + 70,000 (Drancy) + 20,000 (Natzweiler-Struthof) + 42,000 (Neuengamme) + 14,000 (Poniatowa) + 40,000 (Janowska) + 25,000 (Kaiserwald) + 17,000 (Malines) + 12,000 (Sered) + 25,000 (Jasenovac) + 65,000 (Maly Trostenets) + 33,000 (Babi Yar) + 30,000 (Kovno Ghetto) + 55,000 (Vilna Ghetto) + 25,000 (Rumbula) + 30,000 (Riga Ghetto) + 50,000 (Minsk Ghetto) + 30,000 (Kaunas Ninth Fort) + 65,000 (Minsk Fort) + 40,000 (Lublin Ghetto) + 100,000 (Lvov Ghetto) = 6,706,000 Jews.

This sum, combined with other unrecorded deaths, ghetto liquidations, and hidden or lesser-known massacres, underscores the sheer scale of the tragedy. 

So when you feel the need to gain some attention by exploiting our painful history, know that this is one of the most recorded events ever, so beside being an absolute evil person, you also expose yourself as a dumb person as well.

REMEMBER, THAT EACH NUMBER REPRESENTS A LIFE BRUTALLY CUT SHORT!! 

NEVER AGAIN!! 

AP

@APbrooklyn_NY

[mizukiverse]

might be a bit of a stretch and an over-analysis, but i like how fudou in the anime does not have any solo hissatsu techniques and instead always does combination hissatsus. i also love the fact that even if he acted antagonistic towards inazuma japan at the start of the FFI and he seemed like he didn't give a shit about his teammates, you have to give it to him that he cares enough to know everyone's best and weak points to be able to utilize them efficiently in a game plan (maybe an over-analysis: but i like to think that at first he only ever cared about winning, but slowly he started to care about the team [exhibit a: his reaction to tobitaka after he gets fired up]) as much as fudou wants to make himself the lone wolf, deep down he's someone who likes to be in a pack.

[thesinglesock]

I like how all the Ninja have their strengths. None of them are really "better" than anyone else, they know the same martial arts disciplines, and sure, often the writers have just had them mastering the same techniques all at the same time for efficiency's sake, but sometimes (especially in the later seasons) they show us how they all learn differently and are all the "strongest" in their own ways.

Cole is physically strong. He's surprisingly nimble for his build, but his strong suit is Pure Power. He can Pack a Punch and usually excels at things that require him to perform in short, yet powerful bursts.

Nya is the most in tune with her elemental power. It took her some time to get there, but once she found the right frequency, she quickly became the most dangerous elemental master in the world. Controlling the tides is like breathing to her.

Jay's strength is his creativity. He may not be the most in control of his power, the strongest, or that great at honing his skills in martial arts, but because he's able to think outside of the box, he finds ways to use his strengths that no one else on the team would even have considered.

Kai is the most disciplined when it comes to martial arts. The elemental stuff doesn't come that naturally to him, but he has a knack for picking up the technical skills really quickly, and so the elemental powers follow suit.

Zane is the most precise. He can't always master the most complex moves at first, but he never misses a target, and always knows where to strike to end fights quickly.

Lloyd is the most spiritually inclined. New mythical powers just grow on him like rashes. He works hard too, don't get me wrong, but if the moment calls for a new magic trick that hasn't been practiced in centuries he's your guy.

idk I just think it's neat that this is a thing they've kept pretty consistent throughout the multitude of seasons

[saucymunch]

yuta okkotsu x reader , fluff, a bit of angst, slight megumi x reader, demon slayer references , NOT accurate to manga (changed a little bit to better fit my story) , CONTAINS MANGA SPOILERS

the moment you overheard maki, panda, and toge talking about yuta’s missions abroad you froze in place. you were eavesdropping on their late night (2am) conversation. you wouldn’t call it eavesdropping, you were simply gonna go get a glass of water when you decided to wait and see what they were talking about (u were totally eavesdropping).

the three second years were carelessly chatting for hours on end in the common room. toge sprawled out on the couch, panda who melted onto the rug, and maki who was rocking back and forth in the giant lazyboy rocking chair that they had convinced gojo to buy one day at the mall. it was pouring rain outside, with thunder occasionally rumbling.

the sudden strike of lighting made you flinch a bit, as your hands gripped the wooden frame of the wall. but in this moment, you were hyper fixated on the fact that your boyfriend was going to be gone abroad in a couple of days. how could he not tell you? shouldn’t you be the first person he wants to go to? you were more confused than angry. honestly, you were more defeated.

your immediate reaction was to break into yuta’s dorm, and demand answers out of the boy. but before you could lash out, you took deep breaths, just as shoko had taught you. although you possessed the rare ability of the reversed curse technique, your regular technique forced you to visit shoko more often than the others. your regular technique was a powerful defensive cursed technique that depended heavily on your breathing abilities.

you mumbled to yourself in anger with tears of frustration spilling out of your tired and puffy eyes as you quietly retreated back to your dorm, deciding to just deal with this tomorrow morning.

the next morning came too early. before you knew it, you were standing in front of yuta. you had asked him to meet him, and he invited you over to his dorm room. his bags were already packed.

“why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” you asked, avoiding eye contact.

okkotsu’s eyes widened. he pursed his lips. his hand immediately reached for the back of his head as he scratched his head.

“y/n… i was going to tell you.” he stammered, jittery and clearly heart broken.

you match his gaze. “why didn’t you tell me first? why did i have to find out from the others?” you asked, holding back tears and biting the inside of your cheek.

“i- im so sorry! i was just so scared. even the idea of leaving you had me going crazy. also, gojo-sensei told me it would be a good idea to tell you as late as possible!” he reached for your hands, grabbing them for reassurance.

you grimace at the mention of gojo. “okkotsu! you don’t listen to gojo when it comes to this kind of stuff.” you scoff, and squeeze his hands.

you decide to forgive yuta, not like you had much time to be mad at him anyway. his plane left in four days, and on sunday morning, your lover boy would be headed to africa. gojo had to watch you and yuta kiss and coo and hug each other in the airport, which is behavior the bright red flustered spiky haired boy would typically shy away from because of his timid nature, but he didn’t know when he would see you again. he told you a couple of months, but you both knew it would stretch longer.

—

after yuta had left, you had slowly fallen into a slump. your training gradually got sloppier, you barely made it out of missions, you neglected your friendships with the other second years as you were locked away in your room most of the time. this went on for a month. even though you called and texted him, there was no facetime feature on yuta’s phone, and nothing was the same.

everybody was worried for your health, both mental and physical. you became even more frail as you skipped meals and had a difficult time breathing as you weren’t training your cursed technique as efficient as before. shoko had reported to gojo that your physical state was borderline self harm, as you hardly survived any spars or missions. a special grade sorcerer was rare and extremely valuable in the jujutsu world. when the higher ups had learned about your current condition, they were furious.

after one horrid month, gojo had finally dragged you out of your chamber known as a dorm to meet the new first years.

