#‘politics how tiresome’

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

Let’s Make Our Voices and Actions Count

Now in light of this election’s results, I just wanna say the following,

Yes it looks very Very bad

Yes there’s rightfully a whole lot to be alarmed about with what this upcoming administration plans to do once in office

Yes I totally understand all those anxieties and worries about said administration’s ruthless and callous ambitions even for citizens that should’ve theoretically been in the clear of their wrath

BUT

This is not a moment to give in to despair and hopelessness.

This is not a moment to just surrender everything we are and even our right to live just because of the society our electorate chose

(Side note of your considering that latter option I Implore you to look up and call this hotline: https://988lifeline.org/help-someone-else/

You are loved and we are here for you)

This is not a moment to weep

This is a moment to get determined.

This is a moment to get loud and resolved

This is a moment to realize our fight for justice has gotten tougher BUT it’s still a fight

This is a moment to let that administration and its cronies know whatever they’d pull and play fast and loose with the rules over the American people won’t be an easy one at all, because we are still all here and we’ll make them know by our words and peaceful organized noncooperation with them

This is a moment….to make it count.

And Folks, Friends, Acquaintances, Ladies, Gentlemen, and to all persons of all types, creeds, faiths, cultures, lifestyles, etc, We Can All Make It Count

That all having been said though, also in light of this year’s election,

[maddie-grove]

It just always bums me out when people don’t take Elizabeth Bennet’s desire not to replicate her parents’ marriage seriously. I would argue that a marriage of mutual respect was even more important in an era where a woman’s material well-being was so completely tied to her husband’s decisions, not less.

[daxite]

oh my fucking christ i am so goddamn fucking tired of seeing shit about the election

[monitorchakas]

Cats too

[angstywaifu]

Bondage - Azriel

Request/Prompts - "I want to ruin you.” & "A little biting never hurt anybody.” Summary: You need rescuing from someone at Starfall, and Mor sends in the Shadowsinger. Little did they know a certain bond would snap into place as he looks you in the eye. Unable to process his emotions, Azriel winnows you to his room where a night neither of you will forget takes place. Warnings: smut, nsfw, 18+, pet names, oral (f receiving), shadow play, bondage

Kinktober MasterList

As per usual Rhys and Feyre had gone all out for Starfall this year. The House of Wind full decorated for the occasion. Ever since Nyx was born they had always gone all out for any holidays, clearly wanting to give him the best memories. And I wasn’t complaining, I loved the holidays. But especially Starfall.

A soft knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts and I turn to see Mor stepping inside. As per usual, she looks beautiful. The blue dress she’d chosen for the occasion hugged her figure beautifully, and the colour look amazing on her.

She grins widely at me as she approaches, hands already reaching out to touch my dress. Most of the girls opted for lighter colours for Starfall to represent the souls passing on. But this year’s I had opted for something darker. A sheer black dress, lace strategically placed to cover me, and black sequins scattered across the fabric that caught the light perfectly.

“Holy shit, you look gorgeous.” She explains as her fingers run over the fabric. “Trying to catch a certain males attention?”

I roll my eyes at her, turning back to the mirror as fasten my necklace. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look nice, especially when Feyre has gone all out.”

“That wasn’t a no Y/N,” she teases, catching her smile in the mirror as she peers over my shoulder.

“And it wasn’t a yes.” I say sternly as I turn to face her. “If it was going to happen, it would have. So I figure, may as well get out there you know.”

I catch what almost looks like sadness in her eyes, but she’s quick to hide it as she smiles at me and nods.

“Well I can assure you, you’re definitely going to get someone to notice you tonight. If you leave tonight without a date I’ll be surprised.” She reaches out and grabs my hand. “So let’s go get you a drink and out there and mingling.”

And drinking and mingling is what we did. Though once Emerie had arrived Mor had excused her self to go say hello. That was over an hour ago. And now I no longer had her to help me escape conversations that weren’t going well.

The male in front of me currently was bragging about his business and all the money had made. Clearly trying to impress me with it. I do my best to smile and nod, making polite comments where I can, but it was becoming tiresome.

I cast my gaze across the crowd and finally catch the eyes of Mor who was clearly looking over to see how I was going. I do my best to convey I need help with a slight nod towards the male who was too enamoured by his own story to notice. She nods before holding up a finger to signal she needs a minute before she turns and rushes off into the crowd. What the hell could she need a minute for? Usually Mor would just march over and pull me away. What was she up to?

A few seconds later I get my answer. A familiar feeling of a shadow swirling around my arm tingles my skin causing me to shiver slightly. And as the male in front of me turns his head, eyes going wide, I know how Mor as chosen to rescue me.

“Sorry to intrude,” Azriel’s smooth voice announces from next to me as he falls into place next to me. “But I need to borrow Y/N here for some official Night Court business.”

The male nods quickly before scampering off into the crowd, clearly intimidated by Azriel. And I couldn’t blame him. With his height, build and wings, Azriel looked intimidating. And his reputation as the Spy Master didn’t help either.

“You didn’t have to scare him off,” I joke, placing my empty glass down on the bar before turning to Azriel.

As I meet his gaze his shadows rush over my, causing my to tear my eyes from him as I start giggling and watching them. Causing me to miss the way Azriel’s eyes widen.

By the time he’s recalled them his face is withdrawn and reserved, a look I rarely see on him unless he’s working.

“You ok Az?” I ask, stepping forward to place a hand on his arm.

Azriel was usually one to welcome my touch, but he goes rigid as I place my hand on him. I withdraw my hand before looking up at him, noting the wild look in his eyes and the way his nostrils flare.

“Az, what’s wro-“

My words are cut short as Azriel grasps my wrist in his hand, pulling me close before the familiar feeling of winnowing washes over me. I stumble forward in to Azriel, clutching the front of his shirt as his smell engulfs me. Despite being so close to him I know it’s not that. And as I look around I notice we’re in his room. Which I barely have time to register before a yelp escapes my lips as he pins me to the door.

I open my mouth to speak, but a change in smell has me falling silent. It smelt like Azriel, but it was different. His scent far more potent and…. Sweet. Alluring. My eyes going wide at the realisation. I look up and meet his eyes, so blown out I can barely see any hazel in them. As if his shadows have consumed his eyes. There’s a hunger and want in them I’ve never seen when he’s looked at me before. But now it’s as if he’s fighting back the urge to claim me. To make me his. A similar feeling washing over me, that doesn’t feel entirely like my own feelings. A feeling I’ve only had described to me by Feyre and Nesta. As if sensing my realisation, a small tug pulls in my chest. As if connected to someone else who’s pulling on the other end. I imagine tugging back, Azriel’s eyes widening, his shadows going frantic in response as if also affected by the new bond.

Azriel leans down, closing his eyes as he rests his forehead on mine as he breathes deeply. “Sorry for reacting like that, it just took me by surprise.” His voice sounds strained, as if he’s holding himself back.

“It’s ok Az, you don’t need to be sorry.” I say softly as I loosen my grip on his shirt slightly,

He shakes his head slightly. “No, it was inappropriate. Especially in front of all those people. I…. I let my emotions get the better of me.”

I reach up and lay a hand on his cheek, his still blown out eyes looking down at me through his lashes. “Would it be so bad to let those emotions take over?” My voice barely above a whisper.

He exhales heavily, holding in a breath I hadn’t realised he was holding. “Yes Y/N, it would. Because right now every fibre of my being wants to claim you as mine. Claim you as my mate. I want to ruin you.”

His words ignite a fire in me. My body reacting to his words and the new mating bond. I watch as his nostrils flair, noting the change in my scent. The sweetness of my arousal now heavy in the air as it melds with his.

I step forward, closing the small gap between Azriel and I, his hands dropping from where they’re braced on the door either side of my head to rest on my hips. “That doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

The only warning I get is his fingers digging into my hips before his mouth is one mine, my back hitting the door again as he walks us back. I shiver as his shadows weave around us, as if joining us together even more. The kiss is desperate and needy, filled with longing and lust. Both of us fighting for dominance in the kiss. A fight I win as I weave my fingers into his hair, tugging on the soft black locks, causing Azriel to go rigid as he groans deeply. And it’s all I need to take control of the kiss, spinning us so Azriel’s back hits the door. My hands trailing from his hair down to the buttons of his shirt, my fingers fumbling to get the buttons undone.

I gasp as a cold sensation runs down my back, something grabbing the ribbons holding me into the dress and tugging on the ends, loosening the corseted back. Confusion washes over me as I feel Azriel’s hands knead the flesh of my hips. And as I break the kiss and look down, I confirm that his hands are still firmly on my hips. I feel the cold sensation on my shoulder, turning my head slightly I note the shadow caressing over my shoulder. I can’t help giggle as it continues to caress over my shoulder as Azriel nuzzles into my neck, light but desperate kisses trailing down my neck.

The shadows finally loosen the dress, the fabric falling from my body as the ribbon gives way. Instantly Azriel pushes me back slightly to look at me. I go to cover myself, suddenly feeling embarrassed under his intense gaze. His shadows are far faster than me though, wrapping around my wrists and binding my hands behind me. The movement causing my shoulders back, pushing my breasts out towards Azriel as he eyes them hungrily.

He lunges at me, hands grasping the back of my thighs as he picks me up. Thankfully his shadows disappear from my wrists allowing me to grasp onto Azriel as he walks us backwards towards his bed before dropping my down onto the sheets. My arousal peaking as he looks down at my hungrily, his shirt half undone giving me a glimpse at the hardened and toned muscles beneath. As if sensing where my gaze lingers, he quickly loosens the last of the buttons before tossing the shirt to the floor. I go to sit up, hand raised to help him with his pants, but they’re suddenly yanked above my head. His cold shadows wrapping around my wrists again. I turn my head to watching them secure themselves around the posts of the bed, leaving me at the mercy of the Illirian at the end of the bed.

A yelp escapes my lip as teeth lightly nip at my inner thigh, head snapping back to see Azriel eyeing my hungrily from where he now lays between my legs. “You’re ok love, a little bitting never hurt anybody.” His voice barely above a whisper before he nips at my inner thigh again, this time a moan slipping from my lips as my legs go to clamp around his head before his shadows anchor them to the other bed posts.

Now I was definitely fully at the mercy of Azriel and his shadows. I whimper as he kisses all around where I want him, where I need him, shadows caressing my inner thighs. The mix of the two already having my quivering and pulling at the shadows tying me to the bed.

”P-please Az.” My voice breathy as I plead to him.

”Please what love?” He coos back as his lips ghost over me.

”I need you s-so badly. P-please.” I plead again, my voice full of lust and need.

He looks up at me, smirking in a way that tells me I’m in for a long night. “Where do you need me love? What do you need?”

I almost growl in frustration at him as I pull at the shadows. Bastard. “I need you to touch me, need you inside me. I need you.”

”Of course my love.”

His words the only warning I get before his mouth is on me, his tongue diving between my legs as he kisses me. A moan instantly leaving my lips as he goes down on me. Lips sucking at my clit, tongue lapping over the bundle of nerves, his shadows caressing over my body. I was already a mess, and he’d barely started. Back arching off the bed as much as it could due to his shadows still tying me up, my fingers grasping at what I can of his sheets as I try to anchor myself while Azriel eats me out liked a starved man.

I cry out as his fingers are added to the mix. Azriel who was usually shy about his hands was the complete opposite now as he used them skilfully to bring me closer to my climax. The scars he usually hid bringing an extra element to the mix. And as he curls his fingers inside, I thrash against the restraints, my body desperate to tip over the edge, to grasp onto something to anchor myself as I come undone on Azriel’s mouth.

My attempts to do so had not gone unnoticed by him, his chuckle vibrating through me. “Look at you, so desperate to tip over the edge, so desperate to touch me. Do you want to touch me love?”

”Yes!” I cry out. “Gods yes Azriel.”

”Then be a good girl and cum for me love, and then you can have what you want.”

And as he sucks on my clit, adding another finger that he curls inside, I tumble over the edge. My climax coming and going in waves, a wave that is Azriel. All I can sense is him. His touch as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of me, his lips pressing soft kisses to my stomach, his scent thick in the air with his own arousal, and his feelings pouring into me from the mating bond. My moans echoing around the room as I ride out the wave.

As I come down from my climax, his shadows release my wrists and ankles, my body relaxing into the soft bed as I catch my breath. But a clink of a belt has me rising up on my elbows. At the end of the bed Azriel drops his belt to the floor with a loud thud before unclasping his pants, letting them drop to the floor as he exposes himself to me. My bottom lip dragging through my bottom teeth as I take in the sight before me as he kneels on the bed, hand lazily stroking up and down his length as his shadows billow around him.

”Are you going to touch me love? Or am I going to take care of this myself?”

@idkimjusthere100 @strangeeaglepost @puttyly @kyl13sm1l3y @wildflowermooon @oliviajm21 @honethatty12 @lesehexe

[moonstruckme]

hi i have a request that you're obviously under no obligation to answer but i saw that you did a royal au for sirius and i was wondering if you'd be open to doing another?

something like they're in a secret relationship and they're at the same ball and trying to act like they're the picture of good behavior but sirius is being subtly flirty and a menace?

Thanks for requesting sweetheart! Slight deviation, they're not together but this takes place just a bit after the first one <3

prince!Sirius x princess!reader ♡ 2.2k words

Seeing as balls are generally marketed as the pinnacle of refinement, you hadn’t expected this to be so loud. 

Every time the hum of conversation rises, someone keeps telling the musicians to play louder too, until people have to raise their voices and it starts over again. A victor-less battle. You have an inkling that it might all be easier to handle if you had just a bit more wine, but you’re on your best behavior for your new family.

You try not to wrinkle your brow, leaning closer to the man in front of you as the violins crescendo. “Sorry?” you ask, politely as you can. 

A flicker of irritation crosses his face. You try not to wince. He tells you the title of his job again. 

“Ah.” You nod, trying to look as though you understand the importance of this jumble of fancy-sounding words. “That’s so interesting. What does that entail?” 

He’s thrilled you’ve asked. As the man launches into a thorough description of his day-to-day duties for the kingdom, you contemplate how surprisingly relevant a competence in lip-reading might be to your new role as princess. Is this something you’re going to have to do all of the time? You haven’t been able to make out half of what this man has said since he made his way over to you. 

It’s pointless anyway. As soon as you notice Sirius Black standing behind him, you’re gone. 

It’s been hardly a week since your illicit meeting with the Black heir. You’d munched on chicken nuggets, traded complaints about palace life and your wildly different upbringings. When a guard had come to fetch him back to his parents you’d hid behind the door, and to the best of your knowledge you’ve both pretended the meeting never happened ever since. 

Now, he’s dark and gleaming under the light from the chandelier. He smiles dashingly at someone shaking his father’s hand, standing beside both of his parents and slightly in front of another boy you suppose must be his brother. You haven’t actually seen anyone in his family before now, but the connection isn’t difficult to draw; they’re eerily similar. Pitch black hair and pale skin stretched tight over delicate bones. Most horrifying of all, they’re wearing identical shades of black, the homogeneity of the men’s suits too precise to be incidental, except…

Sirius’ suit jacket shimmers with a silver sheen in certain lights. 

Your lips curve before you can stop them. You hardly know him, but already this seems typical; he has to be different. Has to set himself apart. It’s less tiresome than it ought to be. 

As though your thoughts have been broadcast across the room, Sirius’ head turns minutely in your direction. His eyes catch you and hold you.

It’s lucky the man standing in front of you doesn’t seem to notice how your gaze has wandered. He chatters on, unaware that your palms have slickened or that your heart has started pittering fiercely inside your chest. Sirius says something to his companions and peels off. He starts towards you. 

You look back to your conversation partner, managing a nod of faux comprehension just before he reaches you. 

You let your eyes flare as he stops beside the two of you, willing some surprise into your expression, but your voice comes out even more startled than you intend when you hiccup out, “Your highness.” 

“Your highness,” Sirius says back, the faintest of smirks curving his lips as he inclines his head to you, then the man in front of you. “Lord Chamberlain.” 

Shit. How does he know this guy’s name and you don’t? 

Lord Chamberlain looks nearly as caught offguard by the prince’s notice as you are. “Your highness.” He puffs up. “I didn’t realize we would be enjoying your presence this evening.” 

“Yes, my brother was supposed to be the only one accompanying my parents on this visit.” Sirius sounds even more polished than the last time you spoke with him. There’s an easy grace to his posture, an inherent knowledge of the tiny moves that allow one to conform to the etiquette of this culture which you’re still struggling to grasp yourself. But his eyes flash when they meet yours, a glimpse of that waggish boy you met in the sitting room. “However, during my last visit I found an interest in your lovely kingdom I’ve not had before.” 

Lord Chamberlain begins to prattle on about the perfect astuteness of the prince, the many, many attractive qualities of your kingdom, few of which would be quite so perfect if not augmented by himself…Sirius nods with practiced diplomacy, waiting only for the man to take a breath before he turns his attention fully to you. 

“I hoped you might join me for a dance,” he says, leaning closer so he doesn’t have to raise his voice over the music. “The next one is about to start.” 

“Oh I’m not supposed—” You cut yourself off, eyes darting to the courtier monitoring you from the edge of the room. You imagine you’re not supposed to say what you’re not supposed to do. “I’m really not much for dancing.” 

