#I could just leave him inexplicably untouched

[arolesbianism]

Now here's my struggle with the solo exclusive characters in my swap au: I wanna include them so bad, I want them to exist and be relevant (especially since it means that I could still pull out Wortox if I so choose) but on the other hand. One of them is literally a monkey. Like how do I work with that in either direction.

[vipetas]

ii. the radio's revival

It was odd. Ever since that chance encounter with the Radio Demon, he’s been gracing your doorstep more often than you had expected. You were just doing your job, after all, fixing that radio of his. But he seemed to interpret that as an invitation rather than the transaction that it was.

Whether he was cursed with inexplicable bad luck or if it was simply a series of coincidences, you couldn't say for sure, at least not in the beginning. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, and Alastor kept coming back, each time with a new contraption for you to fix, you couldn't help but come to a conclusion.

He was breaking things on purpose.

The sinister Radio Demon, with his daunting reputation and predatory grin, was breaking things on purpose. All for the sake of visiting your humble little workshop in the slums.

You couldn't decide whether to feel flattered or victimized. Hell, you couldn’t even begin to fathom what drew him back to your workshop time and again. Yet, as the routine continued, you also couldn’t deny that Alastor didn’t seem as terrifying as you once believed him to be. Gradually, you became accustomed to his presence. In fact, you even found yourself looking forward to his visits, often preparing a cup of coffee for him as you worked while he observed.

Today was no different. As you diligently worked on repairing an antique pocket watch, your attention kept drifting to the window, where sinners of all shapes and sizes strolled along the bustling street. Your keen eyes searched for a splash of red amidst the passersby, and your ears strained for the familiar sound of the bell above your door. Yet, neither sight nor sound came.

And as you affixed the final gears of the pocket watch into place, Alastor had yet to make an appearance. You glanced at the untouched, now-cold coffee cup, and despite your efforts to suppress it, disappointment began to seep into your heart.

Alastor strode through the dimly lit corridors of the hotel, his thoughts consumed by a singular objective: to find something–anything–that he could lay his hands on.

He knew it was silly. Preposterous even. For him, of all people, to resort to such childish behavior! But there was a restlessness gnawing at him, an insatiable craving for something he couldn’t quite name.

Ever since his fingers grazed against yours in that fleeting moment of contact, Alastor found himself haunted by the memory. It was as if a dormant ember had been reignited within him, sparking a firestorm of conflicting and inexplicable emotions. He couldn’t understand it, couldn’t fathom why a simple touch had stirred such chaos within his usually composed heart.

And frankly, he didn’t really care to dwell on it. To acknowledge the depth of his confusion would be to admit weakness, a notion he found utterly intolerable. Besides, there were more pressing matters at hand–like finding something to break, for instance.

Turning corner after corner, Alastor reached the hotel’s parlor, a space usually abuzz with activity. However, to his surprise, the room now seemed to be eerily deserted.

The armchairs sat empty, their plush cushions undisturbed by the weight of occupants. The grand piano stood silent in the corner, its keys untouched and gathering dust. Not even a whisper stirred the air, leaving the parlor feeling desolate and abandoned.

And then, he spotted it–the TV, perched precariously upon a nearby table. Alastor’s grin, stretched wide across his face, threatened to split his features in sheer delight. It was perfect–he had been itching for an opportunity to destroy that troublesome picture box, and this presented the ideal occasion.

Crossing the room with determination, Alastor's fingers curled around the edges of the TV, his excitement palpable as he prepared to deliver the final blow. But just as he lifted it off the table, a stern voice cut through the silence.

“Alastor!” Vaggie scolded. “How many times have I told you not to touch the TV?���

Alastor's grin remained firmly in place as he turned to face Vaggie, exchanging glances between her stern expression and the television in his grasp. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, and then, without breaking eye contact, he slowly loosened his hold on the television, letting it drop to the ground with a resounding crash.

The impact shattered the screen, creating a spider web of cracks that spread in all directions, while the plastic casing splintered open with a loud snap. Vaggie's jaw dropped in disbelief as she stared at the wreckage before her, her eyes widening in shock. Alastor's grin only stretched further.

“Oops,” he said, his tone laced with mock innocence. “My hand must have slipped.”

The commotion of the shattered TV drew Charlie into the parlor like a magnet, her expression a mix of shock and dismay as she took in the scene before her.

“What in the–Alastor, what's gotten into you?” she exclaimed as she approached, her footsteps quickening as her eyes darted between the broken TV and the Radio Demon standing nearby. “You can't keep breaking everything in the hotel!”

Without missing a beat, Alastor's expression morphed into one of exaggerated shock and wounded innocence. His hand flew to his chest, fingers splaying out dramatically as if to emphasize the depth of his offense.

“My dear Charlie,” he exclaimed. “Accusing me of such vandalism! Why, I would never dream of causing harm to anything in our esteemed hotel!”

Charlie raised an incredulous eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his theatrics. “Really? Because I distinctly remember you destroying the coffee machine just last week.”

A flicker of annoyance flashed across Alastor's face, quickly masked by his trademark grin. “Ah, well, accidents happen, my dear. Surely you can't hold that against me.”

Before Charlie could respond, Vaggie interjected with a pointed look. “And what about the toaster the week before that?”

“The toaster?” Alastor echoed, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he cast a sidelong glance at Vaggie’s direction. “Oh, that old thing was on its last legs anyways. I was merely putting it out of its misery!”

Charlie's sigh reverberated through the parlor, laden with frustration. Anyone within earshot could discern that even the seemingly infinite well of patience belonging to the Princess was beginning to run dry.

“Alastor,” she started, drawing a deep breath and folding her hands in front of her. “I know you mean well, but we can't have you breaking things every time you get bored.”

Alastor’s facade remained intact as he listened to Charlie’s lecture, although the subtle twitch of his ear betrayed the irritation that simmered beneath the surface. He had expected this reaction, of course; it was all too predictable. But that didn't make it any less tiresome.

“Oh, come now,” he responded as casually as he could. “You know me better than that. I'll have that pesky picture box fixed in a jiffy!”

“It's not just about fixing the TV, Alastor. We have enough trouble keeping this place together without you destroying hotel property whenever you feel like it.”

Suppressing an urge to roll his eyes at Charlie's admonishment, Alastor finally conceded, even as his pride bristled at the implication of recklessness. “Yes, yes, you’re right,” he said aloofly. “I’ll get this taken care of right away. You and Vaggie needn’t worry yourselves.”

With that, he gracefully knelt down beside the broken TV, his movements deliberate as he made a show of collecting the wreckage. Despite the situation, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of amusement at the melodramatic nature of it all. It was almost comical how worked up everyone got over something as silly as a broken appliance. After all, what harm was a mere television set in the grand scheme of things?

Especially when its destruction served as a small price to pay for the chance to see the mechanic again.

Cradling the TV in his hands, Alastor straightened up and began to walk away, purposefully moving past Charlie and Vaggie before they could launch into any further lectures. Despite the disapproving glances he left in his wake, Alastor felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him–he had finally obtained his excuse.

“...and remember, if you ever need anything else, you know where to find me!”

The words slipped past your lips like a well-rehearsed speech as you bid farewell to the now-proud owner of the repaired pocket watch. Standing with your hands on your hips, you watched them depart, a swell of pride filling your heart as their delighted reaction replayed in your mind. It was always rewarding to see the joy on your customers' faces when you successfully restored something precious to them.

As they left, you turned your attention to the windows, where the dwindling daylight seeped through. It was getting late, you realized with a sigh. 

With a sense of reluctance, you made your way toward the door. It was time to close up shop for the day, despite the lingering desire to stay open a little longer. As your hand reached for the lock, preparing to secure the entrance, a sudden commotion startled you.

The door swung open with such force that a rush of wind swept into the workshop, catching you off guard. Before you could react, you found yourself tumbling backward, landing unceremoniously on the floor.

“What the–” You began, lifting your gaze to confront the incredibly rude visitor. But your words caught in your throat as your eyes landed on Alastor, standing there framed in your doorway with a strained grin and a shattered TV gripped tightly in his hands.

“Alastor, what’s–” You started again, but in the next breath, Alastor suddenly dropped the TV, letting it fall to the floor with a careless thud. 

In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between you, rushing to your side with an urgency that left you dazed. “Goodness gracious, darling, are you alright?” He asked, eagerly extending a hand to assist you.

You felt a peculiar flutter in your chest as his gloved fingers gently enveloped yours, guiding you back to your feet. Despite the unexpected tumble, his touch was surprisingly tender, and you couldn’t help but be aware of the warmth that spread through your hand where it met his.

