#Book for CA Final Law

[prythianpages]

I've Been Waiting For You | Bonus

Azriel x Reader bonus scenes based off of this one shot. These are some scenes/ideas that didn’t make it to the final cut.

warnings: just some suggestiveness with the last one (but not really, it's just the morning after you and Az spend the night together but the scene itself is just fluff.) all of these scenes are purely fluff 🤧

Thank you so much for all the love you showed this imagine! I'm so happy you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing ♡ I tried to keep all of this roughly in chronological order.

Azriel groveling after snapping at you.

Azriel found himself in a situation that required more than just words to apologize to you, especially with the look of hurt he had seen in your eyes. Determined to make amends, he decided to enlist Elain's help, knowing that you had a sweet tooth and that snickerdoodles were among your favorite treats. Elain was happy to help, agreeing to bake them for you.

Azriel carefully left the freshly baked cookies in the kitchen, accompanied by a note expressing the sincerity of his remorse.

**

However, the next morning took an unexpected turn when Cassian stumbled upon the kitchen with Nyx in his arms. "Cas-see-an," Cassian kept repeating to Nyx, enunciating his name so slowly in an effort to get the infant to repeat it.

Nyx babbled in response as Cassian gently set him down on the counter. He kept a hand on the baby while his other reached for a mug, missing the way Nyx's curious gaze landed on the colorful note resting atop delicious cookies.

His tiny hands grasp at the note, squeezing it in his hand before it it falls from his grip. Nyx watches as the note falls to the floor, landing under the cabinets. He lets out a small whine.

"Are you hungry?" Cassian asks, turning back to his sweet nephew and follows Nyx's gaze.

"Oh!" Cassian exclaims with a gleeful grin when he spots the plate of cookies. "Don't tell your mother."

Cassian quickly uncovers the plate, thanking the Cauldron for gifting him with a wonderful sister in law that loves to bake. He offers a cookie to Nyx while he takes a couple for himself.

**

Sensing your presence nearby, Azriel dispatches his shadows to investigate the kitchen. They quickly report back to him with the unfortunate news that the cookies had been devoured. He's then rushing into the kitchen himself.

"Morning, Cassian," he hears you say and then with a much lighter and excited tone, "Good morning, Nyx! Whatcha got there?"

"Morning y/n," Cassian greets back, brushing crumbs off his shirt.

Azriel's eyes narrow, gaze flickering between the empty plate and the crumbs on both Cassian's shirts and Nyx's face.

"Oh! Good morning, Az."

At the mere sound of his name, he notices the subtle tension in your body. Before Azriel can utter a word, you swiftly conjure up an excuse and make a hasty exit from the kitchen. As Azriel turns his gaze to Cassian and Nyx, he finds himself unable to muster any anger.

A sigh escapes him. His first effort to make amends had not gone as planned.

**

Undeterred, Azriel decides to try a different approach for his next apology. This time, he chose to give you flowers, intending to leave it somewhere for you to find. However, in his haste or maybe his distraction, he accidentally placed the flowers in a spot where someone else stumbled upon it. Amren, of all people.

"What are these, boy?" She asks sharply, eyeing the colorful arrangement warily as her hands wrap around the vase.

"Flowers."

"I know they're flowers."

"They weren't for you."

"Oh, thank the gods," Amren says in what sounds like relief.

And just as Azriel is about to take them back, his shadows sense you approaching. The Cauldron must not favor him, he thinks. He hears the sudden pause in your step as your gaze lands on him and catches the way your fingers tighten against the book in your hand. He catches a glimpse of Seers in Prythian etched across the cover.

Azriel knows you want to turn around but given it'd be absolutely obvious that you're avoiding him if you did, you find yourself frozen. When he meets your gaze, you turn your head, focusing your direction on Amren instead.

"Nice flowers, Amren."

"Thank you," Amren smirks, silver eyes flashing between you and Azriel. "Aren't they lovely?"

"Lovely as you!" You reply with a smile and then leave.

Once again, Azriel finds himself sighing deeply at another failed attempt in apologizing to you.

"Do better, boy."

"I know."

**

Azriel's third attempt in making amends is cornering you so he can finally talk to you. He sits in the living room, perched on the couch that directly faces the door to Rhysand's office, with a book about the history of seers similar to the one he had seen in your hands the other day. You're currently inside with Elain as you both debrief Rhysand and Feyre on your progress with Elain's powers.

Elain is the first to step out, eyes widening in surprise. "Azriel," she greets with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Reading," he replies simply, gesturing toward the book in his hands.

"About seers...?"

"Just thought I could help..."

Elain's eyes narrow at him and Azriel finds himself sinking further into the couch. Though he's apologizing because he genuinely feels remorse and wants to make things right, he can't escape the fact that Elain had chastised him for not doing so already days ago.

"You haven't apologized yet, have you?"

"I'm trying."

Elain's gaze softens and she lets out a small chuckle. "She'll be out in a couple of minutes."

Azriel feels a wave of relief as you step out alone, prompting him to rise to his feet and call your name.

"Hey, Azriel," you greet politely, and his shadows seem to dance with delight at the acknowledgment of his presence. Finally, they whisper eagerly into his ears.

"Can we talk?"

"Oh, um...," Your gaze shifts over his shoulder, seemingly fixed on something that his shadows report as nonexistent. "I think someone else is calling me. Maybe another time? I have to go!"

As you attempt to maneuver around him, Azriel subtly moves with you, blocking your path. "No one called your name," he points out softly, suppressing a smile as your eyebrows furrow. He senses you scrambling for another excuse.

"The future!" you exclaim, your eyes brightening as you tap the corner of your eye. "The future is calling me. I must go."

As you move, Azriel doesn't have it in himself to block your path again. He doesn't even have it in himself to be upset. Not when he finds your excuse amusing and your presence itself endearing.

His shadows, however, aren't as forgiving. They whisper harshly into his ears, growing impatient with each failed attempt. "Next time," he promises them quietly.

(And almost two weeks after him snapping at you, he finally succeeds in asking for your forgiveness during his fourth attempt when he brings your dinner to you in the library.)

Elain gets a vision, where she finds out you and Azriel are mates.

"Close your eyes and focus on your breath," you instruct her softly. "Feel the rhythm of the earth beneath you. Attune yourself to the heartbeat of the world around you. What do you hear?”

Elain closes her eyes in deep concentration and as her head grows quiet, the world around her seems to awaken. She can feel the power coursing through her veins as she says, “I can hear the wind and the tremble of the grass beneath it. I can hear the wind carry all the way to the sea.”

“Good. Now feel the whispers of the unseen.”

“I can’t.” Elain’s eyebrows furrow as she struggles to delve deeper into her power. She finds herself stuck amidst the wild sea of the unknown. Wave after wave crashes down on her, knocking her down before she could even get back up.

“Here, take my hands,” she hears you say and then she feels your hands reach for hers. “Imagine a pool of water within you, calm and reflective. Use me as a vessel to carry you through it. I’ll guide you to where your visions will manifest.”

Elain does as told, bringing herself back to that sea of unknown in her mind. This time, she's not alone and she's able to rise from the water. You're there with her, the two of you standing knee deep in the waters that are beginning to calm in your presence. The world stills around you two and Elain feels her body relax as she allows you to guide her to the center.

And suddenly, the dark sky around her begins to brighten with visions, dazzling her like the stars in your eyes do. She finds herself overwhelmed by the all the flashes and voices. She takes deep, steadying breaths like you always do and the visions begin to slow, developing before in a way she can discern.

Her eyes widen she realizes they're all of you.

In the first vision, you're sat at the breakfast table, making small conversation with Cassian and Nesta as you bite into your pancake. The next couple of visions are mundane, just you going about your daily routine.

Then, you're seated at one of the tables at the garden, basking in the sun while Elain gardens a couple of feet away.

"Did the Suriel ever say anything about Lucien?"

"Many things," you answer her with a grin. "Called him his Fox boy..."

And Elain wants to linger in this vision longer, itching to know more. But as quickly as it flashed before her eyes, it's fading away and a new vision is brought forth.

Now, she stands within a resplendent ballroom nestled within the House of Wind. Fae lights adorn the ceiling, casting a celestial glow that lets her know its Starfall. Amidst the enchanting scene, you and Azriel gracefully twirl on the dance floor. Elain, intrigued, takes a step forward, captivated by the mesmerizing dance unfolding before her.

“You should stay.”

“Why?”

She watches as a wistful expression takes over your features and she has to stop herself from reaching out for you. The music comes to a gradual end and you free yourself of Azriel's hold before the next song starts, missing the way Azriel frowns at the loss of your warmth.

“There’s no one here for me.”

There's a deep, haunting sadness to the laughter that follows your words. Elain also finds herself frowning. She didn't know you were feeling this way, or rather, going to feel this way.

Elain detects a subtle twitch in Azriel's hand from the periphery of her vision, as if he longs to reach out to you but is held back by fear. Redirecting her focus to Azriel, she observes the tender and affectionate gaze he bestows upon you, while you remain unaware, fixated on the ground. This sight tugs at Elain's heart.

It's surprising because she thought she would feel hurt by it. But she doesn't. Instead, empathy floods her, accompanied by a silent wish that you would lift your gaze and witness the profound way Azriel looks at you in this very moment.

Please, she wants to scream but even if she opens her mouth, she knows no sound will come out. Please look up!

“I’m right here.” 

Elain exhales with relief as you finally meet Azriel's gaze, but the moment has passed. Azriel's expression transforms into one more guarded, his eyes now concealing what was once openly displayed. A subtle frown settles on your lips, and Elain witnesses a fleeting trace of hurt that crosses Azriel's face. Whatever you sought in that exchange, it appears you did not find it.

The scene before her blurs, shifting into another. Elain is now standing at the foyer of the river house, watching as you make your way down the steps. Suddenly, the door slams open and Azriel's chest is rising and falling as if he's been running. His eyes are wide and frantic, relaxing only when he spots you.

"It's you. All this time. It's been you."

“You know?”

"You're my mate."

A warm smile graces Azriel's lips as his gaze meets yours, and the tender expression Elain previously observed during the Starfall vision reappears on his face. She feels her heart melt at the sight because this time, you don't miss the way he's looking at you.

And just as she's about to dive into another vision into your future, she finds your connection abruptly broken. The warmth of your hands leave hers and you disappear from the depths of her mind. The sky around her darkens and though the waves begin to lap at her again, they remain calm and soothing.

"Stop!"

"I'm not hurting her!"

Elain blinks her eyes open and widen at the sight before her. You wear a pained expression on your face and there's blood trickling down your nose. Guilt courses through her, making her skin pale. She didn't know she was hurting you. Oh gods, if she knew, she wouldn't have lingered in the visions of your future. She didn't even know she could do so and judging by the look on your face, you're completely unaware of her accidental intrusion. Maybe, it's best if she didn't tell you...

"Are you okay?"

Elain doesn't have time to dwell on it as Azriel is urging her to go grab a towel while he guides you forward with a worried expression. When she returns with the towel in hand, she finds her apology dying at her throat, reluctant to disrupt the tender moment between you and Azriel.

"Like what?" She hears Azriel asked in an amused manner.

"Don't make me answer that."

At that moment, your gaze locks onto hers, and Elain assumes an air of nonchalance as she finally approaches the two of you with the towel in hand. Azriel takes it from her, carefully wiping at the blood on your face, and as Elain silently watches, she can't believe how she didn't see it before.

You and Azriel are mates and she feels nothing but pure joy for you both. She only wishes she had known sooner.

Elain confesses to you about Lucien and then asks you about Azriel.

The vibrant streets of Velaris hum with excitement as you and Elain approach one of the bustling markets. Amidst the lively atmosphere, you find yourself marveling at the enduring beauty of the city. You inhale, taking delight in the sweet blend of fresh flowers.

There's a certain lightness to Elain's steps, more so than usual today. Catching your gaze, she turns to you with a soft smile, intertwining her arm with yours and drawing you closer.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Your eyes light up involuntarily, driven by your insatiable curiosity for gossip. "Of course," you reply and though this is a secret you promise to keep, it doesn't dim your desire to hear it.

"I wrote to Lucien. I think I'm ready to give him a chance."

You stop, halting her in the process as well. A frown creases your brow as you look at her. "Are you sure?"

"I used to think mating bonds were precious," you speak again, mind drifting to Azriel briefly, before redirecting your focus back to Elain. "But I've come to realize there's an even greater beauty in choice."

"I want to give him a chance," she reassures you. "It's my choice."

"Okay then," you reply and the two of you resume in your walk toward the markets. "As long as you're happy, I'm happy."

Elain's gaze lingers on you, a fleeting trace of guilt flickering in her eyes so briefly that you wonder if you imagined it. Curiosity takes hold as she ventures, "What about your own happiness? Is there anyone special you fancy here?"

"I like you," you smile, completely missing the point. "I like Feyre, I like Nyx, I like--"

"No," Elain giggles beside you. "Anyone you like, like?"

"Maybe a certain somebody...," she hints, her voice trailing off and when you stare blankly at her, she adds, "Like maybe Azriel?"

At the mere mention of his name, your body tenses. You're silently hoping Elain doesn't pick up on it, but given she still has her arm wrapped around yours, you're sure she felt it. Still, you feign nonchalance.

“What about Azriel?”

“Do you like him?”

“He’s beautiful, yeah.”

"That's not what I asked," Elain laughs, wearing a knowing grin as if she's already privy to your response.

Your heart skips a beat, prompting an abrupt halt once again. At this rate, you won't reach the stall that sells your favorite pastries in time.

"The other day," you start, and she instantly understands the reference to the day she accidentally glimpsed into your future. "Did you see anything?"

"No," she responds a bit too hastily. "Did you?"

"No," you say with a shake of your head and that dull ache from that day returns. "All I saw was a dark void."

Elain asks what the Suriel had to say about Lucien.

Nestled on one of the lounge chairs in the garden, you close your eyes as you bask in the sun. Elain, rests a couple of feet away on the soft grass, as she tends to the gardens.

"Did the Suriel ever say anything about Lucien?"

"Many things," you reply, opening your eyes. Your lips curve into a grin as you remember all the late nights you spent talking about said Autumn male. As emissary to the Spring Court, who often got sent on a lot of missions, the Suriel had a lot to say about him.

"Called him his fox boy...What are you itching to know?

Turning your head toward Elain, you catch the way she blushes. "I don't know," she admits sheepishly. "I was just curious."

"Did you know he told Amarantha to go back to the shit-show she'd crawl out of?" Elain's lips begin to twitch upwards, but your next words prevent the smile from fully forming. "It cost him his eye, unfortunately. "

"Lucien is good male," you speak again, swiftly shifting the topic to something lighter. "He has friends everywhere, in every court. He's the type to do anything for those he holds dear. From what I've heard, he's a pretty generous lover and given he's from Autumn Court, gods are you in for a treat. One night, the Suriel told me that he took a female to--"

"That's okay!" Elain cuts you in sharply, making you laugh.

"Autumn males have fire in their blood and I heard they fuck like it too."

"Feyre!" Elain gasps with wide eyes, her face growing as pink as the roses she just planted.

You're turning to face Feyre with a delighted smirk. "So you know too!"

Elain stands up, brushing her hands on the dress, indifferent to the dirt staining the fabric.

"Where are you going? We were just about to get to the good part." You muse.

"I'm actually going to go see him," Elain admits and before you can any anything, she adds, "I think I'll just ask him what I want to know myself."

You respond with a shrug of your shoulders and wish her good luck. "Have fun!" Feyre calls after her.

After Elain disappears from view, Feyre gracefully settles into the lounge chair next to you. Her blue eyes carefully assess you for a moment. "What else do you know about him?"

You meet her gaze, detecting an unspoken knowledge. "What else do you know?"

You feel her presence asking for entrance in your mind and you let her in, smiling when all she mentally utters is one word. A name, actually. Helion.

His father, you reply back with an all-knowing gleam in your eye. Did you know the Lady of Autumn and him are mates?

Feyre's eyes widen, and she releases a gasp. There's more isn't, there? She speaks into your mind.

Of course there is, you reply back. With a graceful wave of her hand, a complete tea set materializes along with an array of snacks upon the iron table between you.

I sense we'll be here for awhile, she muses to you, blue eyes glimmering with anticipation.

You chuckle as you start to sweeten one of the steaming cups of tea to your liking. Your attention shifts to the untouched third set on the table, and a dull ache settles in your chest as you envision the Suriel, absent yet somehow still present at the table.

As you bring your tea cup to your lips, you proceed to indulge Feyre with every bit of knowledge and gossip you possess about Helion's affair with the Lady of Autumn through your mind.

You don't realize it then, but this day, marks the beginning of what you and Feyre would later name "the Suriel fan club." As time passes on, the club grows more and more, until it becomes a monthly meeting amongst the inner circle.

The morning after you and Azriel spend the night together for the first time.

Your eyelids flutter, like delicate butterflies stirring from slumber, as the muffled whispers of morning dance in the air. You stir and turn to your side, bringing the warmth of your sheets with you. Your movement causes a chain of reaction and your entire body freezes when you feel an unfamiliar weight come to rest over your side.

It's instinct, the way your fingers grasp for the dagger you keep under your pillow. In a moment of panic, you find yourself straddling a body and pressing your dagger against what you initially thought was an intruder.

"y/n, what are you doing?"

Your eyes snap wide open and memories of the night before flood your mind. You find yourself looking down at Azriel. Your mate, Azriel. Despite the dagger pressed at his throat, he smiles lazily up at you.

"I'm so sorry!" You exclaim with a heated blush, throwing the dagger onto your nightstand, relieved that you didn't knick him on accident. Judging by the way he's looking at you, you don't think he'd mind anyway.

"I'm not used to sharing my bed," you admit sheepishly, sliding off of him and wishing your bed would just swallow you whole at this point.

Taking advantage of your shift in position, Azriel turns on his side and hovers over your body, hazel eyes gleaming down at you. "You sleep with a dagger under your pillow?"

"Yes and?" You retort, a touch too defensively, eliciting laughter from him that sends an infectious warmth coursing through you. A smile tugs at your own lips. "You were listening when I told you I lived between Prythian's forests and shady Inns for many years, right?"

"Of course, I was. I listen to everything you say," Azriel responds smoothly. "It's just..." His voice trails off, and though your gaze remains fixed on his face, you notice him reaching for something in your peripheral vision.

He flashes you a grin as he pulls out his beloved dagger from under the pillow his head was resting on earlier.