“Come on.” Sirius’ expression is teasing. “It’s rude to turn down an invitation from your guests. Isn’t it, Lord Chamberlain?” 

Lord Chamberlain looks as though if Sirius proves that he knows his name another time he might be in danger of swooning. 

“Yes,” he chokes out. His eyes when they meet yours are something akin to desperate. “Princess, it’s good form.” 

You catch yourself chewing the inside of your lip, stopping as you look back to Sirius. You don’t think he would tattle on you for violating whatever atavistic rule requires you to dance with him, but Lord Bootlicker might. 

“All right,” you say. Far less polite than society allows, you’re sure, but Sirius grins nonetheless. 

“Excellent.” He takes your hand, leading you away. “Always a pleasure, Lord Chamberlain.” 

The other man stands where you left him for a handful of moments, looking dazed, before beelining towards a server carrying refreshments. 

“I don’t know any of the dances,” you hiss at Sirius as he guides you onto the floor. “I’m supposed to be staying away from here.” 

“It’ll be fine,” he promises you, with the sort of confidence only a silver spoon can imbue. “If you just follow in the direction I lead you, your dress will cover up any missteps and I promise not to squeal if you step on my toes.” 

You try to give him a droll look, but you can already feel it happening. You’re succumbing to his charms again. 

There are only a few other partners around you, but here in the center of the room the noise seems even more overwhelming. Conversations overlap, laughter rings out, and music echoes off every wall in the large room. And just in front of you, still holding your hand, Sirius Black is watching you with his flagrant intensity. Even his eyes are too loud. 

He leans close to your ear, breath fanning over your cheek. “Scoping out your dancing competency wasn’t really my aim,” he says. “I only wanted to get you close enough to have a conversation without shouting.” 

You fear your thoughts must be bare in your expression. That afternoon in the sitting room was certainly memorable for you, but you were far from expecting Sirus to single you out afterwards. For all his talk about the novelty of you, he seems like the sort of person to have interesting interactions wherever he goes. 

“Put your hand on my shoulder.” 

You blink. “Huh?” 

Sirius grins, and you realize your slip. No matter how the courtiers you’ve been assigned have drilled into you excuse me, sorry, pardon?, Sirius undoes all your practiced manners with ease. 

“Your hand,” he says again, “goes on my shoulder.”

Just as you settle it tentatively atop of the faintly shiny material of his suit jacket, the music starts. Sirius places a sure hand on the small of your back and grins when you jolt. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, taking your other hand and tugging you gently to the side. Everyone else steps that way too, and you let him lead you through the first steps of the dance. “I won’t bite. Not in front of your grandmother, anyway.” 

You press your lips together to hold in a laugh, eyes finding your grandmother, the Queen, watching you from across the room. She’s smiling faintly, but the courtiers with her look less than pleased. 

You swallow, turning your attention back towards Sirius. “They’re upset with me,” you say. It’s a relief to speak at a normal volume. You know your proximity means he’s the only one who can hear you. “I told you I’m not supposed to be dancing.” 

“They’re not upset that you’re dancing, they’re upset you’re with me,” he replies easily. He guides you into a turn that curls you into him, his arm laying across your chest for just a moment before he turns you back out. “I have a bit of a repute.” 

This, of all the things you’ve learned about Sirius Black, is the least surprising. 

“So, you’re trying to ruin me, then?” you ask, half teasing. 

Sirius grins sharp as a knife. He leans close. “Sweetheart, I want to ruin you in all sorts of ways. That’s just not one of them.” 

Your momentary confidence drops right down to your stomach. If you thought you’d be able to play with Sirius and keep up, clearly you were wrong. 

“We’re going to do a spin,” he warns breezily, saving you from any response. He lets go of your waist, holding your joined hands aloft and using them to guide you away from him and into a twirl.

Only, you go for it too quickly. You’re back in his arms while the other partners are still going through their slow turns. Sirius’ laughter barks out of him loud and sharp before he catches himself. 

“Oh my god,” you mumble, resting your forehead on Sirius’ chest and shutting your eyes in mortification. 

“Hey, it’s alright.” Sirius is still shaking with quiet laughter. His hand is friendly on the small of your back. “That was stunning. All the other ladies wish their skirts had fanned out the way yours just did.” 

“Is skirt fanning really the object of the dance, though?” 

“It’s eye-catching,” he maintains. You can hear the smile in his voice. “You can make anything lovely. Now stop hiding before one of your keepers has a stroke.” 

You remove your face from his chest hastily. Your eyes flit to the courtier at the room’s edge before you return them to Sirius, cheeks burning. 

His look softens. “Don’t fret, gorgeous, you’re not the only one who’s committed a faux-pas just now. That laugh earned me a proper glare from my mother. As soon as the dance is over, they’ll throw us into the dungeons together.” 

“Well, at least it’ll be nice to have someone to talk to down there.” You bite down on a smile. Sirius, you’re beginning to notice, has a way of making all your worries about fitting into polite society feel silly. Nothing feels very serious when he’s around. Ironically enough. “Do we really have a dungeon?” 

Another startled chuckle goes through him. This one is quiet enough not to raise any eyebrows, more’s the pity. “Not one currently in use. It’s a relic, with a door going out to the street so tours can go through.” He smiles, borderline sheepish. “I went on one when I was twelve.” 

“You did?” You can’t stop the smile that leaps up on your face now. It shouldn’t be so easy to picture Sirius as a child, but it surprisingly is. A bit shorter and skinnier than he is now, skin and bones and night-black hair darting around and causing trouble. It’s an odd feeling to think that he explored your family’s palace long before you could, somehow both twinging and reassuring at once. “Is there a reason you’ve been here so often?” 

Sirius looks genuinely surprised at that. “No one’s told you?” At your bemused look, he blinks, seeming to compose himself. His hand flattens on your back. You hadn’t realized he’d been gripping you. “Our families have been friends for literal centuries. My great-great-great-aunt was close with your great-great-whatever, and we’ve never let our claws out of each other.” He gives you a conspiratorial look, leaning closer. “I can’t attest to the relationship between the current ruling generations being quite so amicable, but we cling to each other nonetheless. Trade relations and all that. All that is to say,” he backs up, gifting you with a smile, “we really will be seeing a lot of each other.” 

“Oh.” Your chest flutters with an unidentifiable feeling. You don’t know if you can handle seeing much more of Sirius Black. Every time you meet, it’s like he whittles away all your weeks of training and posture correction with a look. You’ll never make any progress if he’s constantly around to trip you up. “That’s nice.” 

“You’re doing remarkably well,” he notes. You look up, for a moment worrying that he’s read your mind (he seems prone to doing that), but Sirius goes on. “I don’t know what you were talking about earlier, you’re a natural at this. My toes remain unsquished.” He gives you a secret smile. You return it wobbily. “There’s another spin coming up,” he says with a teasing glint in his eyes, “think you can handle it?” 

Honestly? You think you’re already dizzy enough. 

[leviraaaaaa]

“Levi!”

You barge through the door, all dramatic, gasping and panting, purposely exaggerating to get his attention. But not to your surprise, he didn’t even bother looking up.

“I suppose no one ever taught you, but there’s a concept called knocking.” He said, his eyes fully focused on the papers. His hand moving across it as he wrote. “It’s quite easy really, you raise your hand and—”

“Levi!” You cut him off, slamming the door behind you loudly. “Levi, my beloved, my savior in dark times, I am in need of your help.”

“Slamming the door isn’t very polite either. Your manners get worse everyday.”

You waved him off, shushing him. You made way across the room, where a couch sat not far from the desk he was sitting on, and flopped down face first. “Levi.” Your voice came out muffled.

“Ah yes, making yourself home I see.” He sighs.

“Levi, I need your help. Real bad.”

“No.”

“What–” You look up, raising your face from the cushions, offended. “You didn’t even–”

“No.” He repeated, eyes not leaving his work for even a second. “Please, get off my couch. Cleaning it is tiresome.”

“Levi.” You whined, impatient at his aloofness. “Levi, he’s going to kill me.”

“I’ll buy you a good coffin.”

“This isn’t funny.” You huffed. “I’m dead. Like literally. Absolutely. This is where it all ends.”

“I’d rather you not die on my couch.”

“Fuck your couch.” You flipped yourself, so you splayed on your back now. You tilted your head, staring at him. “Help me out. Please?”

Levi finally turns to look at you, unable to ignore you any longer. He frowned. “What?” He asked warily. “What did you do this time?”

“Promise me you’ll help me first.” You said.

“No.” He immediately rejects you. “What did you do? Did you get into a fight with an MP again?”

You shook your head.

“Blew up something in Hange’s lab?” He guessed.

“No. But I’d really rather it was Hange mad at me though.”

He looked at you confused, “Who did you piss off then? “

You grimaced. He was quick to conclude.

“Ah.” He realizes. “Erwin.”

A nod from you answers him.

“What did you do?”

“Ask me what I didn’t do.”

“What didn’t you do?”

“Work.” You sat up. “In my defense, it was a shit load of work. And I hate paperwork. And I kept procrastinating. And now it’s due by tomorrow and I didn’t remember until two minutes ago when Erwin shot a glare at me. And now I—”

“I’m not helping you.”

“Why not?” You demanded.

“It’s your fault. Don’t drag me into this shit.” He grumbles, scowling. “And you promised last time, you wouldn’t do this anymore. I’m not doing your work for you. I have enough on my plate.”

“Okay first of all, I’m not lazy. I was busy–”

“Ogling Garrison captains.”

“They’re pretty. And no, not the point, shut up.” You protested. “I was busy. And I didn’t come here so you could do it for me. I came here so you could go and talk to Erwin.”

Levi frowned, “Talk to him about what?”

“Tell him to give me one more day. Swear I’d work my ass off.”

“You said that last time too.” He pointed it out. “How angry is Erwin?”

You made a face. “Bad.”

“How bad?”

“He keeps glaring at me everytime I meet him. It’s the ‘if you don’t get it done this time, you’re gonna get in so much shit’ glare. It’s creeping me out.”

Levi scoffs, shaking his head. “Only you." He said. "Only you can possibly manage piss fucking Erwin off. The guy's a fucking monk, nothing affects him.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “If I had to guess, I’d say this isn’t the first time asking for an extension.”

“Err…” You ducked your face. “It was kinda supposed to be done 2 weeks ago.”

“2 weeks?” Levo looked at you incredulously. “No wonder he’s pissed. And you’re asking for more time?”

“One more day. Just one more day. Please Levi, he’ll listen to you.”

Levi stares at your pleading expression for a few seconds with narrowed eyes, considering. Thinking. Then he seemed to have made up his mind.

“No.”

“Wha—” You jerk upright. You really thought you’d convinced him.

“No. I’m not getting you out of the grave this time. Specially since you dug it yourself.” He returns his attention back to his work. “Good luck to you, but leave now. And learn a damn lesson.”

You stared at him, gaping. “Wow," You blinked you’re an asshole.”

“Congratulations for realizing that.”

You exhaled. Easy words won’t work, you knew. So, here comes plan A. Acting.

You pouted.

“Don’t look at me like that. I said what I said.”

You fluttered your lashes, all wide shiny eyes, about to cry.

“Get out before I start throwing shit at you.”

“Levi.” Plan B. Bribing.

“No.”

“Leeviii.”

“No.”

“Levi, aren’t you the sweetest, most dearest, my absolute favorite and delightful and super awesome with extra sugar on top bestiest best friend? Don’t be like that, c’mon.”

“Still no. And we’re not friends.”

“‘I’ll make you pie?” You offered.

“You can’t cook to save your life. No.”

"I'll give you hugs."

"I will slap you."

“Levi.” Plan C. Threatening.

He glares back at you.

"You do realize you could've used this time getting the report started instead of trying to convince me and actually might've manage to get it done?”

“I’ll read poetry to you.” You threatened.

Levi looks up, finally there’s a hint of alarm on his face. “No, you won’t.”

“I’ll make sure all your food touch.”

“Get out.”

“I’ll disorganize your bookshelf and fill it with those titan x scout love novels.”

He raised his middle finger at you.

“I will start telling you about all my exes.”

He cringed visibly.

Finally, you gave up. Dragging yourself off the couch, you slowly, pathetically, miserably made your way to the door. You knew that the odds were very low that Levi would actually help you this time, because he was right. You needed to learn a lesson. And it was your fault.

“Oi.”

Your hand was on the doorknob. “What?” You turned to look at him grumpily.

Levi was pinching the bridge of his nose, knitting his eyebrows together, irritated and annoyed. Like he was about to do something he regretted.

He let out a long exhale.

“Bring it here. I’ll help you.”

“What?” You asked, disbelief dripping from your tone. Were you dreaming?

“I’ll help you out. Just this time.” He grunts. “Don’t expect it again. And I’ll only guide you, you’re doing the most of it.”

Music to your ears.

“Really?”

“Go before I change my mind.” He huffed.

You broke into a wide grin, beaming up at him. “No wonder I love you.”

“The feeling is not mutual.”

“You’re the best,”

“Shut up.”

“The best. The most darling, the loveliest, the coolest, the–”

“10 seconds. I’m giving you 10 seconds.”

“Oh–” Your eyes widened. You learnt the hard way Levi usually means his time limits. “Okay, okay, wait here, wait. I’ll be right back. Just–”

And you were out the door,

“Fucking idiot.” He groaned to himself, as you yet again, slammed the door.

He wish he knew why he kept doing this to himself.

[fabled-fiction]

Temptations of the Wolf

Cregan Stark x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: Being a Targaryen meant sacrifice. Being a Stark meant sacrifice. Both these houses know the service of duty well. But when war is amiss, and two leaders of these respective houses meet to discuss allegiance, feelings for one another bubble to the surface and get in the way. Oh how the winds of war turn would be lover on would be lover.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: MAYBE POSSIBLE SPOILER ISH FOR EP 1. Angst, Foribbiden-ish Love, Use of (Y/N), proof read only by author.

A/N: I AM A HOTD TV SHOW PERSON ONLY!!! I did research on wikis to try and write Cregan correctly, however I am but a simple man that writes fanfiction, so mischaracterization isn't totally unavoidable. ENJOY!

A dragon does not get cold.

A dragon does not feel the cold as they have fire brewing under their scales, penetrating not only their bones but also their soul. The soul of a dragon is a fiercely burning one, said to run so hot that their touch alone melts the thickest of ice.

(Y/N) Targaryen knew of this fire better than any dragon. Or that is what the people of King’s Landing had quickly grown to best know them by. Growing up within the tense house of Targaryen, especially during war times, justly called for you to have more than just a spine of a predator.

To survive amongst dragons, you must be able to breathe their fire.

Making every other tense occasion feel as though you were walking on air.

Perhaps there was another reason as to why you felt no fear as you flew North. A reason that bore the Stark symbol.

That is why, as Polarxes rode through the winter chill, with the wind daring to snip at your skin you felt calm. At peace almost, even as the great Wall came into view.

It was realized that in order to keep the throne that was meant to stay in the hands of your brother Aegon, relations had to be made. Families and Houses had bent the knee for King Visery’s heir not long ago, and it was soon made apparent that your family would have to make the same bend the knee again for Aegon. Just to make sure that loyalties lied with the correct Targaryen.

Whilst you particularly did not care for such politics, or politics in general, your mother had other plans. Seeing as you and Aemond stood as…the most intimidating of the family it was an easy decision to send the both of you out to ensure alliances were made and pacts bonded.

You knew that the decision to send you to the Wall was laced with more than just truce in mind. Your mother was a cunning woman, and recalled the times that whenever the Starks came to make your acquaintance you favored the nip of the cold family over the burning of the dragon pit. The touch of their ice, and the gaze of one particular wolf.

As your dragon landed, her talons digging in to break, you took a moment to yourself to feel the snowflakes rest on your warm cheeks and melt into the white of your roots. The cold felt nice on your skin that had grown used to the humidity of King’s Landing. To feel at ease in your skin, to have even the opportunity to cool off was an unknown blessing of this trip.

“I hope the ride here was not too tiresome for your dragon here, the winds can be quite hard in preparation for the change of season.”

Looking down at the boy, who looked no older than four and ten years of age, you smiled as you slid off your dragon with ease. She shook her head in response, her ivory scales offering her a sort of camouflage to the elements around her as she settled down. The heat of her breath alone melted whatever ice laid around her, the rest becoming swept up as her wings folded in. 

Whilst you looked at her with admiration, you could tell that this was the first dragon the boy had ever seen. It was a mix of awe and fear that flooded his eyes, which you did not doubt also kept him frozen still in fear of her eating him to remain warm.

“Do not worry about her, she is not the dragon that will eat you alive should you make one wrong move.”

A wolf does not get cold.

A wolf does feel the cold because the wolf knows how to bear the frigid winds. Their fur having grown to shift with the winds that come with winter. They stand strong against the chill of winter, and stand headfast at the front of the storm. 

The gaze of a wolf alone makes one question whether or not the storm bends to the wolf’s howl.

Cregan Stark knew that his house would come to be called upon soon enough. That is what comes with the winds of war. He just never felt bothered enough to actually busy himself with the calls of the storm.

But it became increasingly hard to ignore as a dragon landed at the gates of the Wall.