“It seems like you really need to work on your landing technique, my dear,” he then remarked amusedly. Yet beneath the jest, you detected a subtle tremor in his voice, and you couldn’t ignore the fact that he hadn’t released your hand yet.

As you looked up at him with furrowed brows, Alastor knew he should let go. He should, it was the rational thing to do, the expected response in this situation.

But his hand–it was on fire! Compared to the initial spark of electricity, whilst significant in its own right, this new sensation was simply overwhelming, threatening to unravel each delicate thread that wound the Radio Demon together.

Terrifying yet exhilarating, Alastor realized the immense power that such a simple gesture held over him. If he had known that such a dramatic entrance would grant him the privilege of holding your hand like this, he would've acted sooner. He would've found any excuse, any reason, to break down your door and claim your hand as his own long ago.

And at the same time, another thought crept into his mind, igniting a different kind of excitement altogether. He couldn't help but wonder about the myriad of other sensations your touch might elicit—sensations that surpassed mere hand-holding.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you stood there, the air crackling with tension. To say that you were confused would be an understatement. Alastor’s incessant visits, today’s sudden intrusion, the broken TV, his firm yet gentle hold–it was more than baffling.

Unable to bear the heaviness of it all, you dared to give his hand a light squeeze. “Uh, Alastor?” You ventured tentatively, offering him an easy smile. “You can let go now, you know.”

His response came almost immediately, but it wasn't what you had expected. “I know,” he said nonchalantly, tightening his grip instead of releasing it.

The smile faltered slightly on your lips as your confusion deepened. “Then… will you?”

“I don’t think so, my dear.”

“Why not?” You asked, the words escaping your lips before your thoughts could catch up.

Alastor's grip tightened again, his crimson gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “Because,” he began, his voice low and velvety. “I rather enjoy holding your hand.”

The simplicity of his answer caught you off guard. It was as if he were stating the most obvious fact in the world, with no need for further explanation. As you cast your gaze downward at your intertwined fingers, and then at the broken TV, lying in pieces by your door–that’s when the puzzle suddenly clicked into place.

“Oh…”

“Hmm?” Alastor hummed, his tone laced with genuine curiosity and a hint of amusement. As he waited for you to reply, he couldn't resist the temptation to let his thumb glide ever so gently against the back of your hand. The touch was feather-light, almost imperceptible, yet it sent a tingling sensation through your skin.

It drew your attention back to him, your unsure gaze meeting his intense one. For a moment, it seemed as if Alastor was extending a silent invitation for you to delve deeper, to peel back the layers of your interactions, to speak the words that hovered on the tip of your tongue.

And with a deep breath, you gathered your thoughts. 

“I... I was just thinking,” you began, your voice steadier than you felt. “Do you... have feelings for me, Alastor?”

The question hung between you, heavy with uncertainty and vulnerability. You weren't sure what to expect, but you were desperate for some clarity. 

“Feelings?” Alastor echoed after a pause, his demeanor carefully neutral as he attempted to evade the question. “Why, my dear, I have all sorts of feelings for you! Admiration, appreciation, curiosity–”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his evasive answer, a sudden surge of frustration bubbling within you. “Alastor,” you interrupted, cutting through his attempt at deflection. “I'm not talking about admiration or appreciation. I'm talking about... romantic feelings.”

The ever-present grin on the Radio Demon’s face faltered visibly, his ears flattening against his head. It was clear he was uncomfortable–how could he not be? The very notion of romance, of allowing oneself to be vulnerable to another, disgusted him to his core. Alastor prided himself on his independence, his autonomy, and the idea of relinquishing even a fraction of that control was utterly repulsive.

But more than that, it was the sheer audacity of the question that left him reeling. How dare you suggest such a thing? Yet, as much as he wanted to dismiss you outright, a nagging voice at the back of his mind reminded him of his own hypocrisy. After all, he couldn't deny the frequency of his visits to your workshop, the way his heart quickened at the mere thought of seeing you, or the inexplicable desire to hold your hand just a moment longer.

But romantic feelings? Perish the thought! Love was a weakness, a sentiment reserved for fools, and it had no place in his world.

Alastor finally let out a forced laugh, attempting to brush off the seriousness of the conversation. “Now, now, my dear, let’s not get ahead of ourselves!” He said in between chuckles, each one more strained than the last. “I’m simply not one for such sentimental nonsense!”

Your frustration surged even further at his dismissive response, the sound of his laughter grating on your already frayed nerves. Holding up his hand, which still enveloped yours, you pressed on, determination burning in your eyes.

“Then what are we doing here?” You asked pointedly. Alastor’s gaze flickered down to your intertwined hands, his expression momentarily unreadable. But then, as if flicking a switch, he reverted to his nonchalant demeanor.

“We’re simply enjoying each other’s company, of course!” he replied enthusiastically, his thumb brushing against your hand again almost instinctively. “No need to overcomplicate things, hm?”

With a deep breath, you realized that you had reached your limit with Alastor. The frustration simmering within you had finally boiled over, and you had no interest in playing this game of his any longer.

Without a word, you tore your hand away from his grasp, a sharp movement that caused Alastor to visibly flinch. But you ignored his reaction as you focused on gathering the forgotten television set, its sharp edges digging into your skin as you collected the wreckage.

Straightening up, you returned to Alastor's side, purposefully avoiding any further contact with him as you extended the damaged device toward him. Your gaze was steady, unwavering, as you delivered your ultimatum.

“I'm closed, Alastor,” you declared firmly. “Come back when you're ready to be honest.”

part i / part ii

thank you for reading!! and thank you to everyone who left such nice comments on my last posts. i was very surprised<3

there will definitely be a third part to this story. also, @christinebloodwrittings requested to be tagged<3

[aheathen-conceivably]

Part of Zelda loved the last few years of their lives. At its simplest, it reminded her of being in England again, of standing in the fields with her father and making every recipe from scratch with her mother. Life felt warmer here than it had in New Orleans, calmer and quieter and more akin to something she had envisioned for herself. 

Of course there was pain as well, backbreaking constant pain and endless drudgery. Sometimes it reminded her of how much she liked standing in a crowded cafe or club and feeling everyone’s energy come together in one tumultuous surge. Compared to that, it often felt like she had only known two extremes in her life, and she had swung between the two without ever really finding herself in the middle. 

Then there was the desperation, constantly turning and monitoring the soil, adding any and every shell or skin she could spare, and hauling countless buckets of water from the nearby stream. It was knowing that living or dying fell upon your back and the roof over everyone’s heads relied on your efforts. But in doing so it sometimes felt like a spirit overtook one, one that actually understood her purpose and called her Little Robin on even his darkest days.

Only recently the desperation had taken on a new tone, one independent of Gio’s debts or her child’s hunger. One that even her father wouldn’t have understood. It was her burden, and her burden alone, seen and shared by Antoine but really only felt by her. Because she could till this soil; she could monitor it and will the crops to grow as though through sheer willpower and knowledge alone. Only she couldn’t do the same for herself. 

Because at least this seemingly barren soil was growing something. There was life and hope in it, fully grown plants and crops on the edge of being harvested. She had poured her soul into it, and it had responded in turn. She needed them to grow, not only for the reasons everyone else did, but because she couldn’t seem to grow anything within herself.

She was walking the fields, picking away dead leaves and checking under each one for bugs when she saw it: a sapphire glittering amidst the greenery in the ever-present sunshine. She reached forward slowly, moving each leaf aside hesitantly as though half expecting to look down and see yet another dashed hope that had existed only for a moment.

But then she bent down into the soil and it was real: a perfectly grown ear of corn. Untouched by bugs or drought or heat. She had done it. It had grown. In an inaudible whisper she called out to Gio across the farmyard. Realizing that he was probably preoccupied still trying to dig out their well she called out again, and again, until her amazed voice finally rose to an audible volume.

He rounded the fence, his eyes filled with apprehension that another bud had been eaten in the night or the leaves inexplicably wilting. Instead he saw Zelda standing there, an ear of corn in her hand and a smile on her face. 

He immediately threw his shovel into the dirt and ran toward her, “We did it, Zelda! We really fucking did it!” For a moment he just held her in shared amazement, and Zelda could swear that he was going to cry. All of his emotions poured out onto her so that she could feel he had no way to contain his gratitude, until he picked her up and swung her amidst the tall verdant plants growing all around them, “Jesus Christ who am I kidding, you did it! This farm…it, I was nothing until you got here, until you made all this happen!”