"I sleep with a dagger under my pillow too."

a/n: hope you enjoyed these little scenes! I also wanted to clarify that Elain was starting to think about giving Lucien a chance, even before she found out reader and Az were mates, and it's her finding out about your bond that gives her the confirmation to move forward. She realizes that Azriel won't be alone as he has someone waiting for him (:

tagging: @stormhearty @shinyghosteclipse @justvibbinghere @mybestfriendmademe @aandweaa @loveareum @hellodarling1357

@sassybluebird, @crookedcrusadestranger, @xlosttdreamss, @peachcontour-blog, @shadowandlightt, @waytoomanyteenagefeels, @darlingbravebelle, @scooobies, @je-suis-prest-rachel, @toobsessedsstuff, @kaysav608, @idkitsem, @coffeebeforewater, @rinalsworld, @elissanatok, @mischiefmanagers, @paranoidhwks, @meshellexplosionmurder, @skylling, @irismoon, @addieslibrary, @wildrosewhiskey, @aneekapaneeka, @mx13sworld, @vixemi, @strangersreadingcorner, @aristocrrat, @olive-main, @moonyscherry, @stressed-reader, @alysena2, @heartysworld, @aomi-recs, @vardda, @awritingtree, @sillysillygoose444, @spideytingley, @aria-chikage

I tried tagging everyone who had left a comment or reblog with comment/tags, just in case you were curious to read more about Az & seer reader. Idk why not all tags worked out :(

[w1w2]

Still Yours

Ningning x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 7k

Synopsis: Y/N and Ningning once found solace in their shared world, a quiet sanctuary away from the chaos. But as Ningning’s dreams take flight, the space between them begins to widen. Now, in the stillness of their home, Y/N wonders if it is all still worth it.

Notes: It had been rotting in my docs for so long… Since I couldn't sleep last night, I finally finished it. I didn't even try to be happy today lmao. Here you go babes! Enjoy!

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The apartment felt different these days. It was the same space they had moved into together a little over a year ago—modern, tucked away in a quiet part of Seoul, safe from prying eyes. It was supposed to be their escape, their little sanctuary away from the world. But now, it felt more like a waiting room.

Y/N sat curled up on the couch, law books spread open on the coffee table, but she wasn’t reading. Her pen rested idly in her hand, poised over the highlighted pages, though she hadn’t written anything in over twenty minutes. Instead, her gaze kept flickering toward the front door, waiting for the sound of keys jingling, of footsteps breaking the quiet stillness of the apartment.

11:42 PM.

She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a brief moment. She shouldn’t be surprised. She shouldn’t be disappointed. She should be used to this by now.

It wasn’t always like this.

Y/N could still remember the early days, when Ningning was still a trainee, full of dreams and boundless energy, always running from one practice to another, trying to prove herself. She lived in the trainee dorms back then, surrounded by strict rules and constant supervision. Their time together was scarce, stolen in between Ningning’s vocal lessons and dance practices.

But somehow, it had been enough.

They would meet in secret, tucked away in quiet cafés where no one would recognize them, sharing whispered conversations over half-finished drinks. Late at night, when the dorm lights were out, Ningning would send voice notes instead of texts, her sleepy voice slurring slightly as she mumbled, "I wish I could be with you right now."

There were nights when Y/N would wait outside the company building, just for a few minutes with her. Ningning would run out with her hair still damp from sweat, out of breath but grinning like Y/N was the only thing keeping her going.

“Five minutes,” Ningning would say, grabbing Y/N’s hands despite how cold they were. “I only have five minutes before they yell at me.”

And those five minutes had always felt like forever.

Back then, even if they had to keep their relationship hidden, even if their moments together were fleeting, it still felt like they were fighting for something real.

Now, Y/N wasn’t so sure anymore.

The moment Ningning debuted, everything changed. Her schedule became unpredictable, packed with rehearsals, photoshoots, music shows, and fan events. At first, Y/N had been patient. She understood that this was Ningning’s dream, and she supported her unconditionally. She had promised herself that she would never be the kind of person who resented their partner’s success.

But patience could only stretch so far.

A soft ding broke the silence. Y/N grabbed her phone off the table.

Ningning (11:45 PM): Almost home.

That was it. No apology, no heart emoji, no “I miss you”. Just two words.

Y/N’s grip on her phone tightened.

Once upon a time, Ningning would have texted her throughout the day. Little things, like “Just finished rehearsal. I’m dead.” or “This song reminds me of you.” or “I miss you so much I’m gonna die, why do I have a schedule and not you in my arms?”

But now, all she got was “Almost home.”

Y/N stared at the message for a few seconds before setting her phone down. She knew she was being unfair. Ningning was exhausted, she was busy. But no matter how many times she reminded herself of that, the loneliness in her chest never seemed to fade.

The minutes dragged on.

Finally, the sound of the front door unlocking broke the stillness.

Ningning stepped inside, head lowered as she nudged the door shut behind her. She was still in her stage makeup, though it had smudged slightly from the long hours. The hoodie she had thrown over her head couldn’t quite hide the exhaustion on her face. Her bag slid off her shoulder, landing unceremoniously on the floor.

She barely looked up before murmuring, “Hey.”

Y/N closed her book, watching her carefully. “You’re late.”

“I had rehearsals,” Ningning said, her voice tired.

“You always have rehearsals.”

The words slipped out before Y/N could stop them. Her voice was calm, but the sharp edge beneath it was unmistakable.

Ningning sighed, finally meeting Y/N’s gaze. “What do you want me to do about it? Skip work?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” Ningning exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Because every time I come home, you have that look on your face like I did something wrong.”

Y/N clenched her jaw. She didn’t want to fight. She didn’t want this to be another night spent going in circles, another night of meaningless arguments that left them both exhausted. But it was getting harder and harder to swallow everything down, to pretend like she wasn’t breaking under the weight of always coming second.

“You don’t even see it, do you?” Y/N said finally.

“See what?”

“How much things have changed.”

Ningning frowned. “Y/N—”

“You don’t text me anymore. You barely call. You’re never home,” Y/N continued, her voice rising. “And when you are here, you’re too tired to even look at me. Do you even want to be with me anymore?”

The words came out before she could stop them.

Ningning’s face shifted from frustration to something softer, something like hurt. “How can you even say that?”

“Because it feels like I’m the only one holding onto this.” Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat. “And I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing that.”

Silence.

Ningning took a step forward, voice quieter now. “I love you, Y/N. I never stopped loving you.”

“Then show me,” Y/N whispered.

Another long pause. Ningning looked down, hands tightening into fists at her sides. Y/N could see the exhaustion in her body, the weight of too many schedules, too many expectations pressing against her shoulders.

But she was tired too.

Tired of feeling invisible, tired of pretending that love alone was enough, tired of waiting for something to change.

For the first time in a long time, neither of them knew what to say. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, and Y/N had never felt further away from the girl standing right in front of her.

She wished Ningning would reach for her. Say something. Do something to make her believe they could fix this.

But instead, Ningning let out a long, tired sigh. She rubbed a hand over her face, avoiding Y/N’s gaze. “I have an early schedule tomorrow. We should sleep.”

That was it. That was all she said.

Y/N felt something deep inside her crack, but she didn’t argue. She just nodded stiffly, watching as Ningning stood up from the couch, stretching her arms before quietly walking toward their bedroom.

For a moment, Y/N didn’t move. She stayed there, curled up on the couch, staring at the space Ningning had just left. The warmth of her presence still lingered in the room, but it already felt like she was gone.

After a few minutes, Y/N forced herself to get up and follow.

By the time she entered their bedroom, Ningning was already under the covers, her back turned. The soft glow of her phone screen flickered against the darkness, illuminating her face in brief flashes as she scrolled through messages, probably work-related. Probably nothing to do with her.

Y/N hesitated. She wanted to say something. To reach out, shake Ningning’s shoulder, demand that she look at her and promise that they were going to be okay.

But the exhaustion weighing on her body, on her heart, was too much. So instead, she just climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over herself.

A few seconds later, she felt Ningning shift beside her.

Then, slowly, a familiar warmth pressed against her back. Ningning’s arms wrapped around her waist, her chin resting against Y/N’s shoulder.

For a moment, Y/N held her breath.

“I know things have been hard,” Ningning whispered against her skin. “But we’ll be okay, Y/N.”

Y/N swallowed, blinking against the sudden sting in her eyes.

Ningning’s fingers traced absentminded patterns against her hip, her voice softer now. “I promise… after the tour, I’ll make it up to you.”

Y/N wanted to believe her. She really, really did. So she said nothing.

She just closed her eyes and let herself sink into the warmth of Ningning’s embrace, pretending for a little while longer that this was enough.

The morning came too quickly.

Y/N woke up to the sound of Ningning’s alarm blaring from across the room, vibrating loudly against the nightstand. The warmth from the night before was gone, Ningning had already slipped out of bed, her side cold and empty.

By the time Y/N dragged herself out from under the covers, Ningning was in the bathroom, door slightly ajar, steam from the shower spilling into the bedroom. The faint scent of her body wash filled the air.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing at her tired eyes. She could hear Ningning humming softly, a song she had probably rehearsed a hundred times. It was such a simple sound, one that used to make Y/N smile. But this morning, it felt… distant.

By the time Ningning emerged, fresh-faced and dressed for the day, Y/N was already at her desk, flipping through her case files, pretending to be more focused than she really was.

They didn’t talk.

They didn’t fight, either.

They just moved around each other like strangers, like two people playing house, waiting for the moment when one of them would finally break the silence.

Ningning left for her schedule with a quick, distracted kiss to Y/N’s temple. She didn’t notice how Y/N barely reacted.

And by the time she returned that evening, exhaustion evident in the way she dropped onto the couch without a word, the weight of everything left unsaid pressed even heavier on Y/N’s chest.

The next few days passed the same way, conversations that never went beyond “How was your day?” and “Did you eat?”, lingering glances that neither of them acted on, nights spent lying next to each other but feeling miles apart.

The words Y/N had spoken that night still hung in the air between them, unanswered. And by the time Ningning started packing for the U.S. tour, the weight of everything unspoken had become unbearable.

The fight didn’t start with screaming.

It started with silence.

The kind of silence that stretched between them like an invisible wall, thick and suffocating, made heavier by everything left unsaid.

Ningning was sitting at the edge of the couch, scrolling through her phone, the suitcase next to her was already zipped, ready to go. The U.S. leg of the tour was starting in less than forty-eight hours.

Y/N stood in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She had been watching Ningning sitting there for the past ten minutes, waiting, hoping for her to say something, to acknowledge her.

But she didn’t.

Of course she didn’t.

Because this had become their routine. Ningning coming home late, exhausted and distracted. Y/N pretending she wasn’t hurt. Avoiding the inevitable conversation, because what was the point? They both knew how it would end.

Except tonight, Y/N couldn’t swallow it down anymore.

“So that’s it, then?” she finally spoke, voice sharper than she intended. “You’re leaving.”

Ningning glanced up briefly before turning her attention back to her phone. “You know I have to.”

“I know, Ningning,” Y/N said, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I always know. That’s the problem.”

Ningning sighed, tossing her phone onto the couch. “Y/N, please. Not tonight.”

Y/N let out a bitter laugh. “Not tonight? When, then? When you come back in a month? When you have another five minutes to spare between schedules?”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is that I don’t even know the last time we acted like a couple,” Y/N snapped, taking a step closer. “I don’t even know the last time you kissed me without it feeling like an afterthought.”

Ningning’s expression twisted, her shoulders tensing. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” Y/N’s voice cracked. “Because it feels like I’m dating a ghost, Ningning. You come and go, and I’m just supposed to wait around like I don’t exist outside of this apartment?”

Ningning clenched her jaw. “You know why things are like this.”

“Yes, I do,” Y/N whispered. “And I don’t know if I can do it anymore.”

The words made Ningning freeze.

For a moment, the air between them was still.

Y/N could feel her own heart pounding in her chest, her fingers trembling slightly at her sides. She had been holding onto this for too long, months, maybe even years. She had ignored the way her heart ached when Ningning pulled away first, the way she hid them like a secret too dangerous to be spoken out loud. She had told herself it was okay. That it was worth it.

But what if it wasn’t?

“What are you saying?” Ningning’s voice was quieter now.

Y/N took a deep breath, then said the words she had been too afraid to say before.

“Maybe we should just call it the end.”

The moment the words left her lips, she saw the shift in Ningning’s expression.

Shock.

Then hurt.

Then something close to panic.

“No,” Ningning said immediately, shaking her head. “No, Y/N. You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t know what I mean anymore,” Y/N admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just know I can’t keep doing this. Pretending like I’m okay with being hidden. Pretending like I don’t care that I barely see you. That I can’t even call you mine outside of these walls.”

Ningning took a step forward, reaching out, but Y/N stepped back.

That small movement made something flicker in Ningning’s eyes.

Desperation.

“Y/N, please,” she pleaded, her voice cracking slightly. “I—”

A loud knock on the front door cut her off.

Ningning squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, her whole body tensing. Y/N knew what that meant.

Her manager was here. It was time to go.

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. She had told herself she wouldn’t cry.

Not this time.

Ningning turned back to her, panic creeping into her voice. “I have to leave, but we’re not done talking about this.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

Another knock.

Louder this time.

Ningning hesitated for only a second before grabbing her bag and heading toward the door. But just as she reached for the handle, she stopped.

Slowly, she turned back.

Her eyes were glistening, her lips slightly parted like she wanted to say something, like she wanted to stay.

But she didn’t, instead, her voice came out in a shaky whisper.

“We’ll talk about this after I come back. I love you.”

And then she was gone, the door clicked shut and the silence that followed was deafening.

The first few days after Ningning left were eerily quiet.

Y/N had expected it, prepared for it even. She told herself that this was what they needed. A space to think, to breathe, to figure out if this relationship was even worth saving.

Distance was supposed to bring clarity, but all it brought was an aching loneliness that settled deep in her chest.

She threw herself into her studies with an almost desperate intensity. Law school had always been demanding, but now she welcomed the relentless pace, using it as a shield against the thoughts clawing at the back of her mind. She stayed late in the library, let herself get lost in endless case studies, took on extra assignments she didn’t even need.

If she was busy enough, maybe she wouldn’t notice how empty the apartment felt without Ningning’s presence.

But no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, Ningning was everywhere.

Her name was trending on social media almost daily. A new performance, a backstage video, a candid video of her laughing with her members. Fans flooded the comments with admiration, calling her stunning, charismatic, unreal.

Y/N told herself not to look.

But she always did.

She would watch clips of Ningning on stage, radiant under the blinding lights, smiling so effortlessly like the weight of the world wasn’t crushing her. And each time, it felt like a knife twisting deeper into her chest.

Because how was it possible that someone who looked so happy could make her feel so miserable?

The messages started the day after Ningning left.

Ningning (9:14 AM): Landed safely. Ningning (12:07 PM): You forgot to put my charger in my bag. Ningning (1:33 AM): I miss you.

Y/N saw them all.

She would stare at her screen, rereading the words over and over, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

But she didn’t reply.

Because what was she supposed to say? “I miss you too?” It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t enough. Missing Ningning didn’t erase the hurt. It didn’t erase the fact that their love had started to feel like a burden Ningning was too busy to carry.

Maybe it was petty, but Y/N didn’t know how to respond without breaking open the wound all over again.

So, she did nothing. She let the messages sit there, unanswered.

By the end of the week, Ningning had stopped texting.

Y/N told herself this was what she wanted.

She told herself that silence was easier than another fight, easier than another empty promise.

But then, in the quiet hours of the night, when she lay alone in their bed, staring at the ceiling, she wondered if Ningning was lying awake, too. If she was thinking about Y/N as much as Y/N was thinking about her.

Somewhere across the world, Ningning was stepping onto a stage, lights blinding, fans screaming her name.

And for the first time, Y/N didn’t know if she still had a place in that world.

Ningning had been performing for as long as she could remember. The stage was supposed to be her second home, a place where she could lose herself in the music, in the cheers of fans, in the lights that made everything else disappear.

But this time, it felt different.

Hollow.

She went through the motions effortlessly, smiling at the cameras, hitting every note with practiced perfection, waving at fans as if she wasn’t falling apart inside.

But the moment the lights dimmed and she stepped off stage, reality came crashing back down on her.

Because when she looked at the crowd, she wasn’t searching for excited fans anymore. She was searching for her.

And she wasn’t there.

She kept checking her phone, even when she knew she shouldn’t.

Waiting.

Hoping.

But Y/N never replied.

At first, she told herself that Y/N was just busy with school. That she’d message her when she had time. That this wasn’t a big deal, that the distance was temporary, that the fight would pass like all the others before it.

But as the days stretched on, a nagging voice in the back of her mind whispered something else.

What if she’s done waiting?

What if this time, Y/N wasn’t just giving her the silent treatment?

What if this time, she was letting go?

The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

Her members noticed something was off.

Ningning wasn’t as talkative during rehearsals. She spaced out during meals, pushing food around her plate instead of eating. She laughed when she was supposed to, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Even on stage, where she was supposed to feel the most alive, something felt missing.

Aeri was the first to say something. “Ning, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lied.

Jimin caught her staring at her phone one too many times and nudged her playfully. “You waiting on a text or something?”

Ningning forced a laugh. “Something like that.”

She didn’t tell them that she wasn’t waiting for a text. She was waiting for a sign that she hadn’t completely ruined the best thing in her life.

But Y/N’s silence stretched on, suffocating.

And no matter how many times Ningning checked her phone, no matter how many ways she tried to convince herself that Y/N just needed time, the unanswered messages stayed the same.

By the time she stepped onto the stage that night, the ache in her chest had settled into something dull and constant, buried beneath layers of rehearsed smiles and adrenaline.

She told herself she could push through it. That performing, like always, would make her forget.

But the moment the lights dimmed and the final song ended, she realized she had been wrong.

It had been a long night.

The kind that clung to her skin like sweat, the kind that made her bones ache from exhaustion but left her mind wide awake, buzzing with leftover adrenaline. The stadium had been packed, the energy electric, her voice ringing through the speakers as thousands of fans sang along. It was the kind of night that should have made her feel alive.

Instead, she felt empty.

As soon as she stepped off stage, the weight of everything came crashing down again.

Ningning barely registered the murmured praises from the staff, the gentle pats on her shoulder as she walked down the long hallway to the dressing room. Her body was on autopilot, smiling, nodding, whispering a quiet thank you, but her mind was elsewhere. Stuck in a place far from the flashing cameras and screaming crowds.

Stuck on her.

The dressing room was quiet when she walked in, the distant hum of voices from outside muffled by the heavy door. The exhaustion settled over her all at once, making her limbs feel heavy as she dropped onto the couch. Her muscles ached, her throat was raw from singing, and all she wanted was to reach for her phone and see something from Y/N.

Just one message.

One missed call.

One sign that Y/N was still there, still waiting for her, still hers.

She unlocked her phone, her fingers swiping instinctively to their chat.

Nothing.

The last message was still from her. “I miss you.” Unread. Unanswered.

Ningning swallowed, her grip on the phone tightening as she stared at the screen. The tiny gray "delivered" text felt like a wall between them, an unspoken barrier that stretched across oceans and time zones.