Especially when it was a dragon he recognized, that held a rider that had occupied his mind in the dark of the night as he stared into a fireplace. The lick of flames taunting him the same way a certain Targaryen had whenever in their presence.

He had begun to regret not knowing what exactly this storm of war would make him face.

The warmth of a Targaryen was hard to ignore, it made the men wish for the comfort of home as they were reminded of just how cold winter really was when left in their absence. A reaching hand hoping to grasp onto the hearth that was your soul. 

Even as he looked up toward the wall, the announcement of your presence was made when he felt sweat beghin to build on the back of his neck.

Turning towards you he noticed the sea of men that had parted to make a runway for you,almost as if they were presenting you to him. Or maybe it was the other way around as he noticed the way your predatory gaze ate up every inch of him.

He should have felt intimidated just by that alone.

You stood there before him, adorning only the one coat that seemed to mock the furs that he had adorned in order to retain even a fraction of the heat that you held onto. Your head was held high as you looked upon the Stark, giving him the smallest courtesy bow as your hand reached to shake his. He should not have been so eager to be in your presence upon the precipice of war.

Cregan Stark was no fool, he knew the reason for your visit. But still, appearances seemed to be becoming more and more important in this age.

“Lord Stark, I hope I am not intruding? There were some important business I’d like to discuss and well…dragons are faster than ravens.”

He offered you a curt smile as he stood to his full height, hoping to give himself an advantage on the conversation. Or at the very least to provide some distance to distract from the pit that had been lit a flame from your very speaking of his name.

“You’re not intruding in any way. Would you like to take this discussion somewhere more private, if the matter happens to be so important?”

You were not used to the Northern accent. The regality of the South had become your norm as you dealt with many affairs there, instead of bending to the will of the many Lord and Lady that wanted an audience with the great Targaryen rulers of the day. Thus you were used to their customs, clothing and accents.

Everything about the North always took you by surprise, and assaulted every sense that you had.

Cregan Stark was no different. If anything he made the divide even more stark as you set your gaze upon him.

He stood tall, and unbroken as he looked at you. The Wolf of the North was everything that had been said about him. Tall, broad, strong…handsome. His steeled eyes locked you in your place almost instantly. You weren’t sure if it was because you feared a single wrong move from you would provoke the beast or because you wanted to soak in every minute of his undivided attention. Never had you met someone with the same resolve as you, nor the same gaze.

You knew now why people were so intoxicated by you.

He always had that effect on you.

Taking his hand, stepping onto the lift you couldn’t help but be drawn to the cold that laid on his hands. The chill that ran up your arm from his touch alone made you want to keep a harsh grip on his gloved hand.

When the both of you were locked in, it was only then did your hands regretfully break apart by the jostle of the cables.

“I’m sure you know why I have made the trip all the way out here?” 

“Was it not to take in the view atop the wall?”

The chuckle that left your lips resonated throughout the cart, it made Cregan want to fill a book with quips that would draw similar sounds out of you. He smiled to himself as the ride came to a halt, and the two of you made the trip to a balcony overlooking the edge of the forsaken wall.

“ While that is a plus, I have come here as a courier from the Queen Mother. Whilst I believe you are busy with the responsibilities of defending the South from that of which come from those blasted woods, it would shock me to find you do not know of the developing situation within my family?”

His suspicions were confirmed. While there was no doubt you had come to discuss the usurping of the throne, it lifted some weight off his shoulder to know that you had been the one to broach the topic first. For some…unknown reason he felt hesitant to the idea of bringing up a topic that would only bring a scowl upon your face. Or any topic for that matter that would cause a crease to form between the bridge of your gaze.

But upon the question he found that you were calm and collected. As if you had not just brought up the topic of a deed that often led to disorder amongst the throne and council. Many of the men that served the wall had been sent here for just the discussion of mutiny alone.

Your confidence alone shook him, and confused him at the same time.

“I’m sure even the farthest reaches have heard of your brother taking his seat upon the Iron Throne. I'm confused however on what this has to do with me?”

Taking your gloves off, Cregan watched as you placed your hands on the edge of the ice that formed this pocket amongst the wall. Your shoulders dropped along with your head as you took in a deep breath. It was interesting to take in your mannerisms when it was just him instead of him and an audience. You behaved…well like a dragon. A foreboding presence that did not easily reveal their intentions, a ticking trap of anguish and fire. A continuous stream of steam left your nostrils as you took a moment to contemplate.

The dread that spilled from your exhale had Cregan convinced there was something more amiss this meeting of allegiance. 

“I truly do not care of the affairs of my brother, he has rarely acted on his own accord. Thus why I am here, to gather support of others that will make sure whatever whims he does hold are defended from those that aim to make all of this harder than it has to be.”

Looking at the palm of your hand that had been grasping the ice with a fury, you noticed that it had only now just started to turn pink. Whereas you were sure if anyone else had dared to meet flesh with ice, it would be purple and dead by now. It was a calming reassurance to feel the calming touch of ice. When looking into Cregan eyes, you felt a similar calm as his brows furrowed into a look that resembled something of sympathy.

He understood more than anyone the weight of duty.

“If I may ask, it seems as if you do not have much desire in the battles that are brewing? So why come here to make a play with a house that is known to keep their oaths?”

Of course he knew the weight of duty. The Stark house was known to be one of the most noble houses when it came to keeping a promise. They had bent the knee for your half sister years ago, so why must you have come out all this way to try and turn their tides? You truly did not want to come out all this way, only making the trip at the request of your mother who had become a thorn in your side ever since you made your indifference to the throne known.

You knew coming out this way would not sway the Stark, but instead sway you. 

“Who wishes for war? Only mad men desire a battle that would take their life,” Taking a moment to compose yourself, you straightened your back.

“Which is exactly why I come in hopes that you share the same sentiment.”

Your eyes seemed to hold all the emotions of the seven kingdoms. Cregan took a moment to compose himself, and remind himself that he was the Warden of the North. He does not need to consult himself on ways to keep the blaze of your heart lit. He had a job, just as you had yours.

Which is why he felt himself faltering.

“A Targaryen that does not wish of war? You are a rarity amongst your family (Y/N).”

Your name should have felt foreign to say. It was not dressed with honorifics, and he meant it. The lack of title that came before your name was with the purpose of bringing this conversation down to a more personal level. 

He watched as you tensed with him saying your name. But he knew it was not in offense, he could never offend you. It was in realization of the fragility of this conversation.

His informality was sealed when he rested his hand on the small of your back. The both of you just took in the moment to look beyond the wall. Cregan knew that this simple action could warrant reaction from you, it would be justified for you to take his hand and his tongue for even speaking to you in such a casual way.

Instead you melted into his touch, turning to face him.

He took this as an invitation to invade your space once more, taking a step forward to move a piece of hair that threatened to obscure his view of you.

“You flatter me, Lord Stark. But a compliment such as that will only do so much to sway me. I was sent here for a reason.”

His title wavered on your tongue as you spoke to him. This just drew more a response from him as he did not move, humming almost in agreeance as his hand found its place on your cheek. For a moment he felt jealous of the leather that dressed his palm, for it had the honor of holding you truely.

“Hmm yes, you were sent here for a reason. But could there not have been another? One that you hold instead, that trumps the duty you feel to your house?”

He was always good at reading you.

Perhaps you should have felt unease in coming here, to think it would just be a simple trip to the Wall that would just lead you to return home with nothing but a word that the Starks were not aligned with your house.

You were blinded by the urge to see him, the want to make his acquaintance one more time before the realm tore itself apart. “Cregan…”

His name fell from your lips with a whisper, as if you were praying to the gods above to harden your resolve.

“Tell me the real reason you came here.”

He was incredibly close now, his presence shadowing over yours. He covered you in a shroud of snow, his touch almost paralyzing you as you remained locked in a fight of wills.

Who would win? The fearsome dragon or the unbending wolf?

“To speak with you. There are…alliances that need to be made in order to keep my family from tearing itself and the world apart.”

This earned a frown from him as he leaned even closer to you. He assaulted every sense you had now. His eyes burned into yours, rivaling your gaze as his scent came over you. There was a reason you favored the smell of leather and musk. It reminded you of him.

“Could you just this once make a decision that was not dictated by your family, but rather made in lieu of what you wanted?”

Your hand reached up to hold his wrist of the hand that grounded you. Your touch was searing, Cregan knew that had you touched his skin he was sure there would be a burn where you had touched him. And he would wear it with honor.

He wondered if a kiss from you would be just as searing. If steam would rise from the both of your lips as you became one.

The fan of your breath over his cheeks threatened the very resolve he was known for.

This very act alone could be considered taking a side. The both of you would seal your fate if you fell blindly into your passions right at this second. A thought crossed the wolf’s mind, how truly awful would it have been to give in, even for just a moment?

Your hand on his cheek, a mirror of his own action, made him clasp his eyes shut as a shaky breath escaped his own trembling lips. 

He looked beautiful, in this very moment, you thought.

The both of you were so close, the desire of one thing burning in your mind as you stared at him.

You were never one for politics, but could that argument alone be excuse enough to betray the whims of your family for a single kiss from a man that would stand against them?

You wished to lite his lips ablaze with the passion of your touch.

He wished to swallow the fire that burned in your throat.

A dragon does not feel the cold.

A wolf does not feel the cold.

But right in this very moment they both wished the winds would freeze them in place, if not to hold onto the memory for just a moment longer.

“Cregan..”

“(Y/N)..”

The side of his nose seemed to fit perfectly against yours as he leaned in. Your hand rested up against the nape of his neck perfectly, anchoring both of you in this stance. 

Just as the both of you felt a graze of the other, there was the annoyance of another made present.

The squealing of the lift cables broke the silence, and thus breaking the tender moment of the two of you.

It wasn't until they came to a halt did you finally step back, and Cregan was left to imagine the moment for only a second before opening his eyes to the reality of the situation.

“Lord Stark, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon of house Velaryon has arrived to speak with you.”

With a small huff of a laugh, you straightened your cloak and looked out over the wall once more. 

This would probably be the last time you saw winter…the snow…and him.

Feeling his hand grip your chin, making you face him you could only chuckle as you held his face again. Only this time with longing and remorse. You were already mourning any possibility you had with him, and he knew it too as he looked down at you.

“I wish it were that easy…”

Leaning forward, you played with fire one last time as your lips came to rest on the corner of his. It was a quick moment, only giving yourself enough of it for the small gesture. You knew if you lingered for even a moment the Northerner would take it upon himself to seize whatever he could. And then you truely would be gone to the whims of a lovely passion.

Pulling away, you watched as he held where you had kissed him, before breaking away from your eye as you made your way to the lift to leave him.

But when his hand found your wrist, you could feel the fire brimming in your throat.

“Just…think about what I said…before its too late.”

Looking over your shoulder, you couldn't help but take the moment to study his face. Commit it to memory. Perhaps that is truly what you came here for. Not some silly test of allegiance, for you already had that answer before you even mounted your dragon.

No…it was to take in one last memory of the cold.

[atinystraynstay]

Soft Spot - Min Yoongi

Synopsis: Yoongi closed himself to most of the world. He didn't want to risk anyone hurting him or the people that mean the most to him. That was until you came along, somehow having the golden key to his heart.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader

Genre: Fluff, mutual pining, strangers to friends to lovers

Word Count: 1.7k

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yoongi had spent over 30 minutes at the florist. His eyes bounced between all the different flowers, unsure what would be the best one to present to you. You would think that since Yoongi produces music, he felt a constant pressure for the next song to do better than the last.

However, his biggest worry was trying to impress you.

To him, not enough words could describe you. He has attempted to write at least one song to showcase his adoration for you. Yet, nothing seemed to fit. He could easily describe you as perfection. You were the one person who balanced him out amongst the chaos. The songs he produced with you in mind just didn't do you justice.

"Hyung, you ever going to make a selection?" Taehyung teased for him.

A sharp puff of air left Yoongi. He thought asking Taehyung to help him was the best idea, but he was starting to regret it.

"Would you shut up?" Yoongi murmured.

Taehyung went into a fit of chuckles before putting his hands up in defense. Seriously, he was here to provide insight?

Of course, Yoongi had an idea of the right ways to treat someone. He has experienced short flames of love in the past. But nothing like what you two had. It admittedly scared Yoongi at the intensity of emotions he felt within himself. He didn't mean to push people away, but he just often put all those emotions toward his career before another person. BTS counted on him to produce songs, to be a strong older brother. He didn't put another put through the wringer just because of his intense career.

But then he met you.

It started off innocent at first. You two just happened to bump into each other at the convenience store. He had been locked up at the studio, trying to lay tracks down for a new song when he needed a break. He figured going for a walk and grabbing an energy drink would help relax him.

Similarly, you had been crammed in your university's library working on a research paper. You were in the last semester of your graduate program, a step closer to becoming a Social Worker. Your fingers were starting to ache and you felt a bit restless after sitting at a work table. You decided you needed fresh air and an iced coffee before going to attempt to edit the paper.

You two had bumped into each other. Fatigue was written all over your faces that you hadn't noticed each other. That was until you bumped in as you tried to go to the register.

Seeing how tired you were, but also how beautiful you looked, Yoongi offered to pay for your beverage. When you tried to politely decline, he insisted after being in your way. Even though you were the one not watching where you were going.

As a way to show appreciation, you offered to give him your number. That way, you could repay him with a drink of his choosing whenever he wanted.

Since then, you two have been attached. Text messages were exchanged which then became FaceTime calls, particularly late at night due to both of your schedules. FaceTime calls quickly grew tiresome because all Yoongi wanted was to be in the same room as you, so you two began to hang out.

While Yoongi has not officially asked you to be his exclusively, he knew he wanted to be with you. You two practically saw each other twice a week. In his mind, you two were together.

That was until Taehyung pointed out that he hasn't actually asked you to be his, that you could be under the impression you two were just friends. Yoongi was doubtful, but his younger brother had a point. What if you saw him as only a friend? What if you were actually seeing someone else?

The thoughts made Yoongi both anxious but motivated to do something about it. Cue Taehyung coming in to help. Taehyung knew how to be romantic. He offered insight without Yoongi overthinking it.

"I'm telling you. She won't really care about the exact flowers. Just that you got them for her." "But they have to be perfect for her."

It brought Taehyung amusement to see how smitten his hyung was. Actually, all the boys were invested in Yoongi's love life. For the 10 years that they've known him, this was the first time that he was choosing something for himself rather than for other people. They all adored how dedicated Yoongi was to them and the group, but they always wanted Yoongi to be happy in all aspects of life. Including romantic.

They ever knew someone could be so happy over receiving a text message. At least, that was the case until they saw him grinning in his studio as he spun gently back and forth. He would re-read your texts to him, his smile getting wider and wider.

Or the way he thinks of you had random points. Having ramen for dinner? You like ramen. He would wonder if you had eaten, if you were happy, if you had a good day. See a squirrel while on a stroll? You were so energetic, so busy. What were you up to? Should he call you?

You were always on his mind. You meant everything to him and so much more.

It was why when he stood in front of your apartment door, his heart was racing. Yoongi was convinced that his heart was going to leap right out of his chest at this rate. He was practically shaking.

He sucked in a deep breath, looking down at the bouquet of flowers. Roses felt too intense for the occasion. He had selected an arrangement of blue hydrangea, blue delphinium, and white button poms. They reminded Yoongi of a clear, warm day and you were the sun. They were tied together by a pink bow, subtle but perfect.

Here goes nothing.

With his left hand firmly holding onto the stems of the bouquet, his right hand reached forward to ring the doorbell of your unit. It was a late Sunday morning. Sundays were your day to relax, to do self-care. He hoped he wasn't introducing, but he knew you'd be home.

From the other side of the black-painted door, he could hear shuffling. His heart fluttered knowing you were indeed inside. And about to open the door.

Did he get the right bouquet? Did you even like flowers? Should have have gotten a bigger bouquet for you?

He didn't have enough time to go through every scenario as soon the door opened. There you were. His angel.

Your hair was pulled back in a high ponytail with little strands framing your face. You wore a pair of black shorts but a large, oversized sweatshirt. All he wanted to do then was wrap you up in his arms and cuddle you. God, he was down bad.

You had a warm on your face, but quickly your eyes widened to see the flowers in his hand. You couldn't but hope they were for you, but you were convinced you and Yoongi were just friends. He was too kind to you to be anything more than that.

"Hi y/n," he said softly.

His voice sent your heart into palpitations. Nobody else sent you into such a spiral unlike he did so easily. It was just him greeting you but your knees were like jelly.

"Hi Yoongs," you spoke just as softly.

Yoongs. You were the only person who called him that. And he prayed you would be the only.

"What's going on? I figured you might be asleep still since you were at the studio until late." "Nothing can stop me from seeing you. I had a very important erran to run."

He was trying his best not to become a stuttering mess. But the way you were looking at him? The way you had a soft gaze yet lured him in, he was bound to crumble.

"These are for you, beautiful. Saw them and I thought of you."

Your cheeks turned bright pink. You were at a loss for words, and Yoongi noticed. He couldn't help but feel his ego rise. Maybe all the guys were right after all? Maybe you did like him?

