#Emerald Enigma

[enigmaticvariation]

not to be a petty vindictive little bitch but I'm so happy that the wuthering heights casting is making people mad and causing them to realize that emerald fennel is not all that. I have been in the anti emerald fennel trenches since day one but all the "let people enjoy things" saltburn lovers kept trying to silence me. She's a shitty writer with unoriginal ideas, too rich and out of touch to create anything with interesting social commentary and as we are now seeing had little respect for the source material she's choosing to adapt. If emerald fennel has no haters I am no longer on this earth.

[pilot-boi]

pls tell me the fact about your ocs that they would hate for someone else to know :) or like their favorite color if you want

Anita would probably hate it if her friends found out why she REALLY had to move there from Milwaukee. The accident wasn’t (entirely) her fault, and her friend eventually made a full recovery, but the stigma and rumors forced her and her family out of town

Nick’s only secret is that he’s gay, and he really only keeps that from his family. His favourite color is green, like baby leaves

Demetri is trans and her sister is depressed, but pretty much the only people who don’t know that are her parents. Her favourite color is sky blue

Nero’s sister was murdered by her boyfriend three or four years ago. The guy was caught and charged, but sometimes when his mind is being mean Nero worries that he could become just as bad as that guy

Emerald doesn’t really have any bad secrets, so favourite color it is. Emerald really likes red, cherry red, there’s a reason she uses them in baking so much

Anthony doesn’t really have any secrets anymore. After getting shot all of his secrets became more than public knowledge, they became newspaper material. His favourite color is bright dandelion yellow, or maybe green like pine trees

Cecilia would probably be horrified if anyone found out she actually cares about the idiot gang. But seriously, her only defense against her emotions is her apathetic exterior, having to acknowledge that she cares would SHATTER her

Lena again doesn’t really have any secrets, at least none she’d be devastated if anyone found out. Her favourite color is also purple, same as her hair

[rileyclaw]

emerald trio: enigmas to all, but most especially amity blight

[valentine-cafe]

Can I please get a macchiato? [amab reader]

thinking about buying alessio a cute pair of lace lingere and him getting all shy while getting fucked in it...mmm...

˖⁺. “ dolled-up, filled-up ! ” : 

﹙ top male reader x bttm mercenary antihero bf ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . alessio 781 x male reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ mercenary ˖ antihero ˖ bad boy esque ˖ enigma  character ﹚

he's always been so cocky and yet now that you have him all dolled up and pretty - he's getting shy. 

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ lingerie ˖ edging ˖ penetrative sex ˖ nipple play ˖ rough sex ˖ hand job ˖ creampie ˖ multiple orgasms ˖ mirror sex | wc : 2k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: whoever requested this I am giving you my first born child !! top that top! DOM THAT DOM!

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

Leather is his signature, and yet lace makes him a masterpiece.

Your hands trail over the canvas. Eager to touch. Grip. Feel him. Dig you nails in and create beautiful red lines over his fair, olive skin.

“Such a pretty boy. . .” your croon to his ear is met with a low grunt. Nothing of contempt. The pink on his helix told you all that you needed to know. The shivers that vibrated against your palms too. And those emerald eyes staring back at you from the mirror he faces? Oh, they spoke thousands.

The black lace feels perfect against his skin. Looks even better on him. Both in reality and reflection. You run your fingers over his hips and trace them to his thighs. Trailing them into the slip of the garter you simply had to buy with. You stretch it away from his skin - before allowing it to smack back into his muscular thigh.

You nurse the noise that he makes. Your hand quickly slips between his legs and palms at his leaking cock. Slow. Purposeful. Easing that perfect sound into a long-winded whimper.

“Querido. . .”

“I know baby. I know.”

Your free hand finds his jaw. Tightens and yanks so that he stares at the beautiful piece of art your eyes hungrily rove over. “Look at yourself. Watch as I do this to you, Alessio.”

His name on your lips always has him elated, but this made him dizzy. Makes him weakly buck up into your hand that devilishly strokes along his pulsing nerves. You make sure to shove the soft fabric off so that you an see the way his tip throbs. Pink and begging for your thumb to swirl around mercilessly.

You wet your lips at the curve that his back takes. Your hips keenly following by grinding your wet dick up against his ass. Wanting another go at fucking him raw.

“Need this baby?” Your hiss elicits a whine. With a rough shake of your hand on his jaw - you shove your thumb past his lips and roughly pad down on his tongue.

“Said fucking watch yourself.”

His eyes flutter at the rough treatment. If only to cross when you slip back in. Your groan mixes with his series of moans and you buck your hips up to sink further into his tight rim. It mattered not how much he took your cock. He always clamps like a needy little slut.

Instead of the harsh skin-slapping that filled the room prior, you bite on your tongue and force your thrusts to slow. Ease your dick into his gummy walls. Retreat. Fill again. Till your balls tap at his ass gently and he’s whining about you being deep.

Or going slow. You’re not sure yet.

“That feel good baby? Yeah?” Huffs meet his ear. You stutter your hips against the plush of his ass and grin at the moans that fall from him. His large hands grip at the edges of the mirror and he bends slightly. Steering his hips back into your cock and giving you the perfect angle to bury your hand into his messy black hair.

You so desperately want to fuck him until he’s drooling again. Have him bounce on your cock so you paint his insides and thighs white. But this time you want to adore the lace on him. Trail your fingers over the black fabric and feel the way it frames his body so perfectly. Enhancing some of the beauty spots along his sides. Riding up his waist with each thrust back into you. An invite to grip and yank him back against you, if you do say so yourself.

“So gorgeous. God. Do you have any idea?”

He whines at you. You just so manage to hear the low mutter. The soft shut up. So you curl your fingers into his tousled strands and jerk his face to the mirror properly again. Resuming your harsh treatment with hard. Yet slow thrusts. So that at the very least his plush flesh claps with each smack of your hips. Tempered. Punishing.

“Oh no. You’re not getting away from this.” You grunt through clenched teeth. Just like he’s clenching around your dick. Begging to be filled again most probably. As though your slick isn’t still staining his thighs from earlier. “You’re gonna watch. Gonna see what a pretty lil’ toy you are for me.”

The restraint bubbles away. You start fucking him a bit faster. The wet squelching fills the room quicker. So do his moans that catch in his throat or whine out when his mouth falls open and his face scrunches up.

“A-Am - Am - hhh - or fuck -!”

“Say it. Fucking say it.”

The growl comes from deep with you. Rough like the way you start humping his ass. The way you start slamming at an angle - against that one bundle. So that Alessio can’t even buck back into you properly. All he can do is take it. Like he’s good for; in that pretty lingerie of his.

Your mouth finds his ear. Clamping teeth as you speed your thrusts. Cramming your hips into his and using another hand to shove his legs together. So that he’s squished, pressured — all the more to add to the intensity. “Want you to say you’re a pretty little toy. Pretty little whore.”

“I-I - I-hhh - m- ah! Fuck - po-por f-ffff-fuck please-”

The whining caught in his throat is so endearing. You bark a breathless laugh into his ear and yank him back. Stumbling through your bedroom floor and shoving the mercenary onto the bed. Hands gripping at his forearms as you squish him onto his stomach. Rail him from behind until tears squeeze out of his emerald eyes and his moans turn into drooling words.

You know how stubborn he is. Know that you have to force compliments down his throat. The same way your forcing your dick into his thigh ass. Mercilessly slapping. Addicted to the lewd sounds of his ever-taking hole. The slop of your cum all over his thighs. His own on his abdomen. The sheets.

It’s such a mess. And still - he’s the most beautiful thing that you’ve seen. Something you are ready to drill into his head. Even if it takes all night of you pulling and twisting him. Fucking him full so that he’s crying. He’ll repeat your words. Even if he has to sob it while you are pounding him ball-deep.

“A-Am- Amoor-ciiitttooo -! No - N-No puedo -” ( “I can’t-” )

Liar. He always could. He proves it with the way that his little hole spasms around you when you shove him onto his back and bully your way back into him. Fucking every inch in until he’s stuffed full and arching because of it.

“Yes you - hah - yes you can baby. You can. Look at me.”

Your hand reaches down to caress his tear-stained face. You abruptly slam into him. Cram your hips against his and jostle him further up the sheets. Wrecking the bed like you’re wrecking his trembling body. This position allows you to see just how much he’s creamed himself all over. The sticky substance clings onto the material pooling around his waist.

The sight has you groaning. Your hips stutter to shallow. Fuck him full repeatedly while also grinding into that spot hat has his eyes threatening to roll back again.

Your hand takes a quick detour to roughly tug at the trap of the lingerie. Gentleness be damned. You’ll buy him a new one. Buy him five. Ten - as many as he wants. Anything if it meant getting him to squirm beneath you like this.

Skilled fingers brush the fabric away and you give one of your favourite parts of him some love. Tugging at his nipple piercings before hurling a small wad of spit. So that you can swirl your thumb around the sensitive bud and watch as he crumbles even more.

Your name on his lips is so broken. So pitiful. You simple have to dip your head down and suck on his nipples. All while your hips make bruises on his. Pounding his poor little ass into the sheets until he’s crying out all sorts of phrases in his mother-tongues you can’t eve decipher.

“N-No p-pueeedddoo! D-Dios - ah- Por dios - e-es t-aaan profundo -hngh!” ( “I can’t - oh god - it’s too deep.” )

As if you knew what he was saying, you try to bury yourself deeper. Grip at his thighs and fuck into him with your own desperation. A desperation to claim. To pleasure. To remind. You force yourself away from his nipples slathered in your saliva to instead crane your head over his. Shut your eyes, crease your brows and focus all your strength into fucking his poor hole raw.

“Goood baby I - hngh - fuuckk you’re too fuckin’ pretty -”

His moans sound odd suddenly. You let your gaze fall to investigate. If only to be met with the sight of his head flicked to the side. The back of his knuckles covering the lower half of his face. The mere gesture warms your hearts — to think. The cocky bastard. Your flirty charmer of a boyfriend. Shy over being called pretty and fucked in a lingerie.

It’s such a pitiful sight. Such an endearing one. Your hand returns to brush some of his messy strands back. Before clicking your tongue and drawing out your thrusts again. Slowing them so that you might piston him in that way that shakes his body and slams the headboard into the wall.

“Did I say you could do that?” You snatch his wrist and pin it firmly. Giving a harsh squeeze to remind it to stay there. Before you reach up to cup at Alessio’s reddened face. So that you might tilt it up and pour your loving gaze down into his teary ones.

“You still haven’t said it. Please. Baby please.”

Your pleading combined with your thrusts shallowing once more. Rolling and fucking him just right. There was no denying you this time. Not when you looked down at him as though he was every star in the fucking universe.

“I-I’m - I hah -”

“You can do it. Come on. Say you’re my pretty boy.”

To motivate, your slip a grip under his thigh so that you can toss his leg over your shoulder. Invade his space further. Bring your warm bodies together so that you can make him cum again. You’re not sure how long you might last either. But one thing’s for sure. You’re using his body through the night.

His teary eyes meet yours. His hand weakly reaches to cling onto your bicep - and at last, he rasps out in a trembling voice: “I’m . . . I-I’mmm - fuck -” he gasps at your little spank to his ass.

“I’m your pretty - your p-pretty boy youur prettyy boy - ah!”

You have to reward him by cramming your hips into his. Snatch at his cock and pump him until he’s creaming all over again. The sobs that leave his lips as he tosses his head back into the sheets makes all the strain in your muscles worth it.

No - the sight of him laying there. In that black lingerie that has nothing on his beauty - taking it like your good, pretty boy. That is what makes everything worth it.

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[aventurineswife]

YOU NEED REQS??? I HAVE REQS

model aventurine X designer reader and like aventurine is basically reader’s muse and she legit starts to fall for him

A Beautiful Wager

Summary: As a celebrated designer, your work thrives on inspiration from the extraordinary, and Aventurine—model, IPC executive, and a walking enigma—proves to be the perfect muse. Beneath his charm and confident smirk lies a man of contradictions, and as your creative collaboration deepens, so does your bond. When the walls Aventurine hides behind begin to crack, you find yourself gambling on something more valuable than art: his heart.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn Romance, Designer x Model Dynamics, Mutual Pining, Flirty Banter, Emotional Vulnerability.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma, Emotional manipulation, Themes of self-doubt and trust issues, Subtle exploration of power dynamics.

The golden glow of Penacony’s fading sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of your studio, painting the room with a surreal warmth. Rolls of luxurious fabric spilled across the tables, and half-finished designs cluttered the walls, each sketch a testament to your restless creativity. At the center of it all stood him—Aventurine.

He leaned casually against the fitting stand, his long overcoat draped over one shoulder, golden jewelry catching the light. His eyes sparkled with a mischief that seemed to challenge the very laws of fate. “So,” he purred, voice smooth and tinged with amusement, “am I the perfect muse, or is my reputation doing all the work?”

You laughed, though his question wasn’t entirely untrue. Aventurine had become both a fascination and an enigma for you. As a designer, you sought inspiration in the rare and extraordinary, and he was all of that—and more. His flamboyant charm, the intricate details of his appearance, even the way he adjusted his glasses with a knowing smirk—it all captivated you.

“I wouldn’t call you perfect,” you teased, stepping closer with a measuring tape. “But you’re close enough.”

Aventurine grinned, tilting his head to let the light catch the peacock feather earring that dangled from his ear. “Close enough? My, my, darling, that stings. I’ll have you know, the IPC considers me the definition of perfection.”

“Perfection isn’t always inspiring,” you replied, your voice laced with a quiet sincerity that caught him off guard. “Flaws, contradictions—those are what make people fascinating. Like you.”

For a brief moment, Aventurine’s mask slipped. His ever-present smile softened, and something unspoken flickered in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual devil-may-care bravado. “I’m flattered. Truly. Tell me, do I inspire chaos or brilliance?”

“Both,” you admitted, stepping back to admire your work. You’d chosen a deep emerald-green fabric for his ensemble, tailored to emphasize his sleek frame and finished with intricate golden embroidery that echoed the roulette wheel motif he favored. As you adjusted the final piece, your fingers brushed against his wrist.

It was subtle, but you felt him tense under your touch.

“Do you always gamble this much on your work?” he asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Only when the stakes are high,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

“And what’s at stake here?” Aventurine leaned in slightly, the playful edge in his tone giving way to something deeper.

You hesitated, caught off guard by the intensity of his question. His eyes searched yours, no longer masked by his usual flamboyance. For the first time, you glimpsed the man behind the facade—the vulnerability, the pain, the weight of secrets he carried.

“You...” you said softly.

The word hung between you, delicate yet unyielding. Aventurine’s expression shifted, the cracks in his armor widening as he considered your answer. He could dismiss it, turn it into another joke, another game—but he didn’t.

Instead, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in a gesture that felt both tentative and deliberate. “Careful, darling,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with warning. “You might win more than you bargained for.”

You smiled, refusing to let him retreat behind his walls. “Good. I don’t design for safe bets.”

Aventurine chuckled, the sound soft and genuine, and for the first time, his smile felt real. “Well then,” he said, his voice a mix of challenge and admiration, “let’s see if you can outplay me.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as the two of you stood there, a designer and their muse caught in a moment that felt like the beginning of something neither of you could fully understand—yet neither of you could walk away from.

[ccadaver]

eye color HCs

Bruce: cold watery blue

Dick: weezer blue (he is proud of this)

Babs: emerald green

Jason: murky green (green? grey? hazel? who knows. enigma)

Steph: biggest blues you've ever seen with specks of green

Tim: dark greyish blue

Cass: so dark brown they look black

Damian: golden brown, almost yellow in the sun

Duke: Warmest brown puppy eyes. try telling him no. male manipulator eyes (compliment)

[kookie-doughs]

What's Wrong With The Slytherins?

Slytherin Gang X Reader

-Y/N L/N accidentally gets invited in a group chat.

Chapter 1: I'm Going To Leave

You're lost in your own world, a smile playing on your lips as you reread the exchange with the gang.

"L/N!" Athena's voice, sharp and clear, slices through the hum. You blink, pulled back to reality. She stands with hands on hips, fiery hair framing her face, a mock glare masking a playful glint in her eyes.

"Bloody hell, Y/N," she chuckle, peeking at the held device. "I've been calling you for ten minutes! What's got your attention?"

A blush, warm as embers, bloomed on your cheeks. "Phone? I was..." Contemplating whether to share the event to her or keep to yourself you smiled, deciding against it not long after as its much easier that way to keeo your identity secret. "Just lost in thought, that's all."

The suspicion lingering in Athena's emerald eyes was palpable, but she wisely held her tongue. "I have DADA with Ced," she announced, linking her arm with yours. "Let me walk you to Charms before then. Maybe along the way, you'll feel like... enlightening me about your sudden trance."