Zelda let herself be swept off her feet, lost in his characteristically infectious joy. Because he didn’t know why she had worked so hard on these fields, or that she often walked the rows thinking of them in relation to herself. He only knew she had given him something, everything he seemed to dream of in that moment, and that together they had actually done it. They had made life grow from nothing.

Across the farmyard, Josephine watched them, and a small fire started in her heart. With a jolt she realized that this was what jealousy must feel like. She had never given a fuck about who Gio or any of her partners had danced or laughed or flirted with, so long as she knew and they didn’t use it against her when the time came. But it couldn’t be, not here, not now. Not her. 

This was Zelda. Her best friend, her sister. They worked and lived there together day in and day out, but then he set her on the ground and her laughter rang out through the farmyard, and Josephine realized that it was her. It was the joy she and Gio shared over a goddamn ear of corn. One single ear of corn. It was as infuriating as all of life was here, because it didn’t feel like living at all. It felt like a constant game of survival that transformed your life into a series of meaningless tasks without purpose or delineation rather than something that was actually yours to live.

Because life here wasn’t simpler for Josephine the way it was for Zelda. There was nothing nostalgic or calming about it. No sound of her father’s voice to guide her through the pain or personal drive tying her to the constant, backbreaking work. She tried, every goddamn day she tried, just like she promised Giorgio and herself that she would; but it felt like the land itself was draining her soul bit by bit.

Yet here was Zelda, who seemed like some sort of old world fertility goddess standing amongst the plants she had grown from soil that wouldn’t yield for anyone else. For years, she had done nothing but give and give as she worked alongside Giorgio to make his damn dream come true, all the while thoughts of running away continued to plague Josephine in the night. Zelda had poured her soul into the desolate land to make it grow. Josephine dreamed of setting it on fire. 

Jesus, she didn’t want to. She wanted to fall onto the orange sands of Strangerville and somehow sprout into the perfect farm wife too. That’s why she was jealous. She wanted to be that happy when a single goddamn ear of corn had grown, to share in the simple joy of the man she loved over something she couldn’t help but find infuriating. It seemed like he was happy because he had someone to share that joy with now, someone who could make his dreams come true and give him all of herself so totally. It made her think that maybe the problem was her; she had simply not given enough of herself to be happy. But she didn’t quite know how.

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐇𝐄𝐗 𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 9: WITCH!READER

din djarin x nightsister!reader | smut, 18+ | 1k words

summary: given the task to hunt down an enchantress renowned for her deviancy, din fails to understand just how hard this mission will be to complete.

cw: f!nightsister!reader. dub-con - seduction through enchantment. orgasm denial, threat of cumming untouched, fully clothed, grinding. very similar to something i've already written, but fancied revisiting it - still just as difficult the second time around!!

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 10: CHEATING ⇾

The coordinates handed to Din in the bounty puck Greef Karga had practically thrust into his palm like it carried a bad disease were cursed. The digits and numbers scrawled in blood red pixels across the screen of the Crest when he’d loaded the blasted things might as well have spelt out ❝ ur bantha fodder ❞.

In any other mission upon any other planet, the whole debacle might just have pulled a twitch of a smile behind the Beskar mask. But the crimson of the coordinate pixels are a dead ringer for the ruddy scarlet of your irises, and suddenly Din was struggling to find the humour in this lethal situation he’d miraculously and carelessly found himself in. 

Instead, Din watches a sinister smirk creep across your face, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Dire straits were never straighter than a Zabraki Night Sister on her home planet of Dathomir. 

“I cannot claim to have seen your kind here before,” your velvety voice trickles down Din’s spine. Admittedly, there's an inexplicable agitation dancing in his fingertips, suddenly unsure to the extent just how precarious this fragile stand-off was. Clenching his fists, he steels himself against your probing gaze and reminds himself of the Nightsister’s proximity to the force, and their ability to wield it. 

“I–”

“I know,” you muse, approaching Din with balanced, measured steps. “A member of the Bounty Hunter Guild. You don’t have to state your business.” 

Din’s teeth ache under the pressure with which he grinds his jaw. An impossible foe, he should have considered the risks before arriving on Dathomir. A Nightsister was the last target he could improvise his battle strategy for… 

“I do appreciate your desperation,” you hum softly, practically stalking around Din and tracing the silver surface of his Beskar armour with the tip of your index finger, “I am sure that the occupation allowed for frequent travelling. In turn, it protects the child.” 

A purge bomb could drop in utter silence and Din was almost certain he’d miss it, a rush of blood roaring in his ears as his heart rate lept. Your eyes find his own through the visor of his helmet with unsettling ease, given it obscured his face. 

The moment Din comes to realise he was truly outmatched, he finds himself unable to retreat.

“Hm,” you smile again, a glint of something cunning gleaming in your eyes as you watch him struggle, “I wouldn’t bother, Mandalorian.” 

A grumble of indignation twists violently on Din’s tongue, curdling into a gasp of pleasure. It’s barely there, almost silent, but the victory that dances in the voids of your eyes tells Din you heard it. 

“I must confess,” you murmur, watching as Din starts to feel his knees beginning to buckle at the pleasure that was bubbling beneath his skin, “I enjoy your vulnerability. I never imagined a man as imposing as yourself would be so easy to make mewl.”

If not for the phantom palm applying pressure to his cock, Din would have snapped back with some snarky comment. Instead, he feels entirely tongue tied, eyes rolling back as bliss almost split him down the middle.

“Though it leaves me little fun,” you admit solemnly, your eyes not quite matching your dispirited timbre, “I need to establish a new objective. Perhaps steaming up that visor of yours?” 

Finally buckling beneath the weight of the armour and his shuddering body, Din’s knees hit the dusty, red Dathomirian ground. He groans softly, cock straining in his pants as he watches you lean over him, studying every twitch and writhe of his arousal-riddled body. You seemed to appreciate the pathetic whine that builds in the back of his throat as he rocks his hips forwards, grinding his crotch into the seam of his trousers for some friction, anything to ease the agonising throb. 

“I usually make intruders suffer– though it’s customary to torture them with pain, I find pleasure makes a person far more malleable,” Din hears you address him with such ease, as though you hadn’t reduced him to a blubbering, trembling wreck with the mere thought of doing so. “This… Greef Karga. He’s aware of the bounty you seek, correct?”

“Ohh–” Din breathes and it’s pathetic. Almost like a wail, the sound travels across the open, rocky Dathomirian plains. You raise an eyebrow, prompting Din to speak– and it’s though the words fall from his loose tongue before he can trap them behind his lips. 

“Yes– He-fuck-he knows it’s y-you–,” the sound startles Din. His voice sounds unlike himself, breathy and gritty and desperate to cum- stars, he’s so desperate to cum!

He tries to stretch his thighs open wider, praying it will alleviate some of the building pressure, but his pelvis seems to have a mind of its own and starts to grind against the inseam of his flight-suit trousers that lays flat against his cock. The friction causes a gut-wrenching groan to rumble in his chest.

“Karga. I don’t suppose he sent you because he was too fearful to face me himself? Tell me, what was I deemed a fugitive for?” You muse, circling Din’s writhing body and prattling off a long list of potential reasons for the sextuple digit bounty hanging above your head. “There was the jedi I killed, that sith who inquired about my services– to which I didn’t realise I was aiding and abetting Emperor Palpatine, for your informati–”

“The assassin, Ventress–” Din grit out behind his teeth, cock pulsing in his trousers and threatening to empty his seed like a teenager. “He’s looking for her.”

He watches you pause, chest heaving while observing the surprise at this revelation. Three months ago, the guild had issued the ‘hit’. The bounty was for information instead of your head delivered to Greef Karga in a basket. None of them had ever been stupid enough to believe themselves strong enough to take on a Nightsister. 

“Now,” you grin, crouching to face Din eye-to-eye. There’s that gleam again, the teasing look in your ruby irises sparking arousal down his nerve endings with another strained moan. The building pressure, threatening to spill over and causing Din to vibrate with need cut out almost instantly, the teetering orgasm dying away with the sudden slump of his exhausted body. 

“Why didn’t you inquire about Ventress in the first place?” You hum gleefully, amused by the orgasm denial and relishing in having such a strong man beneath your feet, much to Din’s utter embarrassment. “It would have saved you a very steamy visor.”

pedro pascal/kinktober taglist:

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@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh @km-ffluv @decaffeinateddinosauronearth @domaniquessidehoe2 @arrozyfrijoles23 @amisouki @sleepysheepsstuff @chunguk @lundenloves @marylovesdilfs @ninahhh-brahh @namelesshumanperson @limegreenbabx @doggydale @wiltedwonderland @justsayk

[evil-women-step-on-me]

Sayeon Lee: A Tragedy of Her Own Making

"Am I a bad person? Or just a weak one?"