He only got this confidence when he had a little bit of whiskey in his system. This was different, though. He didn't have liquid courage to fuel his delusions. He was stone-cold sober to see how you reacted to him. While non-verbal, your body language says everything.

"Oh Yoongi, they are so beautiful. You didn't have to do this." You took the flowers into your own hands to admire them up close. It warmed Yoongi's heart to see the way you took in their beauty, even though they weren't as beautiful as you are. He hoped you were seeing yourself just as positively, but he was ready to remind you constantly if need be.

"And I know what you're about to say." He began. "If you feel guilty for me spoiling you, why don't you accompany me for brunch? Going on an official date would make me happier than you buying me something."

Your head had never snapped up as quickly. Did you hear him correctly? Was he asking you out on a date? There was no room for interpretation when he said the words himself, but you weren't sure if you heard him correctly.

"Wait, you are actually asking me out?" "Well yeah, y/n. Isn't it obvious I like you?"

You opened your mouth to counter his statement, still in disbelief. However, you quickly closed it. Come on, y/n. Don't hesitate. You're so close to getting what you've always wanted.

"Can you give me 20 minutes to get ready and place these in water?" You asked. "Take all the time you need, angel. I'll be downstairs in my car, making sure it's all warm for you."

Feeling bold, Yoongi leaned into to press a lingering kiss to your cheek. "I've got nowhere else I'd want to be than spending time with you." Shivers ran down your spine from his tone and the way his words practically vibrated throughout your body.

He pulled back and winked before going towards the elevator. You gently closed the door before rushing to get ready.

Dreams can come true.

[squiddy-god]

your ratio fics have been engraved into my mind...

may i request for dr. ratio and a cheeky professor! male reader? kind of friendly rivals to lovers...?

Hehehehehe i adore this request because i literally love this dynamic with ratio, like just his rivalry to lovers with a fellow professor is *chef kiss* i decided to make the reader an art professor because i feel like that is the dynamic i like the most with ratio. ive been getting alot of male reader request and i absolutly love it. ♥︎request open♥︎ Cw : fluffy, no tw, male!reader, art professor! Reader, “rivals” to lovers, 

The halls of the intelligentsia guild are writhe with the hustle and bustle of students, characteristic uniforms adorning each of them as they carry books and make small conversation before hurrying to a lecture. It was in one such hall that the class of veritas ratio took place, the many subjects that he resides over had landed him in the aptly nicknamed “miscellaneous” hallway as having him move to a different class for every lecture would be “idiotic” and “most tiresome a pursuit that could be avoided by simply providing a class in the miscellaneous hall-” as he put it.

What he did not count on was his new found “rivalry” with the art teacher across the hall. Your first meeting was brought on by several students complaining rather loudly in the halls as ratio walked to his class after his lunch, the subject of their ire none other than you- or rather their failing grade in what they described as “the easiest class to pass” and how they couldn't believe that they were failing your class. During that time he simply waved it off as something that doesn't concern him, after all he had never met you. The second time he heard about you before meeting you was also on a rather sour note, several students beginning to slack off in his class in favor of drawing and working on their respective projects for your class. This incident lead both to their scolding and the scathing email that he sends you, speaking of how clearly your habits as a teacher must me idiodic if your students feel the need to slack off. 

He receives back an email by the end of the day, full of sarcasm and the cheeky quip about how “perhaps someone should check over his prior research as, clearly, he is someone who makes uninformed decision on faulty circumstantial data before seeing it for yourself” and that has him fuming in his empty class. The next day however he is met after classes by the same group who Promptly apologize. 

“Uhm… Dr. Ratio? We'd like to apologize- we shouldn't have slacked off in your class” 

“Yeah Dr. (L/n) made us complete the assignment during his class so we submitted those too-”

“And he wanted us to give you this” one of them hands him a printed flier and he feels his face contort in shock at the apology. Taking the flier into his hands he dismisses the students with a warning to not make the same foolish mistakes twice, the flier says that there is going to be a student art exhibition in a few days.

“Hmmm, how quaint…” he mutters to himself but still takes mental note of the date and time. 

It is all of these things that lead him to his first official meeting with you, still in his characteristic plaster mask he makes his way down the familiar halls where he finds the art exhibition set up in one of the librarys, paintings, sculptures, digital art displayed on screens, and in the middle of the exhibition greeting the guests and pointing out remarkable students is you. You stand in a suit, clothing colorful and an artwork in itself, hands clasped in front of you and a polite smile on your features. The person you currently talk to walks off to enjoy the art and you seem to recognize the good Dr immediately. “Ah! Dr ratio I see you have decided to grace our little exhibition?” you smile as you walk up to him, taking in the plaster head that concealed any expression. “I see the rumors are true, tell me did you make this delightful mask yourself?” your eyes are analytical as you seem to scrutinize every detail of his plaster face, the curve of his roman nose, the gentle curvature of his eyes, the line of his sharp jaw, all of it falls under your watchful gaze and for once ratio feels himself grow slightly nervous. 

This is his first official meeting with you, and he realizes that you are not in fact the idiot or fool he initially assumed, but rather a man with a deep passion for art who much like him doesn't tolerate fools who willingly live in ignorance, and thus your “rivalry” with the good doctor is born. Both artistically and academically he competes with you, as much in the same way that patience breeds success, passion begets passion. 

His hand holds two bags as he walks across the empty call to your class, the afternoon sun that filters through tall windows gives his skin a warm glow as he enters your class finding you at your desk grading with nary a lunch break in sight. Ratio tsks shaking his head, he's no longer dawning his plaster mask, instead letting you see his vague annoyance as he sets one of the bags in front of you, the smell of your favorite food wafting up to your nose. “Oh my savior- to what do I owe the pleasure of being graced by the presence of the esteemed dr. ratio” he rolls his eyes as pulls up a chair. “I do not wish to see you work yourself into the ground” it was a half true statement, truly he didn't want to see you burn out, however what he's concealing is that deep in his chest is a nagging feeling to simply spend time with you, bask in your presence and soak in your company. Your voice seems to sooth the annoyance that seems constantly brewing inside him, smoothing over the creese in his brow as you poke and prod at him with your words, it was an odd feeling to be so indebted to such a fool. He ultimately surmised that while you were a fool you were also far from an idiot and even further from those moronic individuals that invoke his ire by squandering the opportunity of knowledge and basking in ignorance. 

You wipe a pretend tear from your eye as you rifle through the bag. “I didn't know you cared so much doctor” your voice is playful and it causes ratio’s eye to twitch. “Do not be foolish, i simply do not wish to lose the one person in this place that isn't a complete idiot” his voice is so matter of fact that it has your eyes widening at the rare concealed complement. “Oh ratio i didn't know you were in love~” the emphasis on love is followed shortly by a snicker. “So when is the wedding?” If you were to look up at this moment you would be rewarded by the blush that spreads across his skin to the tips of his ears and down his neck to his broad shoulders. For a man who claims to keep his words few and his thoughts deep he speaks often, and yet now he is truly rendered speechless by your cheeky remarks. “Nonesens, are you perhaps blinded to my affection for you?” he tsks again as if the very notion is the definition of ridiculous. “Perhaps my dear professor, you'd care to join me for a date one evening” the for you'd taken up to eat the lunch he had brought you is held precariously between your fingers, one move away from falling, and your mouth is agape in shock as you stare at his burgundy eyes.

 “I…I would be delighted to, veritas.”

[mithliya]

on refugees in europe

this post feels necessary because of how pervasive far-right populist rhetoric is, including in supposed “radical feminist” spaces, where such rhetoric is becoming more and more normalised in the name of “protecting european women”. these posts include a lot of misinformation about the reality of refugees. i will preface this by saying i am a woman of colour, an immigrant, and live in germany. for work, i help traumatised refugees receive psychological support. this means in more ways than one, i am quite familiar with refugees in germany. 

plenty of people seem to be under the impression that being a refugee is easy, that they’re just “illegal immigrants” too lazy to fix issues in their countries. this is false. refugees are overwhelmingly people being specifically targeted *for trying to fix the oppression in their nations*. an overwhelming portion of the refugees i have worked with were political prisoners, meaning they were active in opposition political parties or actively speaking against their governments. as a result, many have experienced torture, sexual violence, police brutality, and have felt their lives were under threat. after facing immense trauma and danger, they had to flee to preserve their lives. that’s part of what being a refugee means. 

another bit of misinformation is the implication that refugees are just “illegal immigrants” with “nothing to lose”. this is also false. refugees flee their countries because they face imminent danger. many of them, if deported to their countries, are bound to be killed. refugees without stable status in germany live in constant fear of their claim to asylum being rejected, because of the fear of being killed in their home countries. this means that to be deported from germany is to potentially lose the one thing no one can afford to lose: their lives. so no, refugees aren’t people with nothing to lose. they’re people who have already lost a lot and are afraid of losing even more. moreover, they’re not in the country illegally, they have their fingerprints taken and have heavy restrictions placed onto them by the government. they undergo a pretty tiresome, thorough legal process and often require lawyers to represent them. this process takes months, sometimes even longer than a year. their application being accepted does not mean their status in germany is safe for good, either.

i’ve also seen someone call refugees “illegal economic migrants”… also a myth. many refugees actually lived more luxuriously in their home-countries. sure, some lived in extreme poverty, but a significant amount say openly that they wish they could go back to their country. they say that they lived in a bigger home, and lived more comfortably, before having to flee for whatever reason. this is not the reality of economic migrants, who leave their countries to live in a country where they can have a better class status and earn more. there is no economic incentive for the majority of refugees. there is no secret luxuries to being a refugee.

claims that refugees are “undocumented”: untrue. as mentioned before, their fingerprints are taken. they are thoroughly investigated. many, even if their case is legitimate, have their claim to asylum rejected initially and then have to combat that. sometimes nothing works and they do have to be sent back to their countries, and potentially are killed once sent back. 

another false belief is the idea that it’s very easy to be a refugee and anyone can just claim to be a refugee and then be allowed to stay in a european country, no questions asked. even in germany, one of the better countries to refugees, this is not the case. for example, 50-66% of refugees from iraq had their application rejected. in germany, you can appeal this decision, but most appeals are rejected, too. the people who receive the highest percentage of positive responses to their claims to asylum are syrians (0.1% rejection rate in 2023), afghans (1.0% rejection rate in 2023), and somalis (5-6% rejection rate in 2023). i hope it goes without saying why that is the case. IF their application is accepted, they receive a residence permit that is valid for 1-3 years (depending) and their stay is evaluated again upon the expiry of their residence permit. if their country is deemed safe enough to be sent back to, they lose the right to stay in germany. if, before coming to germany, their fingerprints were taken in another EU country, they are likely to be deported to that country even if that country will inevitably deport them back to their country. 

there are many more false claims i’ve seen spread in “feminist” spaces, but the point of this post is: please stop blindly believing misinformation. please educate yourselves on what a refugee is and the actual process of asylum applications in the EU. if you’re european, maybe go outside more and try to volunteer somewhere to personally get to know some refugees. they are just human beings, like you and i. just because their skin colour is more likely to be brown does not mean they are walking caricatures of a disney villain. 

[catboyieejeno]

don't kiss and tell: part 4 ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

other parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

pairings: best friend! mark + best friend! jeno + best friend! hyuck x female! reader summary: “you’re mine, yeah?” — the finale of the don’t kiss and tell series. content: non-idol au, angst, hurt + comfort, smut, unprotected sex, pet names, spitting (only once), very plot heavy! read the other parts if you haven’t already! wc: 9.4k

masterlist

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

18+ minors do not interact !

the first sip of soju mark had the night that he met you was nothing compared to his final sip that evening. honestly speaking, he didn't want to drink soju at all; he always preferred beer because—well, it didn't make his face and ears go quite as red and it paired better with his favorite snacks. at least that's what he thought until he found himself at the quiet corner store by his apartment late on a thursday night, where he saw you for the first time.

you sat alone atop a tall stool, glowing from the warmth of the summer night's heat with an impressive six bottles of soju by your side. instantly, his plan to grab a few beers and some junk food to take back to his place after a tiresome, uninspiring day vanished.

he'd never admit it to you, but you were quite a pitiful sight—slumped over the table and halfway through your second bottle with black rings of mascara around your eyes. you were obviously not having a good day; that, and the fact that it was half past midnight, sealed his fate: in a moment's notice, he didn't know you, but even then, he decided that you didn't deserve to be out so late, upset and drinking by yourself.

that night, mark lee approached you, be it out of intrigue or intense sympathy, and unknowingly catalyzed the beginning of your friendship.

"do you plan on drinking all that by yourself?"

you didn't look up at first, staring blankly at his shoes that came to an abrupt stop a short bit away from you. for a while, you didn't say anything, either, completely ignoring his presence as you wallowed in your state of sadness.

just when he thought your silence was a polite form of rejection and made the first move to step away, the screech of the stool dragging against the ground drew his attention. you were looking at him now, one foot pushing the chair as a wordless invitation for him to sit down.

you're quick to shake around one of the soju bottles for him, watching the little tornado form a spiral behind the clear green glass. after twisting it open, you hand it to him, clinking your bottle against his and not waiting before bringing it to your lips for a sip.

he watches as he drinks, then follows suit, taking note of the fact that your gulp is significantly longer than his. you scrunch up your face at the taste, huffing out, and he asked, "do you not like this flavor?"

nothing.

mark takes another apprehensive sip and sighs. he'd much rather be at home having his beer with his loud roommates who hog his snacks. even if he were to have been alone, the more probable outcome since they went out often, he might still have been fine. why did he have to come up to you in the first place?

deciding this would be his last attempt at conversation, mark clears his throat, "do you wanna talk about it? i won't even say anything if you want. sometimes it's good to vent, ya know?"

truthfully, he's not expecting you to answer, and he's begun planning how he's gonna get up and politely excuse himself when for the first time, you meet his eyes. your hand dances across the table, taking the small, metal bottle cap and extending the attached metal strip until it's poking upwards. you hand it to him expectantly.

"do you-" he holds it up between his index and thumb, "do you want me to flick it..?"

you nod, "we'll take turns asking questions, and whoever flicks it off gets their question answered. if it doesn’t come off on your turn, you take a drink." your voice is not nearly as quiet or timid as he expected it to be, and it takes him by surprise. your speech is also not slurred, meaning either your drinking tolerance is relatively high, or you were still early into your night's mission of destroying your liver when he ran into you.

his train of thought stutters momentarily, but he clears his throat and managed to form a sentence, "wouldn't we get to know each other better if we were actually answering the questions?"

nonchalantly, you shrug, "i think the questions you're willing to ask a complete stranger say a lot about you."

mark blinks once at you before readjusting in his seat. he thinks for a second before nodding to himself, "okay. what's your favorite color?"

there's a small clink as he flicks the coiled metal, but it doesn't come off. you snort at his plain and boring question, taking the cap from his hands. as he awaits your question, he takes a sip, only to choke on it as your words leave your lips.

"are you like a pervert or something?" flick. it doesn’t come off.

"what? no!" instantly, he coughs out, wiping his mouth on his jacket sleeve, "why would you even think that?"

"you saw a girl drinking on her own and came over to talk to her. maybe you wanna take advantage of me or something..." you trail off, continuing after taking a drink. "anyway, that's not how you play—you weren't supposed to answer. you also can't ask me a question unless you flick for it after, but we'll call that a practice round."

"you just asked if i was a pervert! how was i meant to not answ-"

"that's also a question," you warn, waving the little green cap around in front of his face. he begrudgingly takes it, sitting up much straighter as he tries to conjure an equally staggering question to ask you.

"why would you let a random stranger join you for a drink on a street corner? what if i was a pervert?"

"that's two questions," you sigh out, but he fails to flick off the coil off so you take it from him again.

"if you're not a pervert, then why did you come up to me?"

as your finger meets the cap, it sends flying the piece of metal. mark's lips purse, realizing he actually owes you an answer this time. he also realizes… he doesn’t have one—not a very good one at least.

the tips of his ears are glowing hot as he clears his throat, “well, i-i was gonna… you just- and then i saw you and-” he pauses to take a deep breath, pleading with himself to stop his pathetic stuttering. really, he came up to you because you were sad, lonely, and drinking by yourself on a random street corner; he can't just say that though. you would be offended if he stated it so plainly.

after a short moment, racking his brain and sitting under your expectant gaze, mark gathers himself and his answer.

“today hasn’t been great. i was gonna go home to mope and drink, too. I only came to pick up some alcohol and that’s when I saw you sitting here, drinking by yourself. so, I figured, you know... that neither of us deserve drink alone...”

he hardly maintains eye contact as he trails off and you’re grateful, because there’s a small smile fighting to creep onto your lips. he's charming, albeit a little awkward.

“that’s a good answer,” you decide and finish downing your drink, spinning around a new bottle and twisting off the cap.

mark, newly encouraged by your praise, holds his hand out for you to allow him his turn. he even goes as far as flicking the air a few times for practice before aligning his fingers with his target.

"so, how and why did you end up sitting out here tonight?"

your breath kinda hitches in your throat.

"no one ever gets in on the first try," you try to argue, reluctant to reveal your answer, "so hand it over-"

there's a small clink as it lands on the cold pavement, the metal spiral that was proven to be no match for the boy. you blink at him and the accomplished, giddy smile that spreads on his face, letting your shoulders fall.