You chuckled, the warm sound hollow as you clutched the secret close. As you ambled through the throng, a murmur rippled through the crowd, the path ahead inexplicably clearing. Heads swiveled, whispers fluttered on the breeze. "It's Tom Riddle," a student breathed, their voice laced with a swooning awe that made your stomach churn.

Athena tugged you discreetly to the side, her gaze fixed on the approaching figure. Tom Riddle. Tall, regal, with an aura of power that seemed to hang in the air like incense. You followed his path with your eyes, your heart doing a clumsy tap dance in your chest.

It wasn't that you weren't in love with him, you just weren't like the simpering girls who practically melted at his smile. No, you'd seen past the polished exterior, glimpsed the darkness simmering beneath the charm. Tom Riddle was smart, yes, dangerously so. Handsome, undeniably. Nice? Hardly.

Yet, a part of you, a reckless, foolish part, couldn't deny a grudging admiration. He was fascinating, an enigma wrapped in a riddle. And now, the mystery seemed to brush against you, you had garnered his attention.

The world narrowed to just him, his dark hair catching the dying sunlight, his lips quirking in a sardonic smile. You forgot Athena, forgot Charms, forgot everything but the pull of the shadows he cast.

Was it fear? Excitement? Curiosity? Had he figured you out? You didn't have the answer, not yet. But as Tom Riddle's gaze brushed yours, you knew this was just the beginning.

The final chime of the bell echoed through the corridor, signaling the start of Charms. You watched Athena skip off to DADA, her eyes still sparkling with Tom Riddle's afterglow.

As you settled into your Charms seat, your gaze couldn't help but stray towards the door. Every rustle of robes, every whispered word, made your head snap up in hope. Would Tom, just for a moment, glance your way? Would he recognize the clues you'd left scattered?

You'd subtly moved your quill to point in his direction during Professor Flitwick's lecture, hoping he'd catch the unspoken message. You'd let out a small cough whenever your eyes met his in the bustling hallways, a barely-there sound only he might understand.

Professor Flitwick, perched on a pile of enchanted textbooks, noticed your gaze wandering once too often. His sharp eyes, twinkling behind oversized spectacles, darted towards you. "Miss L/N," he squeaked in a voice surprisingly booming for his stature, "would you care to demonstrate the Summoning Charm for the class?"

Panic seized you. Your mind, tangled in Tom Riddle's cryptic magic and unspoken attraction, was barren of spell formations. Yet, to your surprise, Tom's gaze met yours, a faint glint of amusement dancing in his brown eyes. It was as if he'd seen right through you.

Taking a deep breath, you channeled the image. You flicked your wand, whispering the incantation with newfound confidence.

A hush fell over the classroom. Professor Flitwick, despite his diminutive stature, clapped his hands with glee. "Excellent, Miss L/N! As expected from a L/N!" His praise washed over you, but your eyes remained fixed on Tom.

A thrill coursed through you, a dangerous mix of fear and excitement. Tom locked eyes with you and wrote something down. Does he know? Would he befriend you? Are you gonna get closer with him? Or had you simply drawn the attention of a dangerous predator?

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Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay

[dreamersworldduh]

Is requests still open? If yes, can you make a Hal Jordan x M!Reader where the reader is also the member of the JL (It decided by you his powers), and Hal is casually admiring him then eventually asked to go on a date with him with a touch of smut on the end.

Sorry if I may ask for too much, please. Just take your time!! And also, love your fics!! ^^

SECRET ADMIRER

• HAL JORDAN x MALE READER

SUMMARY — Hal Jordan never expected to fall this hard. What started as playful admiration of Y/N's extraordinary power and effortless grace on the battlefield quickly turned into something more. From flirtatious banter during Justice League missions to an unforgettable first date, Hal found himself drawn deeper into Y/N's orbit. Their chemistry was undeniable, their connection effortless, and soon, one night together turned into something more—something real.

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Violence. Swearing.

WORDS! 9.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Sorry about the delay, but I have fallen for Nathan Scott and I have been writing about him for a bit, daydreaming but don’t worry I’m checking back into reality. Anywho, enjoy your reading✨🫶🏽

The battlefield was a maelstrom of destruction, a chaotic symphony of clashing energies, monstrous war cries, and the distant rumble of collapsing structures. Hal Jordan stood at the heart of it, his emerald-clad form unwavering as he scanned the battlefield. His sharp green eyes locked onto Y/N, a mixture of admiration and intrigue flickering within them. He had witnessed countless warriors, battled cosmic titans, and stood against the wrath of gods, yet something about Y/N was... different.

Y/N stood amidst the chaos like a beacon of untamed power, an enigma of both human resilience and Anodite supremacy. He was neither fully mortal nor fully ethereal, yet he commanded the raw, boundless energies of the universe as though they were an extension of his own will. His body shimmered with an aura of undiluted mana, a luminous cascade shifting seamlessly between hues of deep violet, iridescent indigo, and brilliant silver. The very air around him pulsed and crackled with an intensity that made the fabric of reality quiver in his presence, as if space itself bent in deference to his power.

As the enemy forces—grotesque, otherworldly invaders from the farthest reaches of space—swarmed forward in a frenzied wave, their monstrous forms blotting out the light, Y/N barely flinched. His fingers twitched, a faint glow igniting at his fingertips before flaring into a blinding, celestial blaze. Without a single wasted motion, he raised a hand, and the energy obeyed like an extension of his soul.

A tidal wave of unfiltered mana erupted from his palm, cascading forward with an elegance that bordered on divine. It surged across the battlefield, a radiant force of destruction and beauty, sweeping through the advancing horde like a cleansing fire. The invaders were obliterated on contact, their forms dissolving into nothingness, leaving only the lingering echoes of their existence in the wind. For a fleeting moment, silence fell over the battlefield, the only illumination coming from the ethereal afterglow of Y/N's unleashed might.

Hal exhaled, leaning against a floating construct of his own creation—a luminous green platform, solid yet weightless under his touch. His arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable as he studied Y/N. Unlike most warriors, who fought with grit, rage, or desperation, Y/N wielded his power with an effortless grace. Every movement was precise, deliberate, as if he were composing an intricate symphony rather than engaging in a battle for survival.

It was mesmerizing.

"You make this look easy," Hal finally remarked, his smirk barely concealing the awe in his voice. The glow of his power ring flickered against the radiant light of Y/N's swirling mana, two forces of unimaginable power coexisting in perfect contrast—one forged by will, the other by sheer, unrelenting magic.

Y/N turned slightly, his eyes gleaming like distant stars, depths of wisdom and unspoken power lurking beneath their gaze. The energy coursing around him swirled and coiled like a living entity, responding to his presence, attuned to his every thought. There was something both intimidating and fascinating about the way he carried himself—unshaken, assured, as if he had long since come to terms with the enormity of his existence.

"It helps when you're part Anodite," he quipped, his voice laced with quiet amusement. There was a knowing smirk on his lips, one that spoke of experience beyond years, of a power so deeply ingrained in his being that it was as natural as breathing.

Hal chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

But even as he spoke, his gaze lingered on Y/N, unable to pull away. It wasn't just the power, the elegance, or even the sheer destructive force Y/N wielded with such ease. It was something deeper—an essence, an unknowable brilliance that set him apart from anything Hal had ever encountered.

Y/N wasn't just strong.

He was something else entirely. A force that defied classification, a being that could tilt the scales of any battle with the flick of his wrist. And for the first time in a long, long while, Hal Jordan—Green Lantern of Sector 2814, a man who had faced the unimaginable—found himself in awe.

The battle was far from over, but as the next wave of enemies charged forward, Hal wasn't just thinking about victory anymore.

He was thinking about the sheer, terrifying, and extraordinary force that fought beside him.

Y/N moved like a celestial force given form, his presence exuding a raw, mesmerizing energy that bent reality itself. Each flick of his wrist sent dazzling arcs of mana cascading through the battlefield, tearing through the monstrous invaders with unrelenting precision. Their grotesque forms barely had time to register their destruction before they disintegrated into motes of nothingness, consumed by the sheer potency of his attacks.

Hal had encountered countless warriors, beings of immense power that could shake the cosmos with a thought—but Y/N? He was something else entirely. There was a seamless, almost artistic grace to the way he fought, as if the battlefield was his canvas and magic his brush. His every movement was controlled, deliberate, and yet carried an air of effortless mastery that Hal couldn't tear his eyes away from. And if he was being completely honest with himself, the way those pulses of glowing mana outlined Y/N's well-toned physique certainly didn't go unnoticed.

His admiring gaze was rudely interrupted by the sudden crackle of static in his earpiece, followed by a low, gravelly voice that carried every ounce of irritation one would expect.

"Jordan. Get your eyes off Y/N's ass and focus on taking down the creature."

Hal blinked, momentarily startled before a slow, amused smirk curled across his lips. He barely turned his head, still watching as Y/N dodged a hulking beast's attack with an effortless backflip, mana swirling around him in hypnotic waves. The smirk only grew.

"C'mon, Bats," Hal drawled lazily, leaning further into his construct as if he were watching an entertaining performance rather than an all-out war. "You're monitoring from the Watchtower. Don't tell me you're not at least a little impressed."

"That's not the point," Batman snapped, his tone carrying that signature mix of exasperation and barely restrained irritation. "The creature is still standing. Quit gawking and do your job."

Hal hummed noncommittally, but his attention was already drawn back to Y/N, who was currently dismantling another wave of enemies with almost casual ease. His luminous mana pulsed in rhythmic bursts, glowing embers of violet and silver lingering in the air like celestial dust. It was hypnotic—the way his body twisted and turned, dodging incoming attacks with liquid fluidity before retaliating with breathtaking precision.

With a knowing smirk, Hal finally responded, "Nah, Bats. He's got it under control."

On the other end, there was an audible sharp exhale, followed by what Hal could only assume was Batman pinching the bridge of his nose in sheer frustration.

Unbothered, Hal simply crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly as he continued his very important task of 'monitoring' Y/N. The way he fought—every movement sharp, yet fluid, exuding confidence in every strike—was damn near hypnotic.

"Man," Hal murmured to himself, ignoring the chaos still unfolding around him, "it's like watching a damn fireworks show. A really attractive one."

"I swear to god, Jordan—"

Hal, still grinning, cut the comm line before Batman could finish his impending threat. With the Dark Knight suitably ignored, Hal returned his full attention to the spectacle before him. After all, why interfere when perfection was at work?

The battlefield lay in eerie silence, the aftermath of battle lingering like the final notes of a war song. The once-roaring chaos had settled into an almost reverent stillness, the only remnants of the monstrous foe now nothing more than drifting embers of dissolved energy. The air remained thick with the scent of scorched earth, metallic ozone, and the residual charge of magic that had been unleashed moments prior. Wisps of violet and silver mana still crackled in the air like spectral fireflies, drawn toward Y/N's fingertips before dissipating into the void.

Y/N exhaled slowly, lowering his hand as the last flickers of power receded beneath his skin. His breathing was controlled, steady—though there was no denying the sheer force he had just wielded. His presence alone radiated energy, a quiet yet commanding force of nature.

From above, Hal Jordan let out a low, appreciative whistle, cutting through the tension like a blade. He remained casually perched against one of his glowing emerald constructs, arms crossed, his ever-present smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well," he drawled, "if that wasn't the most graceful ass-kicking I've ever seen, I don't know what is."

Y/N turned slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in mild amusement. "You could've helped, you know."

Hal pushed off his construct, activating his ring once more as he floated down beside Y/N, his green aura casting a soft glow against the residual shimmer of mana in the air. "Oh, trust me, I was helping." He grinned, gesturing toward himself with mock grandeur. "Moral support, expert-level commentary, and, most importantly, making sure you looked damn good while doing all the work. Arguably the most important job out here."

Y/N rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance in the motion. "Right. Sure, Jordan."

Hal chuckled, but there was something else in the way he looked at Y/N now—a lingering glint in his eye, something just beneath the surface that he wasn't quite ready to name.

With the battle won and the city below now secured, the two of them lifted effortlessly into the sky, breaking through the upper atmosphere with practiced ease. The world fell away behind them, fading into the vast stretch of space. Up here, beyond the chaos and destruction, the universe stretched infinitely before them, stars glimmering like scattered diamonds against the endless black. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that only existed in the void—heavy, yet peaceful.

Hal flew alongside Y/N, hands resting behind his head in a seemingly relaxed pose, though his gaze kept flicking toward him every so often. The glow of Y/N's mana still pulsed faintly around him, a subtle luminescence that made his features stand out against the cold backdrop of space. Hal felt something tighten in his chest—not in fear, not in unease, but something else. Something unfamiliar. He had seen power before. He had seen warriors, legends, gods. And yet, there was something about Y/N—his presence, his confidence, the way he carried himself like he belonged among the stars themselves—that made Hal pause.

He wasn't sure what it was. And frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to analyze it too deeply just yet.

Instead, he opted for what he did best—charming, casual, and just a little reckless.

"So," Hal began, tilting his head slightly as he turned toward Y/N, "I was thinking... We've saved the world, kicked some serious ass, and probably made Bats roll his eyes so hard he's given himself a migraine." He paused, purely for dramatic effect, watching the faint curiosity spark in Y/N's expression before continuing, "Seems to me like we deserve a reward."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "And what exactly do you have in mind?"

Hal's grin widened, though there was something genuine behind it—something just a little less playful, a little less deflective. He shrugged, floating just a little closer. "Dinner. You, me, somewhere nice—preferably a place where we're not getting shot at, blasted, or dealing with some intergalactic nightmare." He raised an eyebrow. "What do you say?"

Y/N regarded him for a moment, as if considering, weighing the offer like one would a well-placed bet. Then, with a soft chuckle, he nodded. "Alright, Jordan. You're on."

Hal couldn't stop the surge of satisfaction that spread through him at those words. He wasn't entirely sure what this was—just a bit of fun, or maybe something more—but whatever it was, he was more than willing to find out.

As the Watchtower loomed in the distance, the stars reflecting in their eyes, Hal found himself looking forward to whatever came next.

As Y/N and Hal Jordan descended onto the Watchtower's pristine metallic flooring, the soft hum of their energy dissipated into the hushed stillness of the station. The docking bay, illuminated by the ambient glow of reinforced LED panels, stretched before them in sleek, futuristic elegance. Beyond the Watchtower's expansive windows, Earth hung suspended in the void—a breathtaking sphere of blue and white, small yet vibrant against the backdrop of infinite darkness. It was the kind of sight that could make anyone pause, that could remind even the most seasoned heroes of the beauty of the world they fought to protect.

But Hal Jordan was preoccupied with something far more intriguing.

"Well," Hal declared, rolling his shoulders with a lazy grin, "I'd say that was a hell of a team-up. We saved the day, looked damn good doing it, and—most importantly—I managed to score a date. All in all, not bad for a day's work."

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his slightly tousled hair, a few errant strands still wild from the intensity of battle. "I don't know if I'd call it a 'team-up,' considering you spent most of the fight standing around and watching."

Hal gasped in mock offense, placing a hand over his chest as if wounded. "Hey now, I was tactically observing. You were putting on a whole damn light show out there—I didn't wanna interrupt the magic."

Y/N smirked but didn't press the argument. Instead, he stretched slightly, rolling out his shoulders before exhaling. "Right. Well, I'm gonna go wash up. See you later, Jordan."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode toward the locker rooms, the faint glow of residual mana still crackling in the air around him like distant static. Hal, however, remained standing where he was, hands on his hips, watching Y/N disappear down the corridor. A slow, smug smile crept onto his face.

Yeah. Today had been a very good day.

Without wasting another second, Hal pivoted and made his way toward the common area. He knew exactly who he needed to find.

As expected, Barry Allen was there, comfortably leaned back at one of the sleek, high-tech lounge tables, flipping through a stack of mission reports at super-speed. His fingers blurred as he rapidly scanned through the data, his mind processing information at an incomprehensible rate. Hal, of course, had absolutely zero interest in mission reports.

Clapping his hands together, he announced his arrival with the energy of someone who had just won the lottery.

"Barry, my guy," Hal drawled, dragging out the words as he strolled up with the confidence of a man who had just conquered Mount Olympus itself. "Guess who just landed himself a date with the most ridiculously powerful, unfairly attractive half-human, half-Anodite badass?"

Barry didn't even look up. "Please tell me it's not you."

"It is me."

Barry groaned audibly, finally setting the reports down before giving Hal a long, suffering stare. "Why do you sound so proud? You annoyed that poor guy into dating you, didn't you?"

Hal scoffed, placing a hand on his chest. "Absolutely not. It was pure charisma. Natural charm. Irresistible good looks."

Barry blinked once. "So, annoyance got you the date. Got it."

Before Hal could retaliate with a rebuttal, a much deeper, far more unimpressed voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Jordan."

Hal tensed slightly. He knew that voice. He also knew exactly how much trouble he was probably about to be in.