She exhaled shakily, tilting her head back against the couch, blinking rapidly. She couldn’t do this right now.

But then, her fingers slipped.

The phone tumbled from her hands, landing with a dull thud on the floor. The impact wasn’t hard, but it was enough to pop the case open slightly from the force.

Something fluttered out.

Ningning frowned, leaning forward. Her breath caught the moment her eyes landed on it.

A small, worn polaroid.

For a second, she didn’t move.

It lay face-up on the floor, the faded colors staring back at her like a ghost from the past. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she hesitated, then slowly reached down, picking it up between trembling fingers.

She had forgotten it was even there.

Tucked inside her phone case, pressed against the device she carried with her everywhere. Close to her, always.

Her breath hitched as she stared at the image.

Y/N was sitting on the floor of Ningning’s old dorm room, grinning at the camera, holding up a peace sign. Ningning was behind her, chin resting on Y/N’s shoulder, her eyes crinkled with laughter. She remembered the exact moment it had been taken, one of those rare nights when they had managed to steal a few precious hours together.

She could still hear Y/N’s voice teasing her. “You always say you’re too busy to take photos, but one day you’re gonna wish you had more of them.”

Back then, Ningning had rolled her eyes, pretending it didn’t matter, but now, looking at this tiny, fraying piece of the past, she realized Y/N had been right.

The polaroid blurred as tears gathered in her eyes, her fingers tightening around it. It had been taken years ago, back when everything had felt easier.

Back when they thought they had all the time in the world.

A lump formed in her throat, and suddenly, she couldn’t breathe.

She pressed the polaroid against her chest, squeezing her eyes shut as the weight of everything she had been trying to ignore finally crashed over her.

She had been so caught up in her world, her schedules, her career, the relentless pace of being an idol, that she hadn’t even realized she was losing the most important thing in her life.

Her hands curled into fists. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw her phone against the wall.

She wanted to rewind time and tell Y/N before she left, “Don’t give up on me yet. I love you. I love you more than this.”

But she hadn’t.

And now, she wasn’t sure if Y/N was still listening.

Ningning sat frozen, the polaroid still pressed against her chest. Her breathing was uneven, the weight of everything she had been avoiding crushing her all at once.

The dressing room around her felt smaller, suffocating. The noise outside blurred into a distant hum, like she was underwater.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to take a shaky breath, but it didn’t help.

The realization hit her like a slow, sinking weight.

A movement to her left broke her from her thoughts.

Her members had been watching her, exchanging hesitant glances. Ningning knew they had noticed something was wrong, she had felt their concerned stares, heard their quiet murmurs when they thought she wasn’t listening.

But she had ignored it.

Until now.

Jimin finally spoke, her voice softer than usual. “Ning… are you okay?”

Ningning let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. It trembled on the way out.

“No.”

The word barely made it past her lips, but admitting it made her feel like something inside her had finally cracked open.

Jimin frowned and sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. She didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence settle. Then, after a moment, she sighed.

“You haven’t been yourself lately.”

Ningning swallowed hard, her fingers ghosting over the edges of the polaroid, tracing its familiar shape like she was afraid it might disappear. She stared at it like it held all the answers, like if she looked at it long enough, she could go back to the moment it was taken.

“I think I messed everything up,” she whispered.

Jimin was quiet for a moment before she asked, gently, “With Y/N?”

Ningning didn’t have the strength to lie. She just nodded.

Aeri, who had been sitting across from them, shifted uncomfortably. “You guys… did you break up?”

The word made Ningning flinch.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Her voice was hoarse, like saying it out loud made it real. “I said we’d talk when I got back. But…” Her throat tightened. “What if she doesn’t want to talk anymore?”

Jimin nudged her lightly. “You know, it’s not too late to fix things.”

Ningning let out a hollow laugh. “She won’t even text me back.”

Aeri leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. “That doesn’t mean she stopped caring.”

Jimin nodded in agreement. “Sometimes, people need space to figure out what they really want.”

Ningning blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling. She hated this, hated feeling this raw, this vulnerable. On stage, she was confident, untouchable. But here, sitting in a dimly lit dressing room with a polaroid clutched between her fingers, she just felt small.

“What if she decides she doesn’t want me anymore?” she whispered.

Jimin sighed, resting a comforting hand on her knee. “Then that’s something you’ll have to face.”

Ningning swallowed, throat tight.

Jimin squeezed her knee lightly. “But if you love her, really love her, don’t you think she deserves to know that?”

Ningning stared down at the polaroid in her hands, her heartbeat echoing in her ears.

She already knew the answer, she just didn’t know if she had the courage to face it yet.

But one thing was clear.

She couldn’t keep pretending like she was okay without Y/N, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to lose her without a fight.

For the rest of the night, that thought refused to leave her.

Even as she went through the motions of winding down, changing into comfortable clothes, removing her stage makeup, slipping beneath the hotel sheets, her mind never quieted. Sleep didn’t come easily. She tossed and turned, her body exhausted but her thoughts relentless. Every time she closed her eyes, all she saw was Y/N. The way she used to smile at her. The way her voice softened whenever she said her name. The way she had looked at her that night before she left, something fragile and breaking just beneath the surface.

And Ningning had just walked away.

The weight of it settled deep in her chest.

Morning came too soon, the blaring of her alarm dragging her out of a restless sleep. Rehearsals, interviews, more travel, it all blurred together, an endless cycle she had memorized so well.

But for the first time in years, she felt disconnected from it all.

Like she was watching herself from the outside, going through the steps of a life that suddenly felt too far away.

Because the only thing she wanted, the only thing she needed, wasn’t here.

Ningning had spent the past few days pretending.

Pretending she was fine. Pretending the silence didn’t hurt. Pretending she wasn’t breaking apart in a way that no amount of rehearsals, flashing lights, or deafening cheers could fix.

But the thing about pretending was that it only worked if you convinced yourself, too.

And Ningning wasn’t convinced.

She could feel it, this ache, this unbearable weight pressing down on her chest, making it harder to breathe with each passing day. It settled in the quiet moments, when the stage lights dimmed, when the adrenaline faded, when the only sound left was the ringing in her ears and the distant hum of a city that wasn’t home.

Home.

The word itself made something in her stomach twist painfully, a longing so deep it almost made her sick. Because home wasn’t this hotel room, no matter how luxurious the suite was. It wasn’t the sprawling skyline outside her window, or the endless cities she traveled to, or the stages she poured her soul into night after night.

Home was her.

It was Y/N’s voice in the morning, still thick with sleep, mumbling complaints about how Ningning stole the blankets. It was the way she always left a cup of tea on the counter for Ningning, even when she knew she’d be too tired to drink it. It was the feeling of fingers threading through her hair absentmindedly while she studied lyrics on the couch, the way Y/N would hum songs under her breath without realizing it.

Home was an apartment in Seoul that was probably too quiet now.

Home was a person she wasn’t sure still wanted to be hers.

She exhaled shakily, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes, trying to will away the burning sensation creeping in.

She should have texted again. Should have called. Should have done something. But fear kept her paralyzed, fear that Y/N wouldn’t pick up, that she would hear the indifference in her voice, or worse, nothing at all.

And yet, sitting here, thousands of miles away, knowing Y/N was slipping further and further out of reach, that fear paled in comparison to the thought of doing nothing.

The realization hit her like ice water down her spine.

She couldn’t keep going like this.

She couldn’t keep waiting, couldn’t keep convincing herself that silence was temporary, that if she just gave it more time, things would magically fall back into place.

Because they wouldn’t. Not unless she did something.

The decision was made before she even fully processed it.

She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, fingers trembling as she pulled up the one contact she needed right now.

Her manager answered on the second ring, voice groggy from sleep. “Ning? It’s late. What’s wrong?”

Ningning’s breath came out uneven, but her voice, for the first time in weeks, was steady. “I need to go back to Seoul.”

There was a long pause. “What?”

“Just for a few days,” she continued quickly, gripping the phone tighter. “We have a break before the next show. I’ll be back in time.”

Another silence. Then, a sigh.

“Ningning, that’s not how this works,” her manager said, tone laced with exhaustion. “We have security, logistics—”

“I don’t care.” The words came out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t take them back. “I need to go.”

She could hear the hesitation, the way her manager was already trying to think of ways to talk her out of this.

Ningning closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to be talked out of it. Not this time.

“Is this about Y/N?”

Her throat tightened. She didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

She could hear the shift in her manager’s breathing, could practically feel the reluctance on the other end of the line. There were rules, there were expectations, there was an entire machine built around the idea that her personal life came second, that emotions had to be buried beneath professionalism and image.

But she didn’t care about any of that.

Not when it came to Y/N.

“…I’ll see what I can do.”

Relief crashed over her so quickly that it almost made her dizzy. She whispered a quiet thank you, her grip on the phone loosening slightly as she exhaled a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

She set the phone down beside her, hands still shaking, staring blankly at the window. The city lights stretched endlessly before her, glowing against the deep blue of the night sky.

She had spent years chasing dreams, running toward something bigger, something extraordinary.

But in doing so, she had let go of the one thing that had ever truly made her feel whole.

Not anymore.

A little over twenty-four hours later, the knock at the door startled Y/N.

She blinked, her fingers frozen above the pages of her textbook, the soft hum of the desk lamp the only sound filling the apartment. She had been rereading the same paragraph for the past hour, unable to focus, her mind drifting in circles around memories she had sworn she wouldn’t revisit.

She wasn’t expecting anyone.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she pushed back her chair, moving toward the door with hesitant steps. Something about the knock, it wasn’t loud, wasn’t impatient. It was careful. Unsteady. Like the person on the other side wasn’t even sure they should be knocking at all.

She placed her hand on the doorknob, pausing for a split second.

And then, finally, she pulled it open.

The breath was stolen from her lungs.

Ningning stood there, looking like she had been through hell.

Her hoodie was wrinkled, slightly oversized, drowning her small frame. Her carry-on bag hung off her shoulder as if she had barely registered it was there. Her dark hair was messy, strands sticking out in uneven directions like she had been running her hands through it the entire flight.

But it was her eyes that broke Y/N.

Red-rimmed. Tired. Glassy with unshed tears.

She looked fragile in a way Y/N had never seen before, like a single word could shatter her completely.

For a moment, neither of them moved, neither of them spoke.

They just stared, the weight of days of silence pressing down on them, stretching between them like an invisible barrier neither of them knew how to cross.

Then, finally, Ningning let out a shaky breath. Her lips parted, her voice breaking as she whispered,

“I can’t stand the thought that you said we should end it.”

Y/N’s fingers curled into the doorframe, nails pressing into the wood.

Ningning swallowed hard, shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. “I—I thought I could give you space. I thought maybe if I waited, if I let things settle, we could talk when I got back. That maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

Her voice cracked on the last words, and she let out a small, broken laugh, one that sounded nothing like her usual bright, carefree self.

“But it didn’t stop hurting.” She lifted a trembling hand, pressing it against her chest like she was trying to hold herself together. “It got worse. Every day. Every night. I kept reaching for my phone, waiting for something, anything. But you never texted. And I realized…”

Her breath hitched, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

“I realized I was losing you.”

Y/N felt like she had forgotten how to breathe.

Ningning took a small step forward, hesitating, her voice nothing more than a whisper now. “You’re my one and only, Y/N. You always have been.”

Another tear.

“I can’t live with the thought of losing you,” she whispered, her hands shaking as she clenched them at her sides. “I wouldn’t survive if you left me.”

Her entire body trembled with the weight of the confession, like she had been holding it in for so long that it physically hurt to say it out loud.

Y/N’s throat tightened, emotion clawing its way up, threatening to spill over.

She wanted to be angry. Wanted to remind Ningning of the nights she had spent alone, the quiet heartbreak of watching someone she loved slip further and further away.

But standing here, watching her fall apart, all Y/N could see was the girl she had loved for years. The girl who had once promised her forever in hushed whispers beneath the stars. The girl who had just crossed oceans to stand on this doorstep, begging her without words to let her back in.

And suddenly, it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter how much time had passed. It didn’t matter how many nights she had spent convincing herself that maybe she and Ningning weren’t meant to last.

Because none of that changed the fact that she loved her.

She had always loved her.

Before she could think, before she could even register what she was doing, she moved.

In one swift motion, she surged forward, arms wrapping around Ningning, pulling her in with a force that nearly knocked them both off balance.

Ningning let out a soft, broken sound, as if she hadn’t expected to be pulled in. As if she had been bracing herself for something far worse, like Y/N turning away, packing her things, deciding that this place, their home, was no longer theirs.

But instead, she was being held.

And as soon as she realized that, she collapsed.

Her fingers clutched at the back of Y/N’s shirt, her entire body shaking as the sobs finally broke free, loud and raw and desperate.

Y/N held her tighter.

One hand tangled in her hair, the other pressing against her back, grounding her, letting her know I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

Neither of them knew how long they stood there, tangled together in the doorway, the cold air from outside creeping in around them.

Neither of them cared.

Because after everything, after weeks of silence, after nights spent apart, after all the pain and distance and mistakes, Ningning was here.

She had come back.

And Y/N was never letting her go again.

But they couldn’t stay in the doorway forever.

Ningning’s body was still trembling in Y/N’s arms, her breath uneven, ragged, as if she was barely holding herself together. Her hands clutched desperately at the fabric of Y/N’s shirt, her fingers curling tighter every time Y/N shifted, as if she was afraid that one wrong move would make her disappear.

“Y/N…” Ningning’s voice was small, fragile. “I was so scared.”

Y/N pulled back just enough to see her face, cupping her cheeks with gentle hands. Ningning’s skin was warm beneath her fingertips, flushed from crying, and her bottom lip trembled as she tried to hold back another sob.

Y/N’s heart ached.

Scared. Ningning had been scared.

And Y/N had been, too.

They had spent so long apart, drowning in their own pain, in their own stubbornness, in the belief that maybe distance would somehow make things hurt less. But standing here now, feeling Ningning's pulse racing beneath her fingertips, Y/N realized how wrong she had been.

Letting go would have hurt far worse.

“I love you, Yizhuo.” The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, slipping past her lips before she could stop them. “I love you so much it hurts.”

A choked sob left Ningning’s throat. She closed her eyes, more tears spilling over, and when she opened them again, there was something almost disbelieving in her gaze, like she had been bracing for a different answer entirely.

“Do you mean that?” Ningning whispered.

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, resting her forehead against Ningning’s. “Of course I do.” She brushed a stray tear from Ningning’s cheek, voice softer now. “I’ve never stopped.”

Ningning let out a breath, part sob, part laughter, before burying herself against Y/N’s neck again, arms tightening around her waist. “Say it again.”

Y/N smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to Ningning’s head.

“I love you.”

Ningning let out a small, breathy laugh, but it was different this time, softer, lighter, relieved.

The weight of the past few weeks, of all the fear, the silence, the uncertainty, began to crumble around them.

Y/N was about to say something else when Ningning suddenly pulled back, her brows furrowing slightly. “Wait.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Ningning pouted, a teasing glint flickering behind the lingering tears in her eyes. “You kissed my forehead and my temple, but—” She tapped her lips. “You missed the most important one.”

Y/N let out a soft, incredulous laugh. Even now, she’s still like this.

But she indulged her.

She reached up, cupping Ningning’s cheeks, and leaned in, pressing their lips together in a kiss that was both deep and gentle, like an apology, a promise, and a homecoming all at once.

Ningning melted into it instantly, fingers curling into Y/N’s hoodie, holding her like she never wanted to let go. The warmth of her, the familiar softness, the way their lips fit together so perfectly, it was almost enough to erase the pain of the past few weeks.

Almost.

When they finally pulled apart, Ningning rested her forehead against Y/N’s, her breath shaky but steadying.

“I almost lost you,” she murmured, voice small but so full of emotion. “And I don’t ever want to feel that again.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the rawness in her voice hitting her straight in the chest.

Then, after a beat, Ningning let out a deep sigh and muttered, “I should make you sign a contract or something, just so you legally can’t break up with me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but a fond smile tugged at her lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m practical,” Ningning corrected. “You study law, so I figured you’d appreciate it.”

Y/N gave her a look, and Ningning laughed, nudging their noses together before growing more serious.

“But really,” she whispered, reaching for Y/N’s hands, intertwining their fingers. “Whatever happens next, we’ll figure it out together. I promise you, Y/N. I’ll be here. No more making you feel like you’re alone, no more making you wait, no more leaving you second-guessing where you stand in my life.”

Her voice softened even further, full of sincerity, full of love.

“You’re my love, my life, my one and only,” Ningning continued, squeezing Y/N’s hands. “Even when I’m busy, even when things are crazy, I’ll always make time for you. No more excuses. No more almosts. You come first. Always.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten, warmth spreading through her entire body at the words she had been longing to hear for so long.

She knew promises weren’t magic, they wouldn’t erase everything that had happened. But the way Ningning looked at her now, the way her voice trembled with conviction, the way she held her like she never wanted to let go, it was enough to make Y/N believe.

She smiled, pressing another kiss to Ningning’s lips, slower this time, softer, filled with nothing but love.

“I believe you,” she whispered against her lips.

Ningning let out a soft, content sigh, pulling her in for another hug.

Y/N pressed another kiss against Ningning’s temple before tugging her inside their bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

The world outside didn’t matter right now.

The only thing that mattered was them.

And for the first time in weeks, Y/N let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back to each other.

[viperbunnies]

"Nothing good ever comes out when I start hoping... but maybe just a little bit."

[Thank you to @.unfinished-projects-galore , @.ai-kan1 and @.stestylius-arts for the assets! Thank you as well to @jovieinramshackle for giving me the inspo to finally start on this, and to @crystallizsch , @angelwishess and @twstgo whose oc intros I took inspo for the layout 🫶]

An outlier from the school, due to his situation he was home-schooled for the majority of his first year. They have decided to accompany the Ramshackle prefect in their daily endeavors, serving as a guide and as a companion in the worn-down dorm.

BASIC INFO.