It would have been easy for Sayeon Lee to be drowned out by her more colorful supporting cast.

The main three, for example, have their own main character-level backstories. Ryujin's adoptive family was massacred by the Aberrant Corps, the organization she is then forced to join; she seeks to avenge them by killing the Level 9 officer behind her family (and maybe crush's) death. Iseul's father was an apparent beacon of goodness within the shady Aberrant Corps and died before Iseul came of age; Iseul strives to succeed him, even though the Corps is a darker organization than he could ever imagine. Min was stripped of his essence at a young age, the trauma forming his stoic, mute personality. He joins a gang of criminals led by a woman he probably loves- even though she will never love him back- at least not in the way she loves her real sister, Sayeon Lee.

And who is Sayeon Lee? She's a hard worker. She… goes to school. She had maids? Her day-to-day existence is pretty cushy. It's explicitly stated that Sayeon has never worried about money, and probably food. Samin provides her with everything should ever need. As Officer Cha drives her to the Corps, Sayeon worries about her salary.

And despite how sheltered Sayeon is, and how "normal" her goals are compared to everyone else's ("Make the world a better place"…. ok, gurl) Sayeon still manages to be a devastatingly tragic character. To me, the reason is simple: Her tragedy is largely of her own making.

After Samin killed her best friend's dad, Sayeon could have reacted in so many ways. She could've tried leaving the home, or she could've not. She could've accepted Samin (and her family's) criminal history by acknowledging many of their actions as necessary, or she could've not. She could've lived her life and tried embracing the things that bring her happiness- or she could've not.

She doesn't, she doesn't, she doesn't. Sayeon chooses, inexplicably, to become a prosecutor. She studies until her nose bleeds so that she can get into a top school and put people like her sister in jail. She rejects having friends, hobbies, comfort, or any leisure throughout her teens just so that she can fulfill this purpose. She, essentially, rejects happiness itself.

And she didn't NEED to. From the start, no one has forced Sayeon to do anything. In fact, she has something that no other member of Cell 4 has: the backing of an ultra-powerful, ultra-rich family member who would do literally anything for her, no strings attached. Sayeon is the single most privileged member of Cell 4.

Ryujin didn't choose to be captured by the Corps. She didn't choose to sit in jail for years. Iseul is happy to be at the Corps, but he didn't have a choice in that either- unlike Sayeon, he isn't conveniently related to a family of supercriminals that would bail him out if he wanted something different. Min has had so little choice in his life that his character is basically defined by it. Even now, he is watching Sayeon on another person's orders. Does he even know he has a choice?

By contrast, Sayeon is FREE. She's still bound by society in some ways, so no, she won't become a prosecutor. But she had a choice between the Corps and a luxurious underground life as the untouchable sister of a superpowered heiress, who built an entire criminal empire just to protect her, and loves Sayeon with her whole heart and more.

And Sayeon still chose the Corps.

Sayeon is so mad with guilt and grief, so stuck on the idea of becoming society's Perfect Angel, the embodiment of her country and culture's ideals in some twisted form of repentance for something that she didn't even do- the actions of her family, which she did not choose and could not control- that she rejects happiness every time.

THIS is her fatal flaw. THIS is Sayeon's tragedy.

Not that she doesn't have a choice. But that she's always had one.

[gretavanlace]

Poppins (part 3)

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: language, angst, dirty talk, fingering (fem rec) umm, I think that’s about it…for now

A week later, after a beer with Josh on the porch in the dark that should’ve felt more awkward than it did, you find yourself at Karen and Kelly’s, enjoying a get together. A last laugh before Jake heads back out on whatever road he plans on wandering down next.

You’ll miss him painfully, though you’d rather die than readily admit it.

You’ve ducked away to slip into the bathroom, but instead, have landed in Jake and Josh’s childhood bedroom.

It’s a cluttered mess, but it draws you in…a curious moth to a time capsule flame. Standing silently, shoes sinking into the carpet, a thought crosses your mind…I could stay here forever. In this little room that was once their world. Forever.

Thoughts like these come far too often. They make you uneasy…it’s as if they occupy your heart equally, and that makes no sense.

A voice, quiet and inquisitive, invades your reverie “Lost, poppins?”

Jake. Of course he would find you. Josh leaves well enough alone. Jake doesn’t care for being left behind, no matter how trivial the circumstances.

He meanders through the room silently as you soak in your surroundings. Band and movie posters litter the walls, corners sagging lazily over the thumbtacks pinning them in place. Gold plated trophies bearing faceless figures kicking soccer balls scatter across shelves and dressers, an old pair of converse wait patiently in the corner, never to be worn again. They make you feel sad for some inexplicable reason.

The space smells of lemon pledge and them. They’re so alike that way…the way they smell. It makes you wonder, is that just because they’re brothers? Raised together under the same roof, slumbering beneath the same ceiling night after night, scraping their dinner plates clean of matching meals, trudging identically across the lawn each morning to catch the school bus? growing and changing together? Together, together, together…always together? Or more so because they’re twins…split from one egg, nestled, tangled up tight in the womb, until their mother labored them into the harsh light of the world?

You look right, and you’re surrounded by Josh. Left, Jake. Perhaps if you spun in circles long enough, they might merge into one…wouldn’t that solve all of your problems?

“It’s like a shrine.” You murmur, wonderstruck by the way their parents have left the room intact and untouched aside from Karen’s dusting and swapping clean linens for their counterparts to keep them fresh.

“Yeah, well, we’re the twins. The beloved gruesome twosome.” Jake is only teasing, but he’s right. “They turned Ron’s room into a gym almost right away. My mother thought she needed one one night after too many daiquiris. It’s Costco storage now.”

He’s perched on what you assume was once his bed, a prince returned to the throne of his kingdom. You switch your focus from the various objects dotting the shelves, to his flawless face, and find him watching you carefully.

“I like having you in here.” He muses softly. “Makes me feel like I’m young again.”

You fight a smile, but it comes anyway. “You’re still young, Jake.”

He leans back with his elbows digging into an ancient quilt, legs splayed wide. “Makes me feel like I’m really young though. Like I’m back in high school with a pretty girl in my room who won’t sit down because she’s nervous I might try and put my hand up her skirt.”

Leaning back against a desk you assume to be Josh’s (Jake, having never been studious from the stories you’ve heard) you attempt to adopt his casual air. “My guess is that Josh had more girls in this room than you ever did. Theater girls are crazy…or so I’ve been told.”

He laughs loudly, head tipped back to expose the perfect column of his throat. When he refocuses on your face, the look in his eyes nearly steals your breath. It’s beautiful, and predatory. “So you’ve been told, or do you know that first hand?”

“Are you asking if I was a crazy theater girl,” You feign confusion “Or if I’ve let theater girls go crazy on me?”

He hums as if amused, “I know what you’re doing.”

Running from the room seems like an excellent plan. Instead, you stay in place, gaze lingering everywhere but upon him. “And what am I doing, Jake? Because I just happened to find my way in here, you’re the one who…”

“You’re avoiding me.” He interrupts.

“Avoiding you?” You scoff, stunned by how far off it is from what you had expected him to say. “We’re in the same room, bud…I’m failing to see how…”

“You always do this,” he has risen gracefully to his feet, closing in on you step by step. “You push me away with stupid jokes, or flippant comments…and I know why. Do you?”

“Do I what?” You whisper as he nears.

“Do you know why you do that?” He’s in front of you now, so close you feel warm in his radiant heat.

A small shake of your head is your offering, cornered like a quivering rodent with a sleek, ravenous, alley cat bearing down upon it.

“It’s because you want me,” he moves nearer, hands circling your waist as though he owns your body…and perhaps he does. “Maybe not as badly as I want you, but you want me. Tell me you don’t.”

“Jake…”

His grip tightens. “Go on. Tell me.”

The silence is deafening, until he breaks it softly. “Stop. That’s all you have to say.”

“Stop.” It hushes out of you, hardly a whisper, but he releases you and steps away as if you’ve shouted.

A quiet apology is offered, but you shake your head. He wasn’t wrong, and he needn’t be sorry.

“So, who is this?” You ask, scrambling to return to innocent ground. “Her face is everywhere.”

You scan the snapshots littering the wall, waiting for his reply. It doesn’t come, so you offer an apology of your own.

“No, you’re good.” He assures, brushing off his silence for something less than it feels like it was. “Just someone who used to matter.”

“Pretty.”

“Yeah.” He grins, gaze flitting over your features. “I have a type, I suppose.”

“Did you love her?” The question comes from nowhere, and you long to take it back. What business is it of yours?