Turning slowly, he found Batman standing in the corner, arms crossed, the dark folds of his cape making him look as immovable as a statue. His glare was sharp, unwavering—silent, yet speaking volumes.

Hal coughed, attempting to school his expression into something casual. "Uh, hey there, Bats. You hear the good news?"

Batman's glare did not waver. "Yes. And I also heard you spent more time admiring Y/N than actually contributing to the fight."

Barry, who had previously been exasperated, suddenly perked up with an eager grin. "Oh, this I gotta hear."

Hal held up both hands in defense, his ring pulsing faintly as he gestured wildly. "Okay, first off—not true. I was supervising. Second, Y/N had everything under control. And third—" He smirked. "Can you blame me? The guy is a walking celestial light show with the body of a damn Greek statue."

Batman exhaled through his nose in what could only be described as the long-suffering sigh of a man trying very, very hard not to commit murder. "You're impossible."

Hal's grin widened. "And yet, completely lovable."

Batman turned sharply on his heel and walked away, his cape billowing in a dramatic flourish. He didn't say another word, but the tense way he carried himself screamed frustration.

Barry, meanwhile, had officially lost it. His laughter echoed through the room, full of unrestrained amusement. "Oh, man. I cannot wait to see how this date turns out."

Hal plopped down in the seat across from him, still grinning like he had just won a bet. "Trust me, Barry—neither can I."

The entrance of Celesté, one of Coast City's most renowned fine dining establishments, gleamed under the warm glow of golden chandeliers. The faint clink of crystal glasses and the soft murmur of refined conversation drifted through the air, punctuated by the lilting notes of a grand piano nestled in the corner. Everything about the place exuded elegance—from the impeccably dressed waitstaff to the delicate flicker of candlelight reflecting off polished silverware.

And standing at the entrance, adjusting the cuffs of his sleek black tuxedo, was Hal—a man who, under normal circumstances, would rather be in his flight suit or his Green Lantern uniform. Dressing up wasn't exactly his thing, but tonight? Tonight was different.

Tonight, he had a date with Y/N, and there was no way in hell he was half-assing it.

Despite his usual easy confidence, Hal found himself rolling his shoulders as if shaking off an invisible tension. It wasn't nerves, not really—he didn't do nerves—but there was an anticipation buzzing beneath his skin, a restless kind of excitement that had nothing to do with the mission reports he had totally ignored earlier that day.

He checked his watch, lips twitching into a smirk. Any second now.

And then—like the universe had been waiting for the perfect moment��Y/N stepped through the restaurant doors.

And Hal's breath? Yeah, it hitched.

The shift in the atmosphere was almost palpable. Y/N carried himself with an effortless confidence that commanded attention, but it was the way the tailored suit hugged his frame that made the whole thing downright unfair. The smooth, high-end fabric moved with him, accentuating sharp lines and quiet power, each stride filled with the kind of grace that couldn't be taught.

His hair was styled—refined enough to suit the occasion, but still holding just enough of that untamed edge to remind Hal exactly who he was dealing with. And that? That was dangerous.

For a moment, Hal just stared.

Holy. Hell.

Y/N's gaze swept across the restaurant before locking onto Hal, and just like that, Hal snapped out of it, forcing his signature cocky smirk back into place as if his brain hadn't short-circuited seconds earlier. He squared his shoulders, exuding every bit of the cool, effortless charm he was known for.

Showtime.

"Well, well," Hal drawled as Y/N came to a stop in front of him, his tone smooth, but his eyes shamelessly lingering for just a second longer than necessary. "I was already looking forward to tonight, but man—you just made my entire week."

Y/N let out a low chuckle, his lips curving into something amused, and Hal felt a flicker of satisfaction at the sound. "That so?"

Hal gestured with an exaggerated sweep of his hand. "I mean, look at you. That suit? Criminally good. You clean up ridiculously well, and frankly, I think it's kinda unfair to the rest of us."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Coming from the guy who looks like he just walked off the cover of GQ?"

Hal's grin widened, preening just a little as he straightened his tie. "What can I say? I had to step up my game for you."

For a fleeting second, something flickered in Y/N's eyes—something warm, something genuine. It wasn't just amusement anymore; it was appreciation, maybe even something fond.

And that? That was a win.

Y/N exhaled softly, his voice smooth as he said, "Well, you did a good job."

Hal's grin turned just a little smug as he extended an arm in an exaggerated gentlemanly fashion. "Shall we?"

Y/N rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Instead, he took the offered arm, the warmth of his touch settling against Hal's suit sleeve, and together, they stepped further into the restaurant.

The golden candlelight flickered around them, the hushed ambiance of the room embracing them in an atmosphere of something undeniably electric.

And in that moment, as Hal walked beside the most ridiculously powerful, unfairly attractive, and completely intriguing person he had ever met—he knew one thing for certain.

This? This was already shaping up to be one hell of a night.

The soft hum of conversation wove through the elegant restaurant like a well-rehearsed symphony, mingling with the delicate clinking of silverware against fine china. The warm glow of flickering candlelight bathed the room in an intimate ambiance, its golden hues casting elongated shadows along the crisp white tablecloths. The air was rich with the tantalizing aroma of expertly crafted dishes, each plate an artful display of culinary mastery.

At the center of it all, seated at a secluded table near the window, were Hal Jordan and Y/N.

For once, they weren't warriors, they weren't heroes locked in battle—they were simply two people, enjoying the company of the other. No cosmic threats loomed over them, no urgent mission awaited. Just this moment, unburdened and uninterrupted.

Hal leaned back in his chair, his broad shoulders easing into the plush seat as he lazily swirled the deep red wine in his glass. The crimson liquid caught the candlelight, casting rippling reflections onto the table's surface. Gone was his usual cocky bravado—the one he wielded like a second skin in the field. Instead, he had settled into something more relaxed, the version of himself that only surfaced when there was no need to impress—not that he needed to.

After all, Y/N had already agreed to this date.

Across from him, Y/N looked effortlessly composed, his well-tailored suit somehow still pristine despite the long evening. Yet, there was something warm in the way he chuckled at Hal's last remark, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"So let me get this straight," Y/N said, setting his fork down with a smirk. "You crashed a fighter jet on purpose just to prove a point?"

Hal grinned, holding up a finger. "Technically, I landed it in a way that looked like a crash. Huge difference."

Y/N shook his head, his smirk deepening. "And your superiors just... let that slide?"

"Nah, they were too impressed I actually pulled it off." Hal leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into a smooth, conspiratorial tone. "Besides, I've always been good at getting out of trouble."

Y/N hummed, lifting his glass to his lips before taking a slow sip. "More like good at getting into trouble."

Hal laughed, tipping his glass toward him in a mock toast. "Fair enough." He set it down, resting his elbow on the table as his gaze softened with curiosity. "Alright, enough about me. I know what you're like in the field—calm, collected, freakishly powerful—but outside of the whole 'saving the world' thing, what's your deal? What do you do when you're not making Batman twitch with stress?"

Y/N smirked, clearly enjoying the question. "You mean when I'm not dealing with you flirting in the middle of a fight?"

Hal placed a hand over his heart, gasping dramatically. "Hey, I multi-task."

Y/N chuckled, leaning back slightly as he considered the question. "Honestly? I like the quiet. I spend so much time surrounded by chaos that when I finally get the chance, I just want to be somewhere peaceful. Reading, stargazing, finding those little moments where I don't have to be 'on' all the time."

Hal studied him, intrigued. "Huh. So you're the 'find peace in the little things' type?"

Y/N nodded slightly, twirling his glass absently between his fingers. "Something like that." He tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "What about you? When you're not flying around with that power ring, what does Hal Jordan do to unwind?"

Hal smirked. "Besides annoying Batman?"

"Besides annoying Batman."

"Well," Hal tapped his fingers against the table, as if contemplating, before shrugging. "I like fast cars, good drinks, and making bad decisions in Vegas—sometimes all at the same time."

Y/N chuckled. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

Hal grinned but then, after a pause, his smirk faded just slightly. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before finally adding, "But when I actually want to relax?" His fingers traced the rim of his wine glass before he admitted, "Flying."

Y/N lifted a curious brow.

"Not with the ring," Hal clarified. "Just flying. When I was a kid, my dad used to take me up in his jet, and ever since then, being in the air just... calms me down." He exhaled, a rare glimpse of sincerity slipping through. "It's the one place where it's just me, the sky, and nothing else. No responsibilities, no pressure, just freedom."

Y/N watched him carefully, his expression softening ever so slightly. "That actually makes a lot of sense."

Hal arched a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Oh yeah?"

Y/N offered a small smile. "Yeah. You spend so much of your time fighting for everyone else. Guess it's only fair you have something that's just yours."

For a second, Hal blinked.

He was used to the banter, to the playful teasing, to keeping everything light—but this? This was understanding.

And it threw him off guard.

For a brief moment, neither of them spoke. But the silence wasn't awkward—it was comfortable, filled with unspoken words neither of them felt the need to voice. The candle between them flickered gently, its golden glow dancing along their features as a soft piano melody drifted in the background.

Then, because Hal Jordan had never been one to let a moment linger too long, he leaned back and grinned.

"Well, damn," he mused, flashing a charming smirk. "I was just trying to impress you with my whole 'deep, brooding pilot' side, but you actually went and got all insightful on me."

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't worry, Jordan. You're still just as ridiculous as ever."

Hal smirked, lifting his glass. "And yet, here you are. On a date with me."

Y/N rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into something fond as he clinked his glass against Hal's.

"Guess I must like ridiculous."

And just like that, Hal felt that same victorious spark again—but this time, it wasn't about the chase, or the flirtation, or the thrill of the moment.

This time, it was real.

And for once?

He wasn't in any rush to figure it out.

The city had settled into a quiet, comfortable rhythm, its usual chaos giving way to something far more tranquil. The distant hum of traffic blended seamlessly with the muffled sounds of laughter from late-night diners and the occasional honk of a car horn. A cool breeze drifted lazily through the streets, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked pavement—a reminder of the earlier downpour that had long since dried beneath the glow of neon lights and streetlamps.

Beneath that glow, Hal Jordan and Y/N walked side by side, their pace unhurried, their footsteps in sync as they navigated the quiet streets.

Hal had long since abandoned the last remnants of his formal composure—his tie loosened, tuxedo jacket slung over his shoulder, and hands tucked casually into his pockets. The evening had gone better than even he had expected. Dinner had been incredible, conversation never dulled, and there was an undeniable energy lingering between them, something that had been simmering beneath the surface all night.

And Hal? He was in no hurry to let the night end just yet.

"You cannot tell me," Hal said, nudging Y/N's shoulder with a smirk, "that a guy like you doesn't have a list of crazy fan encounters."

Y/N shot him a questioning glance, amused.

Hal gestured broadly. "I mean, c'mon—you're a walking celestial light show. Someone's definitely tried to propose to you mid-battle before."

Y/N let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Surprisingly, no. Though I did have someone try to start a cult around me once. That was... an experience."

Hal stumbled slightly, stopping in his tracks as he turned to gawk at Y/N. "A cult? Oh, now you have to tell me that story."

Y/N smirked, ever the enigma. "Maybe another time."

Hal groaned dramatically. "You're killing me here."

Their laughter softened, gradually fading into something quieter, something unspoken. The warm glow of the streetlights bathed them in golden hues as they reached the entrance of Y/N's apartment building. The polished glass doors reflected the city behind them, the moment suspended in time, as if the universe itself wasn't quite ready to let them go their separate ways.

They slowed to a stop, the space between them small, but charged.

Y/N slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing toward the doors before looking back at Hal. "Well... guess this is my stop."

Hal nodded, rocking back on his heels slightly. "Yeah... damn, and here I was, hoping this street just kept going forever."

Y/N's lips curved into a smirk. "Smooth, Jordan."

Hal flashed his most roguish grin. "I try." But there was something softer in his eyes now, something far more genuine than his usual bravado.

For a beat, Y/N just watched him, as if studying something about him he hadn't quite figured out yet. Then, without warning, he leaned in and placed a quick, teasing kiss against Hal's cheek.

"There," Y/N murmured as he pulled back, his voice laced with amusement. "Consider that your reward for not being too obnoxious tonight."

Hal froze for half a second, his brain short-circuiting before he blinked and turned to look at Y/N, a mixture of amusement and disbelief crossing his face. "Oh, that's dirty. You're really just gonna do that and walk away?"

Y/N tilted his head, pretending to think it over. And then—before Hal could process it—Y/N closed the distance again.

This time, it wasn't just a tease.

This time, it was a kiss—real, deliberate, and slow enough to make time itself hesitate.

It wasn't rushed, wasn't hesitant. It was confident. Certain. Like Y/N had decided something, and this was how he wanted Hal to know.

Hal barely had time to react before instinct took over—his fingers twitching with the urge to grab Y/N's waist, to pull him in, to deepen it. The city, the streetlights, the night itself—all of it faded into the background noise as Hal let himself get lost in it, in the feel of Y/N's lips against his, in the quiet intensity that had been simmering between them all night.

And then, too soon, Y/N pulled back, a smug little smirk tugging at his lips as he watched Hal try to process what just happened.

Hal blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, slowly, his lips stretched into a grin—one that was equal parts impressed and thoroughly wrecked.

"Okay..." Hal exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair as if to ground himself. "Yeah. Way better than the cheek kiss."

Y/N chuckled, his voice smooth. "Glad you approve."

Hal licked his lips absently, still feeling the ghost of the kiss there. "So, uh... where does that leave us?"

Y/N's smirk deepened just slightly as he reached for the door handle, pausing just long enough to glance at Hal with something undeniable in his gaze.

"It leaves us with you coming upstairs with me."

Hal blinked, then arched a brow, his grin widening. "Oh."

Y/N simply shrugged, but there was something teasing in his expression, something that said he knew exactly what he was doing. "Unless you'd rather go home and spend the rest of the night thinking about that kiss instead."

Hal let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. "Nope. Absolutely not."

With that, Y/N pushed the door open, stepping inside with effortless ease, tilting his head slightly in a silent invitation.

And without hesitation, Hal followed.

The moment Y/N and Hal stepped inside the apartment, the door had barely clicked shut before Hal was on him. With a swift motion, he pressed Y/N back against the nearest wall, his body a solid, warm presence against him. The tension that had been simmering all night—through lingering glances, teasing words, and unspoken promises—snapped like a live wire, igniting something urgent, electric, inevitable.

Hal's hands found Y/N's waist, fingers pressing just firm enough to pull him in, as if closing the last inch of space between them was the only thing that mattered. Their lips crashed together in a kiss that was hungry, heated, laced with both impatience and purpose.

Y/N smirked against Hal's lips before flipping their positions in a blur of motion, suddenly pressing Hal back against the wall instead. The shift was seamless, a silent challenge exchanged between them.

"Eager, are we?" Y/N murmured, his breath warm against Hal's mouth, teasing, yet laced with something undeniably predatory.

Hal chuckled, the sound low and rough, his smirk never faltering. "You invited me up." His hands skimmed along Y/N's waist, palming the sharp lines of his hips before giving a light, suggestive squeeze. "What'd you think was gonna happen?"

Instead of answering, Y/N claimed his mouth again—but this time, the kiss was slower, deeper, dripping with something intoxicatingly deliberate. His fingers worked on the last bit of Hal's already loosened tie, pulling it free with practiced ease before his hands slid downward, working at the buttons of Hal's dress shirt.

Hal responded in kind, his own hands already tugging at Y/N's suit jacket, sliding it off broad shoulders and letting it pool onto the floor. Their movements were urgent, desperate, a battle of dominance wrapped in heated friction, neither wanting to slow down.

Somehow, in between kisses, between touches, Y/N guided Hal backward down the dimly lit hallway, their lips barely separating, their hands mapping every inch of exposed skin as they impatiently shed layers between them.

Hal let out a quiet groan when Y/N's hands slipped under his tuxedo jacket, pushing it off in one smooth motion before immediately tearing at the buttons of his shirt. The fabric slid down Hal's toned arms, exposing warm, sun-kissed skin, the sculpted planes of his chest now illuminated by the faint glow of the city skyline bleeding through the windows.

Y/N paused for just a second, his eyes trailing appreciatively over Hal's frame—not out of surprise, but undeniable appreciation.

Hal, noticing the moment, smirked, his breath still uneven. "You're staring," he teased, voice slightly breathless, though unmistakably cocky.

Y/N's lips curled into a smirk of his own, his fingers tracing slow, feather-light paths down Hal's abdomen before giving a firm push, guiding him backward until the mattress caught him. "You like the attention."

Hal grinned, reclining back on his elbows as Y/N climbed over him, the heat between them suffocatingly thick. "Can't blame you for looking." He reached for Y/N's own shirt, making quick, impatient work of the remaining buttons before pushing the fabric down broad shoulders. "But let's even the playing field."