"you were saying?" he jokes, leaning forward. his cheeks and face are starting to flush red from the alcohol, "i believe you owe me an answer,"

"long day," you mutter.

"oh, come on. that's so vague," at your glare, his hand reaches over to land on your forearm, and your eyes follow it warily, "i promise, i won't judge you or anything."

his eyes are soft and genuine and boring into yours with no attempt to hide his curiosity. this game may have been your idea, but you didn't expect to actually have to open up to some random guy.

whatever, you think to yourself, it's not like he knows you enough to care. but then why would he ask? he does care, at least somewhat. why would he approach you if he didn't, right? anyway, you're not sure whether that notion makes you feel better or worse, but the soju is catching up to you and sending the words tumbling out of your mouth before you can decide.

"i got broken up with yesterday," you pause, but mark doesn't speak. his smile does falter, though, and you feel a pang in your chest for ruining the mood, "we were together for over a year and a half. as it turns out, he hasn't even been in love with me for most of it. he said that he 'fell out of love' a few months in. didn't bother letting me in on that detail, though,"

you laugh bitterly and take a sip, nose sniffling to fight any tears that might spill, "and i'm here because, well," you slosh around the clear liquid, "it beats being in my apartment and laying on the bed he's slept in."

another drink of grape soju washes down the bitter feeling in your throat, just as mark finishes his own bottle. for a moment, you think he's getting ready to head home after your confession, but he reaches for another without hesitation, handing you the cap when he peels it off.

he nods in encouragement, lips parting to speak, and his voice is soothing when it flows out. unknowingly, he'd say exactly what you needed to hear.

"i don't wanna overstep, and i don't want you to keep thinking about that asshole. he doesn't deserve it. so, instead," he wiggles the cap, "i'll keep you distracted. i will say, though, you don't seem like the kind of person who's easy to move on from."

"you don't even know me," you whisper.

"then take this soju cap, play your turn, and give me the chance to get to know you. your game's pretty fun, stranger, and we've still got a few bottles to get through."

"mark? mark! are you even listening?"

a couch cushion plummets towards him, hitting him upside the head and knocking the glasses off his face. He blinks a few times but he’s clearly still dazed  as he turns to face hyuck, a distant look his eyes, "what?" he mumbles. 

"dude, you've literally banana-peeled yourself three times in a row. what are you doing?”

bringing the hand that tucks his glasses back on down to rub his chin, mark sighs out, "sorry, just got lost in my thoughts for a second,”

it’s been happening incessantly the last few days–his mind drifting and getting lost in a memory of you. He can’t help but think of you, and each and every flash of your face that crosses his mind makes his heart ache just a little bit more. you haven’t answered his texts and calls, other than the very brief reply you sent this morning where you let him know you need more time to think things over. 

it's a very reasonable, exceedingly rational, normal request. in fact, it's exactly what he expected you to say, but still... damn you.

damn you because for two hours straight this morning, mark had typed up at least a dozen different replies, spamming the back space button after each one since none managed to make sense of his disorganized thoughts. he thrashed around in bed, hovered his thumb over the call button a few times, even considered taking his car keys and showing up on your front door. your reply, which he waited nearly 72 hours for, had nearly driven him mad, and it robbed him of sleep for the remainder of the early morning hours.

he almost prefers you hadn’t answered him at all. almost. 

“get it together, man! how am i supposed to beat jeno if you’re sabotaging yourself and therefore, my training session? i lost forty bucks to him last week ‘cause i couldn’t beat him at smash, i’m not losing to him again.”

on cue, the sound of the doorknob unlocking and twisting open alerts both boys who turn their heads; instantly, hyuck scoffs at the inconvenient coincidence and mark’s stomach drops in dread.

the other person responsible for his rapidly depleting mood and confidence, the last of the two individuals occupying his every thought–lee jeno. 

mark lee has never felt so conflicted and confused in his life. sure, he understands where jeno's coming from; how could he not sympathize with him when he, too, is in the exact same position? still, it's frustrating because he’s pissed off, but he's not even mad at him, or at you, for that matter. he debated it for a while, but turns out he's not mad at himself, either. it's not any less true that he is angry. perhaps, it’s at the universe for its sick and twisted sense of humor. 

it fucking hurts that he knows it's no one's fault and yet, he can’t help the way seeing jeno makes him sick to his stomach. to put it plainly, if it wasn't for him, you'd be his, but dwelling on that fact and wishing for the alternative is extremely selfish. 

the boy, oblivious to his best friend's inner turmoil, walks in, swinging his gym bag off his shoulder and wiping his shoes on the door mat. he takes a moment to straighten it out since it was folded over, no doubt hyuck's doing.

“hey,” he greets quietly. mark only manages a grunt, but it’s not like jeno would’ve heard it anyway, with the youngest boy jumping up and out of his seat, creating a rattle as he knocks his phone and the remote off the couch.

his index finger shoots forward to point and shout, “you!” jeno looks over, alarmed as hyuck spews instructions, “couch, now. controller in hand. i’m handing your ass to you,”

“in your dreams,” he snorts. the couch dips when he plops down, and less than a second later, mark’s moving to leave. he can't bother to not make it obvious, and jeno's brow creases as he notices.

“yo,” hyuck drags out the syllable in a whine, “where are you going? jeno just got here.”

“he can use my controller, i’m not in the mood to play anymore.” without glancing his way, mark scoots up and passes the controller to jeno who holds an arm out to stop him.

“wait. you alright? you’ve been down the last few days.”

hardly managing the effort to reply, mark blinks at the ground. he says, “m’fine,” but his roommate's not convinced at all. jeno tries insisting again, smacking his lips playfully in one last attempt to lighten the mood.

“come on,” he urges, “stick around for a bit. maybe a few rounds will cheer you up, we can grab some beers and-“

but mark stands anyway, tapping his phone out of habit to turn on the screen, just in case there’s a notification from you. there isn’t.

“i’ll see you guys later, yeah?”

jeno remains silent this time, lips folding downward as his eyes follow mark who walks away. hyuck doesn't offer the same quiet, but his protests are drowned out nonetheless when mark has made it down the hall, shutting his bedroom door behind him.

⋆ ★

“alright, you’ve been warned.”

“come on, there's no way they're that bad,” you roll your eyes, nudging your shoulder into mark’s. he hollers an ‘ow’ at the impact, although it's half-hearted and mixed with a laugh. without giving it a second thought, he pushes you right back, setting you off balance. instinctively, you scramble to reach for his upper arm to keep from falling flat on your ass, and his quick reflexes allow him to grip your wrist and pull you to his chest.  his eyes are wide as he stares at you, laughter echoing loudly. 

you gasp, but your offense is short-lived. his giggles are contagious and you end up mirroring his expression, settling for smacking his arm instead. 

“do you want me to end up in the hospital before i meet your friends?!” 

mark only rolls his eyes and shoots you a playful wink, “i’d take it as a sign from the universe that i should gate keep you.” in one motion, he twists the key into the lock and when the apartment door opens, he calls out a hello to his roommates who he explicitly briefed you about on the car ride over.

firstly, he warned you about donghyuck, who he described as a funny, talkative, know-it-all that didn't know how to keep his thoughts to himself. mark also made sure to mention that he'd be probing you mercilessly, poking his nose in your business. "it’s his way of showing he cares," he had said. "reminds me of someone," you had replied, wiggling your eyebrows his way. mark smiled at your indirect compliment, then proceeded to express the fact that him and hyuck were very different, as you would soon come to find out.

then, he told you about jeno, who he claimed was so boyish and shy that it may initially appear like he doesn’t even like you. according to mark, he’s endearingly awkward but a very good, reliable friend. mark also mentioned the sporty boy has one weakness: he's highly susceptible to hyuck’s teasing. he told you how hyuck would pick on him at any given opportunity, then went as far as to say that “the most you’ll hear him talk is when the two of them are arguing,”

as soon as you walk in, it’s easy to immediately tell the two boys apart. the one you presume to be hyuck has his phone drawn to his lips and is yelling out the lyrics to a bruno mars song that plays from a speaker. his limbs are flailing, and he’s jumping in circles around jeno who stands stiff, patiently setting up the solo cups for a game of beer pong.

when they hear you both enter, hyuck is the first to spin on his heel, holding out a hand as if to dedicate the lyrics to his best friend and the girl he’s never met before. he takes shameless strides over before grabbing your hand to spin you in a circle. as soon as he reaches for mark’s waist, your friend recoils away and the two start bickering, leaving you to meet eyes with jeno for the first time.

with a deep breath, one that fails to soothe your hungry lungs and nervous heart, you bring your knuckles up, knocking three times on the apartment door. 

when you pulled into the parking lot earlier, you noticed mark’s car was not in his usual spot, a sight that flushed relief through you almost instantly. it’s a strange feeling, because usually, you feel quite the opposite. 

these last couple of days make the longest that you and mark have ever gone without talking since you met, and as much as you want to see him, there’s something you need to do first, and it’ll be much easier without him around. 

you owe jeno a conversation, and he had been very patient in waiting for your call or text, unlike mark who accounted for more than half of your notifications. finally, you wrote to him today, just over a week after his confession, and asked if you could come over to talk.

it takes about a minute of you shifting your weight between your heels nervously for hyuck to open the door. he instantly moves aside to let you in, a hand holding his phone up to his ear. before walking over to the couch, where he presumably resided before your arrival, given by the snacks and mess of blankets, he nods once at you, then keeps arguing with the person on the other line. 

“renjun, you’re insufferable. i’m telling you, there’s no way you can outdrink me.“ 

their interaction manages to crack a smile on your face, a feat that’s been harder to accomplish recently. as you kick off your shoes, your thumbs move quickly to shoot jeno a text that you’re here and then, you take a seat on the arm rest, returning to your state of nervousness. subconsciously, you bring a nail to your mouth to chew it as hyuck rips open a bag of chips and shoots you a look of disgust, waving at you so you’ll move your hand away. considering how often he bickers with renjun, he’s truly starting to resemble him. 

you check your phone again, even though it’s only been a few seconds since you pressed send, and sigh out, continuing to lie in wait.

meanwhile, from the spot on his bed, jeno has a hand resting across his stomach, the other clutching his phone close to his face to watch a stream. the moment the notification of your text drops down, interrupting the league game he was monitoring, he shoots up into a sitting position. 

he doesn't intend to make you wait so long, but it takes him a few minutes to head outside because, well, he takes the time to straighten out his bed and shove his running shoes in the closet in effort to tidy things up. jeno’s room is significantly cleaner than the other two boys, but this would be the first time you saw it, and he felt that it should look presentable. 

when he deems everything accommodated, he wipes the sweat from his palms and steps outside. As he turns the corner at the end of the hall, his eyes land on you where you sit, fidgeting with your phone and chewing on your lip. for a moment, the air leaves his lungs. 

the very first time jeno’s eyes glaze over your person, his train of thought–which was previously making a desperate effort to drown out hyuck's loud voice as he bellowed the lyrics of versace on the floor–is interrupted, halted at once.  

all of his thoughts cease, as does his involuntary breathing process, and he has to instantly do a double take your way. you’re already looking back at him, offering a smile so soft and sweet that it provokes his own shy grin to form. the contagious, upward curve of your plump and pink lips is the first of your features that he notices, and his eyes blatantly admire it for a bit. the second thing he lingers on is the particularly dreamy blue hue of your crocheted cardigan as he acknowledges the way it brings out the color of your eyes. it highlights the shade of your smooth skin, and he decides just then that this color was made solely for you. 

he can only spare it that single, passing thought, though. his focus is quickly drawn back to your smile, bright and unyielding, and in this moment, only for him. 

god, how did he manage to go so long without knowing your smile? 

it’s strange, the complicated curiosity that nestles in his chest; it tugs at his heartstrings until the organ is thumping incessantly in his throat. there’s an inexplicable warmth in your gaze, and although he has no idea who you are, he’s already appointed himself humbly at your disposal.  

“hi,” you breathe out, voice as polite as the hand you hold out for him to shake, “i’m y/n.” 

“hey,” he waves you over and you stand on wobbly legs, walking toward the hall that leads to his room. 

he opens his bedroom door and moves aside so you can walk in first, his arm gesturing around, “you can sit on my bed, or on my desk chair. wherever is okay,” 

with a hum, you set your bag down on his chair, scooting onto the edge of his bed and hiking your legs up so that you’re sitting criss-crossed. he joins you, sitting at the foot and leaning back on his palms, twisting his torso to face you, somewhat expectantly.

“hey, jen,” you quietly mumble, looking up from your lap to finally meet his round orbs. they’re as kind as ever, and a grin creeps onto his lips before he even opens his mouth to speak. 

“i was starting to miss you,” he weakly jokes. although the mood doesn’t lend itself too kindly to humor at the moment, his charm still brings a smile to your face, “you haven’t been around in a bit.” 

you nod in acknowledgement, “yeah, i know, it’s just…” the sigh that leaves your lips makes him frown, and he contemplates reaching for your arm, but decides against it. the air is thick, and he’s not entirely convinced the gesture would help soothe your nerves in the slightest.  

after a few seconds of silence, jeno picks up on the fact that your trailing off was because you couldn’t seem to find the right words. that, or you didn’t have the heart to say what he assumed you were implying with your hesitance, maybe in an effort to spare his feelings. when you start picking at your nails anxiously, he timidly interrupts the quiet.  

“i hope you know that i didn’t mean to make things awkward,” he starts, “i don’t want you to think that you can’t come over because i have feelings for you. you’re still friends with the guys, it’s not fair for you to feel like-”

“no, it’s not your fault! that’s not why i haven’t been over,” he doesn’t miss the way your eyes shift around in thought, and he nods once to let you know he’s waiting and listening. 

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” you settle for saying, shoulders slumping slightly, “but i can promise you that it’s not because of your feelings for me.” 

there’s a bit of a sadness behind the smile he gives you—despite how much he tries to hide it—as he reaches his conclusion, “i think i’ve figured out by now that you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay,” when you shoot him a look, he only grins at you again, reassuringly, “it’s okay that you don’t like me. you can’t help that,”

the tears that prick at your eyes come as a surprise to both him and you. they come unprecedented and unannounced, beginning to roll down your cheeks as you nudge him and wipe at your face harshly in embarrassment, “you’re not supposed to be comforting me right now,” 

“can i?” he asks, ignoring your scolding. when you don’t say no, he guides your hand away, replacing it with his own and using his thumb to swipe away at your warm tear streaks with much more care. 

“you know i care for you, right?” you admit in one breath. it’s hard to keep your eyes on him, maybe because of the slight guilt you feel at this moment, consuming your usual confidence. somehow, tearing your gaze away would be worse, because it meant you wouldn’t be able to read whether or not his answer was sincere, and for the sake of calming your heavy heart, you force yourself to keep looking. 

slowly, he nods in response, blowing softly on your eyes, “don’t cry, okay? never over me.” even at a time like this, he’s selfless, tending to you with small gestures and actions. you almost feel the need to cry harder, but you meet his request and attempt to pull back your tears.

“you know,” he starts, “the day that we met, the first thing i noticed was your smile. you were beaming, and i wondered in that moment, ‘how did i go so long without your pretty smile in my life?’” instantly, as the words leave his lips, your brow furrows and your eyes squeeze shut. 

so much for trying not to cry. 

“i looked forward to seeing you everyday from then on. i thought about you while you were away, when i was down… you don’t know how many bad days your smile got me through, so please, don’t cry.” 

with a shaky breath, you nod, leaning into his palm that still cradles your face, “you’re so sweet, always have been. i’m sorry that i can’t feel that way about you,” 

he presses his lips to your forehead and you wrap your arms around his torso. he responds by squeezing you back, voice quiet and shy by your ear, “I love you–a-and I know you can’t say it back,” he rushes to clarify, “i don’t expect you to. but, i need to say it to you once, and this might be my only chance. i’m gonna be a little selfish and take it.” 

the sound you make is somewhere between a strangled sob and a giggle, and he pulls back slowly to look at you. maybe it’s because of the sudden closeness or his attraction to you, but his eyes flicker to your lips.

“could i maybe, o-one last—nevermind, i can’t ask that of you,” his stuttering is barely audible, something like an impulsive thought he caught just before it managed to slip out. his tone is sharp, scolding of himself for even beginning to say it out loud. still, you catch on to his request, and with one hand softly stroking the nape of his neck, you start leaning in. 

when your lips first touch his, barely pressing into them, jeno pulls away in a bit of a panic, “you don’t have to-” 

“i know. i want to.” his brow lifts when you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “you deserve to give me a kiss that doesn’t have a ten second time limit, or two other people in the room each waiting for a turn. your heart is so big,” you mumble, “i want you to have the chance to kiss me how you want,”

jeno silently kicks himself, because how could he ask you not to cry if his own eyes were beginning to burn? 

ever so carefully, his lips hover over yours. he takes his time as he leans closer, wary, giving you ample time to change your mind. when you don’t pull away and instead raise your brow slightly, he gains a bit more confidence. 

jeno presses a few soft, opened mouth kisses to your lips, squeezing his eyes tight as he savors his first real and final taste of you. his warm tongue swipes at your bottom lip, but it isn't insistent enough to invite you to deepen the kiss; he doesn’t intend it to be, either. It’s clear that he’s taking it slow. 

you can tell the flow of this kiss is being heavily considered, timed to be perfectly tender and easy. his mouth feels smooth, working against yours with only a slight desperation. instinctively, your hand clutches his shoulder as you realize: this might’ve been the kiss he intended to give you that day during the first bet if hyuck hadn’t pressured him.

a kiss so deep and so gentle, where his emotions pour out in the tiny breaths that tickle your face. his fingers disappear into your hairline and massage your scalp, and you can feel his nose pressing deeply into your cheek as he pulls you closer, humming quietly. on that day where he seemed so nervous to have you so close, because of course, it wasn’t just a competition to him, jeno wasn’t able to put his all into kissing you, but right now, it felt like he couldn’t give you any more of himself without physically handing you his heart. at the thought, you sniffle mid-kiss and realize the saltiness you’re tasting is a mix of both of your tears.

as much as he wishes he could continue, he can’t allow himself to be too greedy because kissing you like this and not being able to have you after might just be too much for his fluttering heart to handle. he breaks away, eyes remaining closed as he breathes out. you blink open your eyes before he does. it’s your turn to wipe his cheeks.