“Yes.”

“Did the road drag you away, free bird?” You joke, hiding your unease with his candor as you settle down on the bed opposite his. Josh’s bed.

“No.” He sounds offhanded, but the moment feels heavier. “My brother fucked her. He was drunk and she was somethin’ else, and I couldn’t blame him.”

“So you blamed her.” You ask, after a stretch of shocked silence.

“So I blamed her.” He confirms with a gentle nod of his head.

“I’m sorry.” It comes as a whisper. You feel badly for him, and worse for bringing her up, for causing the dull flash of pain in his eyes.

He shakes it off as quickly as it came. “I’m not. Better to see the truth of someone’s heart before they get their hands on yours.”

“That explains the girl in every port.” You ponder aloud, mostly to yourself.

The aged mattress creaks under his weight as he sinks down beside you. “A girl in every port?” His fingers begin toying tenderly with your own. “That sounds suspiciously like Josh. Did he put that idea in your pretty head?”

“Is it not the truth?” You wrap your fingers up with his, though it’s the last thing you should do.

“He tells you those things because he knows there’s something here.” He points to you, and then to himself. “He’s in love with you. Can’t say I can fault him for that.”

Though stunned, in love with you?, you march right by it like it hasn’t been said. “Doesn’t automatically make it a lie. Is it? True, I mean? Girl in every port?”

“I like sex, poppins.” He shrugs casually, like he’s just confessed his favorite flavor of ice cream. “So, I indulge as often as possible…that’s all.”

“Well,” you pull your hand away as if stung. “I’m not an indulgence, Jake.”

“Ah,” the sexiest of smiles graces his sinful mouth. “That’s where you’re wrong, babe. You’re the sweetest indulgence of all. You’d be like grapes, warmed under the sun, ready to burst on the tongue, fed by angels.”

He’s close now…so fucking close. Leaned in, stealing all the air from the room while humming poetic nonsense into your ear, breath tickling along your throat as his lips tease, barely there and feathering over your thrumming jugular.

“What if I stand up and close the door? Turn the lock and spread these gorgeous legs? Will you feed it to me?”

“Jake…” You loathe the way it moans softly out of you, but it’s too late to right that wrong.

“Oh, that was nice, poppins…” his teeth have found your earlobe, drawing forth a shiver you can’t conceal. “Say my name like that one more time for me, all soft and sweet. You sound like you’re begging.”

Now those nimble fingers of his are popping the buttons on the fly of your jeans one by one, allowing for the protest you can’t seem to muster.

“Jake, everyone’s downstairs and…”

“We’ll hear them.” He promises quietly, nuzzling at your temple as his mouth kisses the apple of your cheek sweetly. “Are you wet? Have you soaked through your little panties? Trembling for my fingers, or my mouth, or my cock?”

You're lost now. Completely…and you couldn’t give less of a shit if you actively tried. And, when his hand slips inside your panties, you forget to stifle the moan of surprised relief that gasps out of you.

“Yeah?” He teases, circling the pads of his fingers over your wet clit delicately. “Does that feel good?”

Hands in his tangled hair, you turn in close, lips resting against his mouth, breathing in his ragged breaths. “Jake, please…”

“Please what?” He coaxes, still loving on your cunt like he’s never been more devoted to anything in his life.

“I…” he chooses that exact moment to bury a finger inside you, huffing a breath of a laugh when you lurch forward, further into his arms. “Fuck…more.”

“Poppins wants more…” he sighs, slipping a second finger in to join the first.

He curls into that special little place that makes your muscles turn weak just as the sound of footsteps begin to ascend the stairs.

Moving to push him away, he tugs you in tighter, “It’s him, can’t you tell by the walk? Let him see. You’re mine. C’mon, let him see.”

“Oh my god, Jake…stop!” you shove at him again and he backs off.

Josh appears in the doorway seconds after you’ve finished yanking your shirt down to cover the buttons you haven’t had time to fasten. Jake looks casual, running his still slick fingers over his lips, but you’re flushed with shame and adrenaline.

“Mom’s looking for you.” He informs his twin with a hard edge to his tone. “Says you promised to man the grill.”

“That I did, brother…” Jake rises, taking no concern to hide his very obvious erection as he ambles out of the room. “That I did.”

Josh waits until you’re alone in the suffocating quiet.

“Interrupted again,” he tilts his head with a somber, inquisitive stare. “I seem to be making a habit of this.”

“No,” you reach out to smooth his curls, but then retreat, worried he might smell his other half all over you. “We were just…”

“Please don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” He manages a sorrowful smile. “That makes this so much worse.”

You're left with that, in a room surrounded by the relics of the boys they once were, with a heart stuffed full of the men they have become.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @paleshadow-ofadragon @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @dvrkblooms @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordierama @calumspretty

[noobiestnoober]

Shattered Reflections (Kai x Reader)

Kai and Y/N have become best friends since their meeting at the Prison World. Now Kai, having been spending time with Y/N, he has started changing into a better person even before the merge with Luke. After the merge, Kai decides to confront Y/N about his feelings for her. Both confront the painful aftermath of his past mistakes in a tense coffee shop meeting. As Kai seeks forgiveness, Y/N struggles with the deep scars left behind, questioning if healing is possible. I hope you enjoy the story <3

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

The cozy coffee shop was bathed in the warm glow of afternoon light, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the soft hum of conversation. Kai and Y/N sat at a small, corner table, their coffee cups nearly untouched, the silence between them growing heavier with each passing moment.

Kai’s hands fidgeted with the edge of his cup, his eyes darting to the window, then back to Y/N. There was a tension in his posture, a stark contrast to the casual air that had once characterized their interactions. Y/N, with her usual composed demeanor, found herself inexplicably restless. The flickering candles on the table seemed to reflect the turmoil inside her, casting uncertain shadows across their faces.

“Tell me the truth,” Y/N said softly, her voice cutting through the silence like a shard of glass.

Kai took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his next words, “There’s something I need to tell you,” he began, his voice trembling with sincerity, “I’ve been wanting to say this for so long. I—”

“I don’t feel that way about you,” she interrupted, her voice breaking, the words like daggers to both their hearts.

Kai’s eyes widened, the pain in her voice cutting deeper than any physical blow. He reached out, his hand hovering over hers, the gesture frozen in time, “Y/N, please. Let me explain. I know I’ve hurt you, and I can’t change the past, but I—”

“You don’t get it, Kai,” Y/N said, her voice barely a whisper now, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over, “You don’t know what it was like, what you did to me, to my family, to my friends. You can’t just erase the memories with sweet words and apologies.”

Kai’s face fell, the realization sinking in with crushing force. He had known, in some distant part of his mind, that the road to forgiveness was long and fraught with pain, but hearing her words made the journey seem insurmountable. He tried to speak, to find the right words to bridge the chasm between them, but the silence was deafening.

Y/N took a deep breath, steadying herself as best as she could, “Kai, I’ve tried to move on. I’ve tried to forget, to find peace, but every time I see you, it’s like opening a wound that never fully healed. I can’t just pretend that what you did doesn’t matter.”

Kai’s grip on his cup tightened, the ceramic creaking under the pressure. He wanted to apologize, to say the right thing that would make everything better, but the truth was, there was no magic phrase, no words powerful enough to undo the past, “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I need you to know that I’ve changed. I’ve been trying to be a better person, to make amends, but I don’t know if that’s enough.”

Y/N looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to blur into nothingness. The feelings she had suppressed, the ones she had tried so hard to ignore, came rushing back, mingling with the pain and anger, “I wish I could believe that, Kai. I really do. But I can’t ignore the scars you left behind. Maybe, someday, we can find a way to heal, but right now, I need to take care of myself. I need to find a way to move forward, even if it means leaving you behind.”

The words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the silence that followed. Kai’s heart ached with the weight of her rejection, the knowledge that he had lost something precious, something he might never get back. He nodded, the understanding in his eyes reflecting the broken pieces of his soul, “I get it, Y/N. I’ll respect your choice. I just hope that, one day, you can find the peace you deserve.”

As Y/N gathered her things, her movements slow and deliberate, Kai watched her, the reality of his actions settling in. The door to the coffee shop closed behind her with a soft chime, the sound echoing in the empty space between them. Kai remained seated, the cup of coffee in front of him now cold and untouched, a symbol of the warmth they had once shared, now lost forever.

[hauntlikeaghost0]

just the two of us | b.h

billy hargrove x henderson!reader

summary: domestic billy with baking and dancing. what more could you want?

warnings: a lil bit suggestive, swearing, mentions of food

a/n: thankyou sm to @star-mum​ for requesting this, i loved this idea and i hope i did it justice! enjoy!