NAME: Oswald "Oz" Damarys BIRTHNAME: ???? ??????? ALIAS: Oz, Ozzie, Flashlight Fish (Floyd), Monsieur Porcelaine (Rook) Shortie-senpai (Yuudai) AGE: 17 BIRTHDATE: August 26 HEIGHT: 154 cm SPECIES: Half-human half beastmen GENDER: Demi-boy (Uses they/he and masc titles) ORIENTATION: Demisexual ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral MBTI: ISFP Voice claim: Here! (Stc)

LIKES: Stargazy pie, Seafood in general, Acrobatics, Crochet, Art in general, Reading, Fairytales, Music boxes, Classical Music, Card games, Mystery books, Sightseeing, DISLIKES:Wishmaking, Shooting stars, Crowded places, Performing, Being observed, People touching his birthmark, His "Luck", Basketballs

Unique Magic Your Next Line is! [ Flash Forward ] — "An indisputable future is what I see... Your Next Line is!" Oswald is able to take a peek into someone's future as long as they keep contact with his pearly white eye. It can be anything from 5 seconds from now or a day later - This visions manifests like rolls of film - Lately It appears his unique magic is going haywire, showing him visions without the need of eye contact. (They aren't pleasant visions)

TRAITS +  Easy-going; Flexible; Warm; Appreciative =  Tolerant; Perceptive; Witty; Impartial -  Overworker; Indecisive; Reliant; Worrisome

BRIEF OVERVIEW (STC)

Oz is a man of many tricks; he was raised to entertain the audience, which is why he is great at lightening up the mood of the room. The many tricks he can do reminds others of a puppy trained on how to play dead, or shake hands. Despite that, Oz actually struggles in actually expressing the his true feelings— used to being the brunt of many jokes growing up, he believes that he is simply a puppet used for the entertainment of others. He sees himself as a hollow doll with no real personality, only meant for display. He is confused about who his truly is, used to what others want to see and not what he wants to show. Slowly, he is realizing that he is merely human, and that he should live for his own sake. (Old info from my notes)

TIDBITS

Random Facts - Part-beastmen, specifically a rabbit beastmen but he lacks actual features aside for his tail that was cauterized off when he was younger - He doesn't look the part but he also likes getting into shenanigans, sometimes instigating Yuu and Adeuce with the pranks they do (No one really believes the trio when they say it was Oz's idea) - He's double jointed which is helpful with his Acrobatic hobby. - Love language is gift giving, and has a tendency to make crochets for other people. They're typically things that remind them of the other. - Has a lot of birthmarks on his face, but he started to cover them with foundation after Floyd made fun of it. - Has a terrible sense of direction so he gets lost easily, but he'd like to travel around the world someday. - He has terrible luck, and while he doesn't believe in superstitions he began to be wary about them. Doesn't want to get knocked out unconscious by a basketball whenever he passes by the gym. - Doesn't really mind being called Oswald, but he associated that to whenever he'd get scolded... so Oz is his more go to nickname.

TYPING QUIRK: - His friend got him into using Kaomojis, he likes the ones with bunny ears. - Likes sending voice messages to get his point across. - Usually types in sentence cases, (although when he isn't feeling well he types in lower cases) SPEAKING QUIRK: - Uses a lot of onomatopoeia to describe unknown things. - Speaks firmly when he feels strong emotions. - Sometimes bites his tongue when he rambles, or not focused. BEHAVIOURAL QUIRKS: - Nose has a tendency to twitch when he’s interested, or irritated. - He also unconsciously thumps his foot when he’s annoyed.

RELATIONSHIPS (WIP)

(Might put a brief overview on their more notable relationships in the future!) Note: - Main Oc x Canon is with Jamil (ignore that pink on silver and jade) - Divus is his foster parent

PNGS BELOW:

p∀ƎH ⅄W NI פNIH┴ƎWOS SI ƎɹƎH┴

[cherry-holmes]

From Salt, Iron, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮: A Supernatural Series

(Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader)

Part 8: Heat of the Moment

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: If the Impala could talk…

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Word count: +7.1K

Warnings: I prefer to not give details to prevent spoilers. You’re on your own, kids.😉

A/N:🫣

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For the next three months, your life with the Winchesters and Castiel had settled into something that felt truly belonging.

And the family just kept growing around, when you finally met Bobby. He welcomed you into his house and the family business. He gave advices, lectured you on everything he knew, and gave you the confidence to reach for him whenever you need something.

Sammy was patient, endlessly. He would sit with you at the library for hours, explaining how the world had changed since your time: technology, laws, gender roles and equality, and modern slang. He was the one who taught you how to use a laptop, though he sometimes had to hide his laughter when you got frustrated and poked the screen like it might obey you faster.

Castiel, though, became something else entirely. A best friend. Maybe because, in his own way, he was just as out of place as you were. He didn't judge when you marveled at microwaves or stared too long at the flashing lights of a city skyline. He answered every one of your endless questions without growing tired, or if he did, he never showed it.

Sometimes, you and Cas would just sit together in silence, sharing a kind of wordless understanding that didn't need to be explained. He was your anchor on the days when the world felt too loud, too fast, too unfamiliar.

And Dean... he was something different.

He took it upon himself to introduce you to 'the important stuff.' Rock music: Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Metallica, Bon Jovi. Movies: Star Wars, Die Hard, Back to the Future. You name it. He was there, more than excited and willing to show the new world to you.

Late nights would find you both sprawled on the worn motel beds or the bunker couch, Dean grinning like a kid as he watched your reactions.

"You've never seen this? Oh, sweetheart, we're fixing that right now," he'd say, popping in a VHS tape or queuing up something on an DVD player.

And you soon discovered that you also had your own stuff to share.

One day, Sam found you curled into the far corner of the bunker's library sofa, knees drawn up beneath you, entirely absorbed in the worn pages of Pride and Prejudice. The copy had a cracked spine and yellowing edges, but you cradled it like treasure.

Sam's voice interrupted the silence, warm with surprise. "Didn't know we had that one in here."

You looked up, startled, but smiled. "I used to read this by candlelight... I never thought I'd hold it again."

Sam's brow quirked. "You know it's a movie now, right?"

Your eyes widened. "A movie?"

He chuckled. "Several, actually. There's the BBC miniseries and the 2005 version."

You blinked. "People still know this story? They watch it?"

"Yeah," Sam said, amused. "It's kind of a big deal."

And it was the end of Dean Winchester's movies era.

That night, Dean was sprawled across the bunker couch, TV remote in one hand, a beer in the other, deciding if he wanted you to see Lethal Weapon or Terminator when you bounced into the room, clutching the DVD case Sam had handed you.

"Dean," you said brightly, "we're watching Pride and Prejudice tonight."

Dean froze. "We're what now?"

You held up the case with the same reverence he reserved for classic rock vinyl. "It's a book I love. Sam told me it's a film now. Will you watch it with me?"

He looked at you, hopeful, radiant, practically glowing with excitement.

Dean groaned dramatically. "Fine. But unless there's a car chase, I'm gonna need extra pie for this."

You sat beside him, barely breathing as the film unfolded. His initial jokes dissolved somewhere around the proposal scene, and he started commenting about the movie like he was getting really interested in the story.

You glanced at him with a triumphant grin.

Later, as the credits rolled, he leaned back with a long exhale. "So... when Darcy said, 'You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you'—that was smooth. I might use that."

You laughed, giving him a playful shove.

Dean nudged you with his shoulder. "Hey, don't look at me like that. If I'm gonna suffer through 19th-century foreplay, it might as well be with you."

Your laughter softened into something warmer as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you liked it."

He tilted his head, voice low. "Yeah... me too."

He was close. Always close: an arm thrown casually around the back of the couch, a shoulder brushing yours when you laughed too hard, a hand steadying you when the crowd of a new town felt overwhelming.

You didn't stay behind, either. After the incident with the creature by the motel pool, you had insisted on joining them on more hunts as an active member, and to your surprise, they had agreed.

Maybe it was your bravery. Maybe it was the fact that you refused to be treated like something fragile.

But little by little, you became part of the team.

You trained harder with Sam and Dean, practiced with Castiel, learned everything you could about the monsters that haunted the modern world.

At first they gave you easier tasks: research, backup, lookout. But it wasn't long before you were right there in the thick of it: salt rounds loaded, blade steady in your hand, heart pounding in rhythm with theirs.

The adrenaline, the fear, the victories—saving people and hunting things... it bonded you even tighter to them.

Especially to Dean.

You didn't sleep together at the bunker, it would have been too much, maybe, to cross that invisible line there. But during hunting trips, as the motels usually had only two beds, it became natural for you to share one of them.

At first, Sam felt like the most awkward third wheel, and insisted on take his own room. But neither you or Dean seemed to make it look like a serious thing. So you both will just justify it saying there was no need to waste money resources on a second room, and Sam wouldn't push anymore.

Dean would kick off his boots and fall onto the mattress with a groan, then look over at you with a smirk and say, "C'mon, deer, I don't bite."

The first few times you stayed stiff and awkward on the edge of the bed, afraid of getting too close. But Dean never pressed, never teased, he just offered his quiet presence, and somehow that was enough.

As time passed, you grew comfortable. You stopped worrying about the way your arm brushed his when you shifted at night. Stopped pulling away when you woke up with your legs tangled loosely under the covers. Stopped pretending you didn't notice the way your heart sped up when he was near.

There was tension, of course. But Dean never pushed. Never crossed a line. And somehow, that made it worse: made you ache for him even more.

You didn't know exactly when it happened, maybe it was one night when he stayed up until dawn patching up a cut on your forehead, hands trembling slightly; maybe it was the way he remembered you liked your coffee sweet and loaded with cream in the morning.

But somewhere between the laughter, the long looks, the soft silences... You realized you were falling for Dean Winchester.

Or maybe it was there from the beginning. Even before that very first kiss.

And even though the thought scared you, it also felt like the most natural thing in the world.

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"Oh my goodness," you laughed, your face lighting up with amusement as you clicked through your own laptop.

Of course, you had your own now. The Winchesters had bought it for you after you accidentally stumbled upon downloaded porn on Dean's. Sam was really pissed at him.

"Dean, you've got to see this!"

He looked up from where he was cleaning one of his knives, arching a brow. "What now? Another animal video you think might change my life?"

You turned the screen toward him with a grin. "Nope. Almost better. A pie convention two towns over this weekend. Apparently it's like, the 'pie event of the year'? There's a cherry pie competition, a blindfold taste test... It's like Disneyland made of pies."

Dean stood up so fast he nearly knocked over the salt canister on the table. "You're not messing with me?"

"Would I lie about pie?" you teased, and his grin stretched wide, boyish and awed.

"We're going. You and me. Sam can handle things here, he won't appreciate it."

Right on cue, Sam strolled into the room, coffee in hand, and Dean spun toward him. "Hey, Sammy. Claire and I are taking a little road trip. Couple days. Important business."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess, pie?"

Dean didn't even bother denying it. He just smiled and shrugged in a funny way.

Sam rolled his eyes, but there was something fond in the way he glanced between the two of you. "Fine. I was planning on heading out with Charlie and Cas anyway. They roped me into some kind of lore convention... don't ask. Just don't die in a pie-eating accident."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "No promises."

You caught Sam's gaze as he turned to leave, and he gave you the tiniest smirk and wink before disappearing down the hall.

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Next weekend, the pie convention turned out to be everything Dean dreamed of and more. Booths stretched for blocks, each one offering free samples, contests, and flavors that had Dean acting like a kid at Christmas. You trailed behind him, your fingers sticky with berry filling, laughing as he tried (and failed) to talk a judge into giving him an extra slice of bourbon pecan. So he stole it from him, anyway.

By the end of the day, you both collapsed into the Impala parked just off a quiet country road. The sun was setting behind the trees, golden light spilling through the windshield, painting the car in a soft, amber glow. Dean handed you a beer, and you took a sip, still not convinced of the taste.

"I'm not sayin' it was the best day of my life," he said, eyes closed. "But if I die tomorrow, I'll go with a smile."

You laughed, turning in your seat to face him. "You really love pie that much, didn't you?"

He cracked one eye open and smiled at you. "I love anything that makes me forget the crap for a while."

There was a long pause then, not awkward, just quiet. The kind of silence that let you feel things you didn't know how to name yet.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly more serious. "Y'know... back there. All those people. Families, couples, kids..." He glanced at you. "Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like them. Normal. If I hadn't grown up the way I did."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the heaviness behind his words.

"My dad... he trained us to hunt before we even knew how to live. And I... I did things. Made choices that stick with me." He let out a shaky breath. "It's hard not to think I've screwed everything up."

You didn't say anything, just let your fingers gently brush the back of his hand resting between you. He didn't pull away.

You knew some things about their past: their family, the hell they'd been through. Dean was the one who told you, bit by bit. Glimpses of what they had done, what they had survived. The people that had lost. It was hard not to cry when you saw the hurt, the pain, and sometimes even fear in his eyes.

It made you want to free him from all of it... to lift the weight off his shoulders and make him feel safe. Cared for. Loved.

After a while, he looked down at your touch, then back up, his voice quieter. "Don't you ever want to know more about where you come from? About who you were before all this?"

You hesitated, eyes flicking to the windshield, watching the fading light turn to dusk.

"I used to," you said softly, that British accent sending shivers down his spine. "But it frightens me. What if I find out I was someone I wouldn't even like? What if I came from a world that wouldn't let me return here?"

Dean looked at you, listening intently, his breath caught in his throat.

"If I'm here now, it's for a reason," you continued. "And I don't want to waste time chasing shadows when I have a real life now. With Sam, with Castiel, and..." your voice faltered for a second, but you met his gaze steadily, "with you."

Dean didn't say anything at first, just stared, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he let out a quiet, breathless laugh; not mocking, just overwhelmed.

"You're something else, deer," he murmured.

And maybe it were the stars beginning to blink into the night sky above, or just the mere heat of the moment, but you felt the urgent desire to kiss him.

Dean's eyes were still on you, something soft and stunned flickering behind the green of them. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just the low hum of cicadas around you, the distant rustle of trees in the night.

You swallowed hard.

"I mean it," you said, voice quiet but certain. "This... all of this. It matters to me."

Dean gave a small nod, but his expression was unreadable. Maybe he didn't know what to say. Maybe he didn't believe it, not really. That someone like you could want someone like him.

So you kissed him. To proof that for you he was worth of love as much as anyone else.

You weren't even sure what possessed you. Maybe it was the moonlight, or the pie, or just the way he looked at you like you were the one thing he didn't want to break. Your lips brushed his, tentative at first, barely more than a breath. But he didn't pull away.

He stilled.

And then he kissed you back.

Slow, warm, reverent... not like the rushed, careless kisses you'd seen in films. Not like the ones full of teeth and tongue that made you hide your face behind a pillow when they played on motel televisions. This was just different.

But still, your thoughts wandered to those scenes. The ones where the characters ended up tangled in bedsheets, breathless. You remembered the way Dean's jaw would tense slightly when those parts came on, how he'd glance over at you to see if you were watching. You always were.

So am I doing this right? Was it supposed to feel like this... like my whole body was trembling, but not out of fear, but something raw and primitive?

You didn't know, but you wanted to.

You pulled back slightly, breath hitching, your hand resting against his chest. "Dean..." you whispered, nerves tightening your throat. "I... I don't really know how this works. I've never..."

Dean's eyes widened a fraction, and you felt him tense beneath your hand. But not in a bad way, more like he was trying very hard to stay still. Just like you.

You cleared your throat. "But I... I want to."

He blinked at you, processing that. "You mean...?" His voice cracked just a little, and for the first time, Dean Winchester looked genuinely nervous.

You nodded, cheeks flushed. "I trust you."

Dean exhaled, slow and careful, and then gently squeezed your hand. "Okay. Then we're gonna take it slow. Real slow, alright?"

You nodded again, heart pounding.

He looked around, then jerked a thumb toward the back seat. "Gimme a sec."

You watched as Dean opened the back door, and started rearranging the Impala's interior with almost military precision. He took off his jacket, folded it into a pillow, pulled a blanket from the trunk, then ducked back inside to make sure the door locks were set.

When he was done, he opened the door for you like it was the most natural thing in the world. No pressure, just patience. Just Dean.

And before he could say more, you reached for him. Your hand curled into the collar of his flannel, tugging gently, and then your mouth found his.

It was clumsy at first, more instinct than anything, but it was yours. Hungry in a way that surprised even you.

Dean froze for a heartbeat, caught off guard, then responded with a low sound in his throat that sent a rush through your body. His hands came to your waist, steadying, anchoring.

You broke the kiss just enough to whisper, "I want this, Dean. I want it with you."

That was all it took.

He helped you into the backseat carefully, never taking his eyes off yours, and shut the door behind him. You settled back against the makeshift bedding, nerves fluttering wildly in your belly. He joined you, hovering above, and you welcomed him between your thighs.

It was overwhelming in the best of the ways: his breath against your face, his fingers brushing your temple like a question. And you answered by reaching up to guide him down to you.

Dean kissed you again, slower this time. His lips moved gently against yours, coaxing rather than taking, and the warmth of him poured over you like sunlight after a long storm. His hand cradled the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek in a touch so tender it made your chest ache.

You clung to him, not just from inexperience or nerves, but because it felt like the only place you wanted to be. His weight above you was grounding, protective, and arousing.

"Tell me if anything feels wrong," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper against your skin. "We stop the second you want to, I swear."

You nodded, your breath shaky, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I trust you, Dean."

Dean lowered his head to kiss your neck, his pelvis already pressing yours into the seat. Your hand slipped inside his shirt, caressing the warm skin underneath.

He groaned softly against your skin, the sound rumbling through your chest as his lips traced a slow path along your throat. Your fingers explored the curve of his ribs, the rise and fall of his breath under your touch grounding you more than anything else ever had.

Then he straightened up, managing to pull off his shirt.

You sat up slightly, breath catching in your throat as your eyes traced the lines of his body: the muscles beneath his skin, the constellation of old scars scattered across his arms and torso. Each mark told a story, and though you didn't know them all, you wanted to.

Your gaze lingered on the tattoo over his chest, the black anti-possession symbol, bold against his skin. Your fingers brushed it gently, the warmth of his slightly tanned skin beneath your touch. A few freckles dusted his shoulders, unexpected and endearing.

Dean leaned in and started with your boots, crouching low in the cramped space of the Impala's backseat. He unlaced them slowly, then slid them off one by one, his touch warm and steady.

Next, his fingers moved to the hem of your shirt, peeling it up gently, lifting it over your head, careful not to startle or rush you. When your skin met the cool air, you shivered, and he immediately reached your arms, caressing. His hands paused, reverent, before moving to the button of your pants.

He undid the button, then the zipper, moving slowly, giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn't. The fabric slid down your hips, tugging carefully until the pants pooled at your ankles, then helped you shift to pull them free.

And there you were, semi-naked beneath Dean Winchester. Trapped in his car while he just looked at you with a quiet awe in his expression that made you feel more beautiful than you ever had before.

He guided you onto your back again with a soft kiss. His hands didn't waste time, caressing your exposed skin, tracing a delicate path along your shoulders, down your breasts, your ribcage, and over your hips.

"Tell me something, baby," his voice was a soft, warm whisper. "Have you ever touched yourself?"

"Touch myself?" you asked shyly, like you weren't sure what he meant—but deep down you had an idea. You flushed, like you'd just been caught in the act.

"Yeah," he purred. "You know, when you're in your room, alone, and you get that feeling right here." One of his hands caressed the soft flesh of your tummy, just above the hem of your panties. "Like you're feeling now. Have you ever tried to ease it, baby?"