“i’m sorry, jen.”  

“no,” he clears his throat, “don’t be. and thanks for, well, this.” his hand squeezes yours once, then a second time, and the two of you sit wordlessly for a few moments as everything sinks in, the only sounds being the occasional snivel from either of you. 

when you finally move to stretch your legs out you gasp, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror above his dresser. he’s startled for a moment, watching you shoot up from your spot and rush over to wipe your face. 

“jeno, why didn’t you tell me i looked like this?!” you squeak out, mascara blotted on and around your eyes. he kinda laughs at you, twisting around to watch your frantic motions in amusement. in seconds, he’s dug into a drawer and he’s handing you a pack of wipes, mumbling something about how he didn’t even notice, which earns him a glare. the tension seems to have eased at once following this interaction, and the mood is lighter as you slip into small talk. you finish swiping away the makeup from your face and when it’s clean, you check the time on your phone and place it on the dresser.

“You know the last time i made your makeup run, you definitely weren’t crying,” 

“oh, god,” your face glows red and your hand makes contact with his shoulder, “how embarrassing!” 

“sorry, sorry,” he grins timidly, shying away from your blow, “too soon.”

when your laughter dies down, you shoot him a grin.

“i should go soon. it’s getting dark,” he nods once. you swing your bag over your shoulder and head for the door, mumbling something about how the last time you left their place late you were too scared to walk from your parking garage to your apartment, when jeno grabs your forearm.

“wait!” you stop, “can i… can i ask you something?” 

flipping around expectantly, you blink and he swallows thickly, as if already knew the answer and didn’t really wanna hear it. either way, the words tumble from his mouth quickly. 

probably the most timid he’s sounded tonight, his voice is gravely and reserved when he asks, “is there something going on between you and mark?” 

that was not at all what you were expecting him to say. in fact, it’s the one thing you were hoping wouldn’t come up at all today.

you didn’t want to bring up mark for various reasons: firstly, there’s a very fine line between letting jeno in on the detail that mark also likes you–and that you like him–and explaining that that’s why you two can’t be together, and having him think that in telling him, you’re asking for permission to date his best friend. that’s something you’re incapable of even implying, because how fucking heartless and selfish would that be? secondly, you hadn’t even talked to mark yet, and you didn’t even know if the two of them had already discussed it. lastly, this conversation was supposed to be about jeno, and his feelings– and you’d feel like shit if you made it about anybody else.

you can’t help the way your eyes widen at his question, however, and you immediately blurt out “what? no!” 

nice. smooth. 

jeno cocks a brow up and you inhale shakily, “i mean, not really… or, at least not anymore.” he cocks an eyebrow at you and you purse your lips, shrugging, “i guess… for a moment there almost was, but then-” 

“then i confessed,” he nods in understanding. instantly, your eyes snap wide open and you hold an arm out. 

“yes, but it’s fine jen, i think it’s better that we didn’t-”

“you don’t,” your shoulders fall as he sighs, reading you like a book, “you don’t think it’s better.” his eyes flicker between yours, but you don’t have it in you to even try and refute him.

“you know,” he starts, “i had a feeling but i wasn’t too sure ‘cause you guys have always been really close.” 

“jeno…” 

there’s a lingering moment of silence, and you almost fear the mood has become sour and tense once more. you can’t seem to find your voice, or any words for that matter, and jeno walks closer until he’s less than a few feet away. he looks like he’s deep in thought for a flashing second, before his shoulders relax and he speaks up. 

“I think you should be together,” there’s no reluctance in his tone, no bitterness either, “not that you need my okay, because you don’t. but, if you’re worried about me, don’t be. i’ll be fine, I promise. besides, i’d hate to be the reason the two of you are forced to settle for a ‘what if.’” 

“just um,” he continues and for the first time, he speaks meekly, “give me a bit of time to recover before you guys start rubbing your happiness all over me,” 

oh. 

speechless and gawking at him with wide eyes, it takes a long minute before you manage to muster up a reply. jeno could have changed his mind a dozen times over by then. your heart is beating noticeably faster, sitting in your throat like a lump. 

“no,” you decide, “i can’t just do that to you.”

“it’s okay, y/n. i mean it. and thanks for coming by to talk abou-” 

“no, no,” you shake your head, “you don’t get it, i can’t–i won't do that to you, it’s not fair,” 

“I’d feel worse if you didn’t,” he admits, “like i’m keeping you from something. mark’s my best friend, so are you. what isn’t fair is keeping you guys from each other.” his eyes gleam sympathetically, and you blink a few times at him, “call him. talk to him, at least. he’s been down for a few days now. won’t come out of his room much while he’s home.” 

you nod slowly, “okay, i’ll do that,” 

“think about it, yeah?” 

“jeno, get dressed!” hyuck’s voice comes as a bit of a surprise as he bellows, stomping down the hall and towards his room, passing by jeno’s on the way, “we’re going for drinks with renjun. can you believe that fucker thinks he can drink more than me? and jaemin agrees! man, you think you know a guy,” his voice is slightly muffled now that he’s in his room, but he’s still yelling out, “my pride is hurt, so hurry up! we’re leaving in 10,” 

“besides, i’ve got hyuck to tend to. don’t know what he would do if my attention wasn’t on him all the time,” 

you stifle a laugh and weakly suggest, “crash and burn. come on, walk me out?” and jeno gives you a wide smile.

“o‘course,”

⋆ ★

if looks could kill, the scowl on mark’s face would’ve been your demise. he’s staring at you from the doorway of his front door, just as surprised to see you as you are to see him. 

nothing about today has gone right. it wasn’t until you got home last night that you realized you had left your phone on jeno’s dresser and by that time, it was too late to go back. more than likely, he didn’t notice either, or he would’ve dropped it off before going out for drinks. so, naturally, you had to stop by today to get it back.

you barely had time to think things over in regards to mark; part of you insists should continue to avoid him until you figure shit out–which obviously isn’t a possibility anymore since he’s standing right in front of you–and another part, was left tossing and turning in bed until the early hours of the morning, worried that mark would call or text you about something important and you wouldn’t be able to answer.   

that doesn’t matter now, anyway. mark is standing a foot away, eyes low and emotionless. he looks like he hasn’t had a proper sleep in days, and you don’t doubt that you look very different yourself. 

you’re the first to speak, mumbling a small, “hi,” which makes his chest rise and fall in a long sigh at the familiar sound of your voice–a sound that he missed dearly. 

“hi.” 

“i-” you start to speak again, before you realize, you have no idea what to say. 

are you supposed to apologize for dropping by unannounced or explain that the reason you couldn’t announce your visit was because you had left your phone here the day before? perhaps, he’s expecting an apology for the way you’ve been ignoring him, leaving him in the dark the last couple of days and refusing to reply to his many, many attempts to reach out. you’re not sure if he knew what happened yesterday, either. the point is: if all of these are things you need to say to him, which are you meant to say first? 

mark blinks at you until you offer him a sad, lopsided smile and shyly ask, “can i come in?” 

he doesn’t respond; instead, he brings a fist up to rub his tired eyes and moves aside to let you in.

“m’sorry,” you mumble, placing your bag down and slipping off your shoes. mark walks past you and sits on the couch a few feet away, brows slightly pinched down, “for a few things,” you mutter.

“i’m sorry, too,” he sighs, and you blink at him in surprise. 

“for what?” 

“for how i reacted the last time we were together. i couldn’t see things from your point of view until i really thought it through, and… you were right,” he admits defeatedly, voice hushed. “i’m also sorry for not being able to give you space when you asked for it. It’s just–you just mean a lot to me and the idea of you not wanting to talk to me really freaked me out.” 

“mark,” you coo softly. your feet carry you over to sit beside him, scooting closer until the two of you are shoulder to shoulder, knees bumping. when your lips part, your voice is airy and quiet, “you mean so, so much to me. I’m glad you didn’t give me space, i would’ve thought you hated me or something,” 

“i could never hate you,” he’s still looking at his lap, at the spot where his hands have come up to fidget mindlessly with his drawstrings. 

“–and sorry for not replying. that was childish of me,” 

mark lightly shakes his head, “no, dude, i get it.” 

“–and i would’ve mentioned i was dropping by, but i left my phone in jeno’s room after i came yesterday-“

“it’s fine, really—wait, you were here yesterday? with jeno?” his head snaps up.

“yeah, last night around seven.” 

“you were in his room?” 

“yes?” 

mark scoffs, a puff of air leaving his lips sharply. 

truly, mark didn’t mean to scoff. he meant to ask you “oh, how come?” or “hey, why you didn’t tell me?” but his questions are answered by his subconscious, and he’s not sure he liked what it had to say. he’d really like to think you didn’t come to—no. you wouldn’t… right? 

before he can add anything else, your expression twists into one of offense. 

“it wasn’t like that, mark.” you snap and he scoffs, again. 

“right, i’m sure it wasn’t.” 

instantly, you shoot up from your seat, arms crossing defensively, “it wasn’t,” you stress. mark runs a hand through his hair, huffing discontentedly, and you blink at him, “i just came to talk to him.” 

“before talking to me? i’m your best friend,” he replies. 

“yeah, but you’re not the one who had their feelings completely shot down,” 

mark stands to his full height, too, an incredulous look in his eyes, “oh, i’m not? he told you he liked you and you immediately changed your mind about us!” 

“that didn’t change my mind about us, mark. but honestly? this might,” you gesture between the two of you and spin on your heel to start making your way down the hall, “forget it. i’ll just get my phone and go,” 

with a huff, mark shoots up. 

“y/n,” he calls, but you ignore him. when you reach jeno’s bedroom door, you push it open and snatch your phone from the dresser. it was still in the very same spot you left it in, meaning hyuck probably dragged jeno out in a hurry. jeno also wasn’t here, which you were very grateful for right about now… it would have very been awkward to barge into his room if he was. 

you make a move to leave, but mark is hot on your trail, and when you turn back around, you almost bump right into his chest, “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean-” he tries, but you cut him off. 

“do you really think i’d do that to you? tell me, honestly.”

“i don’t,” he answers quickly. at the sight of tears pooling in your eyes, mark winces, and his arms wrap around you. you consider fighting his grip, but the truth is, you didn’t really want to. 

“i’m sorry, i’m so, so sorry,” he chants into your hair, holding you tightly against him, “i was just upset that you didn’t come to me first, but i swear didn’t mean any of that. don’t even know why i said it, fuck.”

your voice is no louder than a muffled squeak, “i just–i came to tell him i was sorry and that i didn’t feel the same way.”

mark’s breathing calms, and he squeezes you a bit tighter. 

“he asked about you, you know, about us. wanted to know if we were a thing,” 

“what did you say?” he asks gently, curiously, as to not come off any more accusatory than he already has. 

you pull back to look up at him and sniffle, “that we almost were, or that we would’ve been if–anyway, he said he was okay with us being together. and i was going to tell you,” you stress, “i just wanted to wait until all the tension died down; until after we talked and he had a chance to move on. I didn’t think our talk would go like this, though” 

as you finish speaking, mark presses his lips deeply into your forehead, repeating his apology softly. they linger there for a moment before he replaces them with his nose. he then leans down to press his forehead against yours, although he doesn’t move to take anything further. 

the tears that coat your eyelashes and stick them together make his heart clench within the confines of his ribs. he decides just then that the sight of you crying is his least favorite one. 

both of his hands hold your cheeks, inviting you to look up and into his eyes, “i need you to know that the most important thing to me, like, ever, is you. I know i haven’t done a great job of making that clear today,” he whispers, “but whatever you decide you want to do, and however slowly you wanna do it, i’m there.”

and then, you utter out the last set of words he thought he would be hearing from you in this moment. 

“i want to be with you,” at first, he thinks he may have misheard you, but when you nuzzle your cheek into his open palm and grab at his shirt to tug him closer, his breath hitches. 

“what?” 

“i still want to be with you,” you repeat, a little quieter this time. the tips of your ears have gone hot, “if you want to, i mean,” 

“i do,” he replies quickly, nodding, “i do, of course i do.” 

he lets his thumb brush your cheek, eyes dropping to your lips, they fly back to yours in a flash for any bit of hesitation, but he finds none. 

slowly, he leans in, and the very moment his lips take their place against yours, the tension in your shoulders dissipates. your knees buck, but he’s quick to slide an arm around your waist and hold you up. when his chest presses to yours, he wonders if you can feel his heart pounding. what he doesn’t know, is that you’re thinking the very same thing.   

your hands slip under his shirt, wandering along the expanse of his lower back. his skin is warm under your touch, and he can’t hold back the hum he feeds your parted lips when your nails dig their little crescent moons into him. 

“mark,” you whimper, but he doesn’t break the kiss even for a moment. he’d literally rather die. 

what he does do, is lean so far into your touch that the two of you stumble back into the wall, where his hand comes up to hold your head to block the impact. 

“let’s-mmm,” he kisses you again, lips smacking loudly against yours, “t’your…room,”

He slightly nods to let you know he understood, “yeah,” 

the two of you spin around until it’s you who’s slightly guiding him in the direction of his bedroom. when he hits the door, he reaches an arm back for the doorknob and twists it open, all but pulling you inside. and, finally, the two of you break apart for air, chests heaving wildly and pupils blown completely wide. 

he’s a pretty sight, gazing at you sweetly with heavy lids. a bit of spit hangs behind on the corner of mark’s mouth and you laugh softly, stealing another kiss and using your thumb to wipe it away. you let your hand stay there, pressed right against his warm cheek, and mark squeezes your hip. 

“i love you,” he utters suddenly. 

“yeah?”

“yeah.” he nods. 

“me, too. i love you, so much,” you reply, and his eyes disappear as he grins so wide that his nose scrunches up. his cheeks start flushing red and he dives down to hide his face in your neck. while his laughter tickles, it’s nowhere near the sensation of the kisses he leaves behind, wet and trailing along your shoulder and chest.  you gasp softly when his teeth graze you and he pulls back. 

“yo,” a small hum leaves your lips in reply and he shakes his head slightly, “i think you’ve gotta be the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen,” 

he kisses you again before you manage to respond to his compliment, walking with you until the back of your knees hits the edge of his bed. when you sit down and scoot back, mark settles between your legs, using his hand to hike your right leg up and around his waist. 

“take this off,” you mumble, tugging until the white shirt he wears is up and over his head. mark wastes no time in peeling your top off, too, large hands grabbing a hold of your hip and waist and breasts, all the while his mouth attaches to your skin. here, he stays for a bit, licking and nibbling as he pleases. 

there’s a warmth between your legs now, all of your nerves tingling as you lift your hips, hoping you’ll brush yourself against his front or his thigh. there’s no doubt in your mind that you’ve soaked through your panties. 

“i can’t believe i have you all to myself now, fuck,” 

“mark,” 

“yes?”

“please..” 

“please what, baby?” he coos, lifting his head up. behind, he leaves a purple mark on the part of your breast that pudges out of the cup of your bra. 

the sight makes you drool, “i need you, please. do something, anything,” nothing about your actions implies you have even a slight bit of patience left, and this doesn’t go unnoticed.

mark is gawking at you, lip tucked between his teeth harshly. he considers teasing you a bit more, but your pretty eyes that plead with him are too hard to not appease.

it’s short and sweet, the way he smiles and lands his lips on your cheek with a pop. at the same time, his hips meet yours, pulling a strangled moan from your throat. you claw at his shoulders, looking down to watch the way he rolls into you, dick swollen and bulging under the constraint of his pants. 

every inch of him presses onto you, your legs sneakily wrapping tighter around him. mark grunts and cups your jaw, pulling your mouth open slightly.

“stick your tongue out for me,” he instructs. 

when your eyes blink up at him curiously and your tongue sticks out, mark smirks, letting the spit he’s accumulated drop. the free hand that was previously wandering unhooks the top button of your bottoms, slipping inside to cup your heat.

somehow, it’s still not nearly enough. every touch makes you jolt in desperation, writhing beneath his hold. mark lets his lips mold over yours again, freely exploring your mouth, his middle finger continuously running over your underwear to feel your arousal.

“so wet,” he says against your lips. you nod eagerly, grinding into his hand.