“okay! time for introductions~” gojo grins.

the three first years were sitting on a road curb as they stood outside of an abandoned school.

“y/n, this is itadori yuji. sukuna’s vessel!” your sensei explained.

the pink haired boy waved, sending you a bright smile.

“nobara kugisaki! a country bumpkin that uses a hairpin technique.”

the girl greets her coolly, saying something about how there aren’t enough girls at school.

“and finally y/n, this is megumi fushiguro, he possesses the famous ten shadows shikigami technique!” gojo beams, poking and prodding the boy.

your eyes visibly widen as you make eye contact with the spiky jet black haired boy.

“is something on my face?” your kouhai asks, face heating up as he brushes off his chin.

you shake your head. “sorry, no you don’t. you just have the same hair as someone i know.” you reply, chuckling softly at your foolish thoughts.

gojo forces all four of you into the abandoned building populated by curses.

“he told me to kill all the curses, right?” you ask the three first years, who were instructed to just watch.

they all nod as they run behind you, trying to keep up with your pace.

“y/n-senpai! how old are you? if you don’t mind me asking!” itadori curiously exclaims, causing nobara to nag him while fushiguro facepalms.

“i’m fifteen. why?” you inquire, looking back at him.

“woah- you’re the same age as us? just asking.”

you laugh and continue running through the building and up the stairs all the way to the rooftop just to be met with a crowd of curses.

“fushiguro. what’s your favorite color?” you ask as you unsheathe your nichirin blade from your pocket.

he furrows his brows, puzzled.

“hurry.”

“sorry- um, blue?”

you rapidly mutter a water breathing technique, releasing seemingly infinite ribbons of water to kill off all the curses in the building in a split second, afterwards causing the entire school building to be flooded with shimmery water that evaporates in less than a second.

the three first years just stand in awe. when they make it back down, they’re met with a proud gojo.

“so that’s the power of a special grade.” itadori admires.

nobara and itadori can’t stop cooing about how cool your technique is, while gojo explains your other breathing styles and techniques as you guys make your way to a sushi restaurant.

as you all get seated, nobara mentions something about how you need to fix your heavy eye bags and overall dead looking face, talking about how girls need beauty sleep. you simply smile and nod, but too tired to actually respond. if you were healthy, you would be overly excited at nobara’s words and you two would probably be inseparable. but you just don’t have enough energy. and gojo knows this. he knows how much you have been wanting to meet the first years. he knows that you need whatever help you can get. and he hopes that a fresh batch of friends will help.

“order whatever, it’s on me!” gojo shoots you all a tooth-achingly sweet grin.

nobara and itadori smirk as they bicker over what they should order for everyone.

a few months go by, and ever since your mini mission with the first years, your mental and physical health had drastically improved. one could say itadori, nobara, and megumi had saved you. you were now hanging out with the second years and first years often, and yuta’s calls and messages were becoming more and more rare. gojo had noticed you had taken a specific liking to megumi, and he had also been fond of you. the two of you would hang out separately, even spending some of your winter break together. gojo walked in on the two of you laying together, borderline cuddling, on HIS couch too. he didn’t know if you two were dating, so he resorted to asking the two first years. who both denied his suspicions. the white haired man asked maki, your best friend, and she had also denied it.

and it wasn’t like you loved megumi like you loved yuta. you loved megumi like a best friend. he was so easy to talk to, and was actually surprisingly really funny when you got to know him better.

nonetheless, you were able to reclaim your spot as one of the most powerful sorcerers in history, as you trained ten times harder than before. you were officially back to your normal self.

—

shibuya. nobody had suspected that halloween night would be so gruesome. you wondered if yuta was here, everything would be alright. the last time you two contacted each other was three months ago.

you were walking with yuji and megumi through the eerily empty streets of shibuya, the only sound filling ears were the echoing crunches of rubble beneath your feet. you quickly duck behind a flipped car to use your reverse cursed technique to heal a small wound on your foot, as yuji and megumi patiently waited in the middle of the road.

all of a sudden, you hear sparring noises. but spars dont last this long, and nobody was here to spar, they’re all here to eliminate, you think as you finish up healing your foot.

this cursed energy feels all too familiar. one you haven’t felt in over a year.

you turn around, to be met with yuta okkotsu.

your dark and tense expression brightens, eyes wide. you take in his almost unapproachable appearance. the once timid and sickeningly warm and sweet face was no longer there. instead, a cold, dark, exhausted, and straight up creepy face was standing just a couple feet away from you. his eye bags are heavy. his hair has went from spiky and messy to flat and styled into a side part.

but for some reason, the boy you once had to order for at restaurants, the boy who would hide behind you every time he hd to interact with anybody, the boy who was always uptight and nervous, was trying to kill your kouhai, yuji.

shoving personal feelings aside, you charged towards yuta, unsheathing your blade, as you held your katana up horizontally to protect yourself and your two kouhai’s, who were on the ground, coughing up blood, from getting killed.

yuta’s tired eyes had shot wide open, brows furrowing, as his katana had stopped pushing against yours. you used his moment of shock to try and sweep his feet off the ground, but unfortunately, he blocked your attack and hesitantly kept blocking and dodging your blade.

“y-y/n! y/n, listen to me. you need to stay out of this.” he orders, voice slightly shaking.

“those are pathetic words to say to your girlfriend who you haven’t seen in over a year.” you reply stoically.

all of a sudden, megumi appears next to you, with his frog shikigami, that get killed in a split second by yuta.

“leave her alone okkotsu-senpai.” the shikigami user says, attempting to deliver punches to the special grade, which were embarrassingly too slow for yuta.

“megumi-kun! it’s been too long. gojo had told me you and y/n were getting oddly closer during my absence.” the special grade boy uttered, smiling as he attempted to kick fushiguro in the stomach.

you grabbed yuta’s leg, and slammed him to the concrete.

“megumi, go check on yuji.” you instruct, as you held yuta to the ground.

megumi hesitantly left, and you released yuta.

“why are you trying to kill yuji? because if you keep trying, i’m not gonna hold back on you.” you firmly state.

“the higher ups want me to. y/n, i’m gonna kill itadori-kun and then revive him with my reverse technique.” he briefly explained s through labored breaths.

you eye him suspiciously. but seeing him so roughed up and exhausted broke your heart. you’ve dreamt of this day ever since the day he left. you wanted nothing more right now than to hug the life out of him and litter his bruised face with kisses. you wanted to take in every part of him.

he finally stood up and before he went to “execute” yuji, he whispered into your ear, “i love you so much. stay right here and don’t turn around until i tell you, okay?”

you comply and nod, unable to move because of your boyfriends suddenly dominant and confident behavior.