"I might have," you confess in a whisper. You had, maybe. In your bed, when the thought of Dean was too loud, too overwhelming to ignore. You'd tried to soothe the instinct.

"Then show me."

Dean took your hand in his, guiding both into your cotton panties. You let out a gasp, a sound of surprise and pleasure, as he pressed your whole palm against your core.

"Move your fingers, sweetheart. Show me what feels good."

Your breath caught in your throat as you began to move, slow and uncertain at first. Dean stayed close, his palm pressed against the back of your hand, mirroring every motion, feeling every hesitant stroke.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice low and full of heat. "Nice and slow. Let me feel you, baby."

Your fingers explored with timid curiosity, guided by instinct and the memory of lonely nights. But this time, it felt different. This time, Dean was watching. Feeling you. Breathing with you. Encouraging you.

His hand never left yours, he followed each movement, memorizing the rhythm of your touch, the little shifts that made your breath catch.

"You like it right there," he said, more statement than question. He could feel it in the way your hand paused, circled, lingered. "Show me everything, sweetheart. I wanna learn what gets you off."

He tightened his fingers just slightly, applying the gentlest pressure behind yours, enough to remind you he was right there.

"Feels better when I'm here, doesn't it?" he whispered.

You nodded, barely able to form words. "Y-Yeah..."

Dean's smile was slow, wicked, and full of adoration. "Then take more. Go deeper. You know what your body wants, baby. Don't be shy."

You obeyed, breath hitching again as the sensation intensified. Dean kissed your shoulder, his touch reverent, worshipful.

"That's my girl," he murmured. "So damn beautiful when you're like this."

You moved with a little more confidence now, spurred by his praise and presence. The heat between your legs was pulsing, building, and the knowledge that Dean could feel every tremor, every stutter in your motion, only made it burn hotter.

"You gonna come for me, baby?" he whispered. "Wanna feel you fall apart in my hands."

You felt his fingers taking the lead, thicker and rougher, parting your wet folds with ease, quickly finding al the perfect spots that he just learned, making your whole body tremble under his touch, utterly at his mercy. Your sticky fingers clenched into the muscles of his arm, seeking for relief.

Soft circles, and up and down, teasing your entrance like a menace. But he didn't push farther yet. No, he wanted you dripping, begging, ready for him first.

After a few more movements, you finally came undone with a soft cry. You felt your honey dripping thick out of you, and your whole body trembling beneath his.

He kissed your neck and collarbone, his fingers still working you—softer now, but still making you squirm beneath him, your hips shifting, chasing his touch.

"...Dean... more..." you moaned right into his ear, and you felt his still-clothed pelvis brush against the bare skin of your thigh, seeking friction, seeking release.

So your hands moved downward, searching for the buckle of his belt. Your fingers worked quickly, and you felt his body shift, helping you along, letting you work him open.

Dean's breath catched the moment he felt your delicate, tentative hand find him inside his boxers. He never left his place there, though.

You were amused by the expression on his face: his eyes fluttering shut, jaw tensing, and body surrendering over you.

He hardened in your hand, thick and warm, and the reaction made you even wetter around his fingers.

"Holy shit... deer," he groaned, low and rough under his breath.

Your hand started moving on his length— clumsy, inexperienced — but he seemed to like it. A lot. He started moving his fingers again, sinking both of you into a mess of hands, moans, and whispered names.

After a few minutes, he looked up at you, breathless. "Wait..." he growled. "If you keep going, I'm..." He couldn't even finish the sentence, the mere thought made him shudder.

"You what?" you asked, the almost innocent tone in your voice making him twitch in your palm.

"Oh, sweetheart," he groaned, "you're gonna be the death of me."

A shaky breath escaped your lips at the unexpected sight of Dean bringing his slick-coated fingers to his mouth, savoring your taste.

"You taste so sweet, baby," he whispered. "If I had more space, I swear I'd eat your pussy out right here."

You didn't quite understand what he meant, but God, you wanted to find out right now.

He made room to work on his own jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers. And once he was completely naked in front of you, the sight made your face flush an impossible shade of red.

You couldn't help but look away. You thought about his size... which definitely left your mouth dry.

For the first time that night, real nervousness settled in. Reality hit you, mixing with anticipation and desire. You wanted to feel him, but the thought of what it might be like to have him inside you made your stomach twist with nerves.

He noticed your wide eyes and gave you a soft, crooked grin. One hand reached up to gently brush your hair behind your ear. "You okay?" he asked, voice low and tender.

You nodded, even though your heart was pounding. "I just... I've never done this before."

His expression softened even more. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of you," he promised.

Then he leaned down and kissed you gently, while his hands slid under your back to work the clasp of your bra.

His green eyes darkened the moment he saw your breasts for the first time. One of his broad hands cupped one, squeezing gently, his thumb tracing slow circles over your delicate nipple. You moaned, feeling heat pool between your legs, your thighs instinctively pressing together.

"You're so damn beautiful, deer," he whispered, warm and sincere. "Fuck, you're more perfect than I imagined..."

Then his hands moved to the last piece of clothing still on you. You lifted your hips, letting him slip your panties down and off, leaving you completely bare beneath him.

Dean sat back for a moment, just looking at you, jaw slightly clenched like he was trying to hold himself together. Then he reached over to the glove box, flipped it open, and pulled out a small foil packet.

You blinked. "What's that?"

He paused, smirking a little. "A condom."

"...A what?"

Dean's brows shot up, amused. "You've never seen one of these?"

You shook your head slowly, eyes fixed on the tiny package like it might bite.

His grin widened as he tore it open. "Damn, sweetheart, you really are from another time."

You flushed, but the way he looked at you, warm and patient, made it hard to feel embarrassed. He held it up like he was giving a lesson. "This goes on me. It, uh... keeps things safe. And clean. You know, in case of babies, diseases, apocalypse-related mishaps..."

Your eyes widened even more. "Oh. That's... practical."

Dean laughed softly, low in his throat. "Very."

You watched, curious and fascinated, as he rolled the condom on. Once he was done, he looked at you again, his smile softer now.

"I didn't know there were tools involved," you breathed, heart pounding.

He kissed your temple, chuckling. "There's a lot I want to teach you. But tonight? Just this. Just us."

Your nod was soft but sure. Dean leaned over you, supporting his weight on one forearm as his other hand slid carefully down your side.

His lips found yours, slow and deep, and he whispered against them, "Listen, this might hurt just a little. I can't help it, but I promise it'll feel good soon after. Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

You whispered a shaky "Okay," and wrapped your arms around him, grounding yourself in the steady beat of his heart against your chest.

Then, with a patience you hadn't expected, and a tenderness that nearly broke you, he began to guide himself against you.

You felt his tip brushing against your core, drawing soft whimpers from your lips, especially when he took his time to caress your most sensitive spot.

Your body responded instinctively, already stretching around him, a reaction born purely from need.

"Dean..." you breathed, almost desperately. You didn't even know exactly what you were asking for, just that you needed something, anything, to ease the ache burning inside you.

"I know, babygirl," he murmured gently. "I'm just making sure you're ready for me."

And then, after a few more heartbeats, you felt him shift, lining himself up at your entrance, and slowly begin to push into you. You gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders as a deep stretch filled you, unfamiliar and overwhelming. It didn't exactly hurt, but it wasn't easy, either. Your body trembled beneath his, adjusting to him inch by inch.

Dean kissed your jaw, your cheek, your lips, whispering praises in between: "You're doing so good... I've got you... just a little more..."

Finally, he was fully inside, still and patient, his forehead resting gently against yours.

"You okay?" he asked again, his voice strained now, clearly holding back for your sake.

You nodded, breath shaky. "Yeah. Just... don't move yet."

He smiled faintly, brushing your hair back. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."

It didn't take long for him to start feeling you moving your hips. Timidly at first, just a small shift, testing how your body responded to the fullness.

Dean froze, groaning softly into the crook of your neck. "Fuck, sweetheart..."

The sound of his voice sent a spark straight through your spine. Encouraged, you shifted again, a little more this time, and his hands immediately found your waist, steadying you with a reverence that made your chest tighten.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled back just slightly and eased forward again, watching your face the entire time.

"God, you feel incredible," he whispered, kissing your temple. "So damn perfect around me..."

His hands gripped your hips, guiding your rhythm, matching your pace with slow, deliberate thrusts. It was overwhelming: his body, his heat, the way his mouth found yours between soft curses and whispered praises. The way he held you, like you were something precious.

"Dean... Dean..." You couldn't do anything else but say his name like a prayer, especially as he teased your limits, pushing harder, deeper into you.

The sound of skin against skin, moans, and whimpers from both of you soon hushed even the rain tapping on the roof of the Impala. Every improper, filthy sound you made only encouraged him to take you rougher... yet he still held back, still careful, still trying not to hurt or scare you.

Dean was also trying to keep himself from finishing too soon. You didn't know it, but he hadn't been with anyone in months. Sure, the need had been there, but his mind always betrayed him, because if it wasn't you, he didn't want it. It wouldn't make sense to be with someone else while thinking of you.

And now that he had you, it only confirmed that he didn't need anyone else.

"It feels so good," you breathed out, voice trembling. "Dean... please! Don't stop..."

Dean buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. His movements grew more intense, more desperate, until you could feel every tremble in his body.

His mouth traveled to your breasts, taking one of your nipples, his tongue tracing soft circles around it, his mouth leaving sucking marks on your soft flesh. Marking you as his. Your own breath hitched, the pleasure building to a crescendo that made your fingers dig into his back.

"C'mon, deer, cum for me," he groaned, feeling your pussy clench harder around his cock. "Feels so good, baby..."

You clung to him as the waves crested, your body tensed, then unraveled all at once, a soft cry escaping your lips as your world seemed to splinter in the most beautiful way.

Dean wasn't far behind. You felt him still, groaning your name like it was the only word he knew, holding you so close it was hard to tell where he ended and you began. His whole body shuddered against yours before he finally collapsed, breathing hard, his forehead pressing gently to yours.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant patter of rain against the Impala's roof.

Then, softly, he smiled. "You okay?"

You nodded, still dazed, your voice a whisper. "I've never felt anything like that."

"Me neither, baby." Dean kissed you slowly, tenderly, like a promise. "You did amazing."

For a long, long time, he had wanted you. You were the one who lived in his deepest dreams, the one he whispered about in the solitude of his bedroom. Having you beneath him felt like the most natural, meant-to-be, thing in the universe.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he realized he might actually be feeling something.

Not a whim, not just a fleeting attraction, or a desperate lifeboat he clung to just to keep from drowning in his own misery.

No, this was real, and raw, and pure.

For the first time in his life, he knew that if you asked him to, he'd leave everything behind just to be with you.

He kissed you again, slow and sweet. "I'm not letting you go, deer."

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," you promised back.

«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

The sun was already high when you stirred, warm light pouring in through the fogged-up windows of the Impala. The air around you was heavy with the scent of wet earth, leather, and lingering sex. You couldn't tell where you ended and he began, limbs tangled in the sweetest kind of chaos.

You blinked, the world slowly coming into focus, and that's when you realized three things in quick succession:

1. You were still naked.

2. Dean was still naked.

3. Someone was knocking on the window.

A loud, authoritative knock.

Dean groaned, half-asleep, and shifted against you under the thin blanket. "Five more minutes," he muttered against the top of your head.

"Dean," you hissed, your heart sprinting, trapped between the seat and his body, "Someone's at the window!"

"What!?" he sat up too fast, the blanket slipping off his shoulder.

Then came the knock again, louder this time, followed by a voice: "Sir? Ma'am? Step out of the vehicle. Now."

Dean swore under his breath. "Oh, son of a bitch."

You scrambled to clutch the blanket around you, and Dean fumbled to cover both of you with the rest of it, twisting around to squint through the window. Sure enough: a very unimpressed-looking sheriff, mirrored sunglasses and all, stood outside with a notepad in one hand and what looked like a ticket book in the other.

"Oh God," you whispered. "Dean... what do we do?"

"I got it. I got this," he said, trying (and failing) to sound confident. He rolled the window down two centimeters. "Morning, officer."

The man stared, jaw tight. "Morning. We got a call from the farm owner. Said he found your car fogged up and occupied. You do realize you're trespassing, right?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Right. Yeah. Look, uh... there's a very romantic explanation for this."

The officer looked pointedly at the crumpled clothes in the front seat and your sock stuck to the gearshift.

Dean winced. "Okay. Not a great explanation. But I swear, we're consenting adults. Nobody's in danger here."

"You're also naked in public," the officer said flatly. "Which puts us in indecent exposure territory."

"Okay, okay... technically, we're in a car..."

"You're not helping," you whispered.

Eventually, the officer gave five awkward minutes to "dress and compose yourselves" standing with his back turned. Dean struggled to get his jeans on while still inside the cramped backseat. You accidentally elbowed him in the ribs trying to find your bra. And your dignity.

"Romantic night under the stars, huh?" he muttered, wincing.

"Romantic until the part where we get arrested."

Once (mostly) clothed, you were herded into the back of a patrol car like a couple of teenagers caught skipping curfew. You just wanted to cry, humiliation creeping up your whole being.

At the station, Dean was allowed one call. Of course, he dialed Sam.

"Yeah?" Sam answered, groggy.

"I need you to come to the county sheriff's office."

Pause. "What did you do?"

"It's not... okay, yes, technically it's public indecency, but..."

"Oh my God," Sam groaned.

"Also, bring bail money. And pants. Mine have a strange stain on it."

"Dean, I don't wanna know..."

By the time Sam arrived, looking smug and far too well-rested, you and Dean were sitting in plastic chairs, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

"So," Sam said, barely suppressing a grin, "Romantic getaway, huh?"

Dean glared at him. "Shut up and pay the damn fine."

Sam turned to you. "You okay?"

You buried your face in your hands. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Fair."

As Sam paid the bail and the receptionist handed over a brown paper bag with your boots inside, Dean leaned toward you with a sheepish smile.

«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

The door to the bunker groaned open as you and Dean stepped in, both red-faced, tired, and still vaguely humiliated from the morning's events. Sam followed behind, biting his tongue to keep from laughing out loud for the hundredth time.

Castiel looked up from the map table as you entered. He tilted his head, his brows furrowing at the sight of you two slinking in like teenagers caught sneaking in after curfew.

You passed him by, unable to even look him –or Sam, or Dean– to the face, and go sit down in a chair. Castiel sat across from you, watching you with intense curiosity as you shifted on the hard wooden chair, trying not to wince. "Claire, are you injured?"

Instinctively, your eyes turned to Dean, who somehow seemed to read your mind: you were sore. His gaze softened, a silent apology in his eyes. Cheeks burning, you quickly shifted your gaze to the table.

"No, Cas. Just my dignity."

"What happened?" Castiel asked, his voice low and steady, like the head of a household demanding the truth from his daughter.

Sam, already sipping coffee and waiting for the explosion, said casually, "They were caught... romancing in the back of the Impala. By the police."

Castiel's gaze snapped to you. "You were compromised in a vehicle?"

You sank lower into your chair. "It's not..."

"I trusted him," Castiel said solemnly, pointing a very slow, accusatory finger at Dean. "I left you alone for one evening and this is the result?"

Dean held up both hands. "Whoa, okay. Let's not go full Puritan ghost here."

"She's from 1815, Dean. That is practically the Regency era. Have you any idea what this would do to her dowry?"

You choked. "I don't even have a bank account, Cas."

"And now your reputation is in ruins," he added gravely, looking mildly offended on your behalf.

Dean, trying not to lost control of the situation, ran a hand down his face. "Cas, I didn't seduce a nun. I took Claire stargazing and then... things happened."

Castiel turned to you, eyes softened but authority still on them. "Did he declare his intentions? Did he offer marriage, or at the very least a respectful courtship letter?"

Dean choked on his own saliva the moment the word "marriage" reached his ears.

"I don't think people write letters anymore," you mumbled.

Castiel's jaw tightened. "They should."

"Cas," Sam said, nearly wheezing, "You're reacting like she was ruined in the middle of a ball."

"She was ruined in a Chevrolet, Sam!"

"Okay, that's it. It's enough, dude," Dean replied.

But Castiel wasn't done. He stepped in front of you and placed a hand on your shoulder. "If you are with child..."

"CASTIEL!" The three of you shouted at unison.

He blinked. "Then I shall smite him accordingly."

"No one is smiting anyone, Castiel," you intervened, somewhere between a nervous laughter and wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

Dean stood up. "Listen, Cas, I really appreciate your concern about my girl, believe me, I do."

Your cheeks burned and your heart flipped at the expression he used to refer to you: my girl.

"But this is the 21st century, and she's a grown, consenting woman. We don't need divine supervision every time we get a little close. So, now I'm going to take a shower, and when I come back, everyone's going to pretend this never happened."

Castiel tilted his head, visibly processing the statement.

Sam cleared his throat and stood as well. "Alright, I think that's our cue. C'mon, Cas. Let's give them a little privacy."

Reluctantly, Castiel nodded. "Very well. But if she is harmed..."

"She won't be," Dean cut in gently, but firmly. "Ever."

The angel gave Dean one last glare before walking out of the room in a swirl of dramatic disapproval. Sam snorted, giving the both of you a knowing smile before following Cas to the kitchen.

Dean turned back to you, that cocky little smirk softening as he approached.

"Except you, sweetheart," he murmured low, only for you to hear. "I want you to remember everything."

Dean brushed his knuckles gently along your arm. "So... shower?" he offered, a glint in his eye that made your stomach flutter.

You nodded, smiling, heart thudding when his fingers laced with yours. He led you to the bathroom, and the door clicked shut behind you.

NEXT PART

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[profoundbondfanfic]

Happy Holidays to everyone who celebrates!

-Part 5 of 5-

A Date for The Holidays by WaywardAF67 (Explicit, 37k words)

Castiel would never have considered hiring an escort on his own. But when his friend and personal assistant, Charlie suggested he use the service for the upcoming holidays, Cas warmed to the idea. Having a companion to help him through his mother's never-ending relationship questions, and the family drama that was sure to unfold was enough to push Cas to book a date with Succubus Escort service. He just wanted help getting through the holidays, but with Dean Winchester, Castiel Novak ended up with so much more.

Aurora Borealis by blue_morning (Explicit, 18k words)

When Professor Castiel Novak, newly single, decides to cross seeing the northern lights off his bucket list, he gets a lot more than he bargains for: stalked by a polar bear on New Year’s Eve, rescued by a handsome stranger, and seduced into a night of passion. Regretting his choices in the morning, he leaves without even finding out this mystery man’s last name. Back at home he finds that he can’t stop thinking about that night and the man who saved his life. Realizing that he has no way to contact this man he now knows he’s fallen for, Cas throws himself into his work and tries to forget. When fate throws them together a second time, can they work things out?