“all for you, baby,”

“you want my mouth? or my fingers? tell me how you want me,”

when you shake your head, mark leans further back, confused, “baby,” you plead, “no foreplay, i need you inside of me so bad,” 

“i need to prep you, doll,”

“i’m already so worked up, look,” you insist, shimmying your shorts down. you grab his hand and move your underwear aside, pressing his fingers into you so that he can feel for himself.

“shit… you’re dripping,”

“please,” you whine out.

“are you sure?” 

“mark, yes. i’m literally begging you to fuck me.” 

“okay,” he laughs, “so needy, pretty girl,” a sloppy kiss is placed over your lips as he pulls off his joggers and underwear, your panties practically yanked off. you make quick work of your bra, unclipping it and tossing it aside. when his attention is back on you, his gaze falls to your chest in admiration.

“you’re perfect, all for me. all mine, baby.” he brushes your hair behind your ear and reminds you, “ i love you,” 

“i love you, but please, please,”

with a breathy laugh, mark lines himself up with your entrance. his thumb guides the head of his cock down until he’s collected some of your slick, a task that proves slightly difficult with your restless squirming. 

he’s about to order you to stay still when he presses into you and momentarily forgets how to speak. a shiver goes down his spine, and his eyes roll back at the feeling of sinking into your walls. 

you moan out loudly and mark hisses, desperately trying not to finish early.

the stretch doesn’t even hurt as much as you thought it would, but it does take some adjusting on both ends–you’re fluttering around him helplessly, sensitive and susceptible to his every move; meanwhile, mark’s tip continues slipping out and bumping your clit, before he manages to push himself back in.

“mmph, baby, you’re pushing me out,” 

“m’sorry,” you pant, “can’t help it,”

he manages to bottom out as you pull your knees to your chest. intrigued by your position, he grabs your calves to settle them over his shoulders, pushing you into a sort of mating press, one where he can still look down to where your bodies meet. it’s fucking dirty, the way you’re practically leaking, juices flowing down your ass and gathering on his sheets. 

with another experimental thrust, your pussy squelches and tightens around him. mark grunts out mindlessly, “i could fuck you forever,” and you nod, agreeing.

with every slow roll of his hips, your breathing grows more shallow. the angle he’s fucking you in is absolutely insane. there’s no containing the whimpers that fall from your lips when his fingers find your clit, rubbing slow circles on your sensitive bud.

“more, g-go faster, i can take it,”

he obliges immediately, rocking into you harder, and you realize how close you’ve actually been this whole time. you’re so turned on from the mere intimacy of this moment that in seconds, your jaw has gone slack, pleasure coursing through your body until it numbs your fingertips.

your mind is blank, and all you can manage to blabber are a few weak and strained chants of his name, followed by a string of praises and  “i love you’s.”

mark’s orgasm follows soon after, despite the way he tries so hard to hold it off. he tries to bite your leg as a distraction, or pinch your pointed nipple, anything to try to prolong the moment and work you until you’re pleasantly overstimulated, but it’s too late, because his breath has gotten caught in his throat.

his thrusts begin stuttering, his eyes are squeezed shut, and he’s coming so, so hard that his fingers are turning white where they grip your waist.

if he prepped you, he might have lasted just a tad longer, but he didn’t. mark knew he was done for the moment he entered you and you clenched around him.

“fuck yes, take it, baby, take it,” his cum shoots out in spurts within your folds and and he stops holding himself up, burrying himself all the way in your cunt, dick twitching uncontrollably. 

“you’re unbelievable,” he praises, working to steady the pace of his breathing.

a lazy grin finds your swollen lips, “that was really good,” you mutter, tiredly looking up at him through glossed over eyes.

as he moves to lean back, you make a noise of complaint, but he’s quick to soothe you. 

“shh, don’t worry. i’m only making sure you’re comfortable,” he brings your legs down from his shoulders so they can rest at his sides, and the ache you feel instantly be relieved makes you very grateful for his consideration. he doesn’t dare pull out, though, basking in your warmth until he’s gone completely soft. 

“you’re mine, yeah?”

“yes, baby,” you agree contently, tucking back a few strands of his hair so they don’t fall in his eyes, which bore at yours so tenderly.

“alright,” he kisses you, “and i’m yours,” 

ੈ♡˳

a/n: sorry it was a few minutes late. thank you to everyone who has supported this series. i hope you found it worthwhile <3 sidenote: if theres any mistakes pls forgive me omfg

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 6 "Hungry, all the Years"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧༺༻ Dreams are messages from the deep ༺༻✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse ❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts ❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable!Feyd, Emotional!Feyd, Possessive!Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism ❗, implied/referenced murder

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

A/N: I've always wanted to yell fuck you at the Bene Gesserit, so here's to my own dream🥰 Also, me, who's been in awkward long distance relationships throughout all her teenage years: "Aahh, I knew this knowledge would come in handy someday! 🥹"

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️| Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter, Next Chapter →

Wallach IX, one week later

"Kneel."

"Excuse me?" Incredulously, the relic stares into the Reverend Mother's eyes.

The anticipation of this day has left her sick to her stomach, her mind hysterical since she was made aware that Feyd remembers her and wants her. By noon, she will be on a heighliner. (A  heighliner! She remembers Feyd's inquiry from their last dream.) And after two days of travel, she will be with him. For the first time ever, she will be truly with him, kiss his sweet lips and be held by him and bawl her eyes out.

This is not how she imagined the hours before her indefinite departure. The reverend mother sits unmoving like a pillar of obsidian in a slant of sunlight, her face hidden beneath black mesh.

"Kneel. This is your final test."

"I'm not part of this order anymore, I won't partake in any tests."

"That is not up for you to decide."

"I will not kneel."

"Do as I say!"

Without a power of will, she falls on her knees, ears ringing, jaws slackening. No hatred has ever burned colder than the rancor she holds in the pit of her stomach right now. From the corner of her eye, she perceives a flash of metal slipping from the reverend mother's robes.

"I hold at your neck the Gom Jabbar. A poisoned needle. The slightest prick, and you will die."

The wayward woman holds the violence of a lifetime on war-riddled Old Earth in her eyes when she inhales, the rise of her shoulders bringing her neck dangerously close to the poison tip.

"Why?"

"That needn't interest you." She has not been and will not be informed about the breeding program, or else, they fear, she might abandon her precious Feyd-Rautha rather quickly. Their union must be under the dangerous premise of love. And yet, the test must be conducted. Most likely it will even make her desire Feyd-Rautha more and let Giedi Prime be more bearable. That and the fact that the sisterhood has purposely been withholding the yearning transmissions from the na-Baron. The relic is ready to do just about anything to get to the man of her delusions.

"Put your right hand in the box. If you pull it out, you die."

"What's in there?" She grates out, peering into the black maw of the unremarkable metal box.

"Pain," Mohiam replies monotonously, having grown almost bored of the ever same test throughout the decades. Of course, the woman will pass. Patiently, the Reverend Mother waits for her to relent, because of course she will. It is a tiresome game. The needle at her neck remains unwavering. 

She is thinking, of course, she could risk death out of spite, but she refuses to die before taking Feyd in her arms. So, she places her hand in the box and earns her place on the chess board as a fully carved figurine.

The box is empty. She moves her fingers around and is soon plagued by a phantom sting which swiftly develops into pricking needles. She lets out a grunt and the sensation becomes a slow cutting, like knives probing into her palms and fingers. Her face twitches, brows furrowing, sweat beading on her upper lip as her body goes rigid, fighting against the urge to pull back. A thousand knives now cut into her palm, ravaging the soft flesh and tearing it to shreds. She screams.

"Quiet."

"Fuck you!" She spits, having already concluded that not the box causes the pain, but an unspoken presence of the Reverend Mother's voice does, explicitly addressing her pain receptors in an increasing onslaught. To know that nothing is in the box doesn't make the pain any less real, nor the nauseating truth that she is being tortured at the whim of a person.

So, she sobs like an animal while enduring the cruel test, scorched, flesh-stripped fingers quivering against the cool metal. She will live to hold Feyd in her arms and she will live to burn down this universe with its thinly veiled slavery and misogyny. On Earth, at least everyone had been equally miserable.

The Reverend Mother conceals her dislike of the unpleasant sounds under her veil, noting how petty it is of the woman to torture her ears in revenge. She is a clever thing.

"You may remove your hand."

She does at an instant, hurtling backwards and standing tall, nostrils flaring as she regards the seated reverend mother. The neurobiologists from Magellan II would have had the time of their lives, dissecting the old woman's brain to decipher the voice. To imagine Mohiam without her ominous headgear on a dissecting table brings the relic an indecent burst of glee through her tormented nerves.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" She spits.

"Not at all. I'd prefer if you used your voice in a different, more useful way. But at least now we know that you are human." The reverend mother pats the box once.

"Oh." She speaks with pure disdain. "A generous conclusion."

"And you may board the heighliner to Giedi Prime. Feyd-Rautha will await you." 

"Yes, I will. And yes, he will!" To think that she's had more agency in a dream than in this new world is revolting.

"Pack your things."

"I want my necklace and I want my Sarcophagus. Don't you even think about denying me that wish," she bristles. "I am a human and I've been one even before your inhuman test. These things are of sentimental value and they belong to me. Give them to me!"

"This attitude won't get you far on Giedi Prime," Mohiam drones monotonously, hands folded in her lap with annoying calmness. Under other circumstances, she would have never let a pupil of hers enter a battlefield as harsh as Giedi Prime so unprepared, but if one can believe the fierce messages from Feyd-Rautha to Wallach IX, she will be protected enough.

"I'm human," the relic rages on. "But you and your pseudo-religious cult, you are not human. You are even worse."

Everything will be better once she is on Giedi Prime.

Giedi Prime, Day 1

For the past few days, Feyd has done nothing but counting down the seconds to this precise moment. But as soon as the shuttle from the heighliner comes sweeping down through the blanket of clouds, hammering anxiety punches against his insides so hard, he feels sick to his stomach. His pulse races against the high neck of his uniform and dizziness forces him to fight for every breath.

He has been walking through a nightmare for two years and the past week has been the awakening. Like a sleeper aware of his own dream, he had screamed, kicked, killed to free himself from the shackles of his nightmare.

When he first heard the rumors, he had cried for three hours in the solitude of his quarters, then plunged his blade into his own thigh to snap himself out of it. There had been real fear in his uncle's eyes when Feyd confronted him, declaring that the relic is his and he will kill every servant, every guard, until he has her, and himself if he cannot have her.

Luckily, the Baron and the Bene Gesserit have been unexpectedly forthcoming.

So, after waking up, here comes reality. Sweet and frightening and lurid.

Feyd's heart clamors so loudly, he thinks he's going to die.

Wind whips around the landing pad and through his clothes when the shuttle touches down 200 meters away and hot exhaust gasses are released from the valves with a hiss. He almost jumps but forces his posture into a rigid lock, feet set shoulder-width apart.

The ramp drops with a mechanical buzzing and Feyd's stomach drops with it. Suddenly, he viscerally wishes he had more time and could prolong the anticipation, the preparation, the hiding. He hasn't prepared himself at all for her arrival, he now realizes, hasn't even considered what to say, how to greet her in front of three battalions of soldiers and generals. What will she think of him when she sees him for the first time in the flesh? Will she be disappoin- Oh God, there she is. 

That must be her. Is that her? It's her!

After half a dozen staff, a figure  exits the ship, clutching her little coffer so tightly in front of her hips, like it's the only thing of identity she has in the entire universe. 

As she slowly walks, her gaze swivels across the mass of bald heads, identical like an army of clones, unmoving, devoid of color and every sense of individuality. She jumps fiercely when the black and white mass suddenly bellows and a thousand pairs of arms fly up, hands clutched over bald heads.

Seeing the troops (all men) lined up in formation, saluting fiercely, a glacial shiver rolls down her spine, reminding her viciously of one of the darkest chapters of Earth. 

She swallows her fear. The first impression isn't that important. This world will have its good sides and Feyd will show them to her. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. She believes now that he could have rescued her off every planet in this world.

Yearningly, her gaze bounces from head to head. She had thought she would recognize him immediately and is terribly ashamed when she doesn't. At least, her frantic overwhelm distracts her from the roiling of her stomach. She thought she was going to throw up from anxiety on the shuttle, and she would have, had they not ushered her down the ramp immediately after landing. 

Cool metal brushes comfortingly against the space between her breasts. Around her neck she wears a slender cord of silver links with a slim cuboid for a pendant, about the size of the first phalanx of a thumb.

She is being led down a corridor of saluting men, all grim faces, and wind whips around the long gown she was advised to wear. If only she had decided  to wear something she feels more confident in. She's meticulously prepared what to say to him for the past days, arranging every word in her head to perfection, but now she can't remember a single word of Galach for the life of her– There he is! 

There he is. There he is. There he is!

At the end of the corridor stands Feyd-Rautha in formal military livery, blocky shapes hiding all the softness of his body, only his face betrays him, full lips exactly how she remembers them, soft cheeks dented by the hollow below his cheek bones, gently curved jaws and blue eyes hidden beneath the shadows cast by thick brow bones. He looks like a frightened animal to her, throat bobbing repeatedly with dry swallows.

The deafening roar of salutes dies down to a distant buzzing as she walks through a tunnel towards him, steps quickening, vision blurring. She tries to smile and her cheeks feel awkward doing it, she doesn't know where to look. Feyd doesn't smile back, but his head tilts backwards, jaws flexing as if he's holding back either tears or words.

She cannot hug him in front of all the generals, Feyd thinks. I will break down if she does.

Without thinking, she runs the final meters and hugs him in front of all the generals, arms wrapping around his neck and shoulders, sobbing into the collar of his suit. "Hello." Her accent is thick and lovely.

"Hello."

Feyd knew he would break down. His chin quivers uncontrollably, jaws so tight that he thinks the tendons in his neck might snap any second. He exhales a harsh breath, arms wrapping around her waist, leeching the warmth of her body that sinks through the layers of dress and suit.

Feyd holds her, holds her so tight and her flesh, skin and bones are actually real, her beating heart is real, her soft voice is real. She is real.

"You're here," he whispers almost inaudibly into her ear, face lowered to press against the side of her head, chin hidden in her shoulder.

She cries like she's not ashamed of crying, nodding fiercely, and each nod is an apology and a promise to never leave him again.

Feyd wants to tell her how much he's missed her, how much his soul has craved hers every waking and sleeping hour of every day, how he's been split apart and nothing in the world could soothe him. But he cannot, not now, because they are not dreaming and he is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.

"Not now-" he pleads and tries to stop her when her face slips in front of his, her cheeks painted with glittering tears, but her mouth is on his before he can finish, kissing him with salt-wet lips, hands clinging to the nape of his neck.

Of course, he kisses her back. Luckily, his longing is so all-consuming that he kisses her like he wants to crawl into her flesh, so he will never be alone again. With both hands splayed across her cheeks and ears, claiming his woman, none of his people will perceive him as weak.

The soldiers and generals don't know the pair's story, but they salute for their na-Baron, because they know the relic from Old Earth is now property of House Harkonnen.

In a world devoid of color, she would have expected the interior to be vibrant and bright to make up for the lack of it under the sun, but every hallway they have traversed has been even bleaker than the outside, like being swallowed by the underworld, if the underworld was made of concrete and plastic.

The throne room is no different. Curved pillars curl up to the tall ceiling, black within black illuminated by bluish glow provided by floating lights (glowglobes!) Feyd and her and a small entourage of guards and servants are gathered here and she stands in the very front, having refused to let go of her coffer when a servant had demurely offered their hand. She hopes her Sarcophagus is being handled with care.

Feyd is one step behind her and from her peripheral vision, she sees him rigid as a board.

Like instructed, she bows before the Baron Harkonnen, determined not to show any judgment for his harrowing appearance, like gluttony personified with sly, glittering eyes nearly hidden behind folds of fat.

"The relic from Old Earth…" The Baron rumbles and she sees that as her signal to straighten herself.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she says and Feyd's jaw twitches.

"A pleasure?" The Baron chuckles. "Old earth must have been terrible then."

What is she supposed to say to that? Sweaty palms clutch the handle of her coffer and her gaze is momentarily drawn to a movement in the corner of the room behind the Baron's floating chair.

Nebulous eyes blink at her from the shadows, hidden in darkness, but she can tell it is a thing with too many legs. (Or are they arms?) Eight of them, and they unfurl grotesquely, glossy skin shimmering like jet black rubber. The pair of white eyes seems to be looking directly at her and this thing will haunt her nightmares, although it appears almost tame next to the faceless legions that had welcomed her at the landing pad.

The Baron speaks again, forcing her attention back to him. "I've only allowed this union because my dear Feyd has been in such a somber mood as of late, he has been such unpleasant company."

The thing in the back stirs and wildly scuttles and she realizes they're not arms or legs, they are arm-legs with hand-feet attached to them. Feyd inhales sharply behind her, just loud enough for her to hear. The arachnid creature halts and blinks and then decides to abandon its advance and return to the shadows.

"I understand," she says, determined to hide the fact that she doesn't.

The Baron takes a slow drag from his hookah and reclines, looking at her like she is nothing more than a pesky, necessary evil.