“just wait a little more sweetheart.” he commands, his lips grazing your neck as you feel his smirk against your skin.

your body tensed up at his words, and you were left paralyzed from his disgustingly sweet tone. eventually you shook your head and waited until yuta gave you the okay.

part 2?

[littlespaceofmine]

✦₊˚⊹Kindled Light⊹˚₊✦

Kai has always been drawn to fire—bright, roaring, and impossible to ignore. But when a mission brings him to a quiet corner of Ninjago City, he finds himself captivated by something softer: the glow of handmade lanterns and the steady warmth of the person who crafts them. As the days pass, Kai begins to realize that fire doesn’t always have to burn. Sometimes, it can flicker—steady, warm, and alive. And he thinks he finds that in you.

The lanterns were what caught Kai’s attention.

He wasn’t supposed to be distracted. The mission was simple: patrol the outskirts of Ninjago City, keep an eye out for any signs of trouble, and report back to Sensei Wu. But the mission had dragged on for nearly twenty days, and Kai was bored. The others were scattered across the city, each handling their own tasks, and Kai had been left to wander the quieter parts of town. That’s when he saw them—lanterns, glowing softly in the dim light of early evening, their colors shifting like flames dancing in the wind.

The stall was small, tucked into a corner of the park where the trees grew thick and the noise of the city faded into a distant hum. The lanterns hung from a wooden frame, their delicate paper shells painted with intricate patterns that seemed to move in the flickering light. Behind the stall stood a figure, their hands busy with a half-finished lantern. They didn’t notice Kai at first, too focused on their work.

Kai hesitated, then stepped closer. The lanterns were mesmerizing, each one unique. Some were adorned with swirling flames, others with delicate vines that seemed to grow and twist as he watched. The craftsmanship was unlike anything he’d seen before.

“You like them?” The voice startled him, and he looked up to see the lantern maker watching him with a curious expression.

“Yeah,” Kai said, recovering quickly. He crossed his arms, trying to look casual. “They’re… different. Never seen anything like them.”

The lantern maker smiled faintly, setting down the lantern they were working on. “That’s the idea. I try to make each one unique.”

Kai stepped closer, examining the lanterns more carefully. The patterns were intricate, the colors vibrant but not overwhelming. There was a sense of balance to them, a harmony that he couldn’t quite put into words. It amazed him, it drew him in closer. “How do you make the colors shift like that?”

The lantern maker hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s a technique I developed. Took a lot of trial and error, but I think I’ve got it down now.”

Kai raised an eyebrow, a faint smile drawn on his face. “Trade secret, huh? I say you just want to keep having customers.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” they said with a small smile.

Kai grinned, leaning against the stall. “Fair enough. I’m Kai, by the way.”

They told him their name, and he repeated it, testing how it felt on his tongue. “Nice to meet you,” he said, and there was a sincerity in his voice that made them smile.

Over the next few days, Kai found himself returning to the stall whenever he had a spare moment. The mission was dragging on, and the others were busy with their own tasks, so he had plenty of time to kill. At first, he told himself it was just curiosity—the lanterns were interesting, and he wanted to know more about how they were made. But the more time he spent there, the more he found himself drawn to the lantern maker.

They were quiet, but not in a way that felt awkward. There was a calmness to them, a steadiness that balanced out Kai’s fiery energy. They didn’t ask too many questions, which Kai appreciated. He wasn’t in the mood to explain why he was wandering the city in a gi, or why he sometimes disappeared for hours at a time.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the park grew quiet, Kai found himself helping them pack up the stall. It wasn’t something they’d asked him to do, but he’d offered, and they hadn’t refused. They worked in comfortable silence, their movements efficient and practiced.

“You’re good at this,” Kai said as he carefully wrapped a lantern in cloth. “How long have you been making them?”

“A few years,” they said, their voice soft. “It started as a hobby, but… it turned into something more.”

Kai nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I get that. Sometimes you start something without realizing how much it’s going to mean to you.”

They glanced at him, their gaze sharp but not unkind. “Is that how it was for you? With… whatever it is you do?”

Kai hesitated, then shrugged. “Something like that. It’s complicated.”

They didn’t press, and Kai was grateful. He wasn’t ready to explain about the ninja, about the missions and the battles and the weight of responsibility that came with it. Not yet.

The days passed, and Kai’s visits to the stall became a routine. He’d show up in the evenings, sometimes with a joke or a story to share, and they’d talk as they worked. They told him about their process, about the materials they used and the inspiration behind the designs. In return, Kai told them about his travels, careful to leave out the more dangerous details.

One night, as they sat together under the glow of the lanterns, Kai found himself opening up. He figured the cat will get out of the bag eventually, and that he'd rather say it himsel. And yet he was afraid, so afraid, but even so with squared shoulders and a clenched jaw he told them about his sister, Nya, and how much she meant to him. He told them about the pressure of being a ninja, the constant need to be strong, to be ready for whatever came next. And he prayed for things to remain unchanged. Just this one thing between them and him.

They listened quietly, their expression thoughtful. When he finished, they didn’t offer empty platitudes or try to fix anything. Instead, they simply said, “It sounds like you carry a lot on your shoulders.”

Kai laughed, though there was little humor in it. “Yeah, well. Someone’s got to do it.”

They nodded, their gaze steady. “Just remember, it’s okay to lean on others sometimes. You don’t have to do everything alone as cliché as it may sound. Plus, you're great company and have great handiwork, I don't know if I could afford to lose free labour.” A small smirk painted on their lips, no judgement, no fear, no excessive adoration. They stayed the same.

Kai looked at them, feeling like he was on the brink of tears, he didn’t even know what to say. Then he smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” It's ok if they'll never know how much this moment meant to him, because he'll know and he is nowhere near forgetting it ever.

The mission ended abruptly, as missions often did. One moment, Kai was helping the lantern maker pack up their stall, and the next, his communicator was buzzing with an urgent message from Lloyd. There was trouble in the city, and the team needed him.

Kai hesitated, torn between his duty and the quiet peace he’d found at the stall. The lantern maker seemed to sense his conflict, because they said, “Go. Do what you need to do.”

Kai nodded, his expression serious. “I’ll come back. As soon as I can.”

They smiled faintly. “I’ll be here.”

It was weeks before Kai returned. The mission had taken longer than expected, and by the time it was over, he was exhausted. But he kept his promise, making his way to the park as soon as he could.

The stall was there, just as he’d left it, the lanterns glowing softly in the evening light. The lantern maker was busy with a new design, their hands moving with the same steady precision he remembered.

They looked up as he approached, their expression unreadable. “You came back.”

Kai grinned, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. “Told you I would.”

They studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Good.”

Kai stepped closer, his gaze drifting to the lanterns. “Anything new?”

They hesitated, then reached for a lantern that was slightly apart from the others. It was different from the rest—more intricate, with patterns that seemed to tell a story. “I made this one while you were gone.”

Kai took it carefully, his fingers brushing against the paper. The patterns shifted under his touch, the colors swirling like flames. “It’s amazing.”

They smiled faintly. “I thought you might like it.”

Kai looked at them, his expression softening. “Thank you.”

Their gaze steady, they said with a wavering smile “Don't. Just promise me you'll try and come back sooner next time, yeah?”

He blinked for about 3 seconds in complete silence, before a huge smile decorated his face "I knew you'd miss me! But alright I promise."

The lantern hung in Kai’s room at the monastery, its light a constant reminder of the quiet moments he’d found in the midst of chaos. It wasn’t destiny that brought him to the stall, or some inexplicable force. It was a choice—a series of choices, small and deliberate, that led him to that moment.

And as he sat there, the lantern light flickering in the dark, he realized that sometimes, the things we find along the way are just as important as the things we’re searching for.

Oh, and also that he’d keep visiting, that too. So what if he's getting too attached, he deserved at least that, right?

The missions didn’t stop, of course. They never did. But Kai made a point of returning to the park whenever he could. Sometimes it was just for a few minutes, other times for hours. The lantern maker never asked for explanations when he showed up late or left abruptly. They simply welcomed him with the same quiet steadiness that had drawn him in the first place.

One evening, as they worked side by side under the glow of the lanterns, Kai found himself smiling. It wasn’t the kind of smile he wore during battles or when he was showing off for the others. It was softer, more genuine.

“What?” the lantern maker asked, noticing his expression.

“Nothing,” Kai said, shaking his head. “Just… glad I found this place.”

They smiled faintly, their hands still busy with the lantern they were working on. “Me too.”

Kai leaned back, watching the lanterns sway gently in the evening breeze. Fire. He always loved it as a kid—the bright and huge ones, the kind of fires that roared and crackled, all-consuming and impossible to ignore. They were powerful, demanding, and he’d always admired that. But the more he grew, the more he found himself drawn to something quieter, something steadier. A warmth that didn’t need to shout to be felt, a glow that didn’t burn to be seen.

You were a breath of fresh air, the air that a fire needs to burn, a break, somehow still keeping him grounded all the way. You made even him go calm, his shoulders relaxed and his jaw unclenched. You were the lantern to his glow, he supposed, chuckling at the irony and the thought.

And as he sat there, the lantern light casting soft shadows across the room, he realized something else. Fire didn’t always have to roar. Sometimes, it could flicker—steady, warm, and alive. And he thinks he finds that in you.

Wordcount: 2,342 words

A/N: For the fower symbolism in the header for anyone curious, the flowers are Red Poppy, Red Celosia, Orange/Red Marigold, Red Amaryllis.

[capicola323427]

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!

Fun fact, in making this image it was surprisingly my most easiest yet visually pleasing work. I've always viewed at as a graph like this

Of course, that isn't true! It's more like this

That is to say, I believe this illustration allowed me to focus on the efficient fundamentals I built!

Everything here was rendered with only three brushes. All of them the default brushes that come with CSP. Which includes Pastel, Airbrush, and Mechanical Pencil. Because it was a lineless style, that means I could be a lot more forgiving of mistakes here and there. Something doesn't look right? All I gotta do is add a little more with the GPen to the shape. Or can I just draw an outline in the color I want and fill it in with the bucket tool with a area scaling of 0.10! I have to practice more with lineless styles, it is fun! Rendering was a breeze too.

Which was a simple process of:

Create shape > Shade with Airbrush > Highlight with Airbrush > Shade with Pastel > Multiply Shading > Lower Multiply Layer Opacity > Overlay with Textured Fill > Move Textured Fill Layer > Finished!

It's a few steps, but once you get into the groove, it becomes very efficient. I'm sure there's ways I could shave off a few layers, like combining the Airbrush process into two layers instead of one but ehhh sometimes I do it, sometimes I don't. Usually, the bigger the shape the more likely I'll use more layers and the smaller the shape the less likely I'll use more layers! Of course, this process isn't a concrete ruling. Sometimes, I'll use more layers for extra things like the bell required more layers for rendering the shininess of metal! Anyways, I would like to believe I did a decent job at recreating the feel, the vibe, and or general look of an old Christmas Card that's more retro in nature. With a focus on simple shapes, a lineless rendering style, and using textured brushes to render, I think I got it down packed. I used a tiny bit of Chromatic Aberration to give it a little bit of a visual pop, and brighten up the colors. It's subtle, but it works.

Oh, and here's something cool! To get a more embossed Christmas Card feel, I used a new tool that came with Clip Studio Paint!

N O R M A L M A P !

Cool, right? I use a pirated copy of Clip Studio Paint 3.0 and it comes with a tool that allows you to create normal maps from illustrations. Which, from what Google tells me: "A normal map is a texture mapping technique used to add surface details to 3D models without altering their geometry" ...Neat!

Anyways, here's what it looks like

Freaky, right?

It looks like an embossed letter when you set a layer color to it too!

Anyways, I overlayed it on top of the finished illustration, set it to multiply and set the layer color to a warm yellow and it gives it not only texture but a sense of depth too! It's super cool, if you digitally paint you should try it!

With Normal Map Overlay Effect

Without Normal Map Overlay Effect

It's subtle but it's there.

Anyways, that's enough blathering from me! Merry Christmas everyone! I'll be answering some asks this week, so stay tuned!!!

[stari-hun]

The Eras of Manus VinDriptae

A breakdown of their outfits and the eras they take inspiration from. Expanded from my Foundation vs Manus Uniforms post.

Arcana

Arcana's style of mermaid dress didn't become popular until the 1930s however the trumpet bottom in her dress didn't start to gain favor in gowns until the 60s. Her dress' wrap style didn't become popular until the late 70s either as a symbol of liberation. The ribbons on her dress are very Rococo inspired but the style of layered bows didn't become popular again until 2021.

Her shrug also become popular in the 1950s to be worn over dresses for warmth or modesty, although Arcana's use of the shrug seems to be more for layering with her opera length glove.

Arcana's hair accessory is closest to a hair or hat pins. Hair pins would be worn as they are today where they'd clip something into the hair to hang down on the head and accessorize the hair and frame the face. Hat pins would serve a similar function in fastening a hat and it's accessories to the head and reached the height of their popularity in the Victorian Era before subsequently being banned while used as tools for self defense.