(also, if anyone else wants to request anything, a list of characters i write for will be posted after this :))

when billy hargrove arrived at hawkins high, cloaked in cigarette smoke and distressed denim, and began to take the school by storm, you never thought you’d know him as anything other than the egotistical douchebag that ruled the hallways. however, everyday, it seems you are proven wrong. seeing billy behaving so naturally domestic and effortlessly caring when he is around you, is something so far from what you expected from him, you have to pinch yourself even after all this time. something you a unable to resist doing now.

billy is currently standing in your kitchen, brows furrowed in concentration as he squints down at the pages of your cooking book before turning, picking up the bag of flour and extremely carefully measuring out the correct amount. you watch with an uncontrollable smile gracing your lips then move to grab the eggs and milk from the fridge, sidling up by his side and placing them on the counter. instinctively, he wraps one arm around your waist, holding you tight to him before gesturing proudly at the ingredients he’s measured.

“is there anything i can’t do?” he says, a teasing smirk on his lips as he looks down at you. you laugh.

“i don’t want to feed your ego but i can’t lie, we haven’t found anything yet.”

he turns around to face you completely, the feeling of his hands settling loosely on your hips raising goosebumps as his grin widens and he lets out a deep, gentle hum,

“but i love it when you feed my ego.” billy’s voice is smooth and has taken on that bassy sound that sends shivers down your spine. it’s teasing but the turn in tone and soft gaze he has on you is far too seductive for baking in the kitchen and is doing far too well at reminding you why you fold to this boys every will. however, you are not leaving this kitchen without a cake in the oven, and though you know that wouldn’t stop him, you, thank god, have more restraint. so, with a tilt of your chin and a raise of your eyebrows, you hum back:

“and that’s because you’re a narcissist, love.” before pressing a brief kiss to his lips, melting into him just for a moment and stepping back. billy huffs indignantly at the short kiss but turns back to the counter and begins to read the instructions once more. he wipes his flour covered hands on his jeans, brushes a piece of hair behind his ear, and moves to turn the page, eyes scanning the words quickly. without lifting his gaze he turns to say:

“babe, can you crack the eggs and i’ll get started on mixing the flour and shit?”

yet again, you find yourself smiling at him inexplicably and are unable to resist dropping another kiss on his cheek before moving away to fulfil his request. he doesn’t comment on the action but a glance at him shows the soft smirk ghosting his lips. 

something you have always found while dating billy, is the randomly occurring need to show him love. sometimes it arises in moments like these, where billy is just existing; completely natural and domestic, at home with you. other times, it arises sat in his camaro after a rough fight with his dad, when his eyes a red rimmed and he’s gripping onto your hand for dear life. it arises in moments where billy’s real. where he’s not the untouchable boy, smoking in the school parking lot; he’s just genuinely billy. a boy with a shitty home life and a past he has to mourn. a boy with so much love that he’s too afraid to share. but love that he is willing to share with you and you feel so, so grateful for it. seeing billy unguarded and vulnerable is like seeing the moon in the daytime. it’s the best part of the night sky breaking through the light and shield of the sun to remind you that it’s still there and it’s still beautiful.

you’re still smiling when you’re sliding the cake tins into the oven and shutting the door with a satisfying click. the process of making the mixture was surprisingly efficient, although, by the end of it, billy had began to groan at the lack if attention he was receiving; his neediness only proven further by the feel of his hands, speedily sliding around your waist before you even get a chance to stand up straight. 

“are we done now?” he asks, grip tightening and head tilting downwards, into your hair. you let out something between a sigh and laugh and lean comfortably, back into him, relishing in his solidity.

“yes. until we have to make the icing anyway,” you pat his arm. “are you finally going to stop complaining now?”

he hums in contemplation and you can feel the vibrations through his chest. rolling your eyes, you wiggle round in his grasp and slide your arms around his neck, tilting your head and raising your eyebrows in question. he adjusts too, sliding his arms down your torso with a wide grin on his face that has your cheeks warming. 

“i’ll stop if you kiss me.’ billy challenges.

this draws a scoff from you but his hands are already tightening their grip on your hips, thumbs drawing teasing circles on them and your face is moving instinctually closer to his. you barely get to breathe out your sarcastic “fine,” before his lips are on yours and he’s pushing you back against the counter. it’s a greedy kiss, he’s pressing against you like he’ll never quite get enough, mouths moving together so easily it’s like breathing. one of his hands has raised from your hips and has moved to grasp your jaw softly yet possessively, you’re not moving yet. you run your hands through the ends of his hair, smoothing them down to steady yourself against his chest. the faint murmur of the radio in the background, the secure feeling of billy’s body against yours and the smell of cake in the oven is bliss in this very moment and you’re hesitant to pull away.

but, finally, you part, billy dropping a few last kisses to the corner of your mouth and smiling a satisfied, love filled smile that he has reserved for moments like these. you smile back, taking in the sharp lines of his face and running your thumb softly against his jawline, admiring the way his eyes are shining behind his dark lashes. 

“come on.” you say, grabbing his hand and sliding out from your place between him and the counter. 

“what?”

you grin up at him, pulling him into the centre of the room and moving over to turn up the volume on the radio. the sound is slightly crackly but the unmistakable voice of bill withers spills into the room and your smile only widens as you recognise the song. 

“we’re going to dance!” you exclaim excitedly, beginning to sing the song to yourself. (”just the two of us, we can make it if we try...)

billy looks hesitant, hand still gripped loosely in yours and gaze fixed steady and unreadable on you. you laugh at the debate that you assume must be happening behind that face and decide to make the decision for him, reaching out for his other hand and beginning to pull them both towards you one at a time so the two of you are shifting awkwardly side to side. he rolls his eyes at this action but his lips have turned up at the corners ever so slightly and laughs are tumbling from your lips. 

(“i hear the crystal raindrops fall, on the window down the hall and it becomes the morning dew”)

drawing yourself closer to billy, you begin to rise your arms so they’re resting comfortably over his shoulders and start to rock the two of you side to side exaggeratedly, his hands meet your waist and you can’t ignore how his smile is growing wider and wider. you sway comfortably together as the song continues sharing a few soft kisses every time you become aware of the fact you’re slow dancing with billy hargrove. 

eventually, the final chorus draws in (”just the two of us, we can make it if we try, just the two of us, just the two of us”) and you begin to draw back and disconnect yourself, raising one of your connected hands and saying a laughter filled “spin me, spin me!” to billy. there’s a second, before you’re turning smoothly underneath his arm, eyes closed and smile wide. chuckles are even breaking free from him now as your figure turns clumsily. you’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t even hear your front door opening or register the sounds of footsteps in the hallway until your brothers voice tears through the room. 

“what the fuck?!”

you and billy freeze, arms slowly lowering to stay connected by your side. at a glance you see he has begun to glare at the gaggle of children staring mouths agape at him but its too late, they saw it now.

“were you two dancing?!” mike blurts, voice full of shock (and something similar to concern) “was billy hargrove just dancing?!”

“nevermind that!” lucas shouts back. “did you see his face? i haven’t seen anyone that lovestruck mike finally stopped ogling obsessively at el!”

that earns a smack on the arm from mike as more and more comments of “whipped,” “billy’s gone soft” and a few defences from the girls rise up from the group. as it goes on the feeling of billy’s hand tightening on yours warns you that, if the isn’t an end to this soon, a kid is going to end up with a bloody nose. stepping closer to him (maybe so you’re ready to shield the gang if you have to) you begin to shush them desperately, knowing the one thing that will finally get them to shut up.

“shut it!” you snap one more time and at last a quiet overtakes the group. pointing over your shoulder into the kitchen you say, hopefully, “we made cake!”

there’s a brief pause before the onslaught of kids goes raging towards the kitchen, bickering over who’s decorating. a unified sigh escapes for you and billy as he turns towards you with a grimace.

“i hate children.”

[notnctu]

haechan: the cocky | vol 2

━ welcome home to the housemating smut series :)

☆ click the link above to read background info about this housemate!

☆ GENRE: smut, pwp ☆ DETAILS: fem!reader, college!au, housemate!au ☆ WARNINGS: explicit language, dirty talking, nicknames, dom!hyuck, penetration, oral (giving & receiving), slight degradation?, mentions of exhibitionist kink? ☆ WC: 3.6k  ☆ SYNOPSIS: after receiving haechan’s text messages, you hurry up to his room and the sexual tension is thicker than you can ever imagine. 