With one final tug, Y/N's shirt joined the growing pile of discarded clothing on the floor, leaving them both bare from the waist up. The temperature between them spiked, skin meeting skin as their bodies pressed flush together in another kiss—this one slower, richer, deeper, filled with a quiet hunger that neither of them intended to leave unsatisfied.

Hal's fingers skimmed downward, his hands settling on Y/N's belt, pulling it free in one fluid motion. Y/N responded in kind, unbuckling Hal's belt and sliding it off with expert ease, the leather making a quiet whispered snap as it was discarded.

Their hands continued their exploration, neither wanting to waste a second, their movements fevered and searching—stripping away the last barriers between them one piece at a time until there was nothing left but bare skin, heat, and the raw pull of gravity between them.

Hal let his gaze sweep over Y/N, his smirk briefly faltering as something darker, more primal flickered in his emerald eyes. He had always known Y/N was powerful—he had fought beside him, seen him in battle, unmatched and untouchable—but this was something else entirely.

Y/N, catching Hal's gaze, arched a single brow, his smirk sharpening. "Not surprised."

Hal chuckled, dragging his hands down Y/N's sides, his thumbs grazing along the sharp cut of his hips. "Oh, you were thinking about it, huh?"

Y/N hummed, leaning in just enough that their lips barely brushed, a tease, a challenge. "I had my suspicions."

Hal's grin turned wicked, his fingers flexing deliberately against Y/N's waist. "Glad to know I didn't disappoint."

Y/N's fingers ghosted over Hal's chest, tracing the defined lines before pressing him back onto the mattress, their bodies following in one seamless motion. His voice was silky smooth, teasing, but dripping with something far more dangerous as he murmured,

"Let's see if you live up to the attitude."

Hal let out a low, pleased chuckle, his gaze dark with undisguised anticipation. He propped himself up just enough to meet Y/N's lips again, his hands already sliding over bare skin, tugging him closer, claiming him with the same reckless confidence that had always defined him.

"Oh, trust me," Hal murmured against Y/N's mouth, his breath hot, his grin devilish.

"I always deliver."

Soon the sheets beneath them were already a tangled mess, twisted and bunched where their bodies had moved, their warmth sinking into the fabric. Y/N was above him, his hands braced against the firm expanse of Hal's chest, fingers splayed over taut muscle as he moved with a rhythm that was deliberate, intoxicating, and entirely unhurried.

Hal lay beneath him, his head tilted back slightly, breath escaping in uneven gasps and quiet groans, but his eyes remained locked onto Y/N—half-lidded, dark with something insatiable. He was drinking in everything—the way Y/N moved, the way his lips parted slightly with every breath, the way his body responded with effortless control and quiet dominance.

Hal's grip on Y/N's waist tightened, fingers pressing into warm skin just enough to leave faint impressions, as if silently staking his claim.

"Damn," Hal groaned, his voice rough, uneven, as he let his hands roam over Y/N's back, tracing the ridges of muscle before gripping just a little firmer. He wasn't leading—he didn't need to. He was content to follow, to watch, to feel. "You really know how to take control, don't you?"

A slow, wicked smirk played on Y/N's lips as he continued his steady, calculated movements, his rhythm precise—teasing, yet never cruel. His fingers dragged deliberately down Hal's chest, nails grazing over heated skin before settling against his sides.

"You did say you liked a little chaos," Y/N murmured, his voice laced with amusement, but beneath it was something darker, something hungry.

Hal let out a gravelly chuckle, though it quickly dissolved into a sharp inhale when Y/N shifted just right, the change in motion sending a ripple of pleasure through him. His fingers flexed against Y/N's hips, guiding, encouraging, but never fully taking over. No—he wanted to feel every moment of this, wanted to watch Y/N unravel him piece by piece.

The room was filled with the sound of ragged breaths, low murmurs, and the faint rustling of fabric against skin, their movements measured yet deliberate, indulgent. The push and pull between them—this quiet battle for control and surrender—was a dance neither of them was in any hurry to finish.

Y/N's breath hitched slightly as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against Hal's, their lips brushing without fully meeting, teasing that last sliver of restraint still lingering between them.

"You're taking this way too well," Y/N muttered, his words a quiet taunt, though his voice was breathless, heated.

Hal smirked, his hands sliding up Y/N's spine, fingers dragging, tracing before gripping his shoulders. "Oh, don't worry," he murmured, his tone rough, teasing, edged with something smug yet undeniably wrecked. His lips barely grazed the corner of Y/N's mouth, his breath hot against his skin. "I can handle you."

Y/N let out a low hum, a sound of satisfaction, before pulling back just enough to meet Hal's gaze head-on. The moment stretched between them, their bodies flush and burning, the weight of their unspoken challenge settling in the air like the final note of a song waiting to be played.

And then—with slow, deliberate ease—Y/N continued.

The pace never faltered, never rushed, but the heat between them only intensified, growing thicker, heavier, their bodies moving in sync, breath mingling in the dimly lit room.

Then Hal decided to take control, the shift was seamless, as if it had always been inevitable. With a firm grip on Y/N's waist, he moved with fluid, effortless strength, flipping their positions in one smooth motion. The rumpled sheets cradled Y/N's back as he landed beneath Hal, the fabric warm, tangled, an echo of the heat lingering between them.

The air between them pulsed, thick with something raw, electric, unrestrained. Hal hovered over him, muscles taut, his body a solid weight above Y/N's, their breaths mingling, overlapping, heavy with anticipation. His emerald gaze burned, taking in everything—the way Y/N's lips were already parted, the way his chest rose and fell, the undeniable invitation in his eyes.

Hal leaned down, capturing Y/N's mouth in a kiss that was deep, consuming, and utterly unrelenting. There was nothing hesitant about it—only heat and hunger, only the undeniable pull of gravity between them. His hands mapped their way down Y/N's sides, fingers tracing every sharp line and soft curve, lingering just long enough to draw a shiver from beneath him.

And then, with practiced ease, he slid his hands lower, gripping firmly at Y/N's thighs before hooking his legs around his waist in one swift, commanding motion. Their bodies collided again, flush against each other, the friction igniting something deeper, something dangerously intoxicating.

The pace shifted—no longer teasing, no longer experimental. Deliberate. Controlled. Every movement was measured, but filled with Hal's signature confidence, that undeniable cocky charm that made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing.

And judging by the way Y/N arched beneath him, the way his breath hitched at every slow, precise motion, Hal knew he was right.

A smirk ghosted against Y/N's jawline before Hal let his lips drift lower, grazing the sensitive skin just below his ear. His breath was hot, teasing, his voice laced with something smug, something darkly amused.

"Thought you liked being in charge?" Hal murmured, his words dragging across Y/N's skin like a slow burn.

Y/N's hands had already found purchase on Hal's back, nails pressing just enough to leave faint scratches, little reminders of the push and pull between them.

His voice was breathless, but still laced with defiance, that ever-present challenging spark in his gaze.

"I do," he murmured, legs tightening around Hal's waist, pulling him even closer. His smirk was dangerous, eyes dark with amusement and something far more primal. "But I don't mind letting you try and keep up."

Hal let out a deep, gravelly chuckle, his grip tightening just slightly, enough to make a point. He pressed in deeper, the movement slow, precise, devastating.

"Oh, sweetheart," he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement, arrogance, and something darker, "I don't try—I deliver."

Y/N barely had time to fire back before Hal's pace changed again, the rhythm stronger, more focused, deliberate in every push and pull between them. A sharp gasp escaped Y/N, and Hal drank it in, memorized it, let it fuel the fire already burning deep within him.

Their bodies moved in perfect sync, the world outside this moment irrelevant, insignificant. The only thing that mattered was this, the way Y/N responded, the way Hal could pull him apart and put him back together with nothing but touch, movement, tension.

Y/N's fingers tangled in Hal's short, tousled hair, fisting the strands, pulling him down into another kiss—this one hot, urgent, filled with something dangerously addictive. Hal groaned into it, his hands roaming, gripping, claiming, as if trying to etch this moment into existence, refusing to let a single second slip away.

This wasn't just taking control—this was staking a claim, ensuring that every movement, every moment, every lingering breath was something Y/N would feel long after the night was over.

And judging by the way Y/N clung to him, his body tense, trembling, lost in the sensation, Hal knew he was doing exactly what he promised.

The faint hum of the world outside—the distant murmur of traffic, the occasional honk of a car horn—faded into nothingness, swallowed by the symphony they created together.

The rustle of sheets. The rhythmic sound of their bodies moving in perfect sync. The deep, ragged breaths, punctuated by gasps and murmured curses—it was a melody that belonged only to them, a song of tension, release, and something far more consuming.

And Hal couldn't take his eyes off Y/N.

The way his body arched beneath him, the sheen of sweat glistening on his skin, catching the faint light and making him look almost ethereal. The way his lips parted, breath hitching, spilling out ragged, intoxicating moans, each one a spark igniting something primal, all-consuming inside Hal.

Y/N was breathtaking.

Absolutely wrecked—but still so in control, the contrast devastatingly beautiful. His usual sharp wit, that calculated confidence, was softened now, undone by sensation, by Hal.

Hal's grip tightened on Y/N's hips, fingers digging into warm skin, grounding himself as he watched the way pleasure carved itself into every inch of Y/N's expression. His chest rose and fell in uneven waves, his head tilting slightly back, exposing the smooth column of his throat—an invitation, deliberate or not.

And god, the sounds spilling from his lips—low, breathy, sultry—made something deep in Hal's chest tighten, something raw and possessive clawing its way to the surface.

He wanted to draw out every sound, to push Y/N to that edge over and over, just to hear that perfect melody again.

"You look so damn good like this," Hal murmured, his voice thick, rough, filled with something deeper than admiration, heavier than lust. His lips found Y/N's jaw, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along his throat, his collarbone, savoring the way he shivered beneath him.

"Could watch you like this forever," Hal admitted, his words gravelly, reverent, pressing harder, lingering longer, lips moving with purpose, with claim.

Y/N let out a breathless chuckle, though it was fractured, unsteady, as if he were barely holding onto control. His fingers dug into Hal's back, nails dragging faint red lines down heated skin.

"Cocky," Y/N muttered, his voice husky, teasing, but it wavered at the edges, betraying just how lost he was in the moment.

Hal's smirk curved against Y/N's skin, mischievous, knowing, before he rolled his hips just right—a deliberate, calculated movement that sent a sharp gasp tearing from Y/N's lips, his fingers tightening against Hal's skin.

"Damn right," Hal breathed, voice rich with amusement and something darker. He leaned back just enough to drink in the sight of him, eyes dark with hunger.

His smirk widened. "And judging by the way you're falling apart under me? I'd say I've earned it."

Y/N let out a shaky, uneven exhale, his head tilting back against the pillow, exposing himself to Hal completely, his body arching instinctively to meet every movement.

Hal memorized everything—the way Y/N reacted, the raw emotion flickering behind those darkened eyes, the sounds that sent shivers racing down his spine.

It wasn't just about this, about the way their bodies moved together in perfect sync—it was about him.

Y/N.

Every moment with him was intoxicating, a force Hal wasn't sure he could ever step away from, even if he wanted to.

And as he leaned down, capturing Y/N's lips again, pouring every bit of that realization into the kiss, Hal knew one thing for certain.

He would never get enough.

The early morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. It painted gentle patterns across the rumpled sheets, illuminating the faint traces of last night—the scattered clothes on the floor, the lingering warmth between tangled limbs, the quiet, unspoken intimacy woven into the stillness.

Outside, the city was beginning to stir—the distant hum of traffic, the occasional chirp of birds, the subtle rhythm of a world waking up. But inside the apartment, everything was quiet, wrapped in the kind of warmth and serenity that Hal Jordan had never been one to chase.

Yet, here he was.

Hal inhaled deeply, stretching slightly before his mind caught up to where he was—and, more importantly, who he was with.

A smirk curled at the corners of his lips as memories of last night flooded back—every touch, every sound, every moment that had left him wrecked in the best way possible.

Yeah... he had definitely outdone himself this time.

But what really had him feeling like he was on cloud nine wasn't just the mind-blowing night they had—it was this. The quiet aftermath.

The feeling of Y/N's warm, relaxed body pressed against him, his back flush against Hal's chest, his slow, even breaths ghosting over the pillow.

Hal let his arm tighten slightly around Y/N's waist, pulling him closer, reveling in the way their bodies fit so naturally together. Y/N's skin was still warm, his bare back smooth against Hal's chest, his scent lingering from last night—a mix of something intoxicating and uniquely him.

God, this was nice.

Hal let out a deep, satisfied sigh, nuzzling into Y/N's shoulder, content in a way he rarely let himself be.

He had never been one for cuddling after sex—it always felt too intimate, too much. But with Y/N?

Yeah. He liked this.

Maybe even more than he was ready to admit.

He was just settling into the moment, relaxing fully, when it happened.

Y/N shifted.

A small, unconscious movement, the kind that happened in the hazy depths of sleep. But the effect?

Immediate.

Because Y/N had pressed back against him, his bare ass fitting perfectly against Hal's lower half, sending a jolt of awareness straight through him.

Hal stilled.

For a moment, he tried to process the situation, tried to tell himself he was a grown man with self-control, for god's sake.

Then Y/N shifted again, pressing even closer, his breathing still slow, steady, completely unaware of what he was doing to him.

Hal's grip on Y/N's hip tightened instinctively, his fingers flexing as heat pooled low in his stomach. His breath hitched, and he closed his eyes for a second, silently cursing the universe.

Oh, come on.

Hal tilted his head back against the pillow, exhaling sharply through his nose, trying—desperately—to ignore the fact that his dick had very different plans.

This is fine, he told himself. I can ignore it. I can be normal about this.

Y/N let out a soft sigh in his sleep, his body molding even further into Hal's, and Hal immediately knew—

Nope. Nope. Not fine. Not even a little bit.

His jaw clenched, his fingers digging slightly into Y/N's hip as he fought every instinct telling him to wake Y/N up in a very, very interesting way.

His options were limited.

He could either:

A) Wake Y/N up.

B) Suffer in silence while Y/N continued to sleep peacefully, blissfully unaware that Hal was fighting for his damn life.

He sighed dramatically, resting his forehead against Y/N's shoulder, his voice a low, tortured groan.

"You're killing me here," he muttered, knowing full well that Y/N was still lost in sleep, completely unaware of his struggle.

Hal wasn't sure how long he could last like this, but one thing was certain—

Mornings with Y/N were going to be very, very dangerous for his self-control.

Y/N slowly stirred from his sleep, stretching slightly against the warmth surrounding him. His mind was still groggy, lost somewhere between dreams and reality, but the steady rise and fall of a firm chest against his back made him remember exactly where he was—and who he was with.

A small, satisfied smirk tugged at Y/N's lips as last night's memories resurfaced. Oh yeah. That happened.

Still feigning sleep, he remained still for a moment, listening to the quiet sounds of Hal breathing behind him—slow, controlled, forced. It was subtle, but Y/N could feel the tension in Hal's body, the way his muscles were coiled, how his hand was resting just a little too stiffly on Y/N's hip. And then... there it was. The unmistakable hardness pressing against the small of Y/N's back.

Well, well, Y/N thought, suppressing a grin. Good morning, indeed.

Deciding to have a little fun, he shifted slightly, pressing back against Hal just enough to gauge his reaction.

The result was instant. Hal inhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening ever so slightly on Y/N's waist as if trying to will himself to stay still.

Y/N fought back a chuckle, but he wasn't done yet. He stretched again, slower this time, deliberately rolling his hips ever so slightly, pressing himself further into Hal's very obvious problem.

Hal let out a soft hngh sound—barely audible, but Y/N heard it. He grinned to himself.

"You awake, Jordan?" Y/N asked, voice thick with sleep, as if he hadn't just set Hal up for absolute torture.

Hal let out a slow, controlled exhale. "Mmhmm," he replied through gritted teeth.

Y/N hummed, shifting again—just a fraction, just enough to make Hal's fingers twitch against his skin. "You sure? You seem a little... tense."

Hal groaned softly, pressing his forehead against the back of Y/N's shoulder. "You're killing me, you know that?"

Y/N smirked, finally turning his head just enough to glance back at him. "Oh? Something wrong?"

Hal's fingers dug into Y/N's waist, his jaw clenched. "You know what's wrong."

Y/N turned fully now, shifting onto his back so he could face Hal properly. And damn—the look on Hal's face was priceless. His usual cocky confidence was hanging by a thread, his lips parted slightly, eyes dark with barely restrained frustration.

Y/N reached up, running a slow finger down Hal's chest, watching with amusement as his muscles tensed under his touch. "I seem fine," Y/N said, his voice dripping with playful innocence. "You, on the other hand..." His gaze flickered downward with an exaggerated slowness noticing Hal's dick hard and firm before meeting Hal's eyes again. "That looks like a problem."

Hal exhaled sharply through his nose, his hand moving up to cradle Y/N's jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek in a way that was far too affectionate for how frustrated he clearly was.