-

Forget Me Not

Forget Me Not has the weirdest case for his outfit because his suit vest is between proper evening wear for 1910, but his main chapter is in 1929 which had already had a much higher cut by that time. He's adhering to a decade behind which fits the struggle we can imply from his story anecdote, but even then there's some inconsistencies. Despite the odd cut for an evening suit, the floral pattern was a common menswear pattern alongside tartans.

His pants are also from a style much more preferred by the 1970s. He has a pair of fitted slacks that you wouldn't see in 1929 in black cotton outside of women wearing them. The preference and expectation for men was earthy or neutral tones which were navy at the darkest. Fitted slacks also didn't become popular until the 70s because the 20th century began with lose and fitting clothes and higher volumes of fabric before ending with tighter fits and light versatile fabric.

His shoes.. I. Shoes from 1929 look closer to modern bowling or tap shoes with that specific cut and layering. If not, they'd be a solid leather loafer styled shoe. All things considered, men's shoes haven't changed much over the years. That type of buckled shoe hasn't been worn by men since around the 1790s because their shoes became efficient then the designs only changed as different materials and techniques were invented.

Forget Me Not's cravat wasn't popular in 1929 since around 1840, and they didn't see a resurgence until the 1950s-80s. The cut and styling also weren't things seen, but I'd give that mostly to his preference as an arcanist.

(I COULD NOT tell you what's happening with his waist buckles. Yoo Joonghyuk ass straps... It's something you'd see from a ren fair or munchkin comic over anything. The only time belts have been worn in that place in history have been with women for chest support, fanny packs, or weapons. Forget Me Not doesn't use a wand or anything and if he can use something like a conductors wand for his arcanum, it's not even strapped there. Which is a good decision because being that conspicuous as an arcanist in that time period wasn't a good idea!!)

Ms Grace

Ms Grace's dress is similar to those in 1957, but strapless dresses didn't become popular until the 80s, but a sweetheart neckline with a lace high neck wasn't popular in evening gowns in that era. Swing dresses typically had a straight or boat neckline in the late 50s to early 60s, and the ones that did were never strapless. Balenciaga experimented with necklines extended via lace in 1957, and lace drapery was popular with Chanel in 1960's cocktail gowns, which mirror Grace's outfit more, but the 1950s-1960s widely showed a preference for lace in drapery or embroidery over necklines.

Modern sequins also became popular in the 1940s-50s due to a innovation in the creation process. Her heels also adhere to time period shoes in 1957.

Her accessories also seem to be inspired from the 1840's-60's with her choker and bonnet set being popular during those eras before a resurgence in the 90's. Her scarf wasn't a popular item until the 1990's, as during the 1950's-60's scarfs were draped over the shoulders or worn over clothing as another layer, and as time went on they became tighter fitting after less layers were favored more. One thing I consider more of an oddity in her outfit is the mourning poke bonnet she wears that takes inspiration from the ones in the 1840s. If anything, I'd just assume that it's apart of Ms Grace's ideals as a member of the Manus and her opinions on mortality.

-

Sophia

Sophia is also an odd case like Arcana because Apeiron considered themselves still moving through time due to the ritual protecting the island, so her outfit has to be based on the other members of Apeiron. Apeiron itself has to be counted as it's own style with one era: 1999. They had frequent contact with and initiates from the outside world before the Storm and even sometime after, so it can be assumed they took techniques and materials from them up to 1999. They also had the variable of being a strictly arcanist community which values creative self expression and design aspects.

From 6's lines we can assume all of the clothing from Apeiron is cut to be mathematical and tailored to the arcanist wearing them. Their designs likely fit a ratio or pattern that I couldn't describe since I learned visual design and fashion composition visually over any formal theory.

Sophia's original outfit and Manus uniform mirrors one another, and she even keeps her gloves from her original outfit. Her outfit mirroring her original in the main aspects apart from the open midriff. Without making another post entirely on Apeiron, Sophia's shift from the Manus brought on mostly a shift in motifs apart from her pleating. Pleating became popular among women in the 1920s and reached their peak in the 80s before dying down again to focus on new fabrics over techniques in preparation for the y2k 2000s.

[noneatnonedotcom]

not as sick just as bored.

same rules as before, this time we're making a DC superhero. lemme know how strong you think this guy would be.

Etiquette: (100 cp) "You are instinctively knowledgeable about the etiquette and deference that must be shown in any martial art or martial culture. You are aware of faux pas or mild signs of disrespect and will subconsciously avoid making them. You know how to show respect as well as where and when it is best to show it without being considered a sycophant or rude. So long as the culture is rooted in combat and discipline, you will never offend someone unless you actively seek to do "

"Army Defying: (200cp) "You cannot be overwhelmed by mere numbers. If an enemy would not present a threat to you in a one-on-one battle, then any number of similarly skilled foes are equally useless in the face of your martial prowess."

In for a Penny, in for a Pound of Flesh: (200cp) "Training? Guns? Numbers? All is for naut against true battle experience. You have no issue taking on entire armed groups on your lonesome. The more you kill, the larger groups you can take on, and the stronger individuals you can challenge. With a few wars under your belt, taking on a small army or a stone-skinned monster is child’s play "

Instant Ninja: (100cp) "Blending in is all well and good, but if there are security cameras around you'll feel a bit out of luck. You can't do anything, act out or you'll expose yourself. Say you do wanna act though, but aren't in disguise, what are you to do? Upon purchase, you become incredibly skilled at whipping up ""ninja"" themed disguises using only what you have on hand or find in your surroundings. Disguises usually consist of masks, flowing scarves and tactical wrappings that help pull the look off. These improvised disguises are surprisingly effective at keeping your identity secret, with a single flaw that may expose you to the especially observant, your footwear. Something about your shoes leaves them the only thing people will be able to recognize in and out of your disguises, if they ever saw them to begin with."

Angel of the Battlefield: (400cp) "Just being a leading star in the medical field isn’t enough to change the world, not when you have to do it from the front of a battlefield too. While you are most certainly at the front of the pack in terms of medical skill and knowledge of your time, at least as far as Nightingale’s time, your talents are more notable than that. A superb instinct for all things relating to medicine, it allows you to easily master techniques and technology even centuries advanced from your time if you can gain access. Even without access, advancing medical knowledge comes smoothly and quickly to you, accelerating the speed of new discoveries greatly.