Feyd walks at the side of his woman, feeling lighter the further they get away from the Baron, though his breathing is still that of an animal in distress. He walks stiffly (actually, he prowls), overseeing the entire entourage. His right hand hovers over the blade he carries at the hip under his suit jacket, ready to slay anyone who dares to come near her.

Something terrible has been irking him but he refuses to think about it.

Meanwhile his woman's eyes are all over the bulky, coffin shaped container that is being carried to her new chambers by ten servants, following every step with anxious concentration. She wants to jump forward and help carry it, if only to place a protective hand on her sarcophagus, but she remains at Feyd's side, intimidated by the ten men who kindly do her heavy lifting.

"This is my wing," Feyd quietly explains as they step out of the third elevator. They must be quite at the top of the pyramid shaped building by now. She nods, quite relieved that she will be living close to Feyd. "My suite is right next door."

The corridor is black and austere, walls made of  bulky, thick plastic panels, intersected every now and then by slender windows that give way to the view of grey citiscape and factories as far as the eye can see. 'It's not that different from home', she tries to keep the creeping, crawling dread at bay.

The ten helpers turn into a room which opens to Feyd's hand tapping a panel on the wall.

"Over there, right in the sun is perfect, please. Thank you! Oh- Careful please!" 

With a loud clang the cryo pod is set on the ground in a patch of color-stealing sunlight that slants through the window. The helpers say nothing, merely salute and scurry away in a tight line when Feyd jerks his head. "Thank you!" She calls after them again.

That is one less worry. Exhaling loudly, she sits down right on top of the sarcophagus, unbothered for now by the monochromatic light. Under the confines of her gown, she has been shaking the entire time. The door whirrs shut and they are alone. Finally alone. Feyd stands in front of her, hands clutched in front of his pelvis.

"You don't need to say thank you to the slaves."

"The…? Oh." The corners of her mouth twitch downwards and she draws up her shoulders, pulling her little coffer in her lap.

What a horrible place to be. The only women she has seen so far haven't even looked at her, standing behind the Baron with their faces turned to the ground.

What a horrible place to be a woman.

"Do you know who that man was, in the audience chamber?" Feyd cannot keep himself from asking any longer. She saw his uncle. Knows what he did to him. Somehow, his own shame weighs a millionfold now and Feyd wants to crawl out of his own skin, so she won't have to touch the same body his uncle has touched.

Her attention snaps back to Feyd. "What?" She is briefly perplexed. "You mean… The Baron?"

"Yes. You know that's my uncle I've told you about, right? My uncle is the Baron."

She sits dumbstruck on her cryo pod, frozen before heat fills her face and bile gathers in her throat. She has never been so ashamed in her entire life.

"Oh shit, I-, I assumed the Baron is your father, because of the last name." Feyd had never mentioned his uncle's rank, nor had the Bene Gesserit deemed it necessary to inform her about their family relations. And why would they, assuming the relic is well-informed about the man from her dreams. "I'm so sorry, oh God- Feyd…"

Feyd is so stupidly relieved, he could cry. Looking to the side, he blinks the tears away, fighting the urge to sink his blade into his own flesh to stop the onslaught on his eyes.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry," she mumbles again and abandons her coffer and sarcophagus to wrap her arms around Feyd's middle without thinking about it too long. "Please forgive me."

Perhaps the reverend mother was right. Perhaps she is of lesser intelligence for favoring science over politics. After learning that her Feyd lives now, she had meant to study House Harkonnen until her departure, but had gotten lost in the physics of the three-dimensional incarnation of the Holtzman Effect which allows to fold space at the quantum level and enables faster-than-light travel with the aid of human computers.

Feyd's arms curl tightly around her back, nose buried in her shoulder, pressing her against his earthly prison so she can deliver him from evil.. How stupid he was to bring her here into the devil's den, where she is the easiest target one could possibly make.

"Nothing to forgive…" He wants to call her his darling, his beloved, and even more importantly finally verbally declare his love for her that's been like a wild, scared animal sitting in a cage all the years, but a heavy shyness ties his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Without the protection of the cage, what if this animal will be slain? What if it will slay itself?

I had been hungry, all the Years – My Noon had Come – to dine – I trembling drew the Table near – And touched the Curious Wine … - I had been hungry, all the Years by Emily Dickinson, 1891

A/N: Feyd: I've literally never had a loving interaction irl in my entire life and I'm terrified, but this is my woman🥺

FMC: I'm literally on a black and white planet full of space Nazis, my man is one of them and I'm terrified, but this is my man🥺

TAG LIST: @welliah, @nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @charmingballoon, @sebastianswallows, @minedofmoria, @flower-frog (I'm so sowwy, the tags are broken and I don't know how to fix them ;-;)

Do let me know if u want me to tag u 👉👈

[twilightt-fantasy]

stand up [v. kings]

description: Hey- I have yet to see any of these (kinda?-) But I was hoping if you could do a Poly relationship with the Volturi kings, where the reader is shy as heck and is related to the one and only, Bella swan? Have a great day/afternoon/night <3 :)

requested by: anon

warnings: Bella bashing.

masterlist 

She had always been second to Bella.

Always, didn’t matter what the occasion or skill was - if she could do it, she was certain that Bella would somehow make it better or, if not, find a way to put the attention back on her.  

It was tiresome and aggravating and drove a wedge between her and her mother. Charlie wasn’t nearly as bad as Renee when comparing the two of them, which is why the younger swan wildly preferred her father.

When she found her mates and moved to Italy, the relationship between her and her mom eased a bit. She wasn’t around as much to hear Renee fawn about Bella and Renee instead used the time she did speak to her to wonder how her new - modified version - life was.

She had hoped her and Bella’s relationship would mend itself as well but, of course, that wasn’t the case.

She had been swept into Bella’s world unwillingly and Bella hated that she had to share her little piece of heaven with her sister. It stung her even more that her mates were the very Kings of Volterra, the same ones that nearly stole Edward away from her.

She was not shy about voicing her opinion either, even in front of the kings. She knew they would never do anything to harm the family of their mate if that was what she wished.

Though, the human’s patience was beginning to run thin.

Especially now, as Bella sat in the quiet area of Aro’s study with her husband, sister, and her mates. They visited a couple of times a year, Bella using the chance to show off her new immortality that her sister had not yet received.

Though she hadn’t said much, her mocking eyes and hateful scoffs were not missed by anyone. The Kings were as polite to her as always but she could not return the sentiment.

Her sister hated it and knew her mates did as well. They tried hard to be nice to her and the Cullen family, the least she could do was pretend while she was here.

Hell, even Edward managed to be respectful and hold up a normal conversation.

Finally, after Marcus had attempted to start another conversation with Bella to which he was met with a snarky comment, the mate of the kings had had enough.

“Bella, enough.” Her voice, normally quiet and demure, was loud enough to shock everyone into silence. 

Bella looked to her sister wide eyes, Edward looking between the two of them warily.

Aro, Caius and Marcus all wore varying shades of surprise and pride, their attention fully on their mate as she stared down her sister. Bella was gaping at the human, not used to the loudness of her voice or the displeasure on her face.

“Marcus was simply asking a question, trying to get to know you better. The least you could do is pretend to be polite and have some decency while you’re here.” She was angry now, the years of being pushed behind Bella and constantly being pushed down building up in her. “They’re nice enough to let you come here because you’re my sister but one word, and you won’t see me again and we won’t extend any favors to you.”

“I can’t held that I was pulled into your world and I can’t help who my mates are no matter how much you remind me that you hate me being involved and you hate them.” Bella opened her mouth to argue, to which the human raised her hand, showing she was not done. “But they’ve treated me better in a short time than you have treated me my whole life. You have no right to come here and disrespect them and myself when they’re just being nice.”

She huffed, pausing when she noticed the looks she was getting around the room. Her face turned red then, realizing what she had just done in front of everyone.

Bella was only staring back at her sister, looking only the smallest bit ashamed. Her golden eyes looked towards Edward, who only looked back briefly. “You’re right, I apologize.”

She nodded back, cheeks still burning. “I think we should end this for tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, she stood heading out of Aro’s quarters and heading towards her own. She knew her mates would be close behind her and left the door open for them, smiling sheepishly when they appeared.

“I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Neither can we.” Aro laughed, reaching forward to grab her hand and kiss her cheek. “That was fantastic.”

“I have to agree.” Caius took her other hand, a smug smile pulling at his lips. “I never saw it coming, though it needed to be said for some time.”

“I was just so sick of her treating you guys like that.” She sighed, leaning her head back into Marcus’ chest as he appeared behind her. “You all have been trying to be nice to her and that’s how she repays you. I can handle it but she shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.” Marcus murmured and the other two nodded in agreement. “She’s your sister, Bella should treat you better than what she does.”

She scoffed. “You’re telling me.”

“Come on.” Caius tugged your hand, pulling you back towards the bed. “No more talk of Bella tonight. We’ll put on a movie or something to get your mind off of it.”

She smiled, leaning up to peck Caius’ cheek as she followed them each to her bed. The four of them got comfortable, her resting in the middle of Caius and Marcus while keeping a hold of Aro’s hand.

Even if her rant towards Bella didn’t change anything, she knew she’d have the three kings for the rest of eternity to love her and accept her in all her ways.

[kanagenwrites]

So. Tuesday sucked.

We've all had a chance to come down from the "what the fuck" of it all, and we're starting to see the usual circular firing squad. Lots of lib centrists are doing everything they can to throw trans people, minorities, and basically anyone who isn't a finance bro under the bus, as is (very tiresome) tradition after both victories and defeats in the Democratic Party. I will be 42 years old in a few months, so this is far from the first time I've seen it, and sadly, I'm sure it won't be the last. To the lib centrists and those carrying water for them: This never works. Please stop trying it. Trans issues were not a major motivator; I'll get into that below. Sit down, kids, it's time for Auntie Kana's Fireside Dialectics.

One thing I've noticed is that a lot of my followers are significantly younger than me. (Imagine that, an audience that skews young on Tumblr.) A lot of you folks probably haven't been following politics for very long, and you've been able to participate in them for even less time than that. For some of you this is probably your first election as an adult, and it kinda feels like everything blew up in your face, doesn't it? I was about your age for 2000, when the election was nakedly stolen by George W. Bush, and not much older for 2004, when despite his disastrous presidency Bush the Younger rode a wave of 9/11-brained racism to the last popular vote victory the GOP had prior to (likely) this year. So I get it. I really do.

If you're living in the USA you have probably had a subpar education in politics and civics. This is largely by design - education is horrendously underfunded and there is a sustained attack on the ability of teachers to even discuss things like the Civil Rights Movement, the legacy of slavery in the United States, the genocide this country was founded on, and so on and so forth. Economic education isn't much better; you very likely got a short lecture on basic supply and demand and an argument-from-authority that "socialism doesn't work." All this combines to leave a lot of folks totally baffled as to how something like this election happens.

But it's pretty simple. It's just material conditions. That's it. What the media isn't telling you (because there's no profit in it, and the media is nothing but a clickbait engine when they aren't open propagandists) is that there has been a massive anti-incumbent wave of elections across the world. How massive? Japan's LDP, which has held power almost uninterrupted since the establishment of Japan's postwar democracy, managed to lose their recent election.

And why are material conditions so shitty? That's a complicated question, but a lot of it is the fact that we had a lengthy period of low inflation followed by a period of extremely high inflation due to the absolutely botched response to the Covid-19 pandemic. A bag of Doritos used to be 2.50, and now it's like 6 bucks. That's worse than all the inflation (and naked price-gouging, because there's a lot of that going on too) I experienced in my life prior to 2020, squeezed into the space of a year or two. This smacks everyone in the face every time they buy groceries, and while the government and the Federal Reserve were doing everything they could to manage inflation (and understand what a big deal it is for me, the anarcho-communist, to say that the US actually did an extremely fucking good job of doing it, because every other country on Earth had it worse than we did), they did fuck all to actually improve the material conditions people were experiencing. Wages were not keeping up with the cost of living, and price-gouging wasn't being dealt with.

Remember the 600 bucks Joe Biden still owes you? The American electorate sure the fuck does. Invisible backrooms liberal wonkery does not connect, regardless of whether it works or not, but going back on a promise? People remember that shit.

It's a rare incumbent that could win in an environment like this, especially when tied to a track record of doing exactly fucking nothing to actually help people from the perspective of the vast majority of the population. Kamala Harris was not that incumbent. She was a singularly uninspiring candidate who failed to connect with voters so thoroughly that she was on track to lose her home state in the 2020 Democratic primary. Nobody liked her (except a few very eager and very loud fans in the K-Hive), and speaking as someone who lives in California, I am not surprised she ate shit. She was a terrible choice for VP and a terrible choice of successor for Biden, but because Biden('s handlers) insisted on pretending he wasn't obviously declining before our very eyes, Harris, a singularly uninspiring candidate, had three months to build and run a campaign.

And it was still weirdly close.

Now, there's two possibilities: Either she actually ran an amazing campaign and it's incredible that it was even this close, or Trump is just so loathsome that even in a massively anti-incumbent environment he didn't bring anyone new to the table. Given that Trump is on-track to receive less votes this time than he did in 2020, and how many of those votes seem to have been cast for Trump and no one else down-ballot, I think it's more of the latter than the former. Trump brought the usual suspects, while Kamala successfully drove away voters that even Joe fucking Biden and Hillary fucking Clinton were able to bring home. Not on the left, not in minority demographics, but across the board. After all, if things are horrible and you're being promised that "nothing will fundamentally change," (literally an early-presidency quote from Joe Biden, whose agenda Kamala Harris 100% aligned herself with) and keeping in mind that the average American voter is not nearly so plugged into the minutiae and the day to day of politics (as evinced by the sudden peak in google searched for "Did Joe Biden drop out?" on Tuesday), why the fuck would you bother to vote?

Hopefully you have a better idea how we got here now. The question, of course, is where do we go from here? I will probably continue posting about this from time to time, especially if there's interest, but my advice is this:

We are still here. We will be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, and so on. Plan accordingly.

Things will get fucked up. Things will always get fucked up. That is the nature of things no matter who is running the government. Plan accordingly.

Organize. Develop parallel structures of power and assistance, because the government is likely going to be even more useless to directly assist you than it already was. Our greatest strength is each other, and our ability to care for and help one another.

I have been here before. You will be here again. It always feels like it's the worst thing ever to happen. That never really goes away, but your ability to deal with it, to plan around it, to endure it, and to rise up again on the other side of it and say "No, fuck you" is entirely under your control and within your capabilities. And you will get better at it as you do it. And you are not doing it alone. None of us are.

Do not give up. Do not surrender. This isn't the end, or the beginning of the end, or even the end of the beginning: it just is.

Now go watch a video of a cat doing something cute, or read some smut, or whatever gives you joy. You can't take care of others unless you take care of yourself. That's General Order #1: Take care of yourself.

Solidarity, y'all.

[gloriousburden]

Okay Loki would never lower his standards enough to consider being romantically involved with a human, but I’m thinking heavily about being devoted to him with romantic undertones to our dynamic 😞😞😞😞😞😞😞 warning Very self indulgent Loki would Sooooo want me AU imagines don’t take it too seriously

[ He begins. “I am in need of-”

“Yes, anything.” You cut him off.

“You could at the very least allow me to finish.” He responds. ]

🫡 anything for him

[ “You’d do well to remember that your entire being is flawed, and that at all times, you are beneath me. If you choose to do anything at all with your fleeting, and quite insignificant life, you should choose to spend it obeying me. You are nothing more than an ant beneath my boot. You were made to be ruled, and you are lost without my guidance. You have no purpose other than to kneel before me. You are nothing in the grand scheme of things. Blah blah blah, submission, you are insignificant, I have authority over you, I’m better, you suck, more kneeling, more degradation and belittling, etc…” He goes on, and on, and on.

“Understood.” You nodded, and accepted… all of it.

He Very politely leans down to kiss your cheek, immediately after all of that. “Good.” ]

[ “Do you know how tiresome it is to be a god such as myself, having to look after you all the time? You are so, so very careless. You have no regard for your own well-being, and it is a burden on me.” He berated you.

“All I said was I accidentally sprained my wris-” You began to clarify.

“You are clumsy, and pathetic. You take my guidance and protection for granted.” He cuts you off. He knows what happened, and he doesn’t like it. No matter how minor it is.

He is worried about his beloved mortal, and disguises it with insults. He knows that you could be taken away from him at any moment, and it hurts more than he’d like to admit. That’s why he’s so overbearing in moments like these. Oh, mortals and their fleeting lifespans..

“Now, let me see.” He gets fed up, and grabs your wrist a little carelessly.

You whimper and wince in pain in response. Your wrist is still sore from the minor injury.

As soon as he hears you make that noise, he looks at you like he just committed the worst act possible. Like accidentally stepping on a dog’s tail. I guess he did see you as that helpless.

After that, he did not berate you (about this specific injury) again. He kept an eye on your wrist, and how it was healing. He’s quite caring for a “cruel” god who dislikes humans. ]

(This could also be… AU Loki searches for affection in the human devotee who is very much in love with him, that he sort of took in and found himself in a dynamic with. He is a bit more merciful than he lets on.)

*Insert kneeling and other fun devoted stuff hereeeee maybe I’ll add more to this later but it lives in my head for now*