"You love testing my patience, don't you?" Hal murmured, voice low, rough.

Y/N grinned up at him. "Well, you're fun to mess with."

Hal's lips twitched into a smirk. "That—" he suddenly rolled his hips just enough to turn the tables on Y/N, making him gasp this time—"was a mistake."

Y/N's breath hitched slightly before he narrowed his eyes playfully. "Oh? Gonna do something about it, flyboy?"

Hal's grin widened. "Oh, you have no idea."

And just like that, the morning took a very interesting turn.

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

A "The Picture of Dorian Gray"!- inspired Nanami fic in two acts (From my Jjk Penny Dreadful Series-here)

*°࿐ Synopsis: After a harrowing escape from the hell of Shibuya, Nanami Kento finds a dark, twisted method to conceal the deep wounds forever etched on his flesh and spirit. He relocates to Malaysia, shedding his former identity in search of s fresh start, driven by the allure of an hedonistic lifestyle. He quickly resigns himself to a solitary existence, prioritising secrecy above all else's -that is, until one evening at the theatre, when your paths fatefully cross. What will happen next in this unfolding tale of tragedy and rebirth?

*°࿐Tags: Act 2- Nsfw + dark content (Katoptronophilia- mirror kink, softdom!nanami, fem! masturbation, pinv, breeding kink, graphic description of scar and injuries)

This work is part of the SPOOKINKY 2024 event hosted by @tsukimefuku 🖤

"Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic (...)Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing." -Oscar Wilde

࿐✧˖*° Fic Moodboard here✧˖*°࿐

Beneath the dim, flickering glow of the bakery where you work everyday, you move like a shadow, wiping the counter where the day’s sweet offerings linger—croissants, chocolate éclairs—fragrant remnants of a life half-lived. The scent clings to you, comforting yet oppressive, as you linger on the past. A year has passed since you fled into this quiet corner of Malaysia, seeking escape, yearning for the hum of the ocean outside your window. Here, in the solitude of this bakery, you’ve become a ghost—part of the background, invisible to all but the clock and the empty tables.

Yet tonight, something stirs deep within you. At the end of your shift, you return to your cozy apartment, heading to your bedroom to let your fingers graze the golden ticket on your nightstand, a silent promise of a dream that has been lingering in your personal space for weeks: The Tempest. Tonight, the magic of Shakespeare’s world will finally become your own. You slip into the emerald night dress you bought for this occasion, catching a fleeting glimpse of a brand new woman reborn in the mirror, staring back with a defiant gaze.

…

The air of the theater hums with electricity as you step inside, your dress shimmering like a forest at dusk. Eyes turn, glances linger. The crowd falls into a hush, a soft murmur ripples through the room. You feel their gaze—a strange, unknown sensation, both exhilarating and disquieting- you’re definitely not used to being the focus of the attention around you. As you navigate the rows to your seat, eager to find yours and hide among the crowd of faces, a chill runs down your spine. There, across the balcony, a familiar figure watches you—a tall, elegant man, poised in a timeless black tuxedo.The tailored jacket hugs his athletic frame,  the deep midnight black fabric contrasting strikingly with his fair complexion. A white pocket square elegantly peeks out from the breast pocket, while a finely knotted bow tie adds a sophisticated touch. His reserved nature, shadowed by a hint of intrigue, seems to enchant every woman in the auditorium, inviting curiosity from all who cross his path. With an air of mystery that surrounds him, he garners attention effortlessly, embodying both charm and enigma in every subtle movement.

It’s him—Mr. Nanami, the enigmatic man who has haunted the bakery for months. Always at his corner table, always with a book in hand, always distant, as though carved from some distant age. His gaze is now fixed on you, unblinking, his caramel eyes drinking in every movement you make. Even among the crowd, he is a statue, an artifact of mystery, his blonde hair gleaming under the theater’s lights, his presence too immense to ignore.

«If by your Art, my dearest father, you have

put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.

The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,

But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,

Dashes the fire out.»

The character of Miranda finally speaks, signalling the start of the play. Lights go off, the world fading into darkness around you, but his gaze never wavers. It pulses between you, an electric current that thrums in your chest. Even as the actors bring the stage to life, Nanami’s attention is all on you. His eyes trace the delicate curve of your neck, they notice the way the silk of your dress clings to your feminine figure—every movement, every breath amplified. In the silence between the scenes, memories of brief encounters in the bakery flood both of your minds—small gestures, the fleeting brush of hands as you served his command. Every mundane act now seems to acquire a deeper meaning, hinting at the long buried electricity now resurfacing in all of its power.

The actors' words echo in your mind, their tale of rediscovery mirroring your own. You feel the thread between you and Nanami tighten with each passing scene. Your heartrate is accelerates inexplicably, his hands itch imperceptibly. By the play's end, the applause is drowned by the weight of his gaze, a fleeting glance that feels like an unspoken invitation. The crowd fades, and you are lost in the depths of his eyes—amber pools that seem to hold unspeakable secrets. What darkness lingers behind them? What truths lie hidden beneath his composed exterior?

In that moment, you are both spectator and part of the story, caught between the stage and the gaze of the man who watches you from the shadows, as if you are both part of the same forgotten tale.

The applause swells, a rising tide of sound that drowns everything around you. The faces blur, the claps echo like thunder, and your senses are swept into the frenzy. Yet, goosebumps rise along your exposed back, a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. In the midst of chaos, your consciousness fails to identify the tall figure slipping quietly behind you, a shadow stretching long across your seat. But your body doesn't: every fiber of your being tenses in alert, time stretching as if waiting for something to happen at any moment.

Nanami’s hand lingers for a heartbeat before resting on your shoulder, a firm, yet gentle touch. The unexpected pressure makes you gasp, the sound barely a whisper.

"Mr. Nanami... What a surprise," you murmur, turning to face him, your voice trembling like a prayer as you feign surprise. His name spills from your lips, the remnants of the performance still thick in the air.

"Good evening, Mrs... I apologize for the intrusion," he says, his tone softer than you expected. "I saw you in the crowd and... I couldn't resist."

His apology is followed by a smile—small, sincere, and unlike the elusive stranger you’ve come to know. You blink in disbelief, caught off guard by this sudden warmth.

"Good evening," you reply, your words stammered. "No need to apologize. I’m glad you noticed me." Beneath the surface, you are deeply surprised by the fact that he did really recognize you, a simple waitress, a face everyone easily forgets.

He chuckles softly, eyes flickering with interest as he watches you. "The actors were amazing tonight, weren't they?" he continues, easing into the conversation. " Yes, indeed” you answer “I've always been fond of drama... the way music, scenery, poetry, and dance all blend into one living thing."

He catches the spark igniting your eyes as you speak, lost in your own enthusiasm. "Yes, I think it's the perfect kind of art... a fusion of all forms. A single experience woven from many threads."

He watches you, entranced by your remarkable passion for arts. Nanami always secretly thought you looked beautiful, admiring your kind nature from afar while you served tables at the bakey. But tonight he can't help feeling drawn to your every movement, noticing every detail of you, the most attractive woman he has ever laid eyes on in a while. Suddenly a low chuckle escapes him, catching you by surprise: "A real aesthete, aren’t you? I think I’ve finally found a worthy companion for my abstract musings." He muses.

You smile back, amused by the compliment. "So…you are... an ‘aesthete’ too?" you ask playfully.

"Ah... I prefer the term hedonist. There's a difference. An aesthete merely appreciates beauty for its own sake. A hedonist seeks to immerse themselves in it, to live for the pleasure it brings. Do you understand?" He smiles wryly.

You nod, half-missing the full meaning. "It makes sense to me... though 'hedonism' isn't a word you hear much these days."

At your remark, something flickers in his eyes—a momentary hesitation. His gaze drifts away, as though lost in a distant thought. Then he snaps back,as shaken from a dream.

"I have a question for you," he says, his voice now heavier. "Since you’re so drawn to this kind of topic... what do you think? Does life imitate art, or is it art that imitates life?"

You blink, caught off guard. His question is as profound as it is unsettling. Sensing your confusion, he continues, voice tightening with a quiet vulnerability.

"I know it sounds tautological... contradictory, even. But these thoughts are born from years of reflection, of trying to make sense of life."

He pauses, and for a moment, the air between you thickens with unspoken tension. The weight of his words settles around you, and you sense his inner battle—fear of revealing too much.

"Life is indeed the most intricate of masterpieces," you say softly, your voice soothing the strain in his words. "But I believe we create it. We choose the colors, the shapes, the shadows of our existence."

His eyes soften, a long, silent moment passing between you. Then, as though the walls around him have cracked, he sighs, and his words spill out.

"I’ve always had a special sensitivity... but my past... it hardened me, consumed me. I spent years hiding from it, burying my feelings beneath logic and calculation. And when I finally faced those demons, I realized..." He trails off, the confession hanging between you.

You wait, breath held, as he collects his thoughts. "I thought the pleasures of art and literature were gone forever. I thought I had lost them. But then..." He falters again, lost in the depths of his own emotions.

You try to simplify his cryptic confession. "So... you retired early and moved to Malaysia, didn't you? It's not something to be ashamed of, it's common practice here, Malaysia is such a dreamy place. I myself have left everything behind and fled here…" You try to make him feel at ease, failing to notice the deeper meaning behind his words.

His lips curled up in a faint smile, a touch of sadness in his eyes. How could such a pure soul like yours grasp the horrors hidden behind his elegant appearance? "Yes... escaping a life I didn’t recognize anymore seemed the only choice I had a year ago."

You smile back, unaware of the weight of his past, yet moved by his vulnerability. "It seems like we both needed to escape something,then" you say gently.

He watches you intensely, and for a moment, the shadows of his past flicker in his gaze, along if something else- quiet admiration for your spontaneous genuineness. Then, without warning, he clears his throat, inviting you to continue your discussion elsewhere:

"I hope you won’t misunderstand," he says, his voice low and hesitant. "But...would you join me for a drink tonight? I’d love to continue this conversation... and perhaps share a book with you. If you'd allow me."

You accept without hesitation, the thrill of the unknown surging through you. Walking side by side along the moonlit shore, your steps are light, the air thick with possibility. The evening unfolds before you, a path leading to an unseen discovery, your heart fluttering, unaware of the darkness that lurks just beyond the light of the moon, reflected inside his golden irises.

The ebony door creaks open, a haunting sound that reverberates through the dimly lit corridor as Nanami, with an air of quiet dignity, unlocks the entrance to his home, his quiet sanctuary. Leaning forward, he flicks the light switch, and with a courteous gesture, steps aside, allowing you to cross the threshold. Click. A warm, golden light floods the space, spilling like liquid amber into the darkness, inviting you into the treasure trove that is Nanami's home.

As you step inside, the musty scent of aged books mingles with a faint undertone of turpentine, whisking you away to a distant realm where art and literature reign supreme. The air is thick with stories untold, whispers of creativity echoing off the walls. Each available inch of wall space is claimed by an eclectic mix of paintings, their colors vibrant against the deep shadows. Books of every genre crowd every angle of the refined, tastefully furnished open space that stretches before you. Your eyes widen, your jaw drops; you are mesmerized, trying to absorb every intricate detail of this artistic sanctuary.

"I hope this is to your liking," Nanami's amused chuckle pulls you from your reverie, his voice like a gentle breeze stirring the still air.

"This... all of this... is yours? The paintings, the books, the antiques? How...?" You stammer, incredulous, as you survey the vast collection that feels both intimate and monumental.

"Yes," he replies, a contemplative smile gracing his lips as he leans against the doorframe, the shadows dancing across his features. "This collection is my legacy, the thing I’m most proud of..." His voice trails off, and as you admire his possessions, you fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on you, filled with a blend of longing and admiration. In his mind, your figure blurs with the contours of the most graceful of Aphrodites, the missing piece of his collection, the first soul to step into his sanctuary after a long, lonely stretch of time. He watches you spin around his living room, a vision of grace in a flowing dress that clings to your curves like a delicate drapery on a marble statue.

He could grow accustomed to this sight, to you... And in that fateful moment, he lowers his guard, granting you access to the most secluded part of his soul, a realm he has shielded jealously over the years. "Why don’t you take a tour of the house while I pour us a drink? What do you prefer: Cabernet or Whiskey?" he asks, his genuine smile like a rare gem in the dim light.

"Thank you, I’d like to explore your collection further… as for the drink… you choose, surprise me," you reply chuckling mischievously, a thrilling tension crackling in the air as your eyes lock with his, an electric connection that sends shivers down your spine.

The floorboards creak beneath your feet as you venture deeper into the labyrinthine layout, navigating narrow corridors flanked by towering shelves that groan under the weight of Nanami's extensive collection. Each step draws you further into his world, a place where dreams and memories intertwine.

As you explore, you ascend the stairs to the first floor, stumbling upon a cozy library. A plush, crimson armchair beckons you, piled high with dog-eared paperbacks and a precarious tower of art monographs. The adjacent bookshelf stands as a shrine to literary giants—Austen, Dickens, Joyce—their timeless works nestled alongside a first edition of Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea."

You are about to descend when something catches your eye: A door at the end of the corridor is slightly ajar, challenges you, invites your curiosity. A thrill courses through you, an all-consuming desire to uncover the mystery hidden within. Drawn by an unseen force, you approach, your heart racing as your trembling hand hovers over the doorknob. With a gentle push, you swing the door open, and a sudden burst of light slices through the darkness, momentarily blinding you. As your vision clears, you find yourself staring at your own reflection, an astonished figure in a green dress, caught in the web of shadows.

Stepping further into the room, you realize you’ve entered Nanami's peculiar bedroom. A quilted round bed dominates the space, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mirrors that create a dizzying effect, reflecting your image endlessly in the dim light. Your gaze travels, and you find a portrait hanging on the wall—a blond man who looks strikingly like Nanami, but marred by burn scars that crisscross his body like a roadmap of pain, telling a story of flames that once ravaged his skin. His eyes, a deep, piercing gold, seem to harbor the weight of those infernos, a flicker of fire still smoldering within.

“Is this... Nanami?” you whisper to yourself, disbelief coursing through you.

"So you found out..." a faint, emotionless voice emerges from the shadows, and you immediately turn: Nanami stands on the threshold, his attractive features marred by a mask of suffering and resignation. He holds a single book in his hands: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.

"Nanami... I didn’t mean to intrude. The door was slightly open, and I..." you stammer, searching for an excuse. " But…What is this? Who is the man in the portrait?" you finally manage to ask, your voice trembling with confusion.

His gaze drops to the floor, a deep sadness enveloping him. "I wanted to lend you this book…maybe it would have helped you better comprehend this situation of mine. I’ve always related to Wilde’s work…and its Preface holds everything I’ve painfully learnt about life” his words ring hollow in your ears, emptied of any meaning. “This portrait... It represents the state of my soul. This... is what I really look like." His voice is heavy with truth, and the weight of his words hangs in the air like a dark cloud.

A storm of questions swirls in your mind, casting you into a sea of panic, while your gaze flashes between him and the man of the picture "This...  it can't be real. Nanami, what really happened? What is this story about?"

"Please, listen to me..." he interrupts, his tone now urgent, demanding your full attention. "Over a year ago, I was involved in an accident in Shibuya,on the night of Halloween and got severely injured. I barely managed to survive, but half of my body was burned, damaged irreparably..."

He takes a step closer, his expression lost as he struggles to share his truth. "When I woke up in a hospital bed, I took a look in the mirror, and realized I would have never been the same man I was.” He pauses, trying to steady his accelerated breath “ seeing my condition, an old friend of mine decided to set off, travelling the world for weeks in search of a way to restore my appearance. And I thought he had returned victorious at first, when he proposed to me an ancient curse allowing me to channel all of my pain and ugliness into that portrait. So I ended up switching places with the man now hanging above my bed. My friend helped me escape to start anew in this secluded place of Earth, but the truth is that this was never meant to be a blessing…with time I fell prey of the illusion of my appearance, trapping myself in a cage of mirrors, constantly afraid to see my real aspect resurfacing…I’ve been such a fool to forget the real nature of this expedient: a curse will always be always a curse"

He retreats, hiding behind a wall of shame and guilt. "I don’t expect you to understand. You know nothing of the world of sorcery from which I came... and...I wouldn't blame you if you turned your back at me now, pointing at me like a devil…"

As he fights to suppress the lump in his throat, you stand in front of him, your knees threatening to give in at every word spilling from his mouth. But it's in this moment that you see his true nature for the first time—a broken man, whose defenses are now crumbling under the weight of his long-buried secrets. "I’ve missed my chance with you, I cannot hide from the monster I’ve become," he whispers, his voice cracking with guilt and regret.

Without thinking, you step forward, closing the distance between you. Nanami's breath hitches as your hesitant hand cups his chiseled jaw, grounding him in the moment. It is high time to free him from the demons of his past.  "Destroy the picture, Nanami... don’t let that portrait weigh down your soul any longer." 