Medicine becomes widely applicable in your hands, in some ways superhumanly so. Your knowledge makes you a lethal combatant even with limited combat training, innately understanding the most efficient ways to move your own body, the most vulnerable vital points to strike and how to greatly reduce damage with the right block. Your treatments become applicable on all targets, even against what seems like common sense, as you can stitch up the wounds of spiritual beings with no more difficulty than a flesh and blood human. Even non-humans take only a small time to study before you can effectively understand and begin treatment. While this talent does not directly boost the power of healing magecraft, your knowledge and the skill it lets you use those spells with make you a far superior wielder to most."

edit: forgot the free roll

Philosopher Kings: (free, 100cp) "The greatest kings and military leaders were more than just warriors and tacticians. They were men of incredible fortitude beyond the simple body, with wills to push forward against the impossible for years at a time, so that they could grasp victory. They were more than fighters, with experience as philosophers or explorers that they bent towards their goals of conquest. You’re not a great king yet but you share those beginnings. You’ve got a will like a wall of diamond, incredible hard and near impossible to break or bend. You might not last forever against everything but it’ll take a damn lot to make you bend the knee by choice. Your childhood, where you found that will, was spent not just on military training but also in another field of life of your choice, such as exploring distant lands for years to experience new cultures or spending time as a notable teacher of the arts at home, which has given you a wide array of minor skills and experiences that aid you in finding creative solutions to your enemies."

he spent his childhood learning the law

the basic concept is simple, a frontline doctor who's able to keep up with and heal the heavy hitters of the JL something like a batman but one devoted to keeping his allies in the fight rather than planning up grand strategies to take on the bad guys, that being said he is still growing with every fight, and he can easily ignore fodder. that being said just starting out he's got no combat training and will need someone to help get him started. at least he knows how to do the basics like throw a punch without hurting himself.

@howlingday @heliosthegriffin @weatherman667 how well do you think this hero would do in the DC universe?

[reijisteacup]

Hello! I’m not 100% sure if your ask box is still closed, if it is, fee free to ignore this message!

I was wondering if you could do a oneshot or reaction to a classmate of Reiji’s asking for him to tutor them because they’re struggling with a subject? (You can choose any subject you like)

Thank you kindly in advance 😌

IT IS OPEN NOW POOKS <3 Of course this is super cutee and I think you know what subject it is going to be ;)

====================================================================================================

The click of Reiji’s polished shoes echoed through the nearly silent library as he returned another reference book to its shelf. Every movement of his was controlled, refined—a perfect reflection of the man himself. As he adjusted his glasses and glanced over the spine of a biochemistry text, he heard your footsteps hesitating behind him. You’d been following him for nearly five minutes, heart pounding in your throat, fingers fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. You weren’t known for being the bold type, especially not around Reiji. He was… well. Intimidating. Brilliant. Unnervingly attractive in a way that made your throat dry when he looked directly at you. Finally, you spoke. “Um—Reiji?” He turned his head slowly, sharp red eyes fixing on you with faint interest. “Yes? Is there something you require?” You swallowed. “I—I’ve been having trouble with… chemistry. The equations, the lab technique, it’s just—hard to keep up. I was wondering if you’d be willing to… tutor me?” There was a pause. Not one filled with awkwardness, but one of calculation. Then, the faintest curve of his lips. “Chemistry, you say? Hm.” He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating in its sharp intensity. “It is a precise science. Unforgiving. One wrong calculation, and you risk catastrophic failure. Much like dealing with people.” Your mouth went dry. “I—I guess that’s true…” “I assume you’re asking because I have the highest marks in the subject.” He adjusted his glasses with a soft click. “Not because of anything else.”

“Y-yeah,” you lied.

He hummed thoughtfully. “Very well. I do not usually squander my time on others, but I dislike incompetence more than inconvenience.” He stepped past you, his shoulder brushing yours in a slow, deliberate drag. “Meet me after class tomorrow in the science lab. Do not be late. Or sloppy.” The next day, he was already waiting for you—coat off, sleeves rolled, lab setup perfectly organized. He stood beside the lab table like he owned it. “You’re five minutes early. Impressive. I dislike tardiness.” He motioned for you to sit beside him. As he instructed you, you realized how terrifyingly efficient he was: no wasted words, no distractions, every motion exact. He corrected your hand placement when mixing the solution, fingers brushing your wrist in a touch so brief it made you question if it had happened at all. But when you looked up, his eyes were already on you—too focused. “You’re distracted,” he said calmly, though his voice had a dark lilt. “Or perhaps… you are too used to being coddled. I assure you, I don’t believe in soft praise.”

You flushed. “No, I’m really trying—”

“Then try harder. Science does not care for your intentions. Only your accuracy.” He leaned in slightly, just enough to crowd your senses. “Although… your reactions are quite fascinating to observe. Like a volatile compound under pressure.” The moment passed, and he straightened, expression cool once again. “We will continue this session tomorrow. I expect you to review what we covered. If you are capable of progress, perhaps I’ll make time for further instruction.” As he packed up the lab materials, he added one final note with a smirk just barely tugging at his mouth, “And do refrain from making mistakes simply to earn my attention. There are better ways to get it, if you’re bold enough.”

===================================================================================================

It was your third session with Reiji, and the dynamic had shifted in a subtle but significant way. At first, he had been all cold instruction and perfectly measured disdain. But today? Today he stood just a little closer. His voice was quieter—quieter enough to force you to lean in. His eyes didn’t only flick to your answers on the worksheet anymore… they lingered. “You’ve improved,” he said as you smoothly completed the chemical equation without hesitation. His tone was clipped, but not unkind. You smiled, sheepish and proud. “Guess I have a good teacher.”

A pause.

His eyes snapped to you, red and sharp behind his glasses. “Flattery is beneath you. Though… I suppose in this case, it is deserved.” You almost choked at the rare sliver of praise. But before you could even bask in it, Reiji leaned in behind you. His hand moved to rest lightly on your shoulder—too lightly for someone so strict. “Still… you should be careful.” Your throat tightened. “C-careful?” “With how well you’re doing. You might start to think you no longer need me.” His voice brushed your ear like a ribbon of silk, slow and deliberate. “And I don’t enjoy being made obsolete.” There was something dangerous in the way he said it—not threatening, but possessive. Like he’d spent time sharpening your mind just to claim it as his. “Of course not,” you said, flustered. “I mean—I’d still want to learn from you.” He hummed low in his throat, clearly satisfied. “Good.” You felt his breath ghost the back of your neck as he adjusted the paper in front of you, guiding your hand with his own. His gloves were off today—on purpose, maybe—and his bare fingers felt far too warm against yours. “You respond better to touch than I expected,” he murmured. Your heartbeat spiked.

“R-Reiji…”

He stilled, then slowly let go of your hand, allowing a respectful distance again—but that faint smirk lingered at the corner of his mouth. “Forgive me. I must have… overestimated your focus.” You turned your face away to hide how red you’d gone, only for Reiji to neatly flip your textbook open to the next chapter and say, voice perfectly calm. “Let’s move on to organic reactions. Unless, of course… you’d prefer to study something a little less academic with me later.” You blinked. “Wait, what?” He only chuckled, low and quiet.

“Don’t look so scandalized. I believe in rewarding excellence, after all… And you have been very, very impressive lately.”