☆ AUTHORS NOTE: read vol 1 here if u havent already :) theres no plot yall its just smut,, this one a filthy one ha ha skjdhfgieas

When you enter Haechan’s room, his back faces you as he sits comfortably in his expensive gaming chair, clicking furiously at his mouse and practically abusing the poor device. “Why are you so worked up?” Your voice causes him to perk up, removing an ear from his headset. 

“Mark fucking sucks at this game.” Haechan rolls his eyes as he speaks directly into his mic and Mark’s tiny muffled voice shouts back at him. 

Leaning into Haechan’s face, his eyes leave his monitor momentarily to intently watch your actions. Your fingers grab hold of the built in mic and speaking lowly, you greet the other boy through the receiver. “Hi Mark.”

Haechan raises an eyebrow at your seductive tone and the happy smirk on your face when you hear Mark stammer back a faint, “h-hello, y/n.” 

“Mark, I gotta go.” Before even letting Mark protest and throw a fit, he’s hanging up the call and forfeiting his winning streak to finally finish what you two had started. You’re laying on Haechan’s bed with eyes that eat him right up, a look of lust and desire. 

His gaze bounces between the open door and the way your thin shirt does absolutely nothing to hide how erect your nipples have become. His signature face of disbelief: tongue in cheek and rolling his eyes, paired with a small scoff. 

“What? Are you cold or something?” He snickers, getting up to close the door.

“No... I’m just..” Propping up on your elbows, you glance briefly down at your shirt and then, away at the ground shamelessly. 

“Aroused? Turned on?” Haechan taunts as he leans down to hover above you, his fingers toying with the ends of the thin fabric. As much as you’re trying to avoid eye contact, he doesn’t allow for you to shy away for long.

“Maybe.” You gulp the pooling spit in the back of your throat, the tension rising in the room. “I came upstairs like you told me too.” Pouting, he finally has you fixated on him with a thumb on your chin. 

Making eye contact with him is not only incredibly intimate, but there is something mesmerizing and comforting in the way Haechan looks at you. “Right, my good girl did what she was told. How much longer can she keep that up?” His whisper is hot against your skin, but he doesn’t lean in any more. 

“Don’t test me, Hyuck.” You snap back gently, crossing your arms across your chest and almost immediately, Haechan pushes you lightly onto the bed. You yelp at the boldness, knowing that your bratty side might have edged him on.

“Hyuck....? Baby, we haven’t even started yet.” He smirks, and you wish for nothing more than to wipe it off his face. He has the absolute confidence to play with you all night if he wanted to. Cocky motherfucker. 

“Do something, please.” The whine in your voice catches his attention, only fueling his ego more than it has already inflated. 

“What does my pretty baby want me to do?” Haechan has the full audacity to sit back in his chair, legs spread wide and arms resting behind his head. He’s left you on the bed practically untouched, yet the moment you sit up, a small pool of wetness rushes in your panties.

He’s done nothing, but your body reacts to him too strongly for you to admit. “I want you to give me a kiss.” You mumble.

However, Haechan leaves no room for a pause. “Speak up.” His voice is low and dark as he watches you squirm in your shorts, your legs rubbing together for some friction. He just loves how needy he can get you to be.

“Give me a kiss.” A little louder this time, all the while being mindful at how thin the walls are. Haechan patiently waits for you to finish your beg, “please.”

He pats his lap for you to come sit, then opens his arms to invite you into his embrace. Your legs fall on either side of his thighs and his hands rests on your waist. Haechan peers up at the pout that hasn’t left your face and gently smiles. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

There’s a sense of rivalry when he uses that nickname, holding less of a soft implication than when he calls you baby. “You’re taking forever.” You groan, rocking against him with a frustrated whine.

However, he holds you steady by your hips and chuckles mockingly, “it wouldn’t be fun if I just gave it to you. I’m giving you more of an experience to remember the next time you want to rub one out.”

“Trust me, I’ll be fast forwarding these parts in my brain.” Rolling your eyes, your hands find themselves lightly on his chest. He feels rather solid through his black shirt, “you’ve been bulking up?”

“Yeah. Can you tell? Johnny has been waking my ass up early in the morning to go to the gym with him because Jaehyun has class.” Haechan presses you up against his torso and you’re impressed at how sturdy he feels.

“So that’s why we have two jugs of protein powder taking up counter space. Doyoung and I were concerned at how much the other two were consuming, but I guess the portion includes you now.” Your hands wrap around his neck to pull him unbelievably closer, the tips of your noses touching now.

Haechan stares at you with hooded eyes and breath mixing with your own. “What does it taste like?” Your question seems to hold a sexual innuendo, or it could be the tension in the air as you both try your hardest from devouring each other’s lips right then and there.

“Mmh, tastes like shit. Rather taste something else instead.” Haechan licks his lips and tilts his head only slightly. His mind is clouded with lustful, heavy thoughts of feeling your plushy lips against his own. And the possible taste of your tongue lapping with his brings him much excitement as well. 

“Should I try some?” The power has slightly shifted into your hands as Haechan seems to be in a trance from your proximity and sensual drop in tone. But you’re both wrapped up in each other’s scent of shampoo and it’s enough to drive you both hungry for one another. 

“Want your lips around something else.” His thumb pulls your bottom lip down just gently before slipping it into your open mouth. Your tongue circles his finger, slowly sucking to mimic the feeling of his cock. It sends tingles down to your lower abdomen and a small moan erupts from the back of Haechan’s throat. 

Something pokes at your inner thigh and without needing to look down, you already know how turned on Haechan has gotten. He won’t be able to wait it out anymore. “So pretty.” Haechan coos as he drops his finger from your lips. “Do you still want your kiss, baby?” 

“Of course.” You lean in thinking that Haechan is going to finally give you a good smooch on the lips, but he picks you up and tosses you onto the bed. He’s discarding your shorts and underwear, peeling it off your legs and tossing it somewhere in a corner. 

He spreads your legs wide open, “holy fuck, you’re dripping.” And you’re so close to telling him to stop exaggerating until he gathers slick from your hole and it unleashes a small waterfall cascading onto the bed sheets. “Since when were you this easily aroused?” 

Before you can retaliate, Haechan softly kisses your clit and slowly licks a long strip up your cunt. You arch into him, his lips pressing against you just a bit harder than the first time. Eyes are locked in on yours as he flicks delicate licks at your bundle of nerves. “Good girls get the best kinds of kisses.” 

He will never be able to get enough of your taste or your legs squirming at the jolts of pleasure that run down them. The fact that stands is that Haechan inexplicably loves pleasuring women and performing cunnilingus, that’s undeniable. But there’s something very special about the way your body reacts to his smallest gestures and sensual words, so responsive and almost like, your body knows how much it wants him. 

And if you two hadn’t been so cordial and polite about living with each other in the beginning and considerate of your other housemates, he would’ve fucked you a long time ago. It always felt as if Haechan was walking on thorns around you, making sure he didn’t cross the lines of making you feel uncomfortable. 

Nonetheless, your pajama shorts do a terrible job at covering you up or the small moments when your shirt would ride up your stomach, he always found his stares to linger. And not to mention, all the moments he has walked by to catch a glimpse of you masturbating. Truthfully, he’d been masturbating to the thought of you too and only to find out that you shared the same interest in him. 

You suppress your moans with your hand, afraid to risk the chance of getting caught by your other housemates. Nevertheless, your muffled moans encourage him to lick harder, building a quick rhythm. “Hyuck, please fuck me.” 

It’s agonizing the more he edges you closer to your release. Haechan is addicted to lapping your endless flow of juices that he almost chooses to ignore your breathless plea. He lets go and the knot of pleasure in your stomach dissipates for the time being, your chest rising and falling rapidly to catch your breath.

“I thought you lost your ability to speak for a second.” Haechan doesn’t mean it as a joking statement, it’s meant to instill slight humiliation in you and with a bit of a teasing tone in his darkness.

You don’t take his words to heart, “I can speak and I know what I want.” Your voice is brighter than before, until Haechan’s grin turns mischievous and he’s plotting his next few words carefully. 

“Use your smart words and tell me what you want then.” Taking off his clothes, his shaft slaps against his stomach with an angry red tip leaking precum.

The sight of his dick has you clenching around nothing and it’s obvious where your focus has shifted to. You mindlessly take off your shirt, “for a computer science major, you sure like words a lot.” 

“For someone who’s ruining my sheets, you sure like to verbally under compensate how much you want me.” Haechan rubs his tip at your entrance to gather lubrication, a small whine escapes his lips as he’s trying his best to hold back from ramming into your wet cunt.