Holiday Love by Castielslostwings (Explicit, 31k words)

Popular podcast host Castiel Novak has a secret. While his listeners see him as an expert on romance and the magic of the holidays, Castiel has never truly experienced any of that for himself. This year, that’s about to change, and the timing couldn’t be more perfect. As Castiel is preparing to embark on a whirlwind promotional tour for his new book, he stops by his hometown to celebrate Christmas with his family. Unexpectedly, sparks ignite between him and beloved local jack-of-all-trades, Dean Winchester. This year, Castiel might be forced to learn what “Holiday Love” is really all about—but can he put his cynicism aside enough to let Dean in?

Take The Moment and Taste It by tricia_16 (Explicit, 123k words)

For the first time in years, Castiel returns to his hometown for the holidays, just in time to meet the new girlfriend of his best friend’s brother — aka Castiel’s longtime crush, Dean. When Dean’s new relationship suddenly goes sideways, Castiel finds himself riding shotgun in the Impala on a cross-country road trip with Dean, where the two of them find something neither of them were expecting.

Thanks For All The Orgasms by Redamber79 (Explicit, 36k words)

Castiel has been saved from the Empty. The former angel is trying to readapt to both humanity and having a permanent home. He’s living in the bunker along with Dean, Sam, and Eileen, who’ve retired from active hunting and now teach the new generation. His brothers are back and wreaking havoc as only Gabriel and Balthazar can. The Wayward Sisters seem to have moved in. Sometimes, he just needs a bit of quiet, and he finds it watching movies with Dean in the ex-hunter’s room. Dean’s softer now, sharing easy smiles and gentle touches, and the look in his eyes… It’s incendiary. More than a decade of tension finally ignites. Dean brings up Castiel’s confession, and they finally resolve the unspoken desire and lust that’s been building between them, much to the amusement and dismay of the Wayward Sisters. Deciding to prank an absent Sam about it? They’ll never get another chance like this, so why not? Cas has the perfect Christmas gift for Dean, guaranteed to set Sam back on his heels for a week, at least. It’s a Christmas story of family, friends, love, and finally getting what they deserve, thanks to loved ones near and far.

The Annoying In Laws by thatwriterlady (General audiences, 2k words)

Castiel and Dean knew when they'd gotten together that there were many things they would have to blend together, and their faiths were part of it. Their mothers had taken it in stride until the announcement that they were expecting their first child. Now that Joshua is here and both Hanukkah and Christmas are around the corner the two women are bickering nonstop over whose religion is better. There's a lot to learn, even for two older women who think they know everything. They're in for a rude awakening.

Welcome All Winchesters by almaasi (Explicit, 60k words)

When Dean’s engagement breaks off three days before Christmas, he’s left with nobody to accompany him on a road trip to his family’s mountain log cabin. His best friend Castiel happens to be available, and is willing to help him through a tough time. But when Dean's mother and brother arrive, expecting to meet the person Dean plans to marry, they understandably assume Castiel is Dean's fiancé. After a weekend of comfortable domesticity, sharing clothes, intimate conversations, and definitely-one-time-only therapy sex, it feels almost too easy for Dean and Cas to fake a loving, romantic relationship. The hard part is going back to being friends afterwards. They can’t keep their hands off each other, and they’ve discovered some fun things to do together which they’d never tell another soul about. And, oh boy, feelings. Now being ‘just friends’ is so impossible, it seems as if fate had another plan for them all along...

[pinksatinpanties]

unpopular opinion + rant: I do not want supernatural season 16. this is coming from someone who has been a huge fan of the show since 2011. I stopped tuning in around S12 because they kept playing in our faces.

the writers royally fucked up the finale (and entire seasons depending who you ask) and they don’t get a do over in my book. what’s dead should stay dead.

they had 15 seasons to tell the story the way they wanted to tell it. 15 SEASONS. and they screwed the pooch multiple times! fan fiction writers have done a better job of writing for the characters FOR FREE. after all the money we’ve put in the show runner’s pockets by buying merch and convention tickets and meet and greets, they owed us a better ending than that. I feel like they took our money for 15 years and flipped us off when they were done.

reviving the show after it ended 5 years ago, after a 15 year run, is just greedy. it’s over. let the characters rest. LET THE FANDOM REST. if you ask me, even the spin off attempts were greedy cash grabs. who needs a spin-off of a show that ran for so long in the first place? why were they even worried about spin-offs when they couldn’t even write well for the main show? supernatural is not law and order!

they should’ve and could’ve done right by Dean and Cas when they had the chance. but no, they sent Cas to super hell and killed Dean with a rusty nail.

they could’ve shown us Dean and Cas reuniting in heaven, finally unafraid to love each other openly because they’re dead and have nothing left to lose BUT NOOO. they separated them in the afterlife too! they smacked us all in the face with that finale. I’d go so far as to say they failed all of their loyal fans with that finale. 15 years of tuning into the show FOR THAT?

they’re probably not even doing the official YouTube channel stuff with any intent to follow through on S16 rumors. five years post-mortem and they’re just now acknowledging destiel? YouTube has been around as long as the show has. they could’ve done this shit YEARS AGO. they’re most likely just working with Eric Kripke to ruffle TFW megafan and destiel shipper feathers for the sake of The Boys S5 ratings. it’s all marketing. baiting for ratings like they did for 10 seasons of supernatural. stringing us along to get us to watch and copping out when the time comes to actually follow through - like they always have.

even Cas’ “love confession” was vague enough to give them plausible deniability and I don’t fuck with that. they didn’t even give Dean space to respond or react before Cas got sucked up and disappeared. it was a bitch move. the writers shouldn’t get any credit for that.

as you can see, I have beef with the writers of supernatural. I have beef with Eric Kripke for calling in his money makers because he knows the loyal spn fans will follow to promote the final season of his new show. J2M are doing what they gotta do for a check, so I have no beef with them. they’re working actors who need to feed their families.

if Soldier Boy and Misha’s character fuck freak nasty on The Boys S5, I will revoke my statement.

but they won’t. baiting-for-ratings history will repeat itself. the funny thing is, they don’t even have to queer bait us directly anymore because they know all they have to do is imply Misha and Jensen will share scenes together then the fandom will get their hopes up and do the rest for them.

[fandomtherapy44]

Coffee Meet-Ups Sam Winchester x Fem! Reader One Shot!

summary: Y/n needs a tutor, and Sam is happy to help.

Warnings: A little bit of cussing, kissing

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WC: 1,434

AN: Hey Ya'll, I thought I would do a fluff fic for our boy Sam Winchester, I've done fics for Cas and Dean, so I thought it was time for Sam. I also just put out a Dean Fic with smut if you're interested, I hope you guys enjoy!

The air is crisp and cool leaves are falling down, the sky is full of orange and brown. I could see my breath make puffs like I was smoking. People in Harvard sweaters were walking to their classes. A slight hint of cinnamon and apple drafting through the atmosphere really gives you the Fall feel. A real Gilmore Girls picture. Too bad I didn’t have the time to enjoy it. I am currently running to make it to my tutor meeting on time. 

“Excuse me!” I said rushing in between and out of people making it look like I was crazy.

I finally made it to the on-campus coffee shop. And there is my tutor looking very disappointed while looking at his watch and then at me like a mother would if you missed curfew.

“Hey, Steve I am so ready to learn all about the integration of advanced criminal law.” I try to soften everything with a smile. 

“Great, my suggestion is to sit down and open the book I’ll see you around.” He walks past me and I grab his arm.

“Wait Steve, please I will fail this class without you.” I pleaded almost begging.

“Y/n you are smart but you don’t imply yourself enough and I don’t have the time to do it for you, good luck.” With that, he turns and walks out letting the cold hit me with the realization that I no longer had the very expensive tutor that my parents were paying for. I sighed deeply racking my brain about what I was going to do and turned and ran into someone and something hot.

“Ah fuck! Shit holy that fucking-” I looked up and I saw one of the cutest guys I had ever seen. And suddenly my burn from the coffee didn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Oh my gosh I am so sorry, here sit down I'll bring napkins.” he leads me to a chair very carefully. He brings napkins with cold water on them. “Agan I am very sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going and I-” He stops and does the same thing I did. 

“I’m babbling and this is the the first thing I should have asked, are you okay?” His eyes peer into mine and they are a deep chocolate brown.

“Yeah, I'm okay nothing like a mini heart attack to start the day.” I joke to lighten the mood.

“Definitely, I’m Sam.” He brings out his hand to shake. I take it and he has a nice firm handshake. 

“Y/n, so where were you going with such hot coffee so early?”

“Just classes.” 

I then see the books he’s carrying.

“So law huh? Same here.” He looks kind of shocked at that.

“Really what made you want to do law?” He asks now intrigued.

“I want to… make a difference really fight for the people who can’t fight for themselves, basic I know.” I picked at my fingernails to try to distract myself from my own self-deprecation.

“No no, I like that, a lot of people become lawyers for the wrong reasons.”

“Well, it's not like I'll even be able to come one.” 

“Why?” He asked with true wonder for some reason about a stranger.

“I am totally failing my classes that’s why I was actually here I was meeting my tutor but I screwed that up too.” 

Sam then gets an idea.

“How about I tutor you.” He says with complete seriousness.

“What no I couldn't ask you to do that Sam, I'm sure you're super busy.” I blinked my eyes not believing the offer.

“Well you're not asking I’m offering, it can be me making it up to you for spilling coffee on you so what do you say?” I look at him and his sincerity in his eyes and for some reason I believe him which is weird for a guy I barely know.

“Okay, you are on Sam.” We shake on it.

I am actually early for once to a tutor meeting. Books open, coffee ready. I didn't want to waste Sam’s time. He walks in looking cute without even trying he’s in some jeans and a brown sweatshirt matching his hair. 

“Hey, you ready?” He sat down and pulled out his book.

“Yes teach!” I pulled out my pencil and was ready. 

“Ok good.” He chuckles at enthusiasm. “So let’s start with chapter fifteen…”

About two hours later I had been taught and understood more about law than I had from my tutors and teacher. 

“Wow, Sam, I think you're the best I've ever had.” I blush at what I just said and try to quickly backpedal. “I mean I the best tutor I mean.” I mentally slap my forehead.

“Thank you and you are welcome. And you are the best student I've had.” He smiles at my clumsy put together complement.

“No way I mean I got like ten questions wrong.” I was flattered but a little shocked at that.

“Yeah I mean I don’t usually tutor and you actually want to learn unlike some people here.” 

“You don’t usually tutor then why me?” I asked hoping that it wasn't pity.

“I saw you're potential and thought you deserved a chance too.” 

I didn’t even notice that tears were in my eyes.

“Thank you, Sam. I won’t let you down!” I gave a big smile and a thumbs up.

“I know.” 

It had been about two weeks into these tutor sessions with Sam and the information was actually sticking like never before we also had started to build a friendship.

“So worst injury from when you were a kid, go.” I half demanded in a friendly way while sipping my coffee we had been an hour in but got distracted by talking about our childhoods I can't even remember who asked the first question.

He sits back in his chair thinking for a moment. “Mhh I broke my arm when I was four.”  

My eyes light in surprise. “Really!? How?” 

“I had followed my brother on top of a shed and we were dressed as Superman and Batman and he had convinced me that I could actually fly so I jumped off and lold and behold I broke my arm so Dean had to take me in his handlebars on his fisher price bike.” he finished off with laughing and I joined in.

“Wow, I don’t know if I can top that.” I slapped his arm.

“Oh come on it’s your turn.” 

“Okay well, when I was six I sprang my ankle.” I see his face and he tries to hold back his laugh. “Hey hey, I never said it was good.” I also laugh.

“Well, I guess it's good that it wasn't worse but it doesn't really make for a good story.”

“That’s what I told you!” I then think about my test.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“You think I can pass this test?” I picked at my fingernails again.

He grabbed my hand. And directed my head to meet his.

“I fully believe in you Y/n, you are going to be a damn good lawyer.” Again I look into his eyes and believe him.

I grab my test and run to find Sam. I ran through in-between other people not caring if I bumped into them. 

“Sam! SAM!” I yelled all the way to the coffee shop with the test paper in my hand arm raised looking crazy. And I did not care. I get there and see him in there standing in line. I pulled open the door and full on ran to him.

“Sam SAM! LOOK! LOOK!” Everyone looks at me with a look at this girl who belongs in the coo-coo place. “Sam I passed!” I hand the paper to him he takes it studies it and sees the grade.

“I knew you could go it!” He picks me up in a hug and spins around in excitement. He puts me down both of us high and giddy from the good news our eyes met and we both decide to go for it. We meet in the middle of a sweet kiss. It was slow with a tiny bit of earning behind it. His lips were a bit chapped but still soft somehow. We both let go at the same time.

“Wow, that was amazing.” He said while gently grabbing my hand.

“Really, me too.” I smiled at our hands joined. “I guess it’s lucky you bumped into me.”

“And I guess I'm lucky you needed a tutor.” I giggle at that and we kiss again.

Thank you for reading!

[theplottdump]

ＳＩＤＥ ＰＬＯＴＴ - Ｇ Ａ Ｍ ＥＰＬＡＹ ＳＰＡ Ｍ - 𝙶𝚎𝚗 𝟼: 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝙺𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚝? -

ohmygod

Hinoki: 𝘒𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘦𝘦𝘦! Kale: Ehh. Hi Mom.

Hinoki: You carry so much bigger than your sister! You know you can jog through your first trimester right darling? Kale: Eugh- What are you doing here?

Hinoki: Well I was looking into some records, and I saw that you moved from Henford! And when you started answering my texts, I immediately knew something was up. So I called in a few favors and tracked you down! Kale: Shi-

Hinoki: And this must be your sperm donor!

Townie Dave: Uh hi- Hinoki: Oh no dear, no need for any of that. Kale: Mom… Hinoki: His eyes are a bit wide set, and 𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙡- We don't want the child to have prawn eyes. We can always edit the baby in CAS. But a ginger! And that chin! Yes, we can work with this. Kyle bring the bags! Kale: Kyle…?

Hinoki: Now I'm thinking - Pool Birth. Very natural. And we can save some of the water to give out as party favors. Kale: Why is Kyle here? Hinoki: Oh he's my new assistant! Kale: What happened to Billie? Hinoki: Who?

Kyle: I'm great with kids. Townie Dave: Right…

Hinoki insisted on moving into Kale's room to dote on her offspring so Townie Dave got shunted to Milkshake's enclosure.

𝗧𝗼𝘄𝗻𝗶𝗲 𝗗𝗮𝘃𝗲: Alright if we're going to be roommates we have to set some ground rules. Rule Number 1 - Don't eat me or I'll reap your plant soul. Whatever that interaction means.

Hinoki: You know your father was a SulSulSimSamSim. Now that was some Fine Breeding. Kale: Good Morning Mother. Hinoki: Good Morning Darling. Townie Dave.

Townie Dave is having a rougher second day on the job. It's hard dealing with a surprise visit from your soon to be mother-in-law who seems to hate you, and learning that death is quite literally always looming over one shoulder.

But he's kind of growing on me tho

Thanks Dad.

Kyle's just excited for some screentime.

Kyle: 𝘞𝘰𝘰𝘰𝘰𝘰𝘸. You really can control any sim with this mod…

Kyle: So you're an Author? Toni: Aspiring. I like writing children's books. Kyle: The only thing I'm good at writing is pick up lines. Like- if we were ghosts, I'd totally be your boo.

Toni: (Laugh) That's awful- do those really work?

Kyle: Depends, did I raise your spirits?

Townie Dave: Thought I'd find you hiding in here. Kale: I don't know if you've noticed, but my mother is sort of - a lot. Townie Dave: Aren't all mothers? Kale: Probably.

Kale: There's something I wanted to tell you. I made it to the last week of the Reaper Rewards. A few more gourmet cooking skill points and I'll be making Ambrosia. Townie Dave: That's amazing! Kale: But I wanted to ask-

Townie Dave: You want me to die. Kale: Only temporarily! To test the recipe. Townie Dave: What if it glitches out and doesn't work properly? Kale: We'll improvise. Townie Dave: So you knew how this was going to go? The whole time?

Kale: Dave, no. It- it was always going to happen somehow. And this might be crazy enough to work. Dave: Fine- but I have some final requests.

Townie Dave: #1 I wanna meet our kid before I go.

Townie Dave: #2 And when I do come back and I will- we go to the courthouse, graveyard, whatever, and we promise each other- whether in Life or Death, we're going to hold on tight and never let go.

Townie Dave: And #3 I never have to sleep down here again. 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘭?

Kale: 𝗗𝗲𝗮𝗹.

first | prev | next

[eesirachs]

can you explain more on why scholars think that according to P, god is remote and transcendent meanwhile in J and E, god is anthropomorphic?

the narratives of the hebrew bible repeat and retell; there are several grammars, names, voices here. this has led scholars to see more than one source within and in the text—it is not that moses sat and composed the pentateuch and then the kings composed some writings and then each prophet composed their own book. rather, many sources held together make up the hebrew bible.

the documentary hypothesis suggests four main sources—jahwist, elohist, priestly, and deuteronomist. j and e are the earliest, dated by wellhausen ca. 850-750. then comes d, scrolls 'found' by king josiah to support his reform in 621. finally comes p, a redactionist voice interested in leviticus and law, ca. 450.

the p and d source are simpler to parse-out. p loves genealogies and ritual and blood. near exile, the p authorship finds it important to re-member rites and tradition. d reeks of josiah's reform, of a centralized cult. j and e, however, remain in negotiation. j figures hashem as anthropomorphic; it is folksy, colorful, it feels safe. j is old, syncretic, familiar with gods that move through gardens—here, hashem is still moving in the highlands of canaan with the hebrews. e figures hashem in transcendence, a remote god; it is fearful of apostasy, it has a friction in it. e is closer to the height of monarchy, to the hebrews’ formed identity—here, hashem had to be a ruler, a father. for each, hashem's form meets the needs of the composing hands.

the documentary hypothesis is not infallible and not held by everyone. some scholars suggest different dates, different orders, different corpora (were j and e inherited together, or not? is p written in exile, or not?). others find the rubric of four sources limited and phallic, and move instead to images of composition that include orality, familial faith, phenotext

[captonite]

Every Page, Us Summary: The scrapbook they made her meant everything. But when Sachi starts adding her own entries — memories she cherished, moments they never even realized mattered — the boys stumble across it one night. She finds them crying over the pages. And she finally understands: they need this just as much as she does.

It started with a glitter pen.

Sachi had one leftover from an old pencil pouch, something bright and bubbly with a half-dried tip, and she didn’t know why — but it felt like the right tool for something holy.

The scrapbook had always been their gift to her.

But now, it felt like it could be more.

She turned to a blank page and began to write.