[sugoi-writes]

Laundry Day: Sanemi X F!Reader

Tw: Olfactophilia/osmolagnia (sniffing/smelling kinks linked to body odor), F!Reader that is a Hashira (breathing style/appearance not specified). Implied and stated dirty thoughts, pining from the reader, ending in a more mutual pining.

A/N: This brain worm needed to be born. Hopefully I can crank out the 2nd chapter soon that'll be nice and smutty. Yall enjoy ><

Hashira meetings were efficient, in more ways than one. If there wasn't something that required immediate attention, there were many things that could be said and done at Ubuyashiki Manor.

One of the biggest things to tackle? Laundry.

The life of a Demon Slayer, especially a Hashira, was a grueling and gross endevour. And more times than not, laundry was the biggest task to overcome on days with extended down time.

To make this burden easier, the Hashiras would often rotate out 2 or 3 slayers at a time to help each other catch up on laundry. As bonus, this would free up other Hashira's time to run other errands or take some time to themselves. This time was no exception.

During this cycle, Mitsuri was to attend to women's uniforms, while Sanemi was in charge of the men's.

Being a hashira yourself, you never really minded laundry much. And, you knew that Mitsuri HATED doing it all alone...

So there you were, strolling up to the usual room where yours, Shinobu's, and Mitsuri's laundry would be. And as you were nearing the door, you take a brief pause. You felt something was a little... off...

As you stood by the sliding door, you didn't see Mitsuri's visage... but Sanemi's. This was strange, because you knew for a fact that the men's washroom was a completely seperate room.

You were concentrating intently, ensuring that you weren't detectable. Luckily, your breathing technique helped to make sure your footsteps were silent.

The sliding door was cracked, which saved you the trouble of having to open it yourself... And now, you were faced with an interesting sight.

Mitsuri and Shinobu's clothing were left in their packs, seemingly untouched... but yours was dumped onto the floor next to the wash bin. He was stooped over it all, rummaging. You were a little unnerved, but couldn't help but feel your chest tighten.

It certainly wasn't a secret that you had pined for Sanemi... but... why now, was HE the one being secretive around you and your things?

And that's when you saw it. You nearly gasped when he found a pair of your undergarments. Your face heated up as he looked to them, running a calloused finger over the delicate fabric that you wore just a day or so ago.

And, before you could even process it, you saw him bring it closer to his face, and inhale deeply. Your mouth hung open, throat parched. You felt the awkward impulse to look away, but you couldn't help yourself... it was like watching a house fire: you simply couldn't look away.

You felt yourself become even more flustered as you watched the imaginary weight fall off of Sanemi' shoulders. His expression was hard to read, but you did notice his expression softening, especially in his eyes. Before something darker clouded them... a murkiness you hadn't seen before.

You see him take a pause, before looking toward the sliding door curiously. You panic, backing away with a start. But for what it's worth, he didn't seem to see you.

You hear a sigh, and some shuffling, before Sanemi's footsteps approach the sliding door. Your mind races, and your body immediately launches into full stealth mode. You practically flung yourself around the corner, crouching low to the ground to wait for him to exit.

You hear Sanemi enter the hallway, before turning the other way. Surely he was heading towards the men's washroom... or his own room.

Your mind was racing, still reeling from what you saw-- or at least what you thought you saw??

But who were you kidding!!! There's only one reason he'd do something like that with undergarments like that... USED ones, in fact.

You felt yourself sinking all the way to the floor, stooping over as you hold your flushed face. Sanemi was definitely a bit perverted... there's not a doubt in your mind about that. HOWEVER: you needed to know if this stimmed past you to the other Hashiras.

For a moment, you felt uneasy, knowing that Mitsuri and Shinobu would honestly kick his ass for this... but, your heart still fluttered at the thought that maybe, JUST maybe, he was secretly burning for you, too. And only for you.

You could barely contain yourself. The curiosity was killing you. You had to know the answer as soon as possible, or it'd eat you alive.

You waited a minute or two, to ensure you didn't see or hear anyone else, before briskly entering the laundry room.

While you're there, you may as well help Mitsuri get the laundry going... you start to sort the piles of clothes from the 3 Hashira's batches. And once you've fully sorted yours, you reached the conclusion you feared (maybe hoped for?)...

A pair of your underwear, for sure, was gone... BUT: Mitsuri's and Shinobu's remained untouched.

You didn't know whether to sigh in relief, or slap yourself silly. Your face was heating up again as you shuffled over to the washing basin. Maybe clearing your mind can help you rationalize things, and help you figure out how to confront your male peer.

You curse aloud, remembering that you'd still need to grab some water from the spring nearby--

"Oiiii~ someone there?" You hear suddenly, a familiar, sing songy voice cutting through your internal dialogue. You smile brightly as Mitsuri walks in, two large buckets of water in her arms.

"A-Ahh! Mitsuri-san! Thanks for bringing that in. I was actually coming to help you out a bit...," you stammer. But to your credit, you weren't lying.

Mitsuri all too happily dumps the water into the scrubbing basin and rinsing basin, giddy as she goes to hug you," Aww, I should be thanking you! You have everything already sorted! You've always been so sweet, Y/N-chan!" You laughed as Mitsuri nuzzles your cheek with her own, squeezing you tightly before pulling back.

"Well then, I'll gladly take the help! It'll be really nice to catch up with you too, after all this time Y/N-chan~!"

---

After all the gossiping and scrubbing you've done, you hope to not lift a finger for the rest of the evening. But, watching the clothing billow in the summer heat made you feel accomplished.

Everything was hung and drying nicely, with hopes of being ready for tomorrow morning.

Mitsuri thanks you again for a job well done, and gives you the last of her sakura mochi to snack on (much to your protest). After bidding her well, you start to head to your room to relax until dinner.

As you continue on, your mind starts to wander again. Your eyelids grow heavy as the images run wild in your head. Sanemi didn't just take them by accident, no... he wanted them. He may have other plans with your undergarments, too...

Was it just a passing phase or an accident? A dare by Tengen? Trophies???

Your face turns a light pink at the thought. No, no, no... the way he breathed in and relaxed like that... was he-- would he--??

Your internal rambling was cut short, as you run face first into a firm chest. You reel back, reflexively apologizing before you tensing up. Sanemi was looking down at you, a half-hearted snarl on his face.

"Watch it, shortstack," he gruffs, curtly side stepping around you. You hesitate a moment, before turning a full 180.

"H-Hey!!! I actually... wanted to talk to you!" You blurt," I-Its urgent!"

Sanemi pauses, turning around to face you," Hah? About what?," he retorts, his eyes leering at you. You could feel his intensity more than usual, making you almost squirm under his gaze.