Your words provoke an earthquake into Nanami's world: his eyes widen, meeting the compassionate determination in your gaze. "And this doesn't change anything, I’m not leaving…You don’t have to hide anymore, not from me," you say softly, knowing in your heart that this moment could be the key to unlocking the darkness that has held him captive for far too long.

…

His resolve wavers as he gazes upon your lips, mere inches away from his, a tantalizing promise lingering in the air. The last thread of self-control snaps when you pull him closer, pressing your curves against his sculpted form. In that intoxicating moment, he crashes his mouth to yours, a desperate kiss that spills forth your insecurities in a breathless plea for understanding. Lips collide, and the world fades, leaving just the two of you suspended in a cocoon of time and space. 

Fingers roam restlessly, exploring, dancing over each other’s bodies in a fervent embrace, like lightning illuminating a starless sky with passion's raw energy. The kiss deepens, heats, igniting flames of longing as he pins you against the cool surface of the mirror, your bare back shivering at the sudden chill. He looms over you, strong and commanding, tension rippling through his broad shoulders before he seizes the lower edge of a golden-framed picture, throwing it to the ground with a shattering crash. 

The echo reverberates through the room, breaking the spell that held you. As the cursed image lies in shards, you blink to find the real Nanami before you, a man sculpted by both fire and fate, his scars merely facets of a twisted charm. He holds his breath, waiting for your response, his vulnerability laid bare in the depths of his eyes. 

You stay silent at first. Your trembling fingers deftly start to unbutton his shirt, tracing a path from fine fabric to the rough, fibrous tissue of his burned skin. “You look even more handsome in my eyes now,Nanami... ripped at every edge but still holding your original charm, like the finest masterpiece” you finally speak, voice thick with emotion “you’re strong, you can heal. Let me help you, please... let me…” The weight of your invitation hangs in the air, a siren's call that stirs something deep within him. He hesitantly captures your wandering hand, “Are you sure?” he asks, his forehead resting against yours, a silent confession of both uncertainty and deep care. 

In answer, you push his shirt off his shoulders, your hands gliding over the contours of his biceps, igniting a wildfire in his chest long thought extinguished. You offer him compassion and heartfelt affection, and in that moment, he feels worthy of love again. “I am sure, Nanami… give me all of you without restraints tonight…show me you’re willing to start anew” 

“Fuck,” he gasps, his hands gripping your waist, spinning you around to face the mirror. “See how stunning you look? You are too much for me now,do you understand it?” He desperately spits out through gritted teeth “but if you choose to give yourself to me tonight, know that there will be no turning back. I won’t accept being left alone tomorrow...” His breath tickles your neck as he nibbles at your soft skin, pulling back to meet your gaze with a gravity that sends shivers down your spine. “What do you say? Do you accept my condition?” 

“Yes,” you simply breathe out, eyes locked on the reflection before you, feeling small yet cherished in his powerful embrace. “I guess I am the luckiest of  men, then…” His warm breath cascades over the delicate flesh behind your ear, a relieved smile curling against your skin as you tremble between his arms. 

“I could hold you like this forever…” he whispers, tracing the line of your spine with his index finger. His hands find the thin straps of your dress, gently coaxing them down your shoulders. The silky fabric slips away, pooling at your feet, revealing you in all your glory. “You are a masterpiece here, the most exquisite work of art I have ever seen.”

His gaze drifts to the mirror, breathless as he drinks in the sight of your curves, fingers exploring the valley between your breasts, brushing against your hardened nipples with a soft touch that ignites a deep groan from his throat. “Look at you; I’m going to worship every inch of your delicious body tonight, just like a painter brushing the pure canvas in front of him, I will paint your body with pleasure and reverence” With a confident caress, his hand glides down, cupping your sex, igniting a spark of longing that makes your breath hitch. 

“Nanami,” your voice is a prayer, each syllable infused with need as he parts your folds, cool air colliding with your now exposed clit. His experienced fingers start to explore your womanhood and a shiver dances along your spine “So soft,so wet for me already… keep those beautiful eyes open for me,I want you to watch as we create a work of art of pleasure tonight.” his other hand cups your chin, preventing you from looking away from your entwined image.

He moves with purpose, fingers drawing delicate circles on your sensitive nub, escalating your breaths into gasps. “You know, I’ve always believed that sex is a form of art—the highest, perhaps. The sensations it creates, the way bodies merge in a symphony of unbridled passion…” His rhythm quickens, pressure mounting until you scream his name, your body arching as waves of pleasure crash over you. 

“Let it happen, just like that, give in to it, feel the way your body yearns for mine” he encourages you, guiding you throughout your climax with his confident ministrations. “Look at you now,” he cups your jaw, tilting your head to see the beauty of your flushed cheeks and wild hair. “You are alive… the essence of beauty.” His kisses scatter across your skin, igniting every nerve, his hardness pressing against your plush curves, a testament to his hunger. 

His veiny hands unfasten his belt, pulling down his elegant pants to reveal himself to you: a glorious display of manhood, standing proud and ready in the mirror facing you. The base is girthy, the long shaft crossed by a single bluish vein up to the swollen tip, already for glistening with precum “look what your beauty does to me” his hips jacks forward instinctively as he notices the hunger in your eyes “Ready?” he asks once more, searching your gaze for any hint of doubt before entering you slowly from behind, his eyes locked on yours in the reflective surface, watching as pleasure and pain intertwine on your face. 

He’s barely halfway in but you already feel him everywhere, a melding of flesh and desire driving you mad as he fills you completely. A strangled groan escapes him. “fuck, you're too tight… "His eyes flutter shut as he revels in the sensation of your snug channel stretching apart for him, sweaty pearls coaxes his forehead, brows furrowed in concentration “you were made for me.” He buries his face in your hair, inhaling your intoxicating scent as he stills for a moment, savoring the connection of your entwined bodies. 

When his hips begin to move, there is no gentleness—only a primal need. He slams against you, each thrust sending you gasping against the mirror, fingers clutching the golden frame for support. Your body turned into a canvas painted with pleasure: head tilted back, throat exposed, breasts heaving with each  fervent thrust, trembling legs on the brink of surrender.  The smacking sound of flesh meeting flesh reverberates, a wild melody echoing in the room as you surrender to the rhythm of ecstasy, bodies swaying in perfect synchronicity. 

Together, you reach the precipice of bliss. The mirror captures the art of your union, an abstract painting of two entwined souls—calling out each other’s names, your bodies slick and sticky, pressed together in a tender embrace. In that moment, you know that this is more than just a union of bodies; it is a celebration of art, love, and the unyielding spirit of desire.

 Nanami’s eyes roll back as he feels you envelop him in a fierce grip, but he forces his gaze open, eager to witness the masterpiece unfolding before him. “I'm almost there…” He announces, grunting in your ear as he surrenders to your magic. Warm spurts of his very essence paint your walls white, making you his in the most primal of ways. He groans in pride and delight when the glass reflects the lewd sight of his overflowing seed dripping down your leg. Turning to face him, a loving smile dances upon both of your lips, the calm after a storm. “That was incredible, my diamond… thank you for sharing this masterpiece with me,” he murmurs, placing gentle kisses upon your closed eyelids, the warmth of his damp hair brushing against your forehead. “You’ve shown me that with you, I can finally find my way back to beauty.” He nuzzles your noses together, laughter bubbling forth as he regards you with a playful glint in his eye. “But I fear I need more from you tonight… are you ready for another round?”

You nod, a spark reigniting within you, a shared yearning to delve deeper into the connection that has blossomed between you in the stillness of the night. Without warning, he lifts you off the ground, effortlessly cradling you in his arms, bridal-style, and carries you toward his round bed, laying you down upon the luxurious velvet sheets. The sensation takes your breath away, and you gaze up at him, wide-eyed with wonder.

He kneels at your feet, crawling onto the bed, leaving a trail of kisses along your calves, thighs, and stomach, until he reaches your lips. For a moment, he pauses, studying your moonlit features, before pushing himself into your inviting warmth once more. This time, there is no urgency; instead, he makes love to you with a tenderness that transcends flesh, his thrusts slow and deep, punctuated by soft kisses and feather-light caresses. You gaze upward at the mirror hanging from the ceiling, capturing your supine figure beneath his muscled torso, tensing with every intimate movement.

In that sacred moment of Epiphany, the truth unfurls before you: together, you and Nanami create a beauty that has always eluded you both, a beauty that defies the boundaries of time and space, a masterpiece beyond convention. You were each other’s missing piece. Each creak of the bed beneath you resonates with magic, a spell binding you to this moment of bliss and rebirth, witnessed by every mirror surrounding you.

“We are art,” you lean in and whisper into his ear, your voice filled with newfound conviction, as the night wraps around you like a cloak, and the shadows dance in celebration of your fateful union.

Thanks for reading this far!🙏

Comments and Reblogs are appreciated 💕

Don't repost my works without permission.

[jacquitries]

Through the Threads of Fate | H.P.

You've always kept your ability to read the future a secret, but when Harry Potter starts suspecting you're involved with the dark side, everything becomes dangerous. His growing mistrust of you only fuels the tension, and as your hidden talent remains shrouded in mystery, you find yourself caught between protecting your secret and surviving the storm brewing around you.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The dungeons were your sanctuary. Cloaked in Slytherin green and silver, you moved through Hogwarts like a shadow—silent, unseen, always just one step ahead. The weight of knowledge settled on your shoulders, a burden and a gift intertwined. You saw the threads of fate twist and pull, shaping lives without mercy. But you knew better than to interfere too boldly. No one could ever understand what you saw. Least of all Harry Potter.

From the moment your eyes met his, there was an unspoken war—a silent reckoning. His emerald gaze flickered with suspicion, always following you, never trusting, as though you were the embodiment of the mysteries he couldn’t untangle. And yet, your path seemed to cross his at every turn. Every twist of fate, every dark secret, always brought you into his orbit. A slow-burning tension hung in the air, a game of cat and mouse. You, the elusive enigma. He, the determined hero.

The castle had its secrets, and it whispered them to you. The ancient stones hummed with echoes of both the past and the future. You listened, weaving yourself into the delicate strands of time. You saw the shadows of the Forbidden Forest, felt the cold wind atop the Astronomy Tower, and watched the Black Lake shimmer with memories only you could comprehend. You didn’t want this power. It was a curse more than a gift, revealing fractured glimpses of what was to come, yet leaving you powerless to change it.

Every warning, every quiet intervention, every seemingly innocent suggestion was a part of a greater plan. But none of them could prepare you for the choices you’d soon have to make.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

You’d always known about the Philosopher’s Stone, long before Harry stumbled across the truth. When the troll rampaged through the dungeons, you stood calm, your voice steady as you guided a pair of terrified first-years to safety. When the whispers of Nicholas Flamel reached you, you carefully placed books open on the library tables, knowing Hermione would find them. And when the final confrontation loomed, you were far away, ensuring the corridors were clear for Harry, unknowingly steering him toward his destiny.

But it was the Chamber of Secrets that truly tested you. The mystery unfolded around you in subtle pieces, fear creeping through the walls like an invisible fog. You never spoke of what you’d heard or seen, not even when Mrs. Norris lay petrified in the hall. The whispers came to you, but you stayed silent, only nudging others in the right direction. When Ginny was taken, you held your breath, knowing Harry would be the one to find her. But as the events unraveled, Harry began to grow suspicious. He had seen you talking to Ginny not long before she disappeared, and his mind began to connect the dots. Though you kept your role hidden, a part of you braced for the moment he would confront you. You had done your part, quietly ensuring the balance tipped in the right direction, but now you would have to face the consequences of your actions—especially when Harry, driven by his suspicions, began watching you more closely.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Harry couldn’t escape you, no matter how hard he tried. You appeared everywhere—always just beyond his reach. In the library, your eyes lost in ancient tomes. In the corridors, slipping away just as chaos erupted. By the Great Hall, your gaze lingering on the enchanted ceiling, as if you could see beyond the stars themselves.

It infuriated him.

"She knows something," Harry muttered one evening, pacing in the Gryffindor common room, frustration evident in his voice. "She’s always there, slipping away before I can ask anything. There’s more to her, I’m sure of it."

"Maybe she’s just… clever?" Ron offered, though even he wasn’t convinced.

Harry’s gaze darkened. "No. There’s something else, something she’s hiding."

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Your path and Harry’s truly collided during the Triwizard Tournament. You had seen it all—the chaos, the danger, the unexpected twists. You watched from the shadows as Harry’s name was drawn from the Goblet of Fire, his shock palpable in the air. You remained distant, a constant, enigmatic presence, your calm unshaken as he faced the dragons, the maze, and the deadly trials.

It was the dragons that first set everything in motion. You whispered to Neville about gillyweed—just a casual remark, but one that changed everything. And when Cedric Diggory died, when the tournament turned from a test of courage into a nightmare, your heart twisted. You had seen it all—had tried in your own way to adjust the timeline, to alter fate just enough to give Harry a fighting chance. But the outcome was inevitable. Fate, in its cruel simplicity, would not be swayed.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The darkness deepened in your seventh year, and the weight of fate pressed against your chest like a looming storm. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor, you were already there, a silent force, woven into the very fabric of danger. Your presence was like a shadow, unseen but ever-present, watching as the threads of destiny pulled tight around your friends.

Bellatrix’s shrill voice pierced the air, a maddened cackle as she tortured Hermione, her wand poised like a dagger aimed at the heart of your very soul. You stood in the shadows, every muscle tense, your heart a drumbeat in your chest, yet your face was a mask of icy indifference. The visions you had seen, the threads of fate you had tried to piece together, were unfolding in front of you—but this moment, this confrontation, had always been unclear, a haze of pain and suffering that left you uncertain of where to stand.

And then, when the Snatchers dragged Harry before the Malfoys, your eyes met his—briefly, almost imperceptibly. The shock that flooded his expression was unmistakable, his disbelief evident as he saw you standing there, a ghost in the midst of the chaos. But you gave nothing away. Your gaze was sharp, unreadable, a carefully constructed wall that no one could breach. Not even him. You had to keep the illusion intact, no matter how much it tore at you to see him like this.

As the room erupted into chaos, time seemed to stretch, every moment suffocating with tension. You moved like a phantom, a blur in the dark, slipping through the chaos with the precision of someone who had already seen it all. Each step was deliberate, calculated, as if the very air around you bent to your will. Your wand flicked silently, and a whispered incantation loosened the bonds on Harry’s wrists, the ropes falling away like brittle threads. Without hesitation, you sent another silent spell, deflecting a curse meant for Ron, your magic swift and lethal.

You lingered just long enough to ensure their escape, your pulse thundering in your ears as the last of the danger dissolved into the air. The room seemed to hold its breath as you turned on your heel, vanishing into the shadows like smoke. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione dared to glance back, you were already gone—nothing more than a fleeting whisper in the night.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The final battle came, and with it, the revelation that had been a long time in the making. The skies were suffocating with smoke, the ground shaking as the forces of darkness and the defenders of Hogwarts clashed with a fury that could not be contained. Through it all, you moved like a shadow—graceful, lethal, and precise. The chaos around you was a dance you knew well, every step and strike calculated with a cool precision that only someone who had seen this moment unfold could master.

Harry caught glimpses of you throughout the battle. At first, it was just a fleeting shadow, a figure who seemed too composed for the madness swirling around him. But then, his eyes started to linger longer. The way you moved, the way your magic flowed, it all clicked for him. You weren’t just another face in the fight. You knew this battle—the exact moments when to strike, when to fall back, how to make every move count. His suspicions grew, the pieces falling into place, but a part of him refused to fully accept it. Could he trust you? Could he even trust himself?

Then, it happened. In the thick of the battle, when the world was reduced to chaos, a Death Eater lunged at Harry. He barely had time to react, his own wand raised, but before he could defend himself, you were there. A flash of movement, a wordless spell, and the Death Eater was thrown back, crashing to the ground with a force that rattled the air itself. Harry froze, watching as you didn’t just save him—you fought with a fury and skill that was terrifying in its intensity. The shock flooded him. This was no longer just the girl he'd suspected; this was something else. You weren’t just playing a part in this war. You were at its heart, shaping its outcome.

He barely had time to process. The fight raged on, louder, fiercer, but through it all, his mind kept returning to you. Every spell you cast, every life you saved, seemed to carry a weight he couldn’t ignore. He tried to focus on the battle, to finish what he had started, but it was too late. The doubt had already taken root. What did this mean? What had he gotten wrong?

When Voldemort finally fell, the world seemed to inhale a collective breath, but the Great Hall was left in ruins. The echoes of battle lingered in the air like an aftershock. Harry stumbled through the debris, searching for something, someone—when his eyes found you.

There you stood, amidst the wreckage, the first light of dawn breaking through the shattered windows to cast a pale glow on your face. You were silent, watching the aftermath with an expression that betrayed no joy, no satisfaction. Only the heavy weight of everything that had passed. There was no triumph in your gaze, just a deep, quiet burden that only someone who had seen the future—and fought to change it—could understand.