Page 18: “Sam Carried Me All The Way Back To The Motel With A Twisted Ankle And Didn’t Complain Once”

Underneath, in slanted handwriting, she wrote:

“He told me I wasn’t heavy. I didn’t believe him. But he kept calling me ‘kiddo’ like it was the only word he trusted himself to say. I wasn’t scared anymore.”

She taped in a silly photo — Sam's boots next to hers, hers clearly several sizes too small in comparison.

Page 19: “Dean Let Me Pick The Music”

She glued in a tiny scrap of a torn-off playlist, written in her own scribble: Taylor Swift. MCR. A Disney princess anthem.

She added:

“He groaned. Said it was against the law. But he tapped the wheel to the beat the whole time. He even sang the chorus when he thought I wasn’t looking.”

A secret smile stretched across her face when she re-read it.

She tucked the page away gently.

Page 21: “Cas Put His Wings Around Me When I Was Crying”

Drawn in gel pen — little angel wings, curled like a heart.

“He didn’t say anything at first. Just let me sit in the quiet. He smelled like ozone and soft rain. I stopped shaking after a minute. Maybe two. But he never moved. He stayed. Even when I didn’t ask.”

---

She didn’t tell them.

She couldn’t.

Not yet.

These were sacred things. Her private prayers.

And she didn’t want to burden them.

Not with the truth of how deeply she'd memorized every kindness they'd given her.

---

But one night, weeks later, when she’d gone out to get snacks — promising she wouldn’t be long, promising she’d text — the bunker was quiet.

And Cas found the scrapbook.

He had been searching her desk for extra blankets.

Instead, his fingers landed on the worn leather binding. The edges were frayed. A sticker of a cat wearing sunglasses was peeled halfway off the back cover.

He opened it, expecting old photos. Maybe doodles.

What he found was... scripture.

Her handwriting. Her heart. Laid bare in every word.

He sat down.

And read.

---

Sam found him twenty minutes later.

“Cas?”

He turned. Slowly. Reverently.

“She’s been writing in it,” he said softly.

Sam frowned, walking closer. “What?”

“She’s been... remembering us. On purpose.”

Cas turned the page.

Sam leaned over.

Read one line.

And sat down beside him without another word.

---

Dean showed up last.

“I smell something burning. What’s going—?”

Then he saw it.

Them.

The scrapbook.

He froze.

Then moved closer, arms crossed.

“...She didn’t tell us.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think she wanted to.”

Dean swallowed.

He picked up the book with both hands and turned to a page he hadn’t seen before.

Page 25: “Dean Called Me ‘Kid’ When He Was Hurt, And I Think That Meant Something”

“His voice was hoarse. He was bleeding. I was terrified. But he looked at me and said, ‘Hang in there, kid.’ Like I was the only thing he trusted to stay. Like I mattered more than the pain.”

Dean’s throat clicked.

He didn’t speak.

---

Sachi came home ten minutes later.

The bag of snacks crinkled as she walked through the bunker door. She was humming something. It died in her throat when she stepped into the war room and found them all seated.

Silent.

Crying.

“Wha—?”

Dean stood up so fast the chair scraped.

He looked like he’d been gut-punched.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” he rasped.

Sam’s eyes were glassy. Cas looked like he was holding his breath.

Sachi froze.

Her hands clutched the grocery bag.

“I… I didn’t think you’d wanna see,” she whispered.

Dean’s jaw clenched. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cas stood, slow, reverent. “Sachi… we need these pages more than you know.”

Sam stepped forward, reaching for her gently.

“You remembered all of this. The little things. The stuff we didn’t think mattered.”

“They mattered to me,” she choked.

Dean pulled her into a hug so sudden she dropped the bag.

“You little sneak,” he muttered into her hair. “You wrote all that and didn’t even let us say thank you.”

She sniffled, folding into him. “It was just for me.”

“Well,” Dean huffed, wiping his face. “Now it’s ours again.”

---

Later that night, the four of them sat at the kitchen table.

The scrapbook lay open between them like a treasure chest.

Cas had taken to tracing her drawings with a fingertip. Sam was rereading the tea-and-cramps page for the fifth time. Dean still hadn’t let go of the one about him letting her pick the music.

“You’re our girl,” Dean mumbled.

Sachi smiled. “I know.”

“You’re gonna keep writing in this, right?” Sam asked.

She nodded.

“And you’re gonna write about this,” Dean added, poking her side. “Right now. Me being emotional and Sam looking like a baby.”

“I do not look like a baby—”

Cas gently cut in. “I will provide a diagram.”

They all laughed.

Sachi leaned back in her chair and looked at them — really looked — and felt her heart bloom.

This wasn’t just memory anymore.

This was living history.

She picked up her glitter pen.

And turned to a fresh page.

---

Page 35: “They Found My Heart Between The Pages”

“I wrote them because I loved them. I didn’t think they’d ever see. But they did. And they understood.”

“They cried.”

“I think we’re going to be okay.”

“We’re writing this life together now.”

[ddtrhuijojouhn]

✨ Roots of Chaos: A Legacy of Love, Loss, and Lore ✨

Welcome to a 10-generation Sims legacy challenge rooted in emotional depth, storytelling, aesthetics, and a little chaos. Each generation explores themes of identity, healing, ambition, and connection all while uncovering secrets buried deep within the family tree.

📜 Challenge Rules

Start with a single founder (you choose the gender and pronouns).

Money cheats are only allowed when specified.

Complete each generation's required aspiration and career unless otherwise stated.

Move towns, build families, and tell your story.

Use aging ON (normal or long lifespan).

You may use mods like Slice of Life, Woohoo Wellness, or Kuttoe's Memories to enhance depth.

Optional: Follow the aesthetic/color themes in CAS and Build.

🌱 Generation 1: "The Wild Bloom"

Color: Forest Green & Earth TonesTheme: Rebirth & EscapeBackstory: You ran away from a past you never talk about. In a new town with nothing but a tent and determination, you try to make a life through gardening, collecting, and avoiding your emotions.

Traits: Loner, Loves Outdoors, GloomyAspiration: Freelance BotanistCareer: Gardening (Freelancer or Gardening Career)

Main Goals:

Live off-the-grid for at least teen to YA life stage

Max Gardening and Fishing

Complete the MySims Trophies collection

Never talk about your past to your children (roleplay secrecy)

Raise one child as a single parent

Tradition:

Yearly Garden Festival where family gathers to plant a "memory flower"

🔥 Generation 2: "Embers of Expectation"

Color: Burgundy & CharcoalTheme: Pressure & PerformanceBackstory: Raised by a quiet parent, you crave attention and approval. You become obsessed with success, but you hide deep insecurities.

Traits: Ambitious, Perfectionist, InsiderAspiration: AcademicCareer: Law or Business

Main Goals:

Graduate University with an A GPA

Complete the Postcards collection

Host weekly dinner parties

Burn out and have a midlife crisis (change aspiration or career)

Have a secret affair

Tradition:

Monthly family debate night (inspired by law career)

🎨 Generation 3: "Painted Smiles"

Color: Lavender & Pale BlueTheme: Art & IsolationBackstory: You grew up in a tense household and took refuge in creativity. Your art becomes a window to your soul—but can you let others in?

Traits: Creative, Art Lover, Cat LoverAspiration: Painter ExtraordinaireCareer: Painter (Master of the Real)

Main Goals:

Max Painting and Photography

Collect all Snowglobes

Adopt a cat (or several!)

Marry a fan of your work

Write a journal (use writing skill or mod)

Tradition:

Family portrait day each season

🎭 Generation 4: "Center Stage"

Color: Gold & RedTheme: Fame & FractureBackstory: You were always in the spotlight—but never for the right reasons. Your path to fame is filled with betrayal, obsession, and reinvention.

Traits: Self-Absorbed, Erratic, OutgoingAspiration: World-Famous CelebrityCareer: Actor or Social Media

Main Goals:

Reach Global Superstar status

Complete Fossil collection

Publicly break up with a partner

Start a feud with a sibling

Have one child you neglect emotionally

Tradition:

Annual Awards Night (throw a black-tie party with toasts)

📚 Generation 5: "The Archivist"

Color: Sepia & Deep PlumTheme: Memory & LegacyBackstory: Tired of your family's drama, you retreat into books and history. But what you uncover in the archives might change everything you thought you knew.

Traits: Bookworm, Geek, NeatAspiration: Bestselling AuthorCareer: Writer (Author branch)

Main Goals:

Max Writing and Research & Debate

Complete Frogs collection

Uncover a hidden family secret (player’s choice)

Self-publish a book about your ancestors

Be best friends with your grandparent

Tradition:

Read-aloud nights passed down each generation

💖 Generation 6: "Heartstrings"

Color: Soft Pink & Sky BlueTheme: Love & LoyaltyBackstory: You're a hopeless romantic who’s terrified of being alone. You jump from relationship to relationship until you finally learn self-worth.

Traits: Romantic, Jealous, ClumsyAspiration: SoulmateCareer: Stylist or Entertainer

Main Goals:

Have at least 3 failed relationships before finding "the one"

Collect all Crystals

Write love letters (write books or use mod)

Propose to someone at a family gathering

Tradition:

Annual Love Day Ball (formal event every spring)

⚡ Generation 7: "Electric Youth"

Color: Neon Green & BlackTheme: Rebellion & RegretBackstory: Raised in a house of love, you reject it. You rebel hard, break hearts, and run wild—until an accident forces you to grow up.

Traits: Rebellious, Hot-Headed, Music LoverAspiration: Public EnemyCareer: Criminal or Mixologist

Main Goals:

Get arrested (mod or roleplay)

Complete the Elements collection

Fight 10 Sims

Lose custody of a child and regain it

Apologize to every family member

Tradition:

"Rage Night"—everyone vents their frustrations once a year

🧙 Generation 8: "Witchwood"

Color: Midnight Purple & MossTheme: Magic & MotherhoodBackstory: You were born during a thunderstorm. You're a witch (or spiritualist) and midwife, drawn to healing—but haunted by loss.

Traits: Gloomy, Family-Oriented, MakerAspiration: Spellcraft & Sorcery or Freelance BotanistCareer: Herbalist (or no career)

Main Goals:

Max Herbalism and Wellness

Raise 5 children (at least one adopted)

Complete Metals collection

Have a stillbirth or ghost child (for drama, optional)

Tradition:

Annual bonfire to honor ancestors

💎 Generation 9: "The Gilded Cage"

Color: Rose Gold & WhiteTheme: Wealth & IsolationBackstory: You're born into luxury, but it never fills the void. You try to buy happiness but discover family is priceless.

Traits: Materialistic, Proper, ParanoidAspiration: Mansion BaronCareer: Investor or Politician

Main Goals:

Earn §500,000

Complete Gardening Plants collection

Live in a mansion with at least 5 empty rooms

Disown a sibling over inheritance

Tradition:

Grand New Year’s Gala

🌌 Generation 10: "Rooted in Stardust"

Color: Galaxy/Your ChoiceTheme: Healing & WholenessBackstory: You are the legacy's culmination—curious, balanced, chaotic in a beautiful way. You piece together the past, present, and future.

Traits: Creative, Family-Oriented, ErraticAspiration: Renaissance Sim or Player's ChoiceCareer: Your choice

Main Goals:

Host a reunion for all living family

Complete 3 partial collections your ancestors started

Uncover every secret (journal, storytelling, mod, etc.)

Write a memoir

Die surrounded by family

Tradition:

Final family time capsule with heirlooms and letters

📌 Tag your posts with #RootsOfChaosLegacy to join the community!

[romanianfolkmagic]

Y'know, I came across your blog by happenstance and while I don't share the same set of beliefs, it is really cool from the point of folklore!

As a Romanian with a passion for mythology & folklore, I barely have surface knowledge of some of the more surface topics (strigoi, Solomonarul, Șolomanța sau Baba Dochia) and am looking forward to your posts :3

Hello! Thank you for tagging along!

I intend on making some more elaborate posts on these myths, but until then, here's the shortest introduction I could make on them:))

Strigoi: one of the many types of vampires that Romanians believe in. A strigoi is usually a reanimated corpse who prays on children mostly. When the infant mortality rate rose suddenly, people assumed it was because of a strigoi. They checked the grave of the suspect (a person who lived in sin), exhumed the body, and if it didn't have signs of decay, they found their strigoi. In order to deal with it, they would drive a stake through its chest or burn the body.

Solomonar: a weather-controlling wizard, with ties to the ancient myth of Zalmoxis (Dacian's supreme god). They go to the mythical school Șolomanța, where they learn and hone their craft. Theh ride zmei or balauri (types of dragons), that have the power to bring storms. It is said that they lived amongst people as beggars, and would target the people who treated them badly. However, their spells could be countered by specialized practitioners.

Baba Dochia: there are 2 quite different versions of her myth, but both pretty widespread. 1st: Dochia was the daughter of Dacia's last king, Decebal. When the Romans conquered Dacia, emperor Trajan fell in love with her and decided to pursue her. Afraid, Dochia fled with her flock of sheep in the mountains, but the emperor kept following. Knowing she won't be able to escape, she prayed to Zalmoxis for help. He turned her and her sheep to stone (similar with the myth of Apollo and Daphne). 2nd: Baba Dochia was a very sour old lady, whose son, Dragobete, got married against her will. She couldn't stand her daughter-in-law, so she gave her an impossible task: in a freezing day of winter, she had to go to a river and wash some black wool until it turned white. The girl went to the river, but knowing she won't be able to return home without completing this task, she started crying. Jesus saw the scene, so he came to Earth to give her a red flower, and intructed her to wash the wool with it. The girl, not recognizing Jesus, did as told, and the wool turned white. When she returned, Baba Dochia couldn't believe it. After hearing the girl's story, she thought spring finally came, since the girl got said flower. So she left for the mountains dressed in 9 coats. As she was walking, each day got warmer, so each day she shed one coat. After the 9th day, when she took off her final coat, the weather changed suddenly, and Baba Dochia froze to death. This is the basis for a Romanian spring holiday: first 9 days of march are called Babe / Old Ladies. Before March 1st, everyone chooses blindly one of those 9 days. Depending on the weather of the chosen day, your year will be either good or bad.

Even if Baba Dochia's segment is a bit longer, these are still just introductions. Hope they helped! If anyone is interested in reading more about Romanian folklore and mythology, I recommend these books:

Vulcănescu, Romulus (1987). "Mitologie română". (in Romanian)

Olteanu, Antoaneta (2023). "Mitologie română". Vol. 1-3 (in Romanian)

Anything by Simion Florea Marian

Pamfilie, Tudor (1914). "Sărbătorile la români" (in Romanian)

Chelariu, Ana (2023). "Romanian Folklore and its Archaic Heritage" (in English)

Rămâi curat, luminat, ca argintul strecurat!

[deancashorrorfest]

Step right up to another wondrous round of DeanCas Horrorfest! The writers and the artists have collaborated to make this year one for the history books. We've got ghouls, we've got monsters, we've got blood, we've got gay love --- And when I say you shouldn't miss this, I mean you really don't want to miss this collection of spooky stories... you really don't know what could happen if you do 🤡🔪 I'd like to thank all our contributors for keeping the spirit of samhain alive and well. DeanCas Horrorfest would be nothing without enthusiastic cult members participants like you. ❤ So, without further ado...

You Better Not Stay || Rated E

story by @friendofcarlotta with art by @demeters-sketchbook

Recent high school graduates Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak have been friends since childhood, and dating in secret for a little over a year. But their relationship has an expiration date: Cas is leaving town, and Dean… well, Dean isn’t. Not with his dad breathing down his neck and a family business to run. 

For their final date, Dean takes Cas to the old skating rink where they used to spend time as kids. What Dean doesn’t know is that when the rink closed down, something else took up residence there. And it won’t let them go without a fight. Link to Fic || Link to Art

The (After) Life of the Party || Rated M

story by @thebatmandiaries with art by @milfycas

After a fight with Sam one night, Dean wakes up in a world he is unfamiliar with. This world only has one rule: kill or be killed. As a designated Killer, he must kill all the Survivors before they have a chance to complete their task. If he doesn’t, he ruins the risk of becoming a Survivor himself. With the help of Charlie and Benny, other Killers, he slowly finds his footing in the new world he was thrust into. If only there wasn’t a strange blue eyed man to distract him… Link to Fic || Link to Art

Danger In The Mirror || Rated M

story by @dwinchester1979 with art by @keikakudom

Castiel is pulled through the mirror into a nightmare. Now his husband has to cover for his mysterious missing presence as he desperately tries to get Castiel back. Can they figure out the secret of the mirror before time runs out, or will Castiel have to face the girl with the silver dagger all alone?  Link to Fic || Link to Art

The Beginning || Rated E

story by @valleydean with art by @hawkland

One year ago, soon after Lucifer was freed from the Cage, Dean and Sam parted ways. Since then, Dean has been hunting on his own and, along with Cas despite his declining grace, searching for a way to prevent the apocalypse. When the outbreak of the Croatoan virus begins, Dean and Cas head to Bobby’s to plan their next move. On the way, as the contagion rapidly spreads through America, they must contend with the rabid infected, martial law, and humans who will do anything to ensure their own survival. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Clutch || Rated M

story by @dogfishmonger with art by @dolgoyangi

Dean is a normal, stable man in his 20s: He has a job. He has a boyfriend of three years, even if they're on the rocks. He has a little brother in pre-law. There are, simultaneously, things in his upbringing that he simply isn't supposed to question: His father's unexplained, undefined trips out of state. His mother's death. The body he once found in the basement. When Sam runs off in search of answers, Dean and Cas head east to find him. But after catching up with him, something's... different. Wrong. Dean and Cas are at odds—again—with Dean believing that Sam could be in danger, and Cas suspicious that Sam is the danger. Returning to normalcy will involve more digging into forbidden territory than Dean was ever prepared for. In the end, he doesn't even know if it was worth it. They're left with just as many questions as answers, and the answers they do have are ugly, insidious things, glistening oil-spill black and undulating. Link to Fic || Link to Art

The Void Within || Rated E

story by @preetkiran1016 with art by @sketcheun

Dean's still getting used to the ache of loss and grief burning a hole into his chest. Still not used to the empty space where his brothers used to be. His life is a day to day drudgery, the eternal crawl, and since Cas broke up with him, he's not quite sure what he's got left to stick around for. When Jack and Claire go missing, well, he can't just sit back and watch. Digging deeper, Dean finds himself caught in the middle of a complicated web he can't hope to begin to untangle. Missing Kids, Doomsday Cults, and the sudden return of Castiel in his life have Dean spiraling, even with his trusted Service Dog, Miracle, by his side. But the one question remains, above all others- Who were the Men of Letters, and what were they doing in Lawrence? Dean doesn't think he's going to like the answer. Link to Fic || Link to Art