"A-Actually... I wanted to talk more... privately. I want to be discreet," you rasp out, trying to find your voice again. Why were you getting so shy now?!? HE should be the one that's embarrassed!!!

Sanemi huffs," Just bring it up at the meeting," he says dismissively, turning away," I'm sure whatever it is can wait until after dinner--"

Impulsively, you go to grab his arm, and in the blink of an eye, he has you by your wrist, halting your attempt to grab him. Both of you look to each other, one firmly and the other with a scowl.

"...Sanemi-san... for your sake, I would rather keep things... b-between us, for now. It's something... the others don't need to know about," you nearly whisper, though your tone is much more firm than before.

You look up to him, a glint of mischief in your eyes," It's a secret, if you'll have me..."

Sanemi, now seemingly interested, decides to let go of your wrist, turning towards you again,"... hmph. Well, I'm listening."

You sigh in exasperation, before shoving him playfully," Not here, dumbass!!! Somewhere more private!!" You spit back, your face hot and scrunched up.

Sanemi is quick to notice this, but also knows that the shove wasn't too serious. He sighs dramatically," Fine, fine... let's go to my room, then. It's around the corner," he states flatly, walking towards your destination. You're rolling your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. As if you didn't know where his room was. Wait... were you being a creep, too--!?

Your heart was thumping audibly in your chest, and it took a decent bit of concentration to calm yourself down. Ugh, this was a bad idea! An AWFUL idea!! You knew Sanemi's temper and how easily he gets worked up...

What was he gonna say if you confront him? Was he gonna flip out? Deny it to your face? Or would things take a more favorable route for you?

Your heart yearned for the latter, as the door to his room slid open. He stands to the side to let you in first, before following behind you. You hear the door come to a close, and an audible 'click' of the door being locked into place.

You were still facing away from him, calming yourself as you hear Sanemi sit on the floor.

"Might as well make yourself at home, since you wanna talk so badly...," Sanemi offers, though you didn't want to get that comfy just yet. You fiddled with the edge of your haori, before breathing in deeply.

You hold your breath for a moment, and exhale. Breathe... you're a Hashira, dammit. You deal with MUCH more troublesome things in your daily life.

You turn around after steeling yourself, and Sanemi is giving you a puzzled look. He gestures to the mat across from him, and you nod courteously as you finally go to take your seat.

Your eyes wander for a moment around the room. It's been a few hours since you've seen him steal your things... where would he hide it? The dresser to your right? In his own laundry bag? In his tatami--??

"Are you just gonna oggle at this room all day, or did you actually have something important to say?," Sanemi grunts pointedly, his eyes locked on you. He can sense something important was on your mind, but he couldn't get a clear read. So you'd have to take the lead on this, after all.

You sighed heavily again, your face heating up as you try to think of the best way approach this. Knowing Sanemi, he doesn't like beating around the bush.

"W-Well, Sanemi-san...," you start quietly, voice hardly above a whisper," I, uhm... was helping Mitsuri around the manor today..."

You notice Sanemi quirk one of his brows up at you, seemingly confused," Okay...?"

"A-And of course, with most of us having the evening free to spend the night here, I knew Mitsuri was gonna be doing the laundry, specifically hers, mine, and Shinobu's."

Sanemi's eye twitches. There it is.

You swallow the lump forming in your throat, sitting fully upright," A-And... all was going well, but... I noticed something a little off."

Sanemi was silent, waiting for you to continue. He was neither confirming nor denying anything at the moment.

You look to him, face hot and eyes intense, knowing you had a foot in the door,"... I know that I'm missing some of my things. I also know... that you were helping the other Hashira out with their laundry, too," you added, mentioning your male peers.

Sanemi scoffs, crossing his arms," Oh yeah? And are you accusing me of having something to do with your clothes being missing?," he retorts, his eyebrows still raised.

You clamp your fists tightly in your lap, your face shifting to a bright red," I-It's actually not a hunch, y'know...," you state calmly, trying not to crack under his gaze.

"...I know you took them. Because I saw you do it."

Silence.

A silence so thick, that you could carve it with your nichirin blade. You saw Sanemi's face visibly change, his incredulous expression being replaced with one of bewilderment and shock.

"I'm not sure I'm following here... I never touch the women's laundry," Sanemi snaps," Only the men's. And that's already gross enough," he adds, scowling.

You hold your ground, though your heart was about to beat out of your chest. You had no choice...

You immediately spout out a description of your undergarments. Down to the color and what the fabric was. The rips and frays it had... Sanemi didn't want to admit it... but he knew EXACTLY what you meant. You see his expression falter and shift again.

"... and here's the thing, Sanemi-san," you continue, scooting closer to the platinum haired man across from you.

"When I checked Shinobu and Mitsuri's laundry, neither of them were missing a thing. So it begs the question... why mine? And why did you take it with you?"

By this point, you were hardly a foot away, and sitting point-blank in front of him. Between this and your position between the door, Sanemi had a physical barrier between him and the exit... He wasn't getting out of this so easily.

You notice his eye twitch again, his cheeks tinging a dusty rose color. He narrows his gaze at you, tsking" I'm telling you, I wouldn't do something like that-- I didn't touch your damn stuff," he says defensively," Not to mention, thats a bold statement coming from my junior, Y/N-san--"

"I am neither your junior, nor being bold. We're the same rank, and I'm just stating facts," you snap back flatly, leaving him no room to budge.

Sanemi huffs in annoyance, not breaking eye contact with you for a second.

"Fine... while you're also a Hashira, you're also one of the newest..." Sanemi admits, as he leans closer. Your eyes widen, internally panicking as Sanemi inches closer.

"...and suppose that someone did go through your things, Y/N. And that Mitsuri's and Shinobu's stuff was untouched..."

His face was almost unbearably close, close enough to where you could feel the heat radiating off of him. Maybe he wasn't the only one who felt like they were on the hot seat right now...

"... what then, Y/N? What would you think about that?"

Your lip quivers at how low his voice gets. The way that Sanemi says this, it's like he's fully admitting to his little deed. Maybe he was egging you on...

And it certainly didn't take much to do so.

You hold yourself firmly, taking a quick glance to his lips before making eye contact again. While your throat was completely dry, you felt like you were practically drooling.

With how close you were to him, you were able to fully admire his features you liked the most about him...

The warmth radiating off of his body was just inviting you in...you felt yourself losing your resolve to hold back.

" I'd think...this person may be fixated on me, I'd suppose. But most of all, I'd be glad..."

You reach a hesitant hand upward, going to rest it on Sanemi's chest. You could feel his heart pumping steadily underneath his broad chest... knowing that it was racing just as much as yours.

Sanemi makes no sudden movements, but that hazy look you saw from before was starting to return to his eyes as you were nearly a careless brush away from his lips.

"...I'd be glad... because I've had eyes on you too, Sanemi."