Harry approached cautiously, the tension of the battle still thick in his voice. “You were never against us,” he said, more to himself than to you, the words spilling from him like the release of a long-held breath. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement—a truth he had been blind to for far too long.

But you didn’t offer him the comfort of an easy answer. You simply met his gaze, your eyes cold but not cruel, a subtle edge of something deeper, something far more complex. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

Harry flinched, the sharp sting of guilt cutting through him. The weight of all his mistakes pressed down on him, heavier than anything the battle had left behind. He had accused you, doubted you, turned his back on someone who had been fighting for the same cause all along.

“I… I’m sorry,” Harry said, the words thick with emotion, every ounce of regret spilling out. “For everything. For doubting you.”

You didn’t move, your gaze unwavering. You studied him for a long moment, the years of suspicion, of distance, crashing together into the silence between you. “Apologies won’t change the past, Potter,” you said quietly, the words biting with the weight of everything that had been left unspoken. “But they’re a start.”

The air was charged with the unspoken tension of everything unsaid. Harry stepped forward, searching your eyes as though he could finally understand the woman behind the mask. “You saved so many lives. All this time, I thought you were working against us.” His voice cracked, regret lacing every syllable. “I was wrong.”

You didn’t answer with words. There was no need to. His regret was all over his face, written in the lines of guilt that creased his brow. You had always known he’d get there eventually, but it didn’t make the journey any easier. You didn’t expect forgiveness. You never had.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips, a fleeting thing, barely there. “And now?”

Harry’s voice softened, raw with sincerity. “Now I see how wrong I was.” He took another step, his presence steady, unwavering. “You… you’re incredible.”

For a moment, your eyes softened—just a fraction. You tilted your head, acknowledging the truth of his words, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of an easy answer. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“It’s not flattery,” Harry insisted, his voice steady but full of something deeper. “It’s the truth.”

A silence stretched between you both, thick and heavy with everything that had been left unsaid. But for the first time, you truly saw him—not as the reckless boy who had thrown himself into danger at every turn, but as the man who had borne the weight of a war, who had fought through the impossible, even when it meant facing his own demons.

“Maybe you’re not as hopeless as I thought,” you said softly, your voice carrying a weight neither of you had expected.

Harry smiled—a faint, almost apologetic curve of his lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

But the battle hadn’t ended yet. You both knew that. There was more to be done, more healing to be had. Harry still had much to learn, much to undo. In the days that followed, as the Wizarding World began its slow process of rebuilding, Harry came to you, again and again, seeking your trust. He wanted to know you—not just the seer who had saved him, but the person you had kept hidden for so long. Slowly, carefully, you allowed him in, but it was never easy. You had learned to guard your heart—especially from someone who had been so quick to judge.

One evening, after an unspoken stretch of silence, you both stood at the edge of the Black Lake. The moonlight glinted off the water, casting the world in a soft, otherworldly glow. Harry turned to you, determination clear in his expression. “Let me make it up to you,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of all the doubts, the accusations, the distance that had passed between you. “For all the times I doubted you, for everything I got wrong.”

You turned to him, the cool night air brushing your face. You didn’t respond right away. The past wasn’t something you could simply forget, but as you looked at him, something in your chest shifted—something neither of you had anticipated.

With a faint nod, you said, “You’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Harry smiled, the sincerity in his eyes breaking through the years of tension and regret. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

For the first time, you believed him. You believed in the possibility of trust, of something more.

And with that, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe—just maybe—you could trust him, too.

𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Years later, your name would be etched into the halls of history as one of the greatest seers the Wizarding World had ever known. You became a legend, revered for your foresight and for shaping the very course of events, all while remaining a mystery to those around you. By your side, always, was Harry Potter—your equal, your ally, the man who had finally understood you.

One quiet evening, as you sat together beneath the stars, Harry asked with a teasing smirk, “Still think I’m hopeless?”

You glanced at him, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, your eyes soft with the weight of all that had passed between you. “Always.”

But deep in your heart, you knew—you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[kakuvibez]

i know its not on the list for pomefiore but since i saw cupid reader on both ignihyde and diasomnia and lizzie reader is listed for heartslabyul i had to ask, do a pomefiore dorm x raven queen reader prompt. if i had to pick an idea it would be of all 3 of them in their own way adoring the reader and making them appreciate their legacy (while also making sure that no one cames too close to the new jewel of pomefiore).

yandere one shot/quotes/ hcs; YANDERE POMEFIORE DORM

requested by ; anonymous/ @user / none,,

fandom(s) ; Ever After High, Twisted Wonderland,

fandom master list(s): master | specific

character(s); Vil, Room, Epel, Raven

outline; " Sooo what you think? <3 😋 "

warning(s) ; Yandere behavior, obsession, unhealthy relationships, delusional love, manipulation, dark themes, toxic affection,,

❛❛I was just wondering... I mean... What if I don't want to take the pledge? ❜❜

Signature Spell: EVIL SPELL,, telekinetically control or levitate anything. She has trouble containing her spells due to her temper. Raven's power can transform her or anything else around her. she can summon the help of creatures, but Raven's help comes from less favorable creatures, such as bugs, bats and Goblins and Raven must summon them by demand rather than singing or polite request.

"I was just wondering... I mean... What if I don't want to take the pledge?"

"Conjuring up my own destiny"

"What if I want to choose my own happily ever after!"

"Muse-ic to my ears"

"Sing your true heart out"

"Reflect on your destiny"

"You gotta let your bad side out!"

"It pays to practice."

[N] Raven Queen never intended to be the center of attention, but stepping into Night Raven College made that inevitable. Her presence was magnetic, her aura commanding. The power that coursed through her veins was untamed and wild, reflected in her striking ability to summon creatures deemed undesirable by most—bats, goblins, and the like. She was the antithesis of perfection in a world that revered polished beauty.

The dorm, known for its dedication to beauty and perfection, usually would have scoffed at someone with a “darker” aesthetic, but there was something enchanting about [N] Raven. Her refusal to conform, her inner conflict with her legacy, and her sharp wit struck a chord with Vil, Rook, and Epel.

From the moment she arrived, Pomefiore was captivated. Vil Schoenheit, in particular, saw something in her that no one else could. “You’re a rough diamond,” he said one day, his voice both sharp and alluring. “But even a diamond in the rough can be polished into a masterpiece.”

Vil Schoenheit sees [N] Raven as a diamond in the rough. He’s obsessed with the idea of refining her “flawed” image and helping her embrace her legacy. However, his desire to make her appreciate her destiny borders on controlling.

- He constantly critiques her use of magic, insisting she learn to control her temper and channel her abilities more “gracefully.”

- “You don’t have to fear your power, [N]. With my guidance, you’ll learn to wield it as an extension of your beauty.”

- Vil becomes possessive of [N], ensuring no one else influences her choices. He’s adamant that he will be the one to help her “conjure her destiny.”

- “Your bad side isn’t something to hide—it’s something to perfect. Let me show you how.”

Rook Hunt, on the other hand, adored every imperfection she had. To him, [N] wasn’t flawed—she was extraordinary. “Mon trésor,” he whispered one night, his emerald eyes alight with wonder. “You are not bound by tradition or destiny. You create destiny. It’s magnifique!” He seemed to appear wherever she went, his devotion almost suffocating as he praised her every move.

Rook Hunt views [N] as a fascinating enigma, a muse of unparalleled darkness and elegance. Her power, her temper, and even her connection to creatures others might deem undesirable only make her more beautiful in his eyes.

- Rook constantly follows [N], waxing poetic about her every move. “Ah, mademoiselle, even your frustration is magnifique! Such raw emotion, such passion—it’s muse-ic to my ears!”

- He encourages her to embrace her darker side, seeing it as a reflection of her true self. “Sing your true heart out, [N]. Let the world see the beauty of your shadows.”

- Rook becomes dangerously protective of her, ensuring no one else go close to his muse. He has no qualms about scaring off anyone who might try to steal her attention.

Meanwhile, Epel Felmier found himself drawn to her rawness. She wasn’t afraid to show her temper, her flaws, or her strength. In a world where he was constantly told to be something he wasn’t, [N] was unapologetically herself. “You don’t let anyone tell you what to do,” he said one evening, his cheeks slightly pink. “I like that about you.”

Epel Felmier admires [N]’s strength and independence. Unlike Vil and Rook, he doesn’t try to refine her—he respects her fiery temper and rebellious streak. However, his admiration quickly turns possessive.

- Epel sees [N] as someone who understands the struggle of not fitting into others’ expectations. “You don’t need to be perfect for anyone, [N]. You’re already amazing.”

- He becomes jealous of anyone who tries to get too close to her, especially if they admire her power. “They don’t see you like I do. They don’t understand what makes you special.”

- Epel secretly loves her darker aesthetic, finding it refreshing compared to Pomefiore’s usual obsession with beauty. However, he’ll only admit this to her, not in front of Vil or Rook.

But as much as the Pomefiore trio admired her, their adoration came with a price. Vil became determined to shape her into a “perfect” version of herself, going so far as to critique her powers and appearance. Rook’s infatuation grew darker, his compliments turning into possessive declarations. And Epel’s quiet admiration morphed into jealousy, his temper flaring whenever someone else spoke to her.

The three Pomefiore members, despite their differing approaches, share an unwavering obsession with [N]. They see her as the dark jewel of their dorm, someone who embodies a unique beauty they must protect at all costs.

- They work together to ensure [N] stays close to Pomefiore, subtly sabotaging any relationships she might form with other dorms.

- Vil insists that she’s too “special” to waste her time with anyone else, while Rook and Epel quietly remove any “distractions” that might pull her away.

- Their collective goal is to make her see the value in her legacy while ensuring she becomes dependent on their support.

You thee [N] Raven Queen, however, wasn’t one to back down. “You can’t just polish me into whatever you want,” you snapped at Vil during one of his lectures. “I’m not some gemstone you can mold into your idea of perfection.”

Vil’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes gleamed with something dangerous. “Oh, but you are. You’ll see it eventually.”

Rook, meanwhile, watched from the shadows, his gaze never leaving her. “No one else can appreciate your beauty as I can, mon oiseau de nuit.”

Even Epel, who tried to act as her ally, couldn’t hide his growing protectiveness. “You don’t need anyone else,” he said firmly. “Just stick with us.”

“I’m destined for a tragic ending,” you muttered to yourself one night, staring at the moonlit sky. “But I’ll be the one to write it.”

Extra; Quotes

- Vil sees Raven as a project, someone with untapped potential that only he can refine. His obsession stems from his desire to create perfection, but his methods are ruthless and domineering.

- “You have potential, Raven, but you’re holding yourself back with this... untamed power. Let me help you refine it.”

- “Perfection isn’t a goal, it’s a way of life. You’ll understand that soon enough.”

- “You think you can escape your legacy, but the truth is, it’s what makes you extraordinary.”

- “You don’t have to reject your destiny, Raven. It’s not a curse—it’s a gift. With my help, you’ll learn to shine like the true queen you are.”

- “Your temper isn’t a flaw; it’s an opportunity. Control it, refine it, and the world will bow to you.”

- “Reflect on your destiny, Raven. No one else can carry the weight of your legacy like you can.”

- Rook adores Raven for her power and individuality, but his admiration quickly becomes overwhelming. He sees her as a masterpiece that must be protected—and possessed—at all costs.

- “Mon oiseau de nuit, your darkness is as beautiful as the stars in the night sky.”

- “No creature is unfavorable when it is summoned by you. They are merely reflections of your unmatched power.”

- “I could follow you to the ends of the earth, my queen. No one else sees you the way I do.”

- “Ah, mon cherie, the way you command the room—even in anger—is a sight to behold! Truly, you are a queen of unparalleled beauty!”

- “You summon bats and goblins, yet they come to you with such loyalty. You inspire devotion, even from the shadows.”

- “Your power is muse-ic to my ears, Raven. Sing your true heart out and let the world tremble before you.”

- Epel admires Raven’s strength and independence, but his admiration turns possessive when others show interest in her. He wants to be the only one she trusts.

- “You don’t need Vil’s lectures. You’re already strong. Stronger than any of them.”

- “I hate the way they look at you. Like they think they can take you away from us.”

- “You don’t let anyone ruffle your feathers, huh? I admire that. I really do.”

- “You don’t have to be like anyone else, Raven. I like you just the way you are.”

- “You’re stronger than they give you credit for. You don’t need to change for anyone—not even Vil.”

- “If someone doesn’t appreciate your power, then they don’t deserve to be around you. Simple as that.”

[phoenix-downer]

I'm Not That Guy

Summary:

Elphaba wanted someone smart, sensitive, studious, serious. A person who would enjoy study dates in the library and romantic walks at night doing horrifically vulnerable things like talking and talking and talking about how they really felt. She wanted someone who actually cared about things as bravely and passionately as she did, someone who openly acted on their beliefs. Fiyero wasn't that guy. But a part of him wanted to be. Or: After saving the lion cub together, Fiyero realizes he has feelings for Elphaba. Missing scene exploring his point of view before Elphaba and Galinda go to the Emerald City. ~1300 words.

Elphaba was an enigma. Fiyero couldn't figure her out. She didn't care what people thought…or did she. She was a complete teacher's pet, suck up, and goody-goody…until she’d made everyone else fall asleep during class so the two of them could take the lion cub to safety. She thought Fiyero was a shallow half-wit not worth her time or attention…but then she’d touched his bleeding face during the aforementioned lion cub adventure with so much tenderness it caught him completely off guard.

Fiyero groaned and ran a hand through his carefully coiffed hair, then got out of bed and started pacing his excruciatingly fancy room because it wasn't like he was going to sleep anyway. 

Why did he care what Elphaba thought or wanted? He had made it his goal in life not to care. Elphaba wanted someone smart, sensitive, studious, serious. A person who would enjoy study dates in the library and romantic walks at night doing horrifically vulnerable things like talking and talking and talking about how they really felt. She wanted someone who actually cared about things as bravely and passionately as she did, someone who openly acted on their beliefs.

Fiyero wasn't that guy. He very carefully was not, in fact. He’d worked hard for years to hide his true self. To be with her, he would have to give up his player prince persona that kept him safe. He would have to toss it to the wind and be vulnerable and show he cared deeply. And that meant he would get hurt again. 

Besides, he had the ideal girlfriend already. Galinda was the whole package. Pretty, pink, popular, perfect. Good family, good match. Yes, she was vain and loud and loved showing off, but so did he, and she had a sweet, caring streak beneath all the pomp and glamour. He was fond of her. He really was.

But did he love her?

He swore and swatted at the curtains as if that would swat the thought out of his mind. This cursed school was getting to him. No one cared about love in a politically expedient relationship. He should count himself lucky that he and Galinda were so fond of each other. That was more than what his parents had ever shared.

No, no, this was entirely too much thinking. He really ought to stop. He threw on his clothes and stepped outside so he could wander around until his mind was empty again.

But of course, his eyes wandered up to where he knew Galinda and Elphaba’s room was, hoping to catch a glimpse, not of his girlfriend, but of the woman he couldn't get out of his mind. Sure enough, Elphaba was out on the balcony, hands on the railing, staring up at the sky. She wore a simple white nightgown with a black robe, and her microbraids hung loose and cascaded down her shoulders. The wistful expression on her face was one she rarely let other people see.

What was she thinking about? A man could go mad trying to figure that out, though Fiyero found himself smiling in spite of himself. She was an enigma and yet wore her heart on her sleeve, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

As if she could sense him watching her, she looked down, and their eyes met. At first hers widened in surprise, but when he gave a little wave, she actually smiled back at him and returned the wave. Fiyero was a consummate flirt with everyone by design, and yet even a small positive gesture from her was enough to catch him off guard. His heartbeat sped up and his breath caught and his stomach did flips, all quite against his will.

Elphaba had changed since they had first met. Was it Galinda’s influence? Her own growing confidence? Or was it possible that she just might like him for him, that she might be warming up to him, that he hadn’t imagined her gazing at him out of the corner of his eye several times now since the lion cub incident.

“Elphie!” Galinda called, bursting out onto the balcony, and the moment was over. Elphaba’s attention turned completely to her exuberant roommate. Galinda was a one woman show and made Elphaba laugh as she pranced and twirled around the balcony in her pink nightgown, cracking joke after joke.

Fiyero found himself feeling oddly jealous…of his own girlfriend. Galinda got to be with Elphaba day and night, and Elphaba wasn't shy or discreet about being friends with her. The unlikely duo were inseparable, like two peas in a pod. He could only wish Elphaba would open up to him like that someday.

Still, it was nice to see them both laughing. Happy. Galinda was the type who always needed an audience, and Elphaba was happy to be that audience. Fiyero could hardly judge Galinda though because he was the exact same way. No wonder they were so drawn to Elphaba. That was probably why they got along so splendidly with each other.