The Crawling Dark || Rated T

story by @sylvanfreckles with art by @cactus-79

Dean was hoping for a straightforward case, something that would let him and Castiel have a little private time together. But what they found in the caves beneath Delving, Colorado was a stinking labyrinth of a death and decay, with an ancient horror at its heart. At the mercy of the darkness around them, Dean and Castiel must face a creature of immeasurable strength and insatiable hunger, with light as their only salvation. After all, it is better to light a candle than to curse the crawling dark. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Apres Moi, Le Deluge || Rated M

story by @folkbloodbaths with art by @an-android-in-a-tutu

Dean and Sam are on a camping trip, and they haven’t been home in a few days. When a sudden rainstorm and an injured ankle have them seeking shelter, an abandoned ranger’s cabin offers an unexpected port in the storm. Except, the abandoned cabin isn’t abandoned. Is its occupant, Castiel, just a recluse, or is he someone — or something — more sinister? Dean can’t help but feel drawn to him, even as he begins to have strange and terrible dreams about rising flood waters and a canopy of billowing black wings. And still, the rain continues to fall. Link to Fic || Link to Art (cw for flashing gif)

For Crying Out Loud || Rated M

story by @rowanspn with art by @solstheimart

Their relationship is perfect. At least, it was once. After a harrowing rescue from the depth of the Empty, a heartfelt reunion, and a breath of reciprocation, Castiel and Dean started to live life as they deserved. However, every Winchester knows that happiness does not stay long, not for that bloodline anyway. One night, following a fight worse than ever before, a terrible accident rips Castiel's life, and heart, in two. The guilt threatens to consume him but there is something far darker hiding in the shadows of his home. Will Castiel find a way to survive the ache in his chest or will the evil within his lonely walls kill him before it gets the chance? Link to Fic || Link to Art

Shall We Begin Again? || Rated E

story by @livingonaprayerstiel with art by @blanchescarlettm

Castiel is rescued from the Empty and wants to pick up where he left off with Dean. But, it is soon revealed that the Empty is not as gone as it seems. Castiel will have to find out who or what can be trusted as he acclimates to his new life. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Tenebrous || Rated E

story by @deancodedcastielenby with art by @hawkland

The war is over, Chuck is done and it's now the time where the Winchesters get peace... or is it. The war against God may be over, but that doesn't mean smooth sailing. Jack promises to be hands off, but there is a storm coming almost 12 years in the making. Sam knows something is wrong with Dean, it started out small, but now.... now it's become a problem so he enlists the aid of Rowena and Eileen, the only ones he can count on, to help him solve the mystery of Dean Winchester before its too late. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Conversion || Rated E

story by @bleuzombie with art by @nickelkeep

In order to avoid a jail sentence trans man Dean agrees to attend religious-based residential treatment for 90 days. Dean fights to maintain his sense of self as he is attacked mentally, and physically, and fights to protect his new friends Charlie and Castiel. Soon the treatment turns to torture. Jail would have been preferable. Link to Fic || Link to Art

The Elevator Game || Rated E

story by @motherofdragonflies with art by @xfancyfranart

The game is simple. Get in an elevator, and follow the rules. If you follow them correctly, the elevator will rise and when the doors open, they will open onto a world that is not your own. When his brother goes missing after investigating the death of a teenage girl in a hotel in St. Louis, Dean Winchester is dismayed to discover it involved an internet legend called “the Elevator Game”. He’s even more dismayed when Castiel—who walked away weeks ago and hasn’t been returning Dean’s calls—shows up, also looking for Sam. Dean doesn’t want to work with Castiel, and Castiel doesn’t seem thrilled about working with him, either. Can they put their differences aside when they discover that Sam disappeared after playing the Elevator Game? Will Dean and Castiel play the game and travel to the Other World themselves? Will they find Sam before it's too late? The choice, dear reader, is yours. You are in control of the story. But choose wisely, for once you play the Elevator Game, things may never be the same again. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Like Ivy || Rated E

story by @abi-cosmos with art by @soloarcana

Dean Winchester was raised to be a killer, but after losing his brother Sam, he could do with a chance to lay low and rest up. Luckily, a 'roommate wanted' advertisement stuck to the window of a coffee shop leads him to Castiel, a professor at a local college who offers him three weeks' accommodation. At first, Castiel gets under Dean's skin, but they soon develop a friendship within the isolated house they're living in. Despite how haunted he is by his past, or how Castiel seems able to read his mind, Dean feels drawn to him and can't help but take things further. But Dean isn't the only one with secrets, and the line between friendship, love, and obsession gets bloody and blurry. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Rough Trade || Rated E

story by @squirrelofcelestialintent with art by @alicetallula

Dean is used to doing what he has to in order to get by, especially whenever his tough, temperamental father kicks him out during one of his rages. Even if it means getting on his knees for a little extra cash. He can take care of himself. He always knew the dangers of a trick going sideways, and he accepted it. What he didn’t expect was for someone to burst out of the darkness and save his sorry ass. Least of all a weird, nerdy little dude who seems to have just as many secrets as Dean and doesn’t know how to use a vending machine. Dean has street smarts and Castiel has (a little) cash. They’re both headed for the west coast to find their families. Teaming up seems like a safe bet. But the more time Dean spends with Cas, the weirder he seems. And the more he suspects that what he saw Cas do to his attacker on the day that he saved him - the terrible, inhuman thing - wasn’t a trauma induced hallucination after all. Screw it. With someone on their tail, Dean’s going to find out who his real enemies are soon enough. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Autumn Obscurum || Rated M

story by @xiejie-liubo with art by @hawaii-shirt-queer

Bartholomew's Bend is a quiet, ordinary place where ordinary people live their ordinary lives. Nothing of note ever happens, and all of the citizens are content to keep it that way. However, their tranquility is shattered when a series of disappearances startles the town's denizens, coinciding with the arrival of the Carnivale Obscurum and its proprietors, Asmodeus and Sands. Inspired by Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes Link to Fic || Link to Art

Can You See Me? || Rated T

story by @kingdumbass with art by @ephemerastardust

Sioux Falls, South Dakota. 1995. After being stowed with their Uncle Bobby for the foreseeable future, Dean and Sam set out to make the most of their summer ‘vacation’. When they aren’t filling warm afternoons splashing in the creek, riding their bicycles, or suffering through old TV reruns, they’re in for cleanup duty.  Namely, sorting through all of Bobby’s old crap.  One day, while rummaging through the long-forgotten attic, Sam discovers an antique spirit board and convinces a skeptical Dean to try summoning a spirit. The results of which turn out to be a little more supernatural than Dean bargained for. Link to Fic || Link to Art

Link to Ao3 Collection

Happy Halloween! 🎃👻

[choicesficwriterscreations]

CFWC F/AtoW: Aug 4 - 10, 2024

✒️ = Fanfic | 📱 = Text Fics/Edits | 🎨 = Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+ 🏳️‍🌈 = LGBTQIA+

BLADES OF LIGHT AND SHADOW

Bonds of Sea and Fire (Series) ✒️ | Tyril Starfury x F!Elf!MC - @missameliep Chapter 2

THE DEADLIEST GAME

Love isn’t something you find 🎨 | Jun Seong x F!MC - @weetlebeetle C: @storyofmychoices

Through the Pain ✒️ | Jun Seong x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

THE ELEMENTALISTS

A Brush of Magic ✒️ | Beckett Harrington x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

THE FRESHMEN

The Graduate (Series) ✒️🔥Ⓜ | Chris Powell x F!MC - @eadanga Chapter 5

IMMORTAL DESIRES

Book 2 Cover 🎨🏳‍🌈 | M!Cas Harlow x F!MC x F!Gabe Adalhard - @rjschoicesstuff

LAWS OF ATTRACTION

When Love Lasts (Series) ✒️ | Gabe Ricci x F!MC - @eadanga Chapter 11

OPEN HEART

And Baby Makes Three 📱 | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @genevievemd

Bitter Brunch ✒️ | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @jerzwriter

If It Were Canon...AU (Series) ✒️ | Tobias Carrick x F!MC - @jerzwriter Second Thoughts

Mono~poly (Series) ✒️ | Multiple Pairings - @jerzwriter Chapter 4: Moving On Tobias Carrick x F!MC

Say It ✒️ | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @alj4890

The Garden Party 📱 | Tobias Carrick x F!MC - @jerzwriter

The Next Chapter ✒️ | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @liaromancewriter

RED CARPET DIARIES

Only Her ✒️ | Thomas Hunt x F!MC - @storyofmychoices

THE ROYAL ROMANCE

Can't Take My Eyes Off of You (Series) ✒️ | Maxwell Beaumont x Olivia Nevrakis - @alj4890 Chapter 7

Ghosted (Series) ✒️ | Liam Rys x F!MC - @kristinamae093 Chapter 12: Betrayal

Princesa Real 2 (Series) ✒️ | Liam Rys x F!MC - @belencha77 Chapter 20: Caminos Cruzados Chapter 21: Sorpresas en Roma Chapter 22: El Último Brillo Chapter 23: Final Agridulce Chapter 24: Secretos y Desfiles

Savage Love (Series) ✒️ | Drake Walker x F!MC, Liam Walker x F!MC - @angelasscribbles Chapter 28: Here Comes The Bride?

[destieltaggedfic]

Hello!! I've been watching a lot of Law And Order recently, do you have any recommendations for fics where Dean and Cas are detectives/cops?

Good luck on the L&O binge. While I don't mind fic where they are police or detectives my preference in that scenario is when only one is.

Kiss the Baker – Ltleflrt   Ao3

AU.  When cop Dean finds a bakery he becomes a regular customer, partly for the delicious treats and partly for the good looking owner who tests the theory that Dean is straight.  Cas is captivated by the handsome cop who might be an alternative to the fuckbuddies situation he has going on. 

Word Count: 113k                            Graphic Sexual Acts

Won't Be Me - mattzerella_sticks   Ao3

AU.  A change in department rules about colleagues dating each other is a shock because Dean & Cas have been keeping their relationship secret.  They don’t want to break up so the only thing to do is try and get the other fired.

Word Count: 9k                                 Non-Graphic Sex

Happily Ever After – Castielslostwings   Ao3

AU.  For years, Sam has had to watch the bizarrely close friendship between Dean and Cas.  Finally he and Charlie decide to get them together using as many Disney tropes as they can think of.

Word Count: 31k                              Graphic Sexual Acts

Partnered - K_K_TiBal   Ao3

AU.  They used to be partners until Cas was promoted above Dean and turned into a by-the-book cop.  Then they were sent into an undercover case where they had to pretend to be married.

Word Count: 28k                              No Sex

Tuesday Night at Olive Garden - the_oncoming_stormageddon   Ao3

AU.  Detective Dean Winchester’s prime suspect in the murder of Chuck Shurley is his nephew Castiel and he will get evidence by any way possible, including by dating the suspect.

Word Count: 38k                              Non-Graphic Sex

[chloeangelic]

Why does it seem like everything you've put out lately is just trying to rip off netherfeildren? Like the art, the plots, the aesthetics... Especially weird since you used to seem to always hype them up

I went back and forth on responding to this but I’ve decided to because I don’t appreciate having my integrity questioned. I kind of expected that I'd get something like this because there are some thematic similarities between Seeking and SWITBOSH. However, I won’t respond publicly to anything else like this cause I think we’re all very over The Discourse, and tbh it’s a massive fucking insult to accuse me of ripping someone off when I’ve spent seven months writing ca 200k words of fic and developing my own unique style of writing. If you can’t see the difference between two writers, just because they write emotional depth and full sentences, then please read an actual book and not just brainrot fic. I’m gonna properly address everything under the cut - anon domming is back on the menu today. 

That being said, because this feels weird and uncomfortable for me and likely for Vic, I’m turning off anons for the time being and I’m taking a posting break to decide whether I want to continue posting here at all or continue posting purely on AO3. I post there anyways under the same name. If you still have a bone to pick with me or my writing, please message me directly. Please do NOT pester Vic about this, I know very well that she does not enjoy The Discourse or any sort of drama. Everyone is sick of the copying discourse - please have some trust in writers’ self awareness. 

Firstly, the words “recently” and “plots” should be defined here - I personally don’t see how stepdaddy Joel, pornstar Tim, sex addict Dieter, baby daddy Javi or any of Love Me back is similar to her works at all. The Seeking teaser I posted yesterday was similar to her Pink teasers purely because it had text on a photo - my text wasn’t even from the fic, it was a quote that represented the series as a whole and the quote that finally made the series crystallize in my head. It’s the quote I want people to have in the back of their mind when they go into reading it - it’s from the song that I consider the series theme. Our formatting is not the same. Yes, I have quotes at the beginning of the chapters - my friend sent me a bunch of poems and a couple, I felt were relevant to the story so I wanted to add them somehow. Several writers do this. I stopped putting in previews above the cut cause it was making it difficult for me to write the beginning of the chapters. My masterlist art is the same as, like.. Everyone’s else’s masterlist post - the norm on here is to have an artwork from Pinterest, the title slapped on top and the writer’s name. I literally just loved Pascalisbaby’s masterlist art so much I decided to do it too. 

When you say plots, I’m assuming you’re drawing parallels between Seeking what is desirable and Someone’s Wife in the Boat of Someone’s Husband because cheater!Joel (or maybe even Pink cause DDLG, but I’m literally in a DDLG-type dynamic irl and I decided to incorporate it into a fic for once - there were CLEAR ddlg undertones in Love Me Back, it just wasn’t explicit. I also wrote several chapters of Seeking before Pink even came out, and I wrote a cheating + father in law oneshot this summer). 

The MC in Seeking is based on myself and my own life, moving away from my parents in order to live with my boyfriend at the time very far away, who ended up being extremely absent and shitty. MC+Jeremiah relationship is based on Adam and Hermine from EXIT, Jeremiah is based on Tony Soprano, Gwen is based on Janice Soprano + a story I heard from my cousin about how his wife let him do all the childcare while she went on a women’s retreat. They are not in a marriage of convenience, the MC doesn’t feel bad about the affair at all, she never pushes him away, and Gwen has no plans on leaving. Sarah and Ellie are both 16 and living with Joel in Seeking. The MC does not have similarities to Sarah like she does in Love Me Back (which was also literally based on my own life) or Someone’s.

MC is a teacher who cheats with Joel - so is the MC in my post outbreak series I wrote many months ago. They're drawn to each other immediately cause I hate slow burn fics and I didn't feel like writing two chapters of him fucking someone else this time around. She goes out intending to cheat, and he thinks it'll sustain him for the next several years. The first thing I thought up in this entire series was Jeremiah - I had his character crystallized in my head for weeks before I planned anything else.

Of course Joel is unhappy in his marriage - neither Vic or myself would write a Joel who cheats for fun, that’s just not something either of us finds interesting. It actually started as a Sopranos AU, but I decided against going that route cause I don’t know enough about white collar crime. Also, if you are familiar with my writing you’ll know I love writing infidelity - it shouldn’t be a surprise that I’m writing a series with this as the central theme. The central question for Seeking is when is it okay to cheat? That’s what the entire fic is about. It’s not about him finding the love of his life after marrying someone else (like the summary of Someone’s), it’s about two instances of cheating and how we justify those two scenarios. Of course it has a happy ending - I’ve used up my non-happy ending quota for the year. 

I’m not sure what you mean by aesthetics - Vic actually edits really nice graphics for all of her Mando chapters. She spends a bunch of time on those, and you’re doing a disservice to her by overlooking how unique her artwork is and how much effort it takes. She also made really cool teasers for Pink. I’m way too lazy for any of that, I just slam a moodboard together. I started doing 3 slot moodboards cause the 6-7 slot ones were a hassle. The fact that only art pieces are used in this series is half coincidence, half me being sick of trying to fit Pedro pics into the moodboards when the colors are often wrong. 

I literally texted with her when I planned this series, saying I was afraid people would accuse it of being a ripoff of Someone’s, purely due to the Joel infidelity + uninterested wife factor, and she did not think the overall plot was similar enough to be of concern. I still hype her up, she just doesn’t post as often now so I don’t reblog as often, that’s pretty simple. I’ve also asked Iris, my editor, SEVERAL TIMES if it reads too similar to Someone’s or anything Vic has written - she is extremely familiar with both of our works and she did not think so. What exactly am I supposed to do when I’ve gotten the green light from everyone? 

This specific anon didn’t mention the actual writing, though, which is funny and it makes sense because I don’t write like Vic and I don’t try to. Her vocabulary is way larger than mine, the diction and syntax are not similar at all. She actually uses metaphors, I use them very rarely and only when it’s super dramatic. My writing isn’t poetic, it’s not flowery, it’s not formal - it’s literally just how I think inside my own head. When I read my own writing, I imagine Charles Gross doing a dramatic reading. I learn like one new word every month and eventually I’ll add it to my writing when it’s something I’m confident using irl. She has a lot of depth to her fics, I also try to write with emotional depth - I’m sorry if that’s unfamiliar in a landscape of dbf porn with no plot and 5 word sentences (I’m shading my own first series here). Seeking reads more similar to the first series I ever wrote, which I never posted, than anything else I’ve written. Half of Seeking is also straight up daydreaming sequences cause that’s literally how I think - the MC lives a boring life and daydreams, so do I. 

I’ve learned a ton from reading Vic’s stuff - I don’t read that much irl cause I rarely find English novels captivating, but her writing has really made an impression on me. I talk constantly about how much her writing makes me cry, and it really does. Reading her stuff has absolutely influenced me to be more confident about weaving in actions and little plot points that are more vulnerable and personal to myself, and that adds a lot of depth it otherwise wouldn’t. I’m very inspired by her, of course I am - but I know the difference between being inspired and trying to leech. 

I’m sorry my writing style has developed. I’m sorry I no longer write like I did in April, with matter-of-factly short sentences and little emotional depth. I have short series and long series because some plots deserve more emotional depth and some don’t need it. I wouldn’t bother writing anymore if all I did was shady lawyer Joel or Father Joel and I never improved. 

If you don’t enjoy my writing, please just unfollow. I’ve seen other fics on this platform that read similar to mine, some that have exactly the same plot points/origin stories, and at no point have I thought they were ripping me off. At some point, this specific fandom needs to realize that it’s possible for two writers to have similar ideas without it being one person copying the other. My personal opinion is that if you copy someone’s plot, you won’t be able to execute it well because you don’t have the ideas necessary to actually flesh it out. If you’re familiar with my writing, you know damn well I’m capable of coming up with my own ideas and plots. I feel zero need to rip other people's in order to gain traction - I have enough followers and idgaf how many notes anything gets. Please don’t overestimate my ability to give a fuck about my popularity in this fandom. 

Anyways, thanks for making me want to vomit, anon, you truly made me feel like shit today and I hope you have a great night! I’m not sure how much I’ll be checking tumblr for a while so feel free to message me on discord under the same name.