Presently, Galinda noticed him and cheerfully waved, then blew him a kiss. He smiled and blew her a kiss back. But then his eyes wandered to Elphaba, and he caught her watching him again.

His smile softened into something sweeter and warmer, and she smiled back. That smile filled his whole body with a warmth he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. Despite his best efforts, she had seen beneath his mask and didn't judge him for his pain and vulnerability. Maybe because she knew what it was like to have everyone else judge you, too.

If this kept up, he really would fall for her, and then nobody in all of Oz, not even the wizard himself, would be able to stop it.

Galinda glanced between the two of them, an expression Fiyero had never seen before from her flashing across her normally cheerful countenance. She grabbed Elphaba’s hand and pulled her inside the room with one last wave goodbye, and that was that. Fiyero was alone again with only the stars above for company.

Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair once more. This was all pointless anyway. Elphaba would never choose him. Even if she did fancy him, she wouldn't want to hurt Galinda, and he didn't want to hurt Galinda either. Galinda was her best friend and his girlfriend. They had a duty to be good to her. 

He chuckled at himself. Listen to him, opining about duty. Elphaba’s goodness and his fondness for Galinda were rubbing off on him and making him a better person in spite of his best efforts to be a shallow dolt without a care in the world. For once, he was considering someone else besides himself (well, and Feldspar of course, but the horse was his best friend). It was a strange feeling, but not an entirely unwelcome one.

He nodded and straightened his lapels. Yes, he’d made up his mind. He wouldn’t act on his feelings for Elphaba. She and Galinda deserved better.

But as he glanced up at the balcony one more time, his heart had other ideas. He knew it was wrong, he knew he would be quite wicked to let this continue, but he still wished he could be that guy for Elphaba.

This was why he preferred not thinking. Thinking made everything so much more complicated. It was easier not to think. It was why he had gone so long without thinking. Life was so much less painful if he didn't think.

But as he finally fell asleep later that night, Elphaba’s face was the last thing on his mind, her smile the last image lingering in his brain. 

Maybe thinking wasn't always such a bad thing, after all.

————————————————————————

A/N: Thank you for reading! Wicked and Stephen Schwartz’ music have held such a special place in my heart for years, and I absolutely adored Wicked: Part 1. I'm really looking forward to Wicked: For Good, and in the meantime, I wanted to delve into the characters’ thoughts and feelings more, starting with Fiyero. I really enjoyed how the movie handled him, and Jonathan Bailey did such a fantastic job portraying him and giving him those hidden depths. That moment when Elphaba touches Fiyero’s face has had me in a chokehold for months now lol, and I wanted to explore the aftermath of that from his perspective since the movie did a beautiful job showing us Elphaba’s perspective already.

[pilot-boi]

What’s their (your OCs) favorite food/drink?

Ooooo yes!! Thank you!!

Anita drinks a lot of tea and eats a lot of roasted vegetables. She actually has a vegetable garden that she maintains to help keep her family’s food costs down. But her favourite food is probably apples

Nick is an absolute cliche farm boy. He likes mashed potatoes and gravy and grits. He’s also got a soft spot for mint chocolate chip ice cream

Demetri doesn’t really have a favourite food, but her favourite drink is hot chocolate because her sister used to make it for her a lot when they were kids

Nero LOVES really crappy Mexican food, if he could he’d have microwave burritos and enchiladas for every meal. He’s got that teenage boy diet where he eats anything and everything

Emerald drinks coffee like her life depends on it, especially during tech week and band season. As for food, she really likes baking and baked goods, especially chocolate cake

Anthony has the sweet tooth to end all sweet tooth’s, boy would survive on candy if he could, but he has to make do with fruit (mostly bananas) instead. Same as Nero he’s got that teenage boy appetite

Cecilia likes to say that she only likes things that are as dark and bitter as her soul, but in reality she’s a giant weeb. Girl is out here eating mochi and pocki unironically. She also really likes toast, cause it was the first thing she cooked after moving out

Lena is CONSTANTLY eating, no lie, and her palette isn’t that picky. The day you see her without a bag of Cheetos in her hand is the day she dies

[girl-next-door-writes]

Two Princes

Characters: Loki x reader

Summary: Torn between Thor’s steadfast love and Loki’s magnetic allure, you must choose which Asgardian prince will claim your heart.

Word Count: 1707 words

Prompt: Two Princes – The Spin Doctors

A/N: For @caplanbuckybarnes Decades Challenge. 

The warm golden glow of twilight bathed the room, creating a soft haze in contrast to the palpable tension hanging in the air. Standing in the meeting hall of New Asgard, you felt the weight of two pairs of eyes on you. One gaze was familiar, teasing, playful, and filled with warmth. The other was intense, cold, calculating—yet equally magnetic.

Loki and Thor, two princes of Asgard, stood before you. Each was a force of nature in his own right, and both were vying for something you never thought they’d want from you: your affection.

"Have you made your decision yet?" Loki asked, his lips curled into a half-smirk as he leaned casually against the wall, but you could see the storm brewing in his emerald eyes.

Thor stood tall, arms crossed, his massive frame radiating authority, yet his blue eyes softened as they met yours. "I would never force you. You know that. But you must choose."

You sighed, your heart pounding against your chest. How had things gotten so complicated?

It had started simply enough. You had been asked to keep an eye on the Asgardians as they settled in their new land.

Thor was your first real connection. From the moment he met you, he was charming, kind, and always attentive. You were drawn to him, not just because of his looks or status, but because he radiated warmth. Thor was like the sun—bright, reliable, and so easy to be around. With Thor, life felt simple, like everything would be alright as long as he was near. He would fight for you, protect you, and give you a life of adventure.

But then there was Loki. The dark prince, the trickster, the enigma who had always seemed just beyond your reach. Loki’s attention had been unexpected. He had watched you with amusement from a distance at first, his sharp wit often at your expense. But you saw beyond his sarcasm. Beneath the layers of mischief, there was a vulnerability to Loki that tugged at your heart. With him, everything felt unpredictable, exciting, but also dangerous. Loki was the night to Thor’s day—a storm waiting to sweep you away.

It had been a simple conversation with Loki that changed things. You had spoken about magic, of the realms beyond, and the weight of loneliness. That evening, something shifted between you. His gaze softened, his words became less biting, and his walls began to crumble just a little. The connection with Loki was electric, but it came with a price—the constant question of trust. With Loki, you were never quite sure if what you saw was what you got.

Now, you were caught between them. Thor had made his feelings for you clear. He didn’t need to woo you with tricks or fancy words; he simply laid his heart bare. "I want you by my side." he had said one evening while the two of you stood looking out over the harbor. "Not as a subject of Asgard, but as my equal. You belong here, with me."

It was easy with Thor—so easy it was almost tempting to just say yes. But something held you back.

Loki, on the other hand, was a different story. He never outright confessed his feelings, but his actions spoke louder than words. The way he would linger in the shadows during formal gatherings, always keeping an eye on you, the subtle ways he’d brush his hand against yours, the long, silent conversations shared through stolen glances. He had whispered to you one night, “I could give you the world, if you dared to follow me into it.”

The rivalry between the brothers was no secret, but now, it had taken a far more personal turn. Thor was everything any sane person would want: kind, heroic. But Loki—Loki was a world of passion and danger. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame, despite the warnings.

“Choose me,” Loki said, his voice softer now as he stepped closer. His long fingers brushed a lock of hair from your face, and your skin tingled from his touch. “We don’t belong in the light. Not entirely. You and I… we could be extraordinary.”

Thor frowned but remained composed. “Loki, this isn’t about power or proving something. It’s about her heart. Let her decide freely.”

You looked between them, torn. Loki, who stirred something wild and untamed inside you, and Thor, who offered stability and unconditional love.

Weeks passed, and you avoided making a decision, hoping for clarity. But it never came. As you spent time with each of them, you realised the depth of their feelings, and the intensity of the rivalry that had only grown between the brothers. They were both so different, yet each one drew out a part of you that you couldn’t deny.

One evening, Loki invited you for a stroll along the coastline. It was quiet, the stars above twinkling in a velvet sky. He looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. “You feel it too, don’t you?” he asked softly, stepping closer until you could feel the warmth of his body next to yours.

You swallowed hard. "Feel what?"

“This pull between us,” he whispered, his eyes locking with yours. “It’s not something you can ignore forever. You and I… we’re alike. The darkness, the magic, the rebellion. You know you want more than Thor can offer.”

Your heart raced. You did feel something for him—something deep and consuming. But Thor's face flashed in your mind. He had been nothing but honest with you, and the last thing you wanted was to hurt him. Loki might be right about the connection you shared, but could you really trust him with your heart?

“It isn’t that simple.” You sighed, torn as you looked up at him.

“It can be. I could be so simple.” Loki said softly, true vulnerability in his eyes. “I know that I am not always the easiest person to be around, but… but you make me feel like who I am may be enough. Please. Please choose me.”

"I... I don't know," you whispered desperately, stepping back from Loki. "I need time."

That was when Thor found you. His eyes fell on Loki, and a familiar tension filled the air. “Brother, I think it’s time we let her breathe. This constant pull isn’t helping.”

Loki’s jaw clenched and you could see his walls coming back up as he stepped back, giving you space. "I won't wait forever." he warned, before disappearing into the night.

Thor approached you cautiously. “I’m not like him,” he said softly, brushing a gentle hand against your arm. “I won’t make promises of worlds or magic. But I can promise you honesty, love, and a life of adventure. I’ll never make you doubt where you stand with me… and I would never make you feel bad if you decided your heart lay elsewhere.”

Your heart ached. How were you supposed to choose between them?

As days turned into weeks, you found yourself reflecting on what each brother offered. Loki was a tempest—a force that would sweep you off your feet, filling your veins with fire and daring you to chase the unknown. You thought of the secretive glances shared in shadowed corridors, the thrill of his touch, like lightning barely contained. But could you ever truly trust him?

Thor, on the other hand, was the embodiment of stability, his presence like an anchor in the storm. You remembered the warmth of his arm around you as you both watched the stars, his voice a steady hum of promises he would never break. Life with him would be simpler, yes. Safer, maybe. But did your heart crave that kind of safety?

You woke one morning your decision as clear as an azure sky in the depths of summer. The choice had settled in your heart, and while it wasn’t easy, it felt right.

You found both brothers in the meeting hall. Their eyes watched you expectantly as you entered.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at Thor first. “I care about you, Thor. You’ve shown me things I never thought possible. But…”

Thor's face tightened, his eyes reflecting a brief, raw ache that he quickly hid behind a soft, resigned smile. "I see. I accept your decision." His fingers lingered against yours, just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin—and then he lifted your hand, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles. When he released you, his voice was a murmur, almost too quiet to hear. "Be happy, that's all I ask." Without another word, he turned and walked out of the hall, his shoulders squared but his steps slower than usual.

You turned to Loki, nerves twisting in your stomach as his sharp gaze searched your face, guarded but vulnerable, as if bracing himself for the blow.

"Loki..." you whispered, stepping closer.

He gave a nervous laugh, a flash of uncertainty in his eyes that he quickly masked with a smirk. "On second thought, perhaps it's better if you don't say anything." He looked away, jaw tightening. "I think I already know."

You took his hand, refusing to let him slip away. "No, Loki. You need to hear this." “Very well.” Loki braced himself for what he believed was inevitable rejection.

"Loki, you are... impossible," you said, voice catching. "Infuriating, reckless, unpredictable." You tightened your grip on his hand, feeling his pulse quicken under your fingers. "And yet, somehow, you've made a place for yourself in my heart. Against all reason, all logic... I choose you."

His eyes widened, flickering with disbelief. "You... choose me?" he whispered, as if the words were a spell that might break if spoken too loudly. “I do.”

The two of you stood there, sharing a fragile, unspoken promise in the stillness of the hall. But even as Loki's hand tightened around yours, a shadow of doubt lingered in your mind—a warning whisper that he could be as fleeting as a storm. You brushed the thought aside, smiling up at him, hoping desperately that this time, he wouldn’t break your heart.

[valentine-cafe]

Hello, hello! I'm here to order a tiramisu please! [male reader]

In honor of valentines day, I'm thinking of reader trying on a bunch of different lip glosses and testing them out on Alessio, as the all "strong" and "intimidating" enigma is getting his ass pounded..💘

Just imagining reader rolling his eyes and getting all annoyed as Alessio is barely able to mutter out a response

˖⁺. ﹙ immortal mercenary inhuman bf  x top male reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . m-mi amor- p-p-lease !! 🍒 :  mercenary ˖ inhuman immortal ˖ punkgoth character﹙ verse 781 alessio. ﹚

You decide to try out some of the lip glosses you've been wanting to test on Alessio. But there's a catch to it, of course, cw: rough fucking, degredation, anal, cum squirting

"Think I quite like this shade. Or do you think 07 suits me better?"

"Mmph - mnghh - "

The only response to your question comes in splutters. Followed by rasped whines as you start smacking your hips harder. Chasing the ripples in his ass that you batter against so mercilessly. Dick parting his tight walls and leaving his muscled thighs spread wide to each tempered thrust.

Your fingers delve deep into dark strands as a response, tugging hard as you yank his head and arch him further. So that his ass squishes into your cock that snaps faster as a result. "I believe I asked you a question, baby." You abandon the red shade to instead tweak his pierced nipple. Pinch hard and curve his body into even more of an arch. All the better for your pounding thrusts.

"Or am I dealing with a stupid slut? What, a bit of dick and suddenly you can't speak?" Your cockhead grinds intentionally into that one, devastating spot. Eyes cast an accusatory look to his dick that twitches and spurts all over again.

His pathetic noises do little do quell your annoyance. Or your sadistic amusement as you snap a hand down to rub your cruel thumb on his throbbed tip.

"Am I? Am I dealing with a stupid slut who can only think of dick?"

"I - dios - por favor - n-no mas no mas -"

You can all but croon as you rub another slick spurt from his pulsating tip. Your thumb trails to the piercing. The pressure applied sends Alessio's brows higher. Sends emerald eyes into the back of his head as he bucks helplessly.

"Pl-ease-!"

You hunch over him. Smack against his ass harder and grin with coloured lips as his strangled sob. To see such a confident, cocky man on his back and arching for you. Squeezing round your dick and barely able to process words. . . what an achievement for you indeed.

Lipstick stains litter his collarbone and shoulders. All over his chest to match with deep hickies you left earlier. His gaze attempts to follow, only to roll back as you slam forward and start fucking him shallow. Spurting your hot ropes of cum into his clenching ass.

"Fuck you're pathetic," you hover over his lips. Smear the lipstick on his parted more and reach to suck on his pierced tongue, before you pull back and pout. "Can't even help your boyfriend out with makeup? Even though he's filling this cute ass of yours just the way you like? Yeah?"

He barely responds as your hands slip to shove his thighs back. Push him into even more of a vulnerable position as you drive you cock deeper. Hit the target that sends him sobbing.

"Really baby? Don't you love me?"

"I-I do! I do I dooo dios - te amo - te -" your poor boyfriend. All he can do is cream all over again. Cling to the sheets and throws his head back. "Wanna help - wanna - hic - help - 'm sorry."

[asherrzzz]

My first post on here is gonna be about my WoF OC, Basilisk :)

(I'm still working on how to draw scars so forgive me 🥲)

Basilisk was one of the Rainwing's that had been captured. He was captured a couple months before Glory and the other Dragonets arrived in the Rainwing kingdom. He used to be carefree and fun-loving, if not a little quiet but after staying on such a horrible island for so long, his attitude changed severely.

Basilisk attempted to break out multiple times. He got the scar on his snout from a Nightwing guard after one of his escape plans failed. He stopped trying to escape after this, becoming even more bitter and hateful after the Nightwings not only starved/tortured his friends, but also scarring his face.

He was rescued by Queen Glory and her friends eventually, though he only grew more angry (and slightly paranoid) when the Nightwings moved into the Rainwing Kingdom.

After Basilisk.. accidentally scared a Nightwing and caused him to fall into quick sand, Queen Glory sent him to Jade Mountain Academy where he would hopefully learn to get along with other dragonets. He was placed into the Emerald Winglet with a Sandwing clawmate named Nighthawk.

Surprisingly, the two got along pretty well. Nighthawk even gave him an odd gift, a moonstone earring. Basilisk doesn't know how or where Nighthawk got it, but ever since he's gotten the gift he's been sleeping like a newborn dragonet (sleeping was a hard thing to do for Basilisk, since he had reccuring nightmares about Nightwing Island).

Nighthawk has also encouraged Basilisk to write stories. Basilisk wasn't a bad writer, in all honesty. He often wrote stories similar to his own or other dragon's experiences. He decided to try it out, going under the anonymous name ‘Enigma’.

The lizards that he's based off of. Basilisk has a similar color scheme that I've yet to add 😞