“Hyuck, please. I want you to fuck me speechless.” A sparkle catches in his eye as he’s gleaming at how the dirty words spill from your pretty mouth. Pulling you up, he holds your head steady and lightly taps your lips with his tip.

“Speechless? I guess you won’t be able to whine with my dick in your mouth.” And slowly, you invite his hot shaft into your warmth and the saltiness hits your palette. A long string of profanities fill the air when you lick the underside of his tip and hollow your cheeks to suck more of him.

“Do you think you can take the whole thing?” He moans and it shocks you how raspy his voice suddenly got. His hand is rests on the back of your head lightly, patting and smoothing your hair lovingly. If it isn’t for that lost lustful look in his eyes that represent an innocent curiosity, you wouldn’t have awarded his request. 

Opening your throat, he slowly guides you further down his length. Haechan’s reactions are ungodly satisfying as he throws his head back toward the ceiling and instantly tightens his grip in your hair. 

“Fuck, fuck. Okay, I’m done messing around.” He manages to chuckle playfully, pulling you off his dick as a string of saliva draws from the disconnect. Pulling you by your hair, he tilts your head upward at him and he leans down to kiss you: open mouth, tongues lapping, spit mixing.

The kiss ignites a flame in your chest being that it’s probably one of the hottest kisses you’ve ever experienced. Haechan’s dominance is caring, yet strong enough to remind you just how rough he has the ability to be. 

“Lay on your side.” You do as you’re told as Haechan unravels a condom to slip on. A feeling of excitement bubbles up in your core, you’re finally getting fucked. It’s not the first time you and Haechan have done penetration, but it’s definitely not enough times to satisfy your lust for him.

With your body facing the door, Haechan lays down behind you, a hand on your hip to press your ass against his shaft. “How cute. We’re spooning.” He taunts menacingly and reaching around to rub your swollen clit. 

You yelp and Haechan covers your mouth instantly. You’re a moaning mess in his hands as his fingers work magic stimulation down below. Every squirm has you bumping your ass up into his hard on. 

Just as his tip enters your wet hole, a knock on the door has you both halting your movements. Your heart is racing at the interruption and it’s not going to look too good with Haechan’s dick barely up your cunt and hand hovering over your clit. There will be no lie that can get you two out of this naked situation.

“Haechan, can I borrow your speaker?” It’s the voice of Jaemin. Of all the times that he actually comes home, you’re midway having sex with Haechan. 

It doesn’t seem to bother Haechan though, maybe a bit agitated that someone interrupted the tension, but overall he doesn’t seem phased. Then, you remember all the times you’ve knocked on the other boys’ doors during their hookups and it’s gotten to the point that no one really cares. “For what!?” 

“To use in the shower.” A jiggle on the doorknob panics you, but Haechan is lifting your leg in the air and enters you fully without a warning. You bite back a moan as Haechan buries his face into your neck. The initial stretch from his girth stings with pleasure and you relax into him when you adjust to his size. “Why is your door locked?” 

“Fuck, is this making you more wet?” Haechan whispers lowly into your ear and a smile grows against your skin.

“Shut up.” You mumble, clenching around him every time Jaemin tries to open the door. He starts moving his hips into you, long thrust that jolt your body every time he enters. 

Haechan laughs, “it’s in the bathroom already, leave me alone! I’m with someone.” He’s looking down at your eyes rolling to the back of your head and the tight grip you have on the sheets. You feel all of him, his cock fills you up to the brim, grazing upon your sweet spot. 

Jaemin scoffs on the other side, “okay. Use protection, kids.” And his shadow disappears from under the door. Haechan removes his hand and his hot moans fill your ears.

“No wonder why you leave the door fucking open. You want us to see you, don’t you?” His hips ram harder into your pussy, rougher and faster than before. The soreness begins to occupy your lower regions from how much Haechan stretches you. His dirty words aid you closer to your release. “Imagine if I didn’t lock the door and Jaemin saw me balls deep in you. You’d like that, huh? What a slut.” 

Your legs feel like jelly as a familiar exhilaration surges through your limbs. “Speechless now, aren’t you?” Haechan smirks and drops your leg. Hands hold you by your waist as he bottoms out, his balls slapping your thigh slightly. Once he’s nestled in deep, he starts rubbing circles on your clit once again and you’re squeezing around him so well that he doesn’t need to move. 

The added sensation brings you to your edge, along with the feeling of fullness. Without a fail, he always makes sure he takes care of you first. “I’m gon-- cum.” Words are jumbled in your scattered, empty brain. The release is on the tip of your tongue, the tips of your toes, Haechan’s rhythm on your bud doesn’t falter.

“Cum on my dick, baby. I want to feel you lose control.” His final encouragement leads you to your demise as your pussy clenches around him sporadically and your legs shaking from the pleasure. But it doesn’t stop, Haechan starts fucking you through your orgasm, so fast that it almost has you crying out of the intensity. His nails dig into your skin. 

“Oh-- shit! Hyuck, I--” Haechan slams your hips down to match his and you’re holding onto the sheets for your life. The toe curling pleasure overwhelms you and you can’t tell, but you’re cumming again. It just never seems to stop.

With a last grunt and full thrust, you feel his dick pumping inside your walls. He kisses your shoulder tenderly and smooths over the moon crescents he left, “shit. I’m sorry for calling you out like that.”

“It’s fine. It was hot.” He pulls out and an emptiness disappoints you. Turning around to face him, you latch on and give him the biggest hug. “But I really just am forgetful! I don’t leave it open on purpose....”

“Baby, you say that, but do you also forget that you live with five other horny men?” He kisses your temples and sits you both up.

“That’s why I do it when you guys aren’t home.” Getting up, you start putting on Haechan’s shirt and slipping on your panties. “Do you think Jaem is done showering?”

“Probably, that guy uses 2 in 1 shampoo and body wash so he just lathers and rinses.” Haechan ties the condom and tosses it into the trash can. He slips on a pair of fresh briefs and starts removing his soiled bed sheets. “Come back and help me make my bed when you’re done.” 

Nodding, you slyly walk out of Haechan’s room. You turn the knob as quietly as you can and shut the door softly. When you spin around, Jaemin walks down the hall with a towel around his naked shoulders and his black hair wet from his shower. His toned body is glistening with droplets as his sweatpants hang low on his hips and the waistband of his underwear peek out. 

You’re so distracted by his appearance that you don’t realize he’s caught you leaving Haechan’s room. “Is that Haechan’s shirt?” He quizzes you, a smirk twitching his lips automatically at your doe eyed expression. “And are you not wearing pants, y/n?” 

“I see you’re done with your shower.” You say quickly and you dash away to the bathroom. The moment you shut the door, you’re surprised by a random girl on the toilet.

“Sorry!” You both yell, covering your eyes at the sudden intrusion on both ends. 

“I didn’t realize there wasn’t a lock on the door.” She says and you turn to face the door to give her some privacy.

“Yeah, it’s been broken for awhile now. We usually just put a sticky note on the door to show that it’s preoccupied.” You don’t even question who she is, denoting that it’s either Jaehyun or Johnny’s lady friend. “I’ll just wait outside.” 

“Wait, do you live with Johnny?” She asks and truthfully, you’re not ready to go back outside in any chance that you’ll bump into Jaemin again. The bathroom is where you intended to hide until enough time is passed, while also doing your business. 

“Yeah. We’re housemates.” 

“Ah, that’s comforting to know that there’s another girl here. I thought it was just a house of guys, so I was a bit worried coming over.” Her voice sounds reassured and you’re exhaling out all the anxious air you had pent up since seeing Jaemin.

“That’s good. Men, am I right?” You try laughing to lighten the mood and surprisingly through the steamy suffocation, she giggles back. 

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve never seen so many bottles of AXE body spray in one bathroom.” Living in a house full of men, you realize you slightly miss the bathroom talks with your girl friends. 

“Look in the tub, there are four bottles of men body wash, yet they always use mine! It’s a hoax.” You announce excitedly, despite still facing the door.

“I have the same one! I fucking knew Johnny smelled like white strawberries and mint, but I couldn’t tell if the scent was from me or him.” 

Maybe sometimes, it isn’t so bad living with a group of attractive men. You get to laugh with their hookups in the bathroom! And before you know it, Johnny is knocking on the bathroom door to the fit of giggles and questioning why there are two voices. 

“I thought you had left without saying goodbye.” He says.

“Damn, the sex was that bad.” You joke and Johnny fakes a laugh through the door.

“Let me know if Haechan is any better, y/n.” You gasp at his statement, but don’t respond. The flushing of the toilet and the sink running being the only noises in the room. You’re stunned. Knowing Jaemin’s big mouth, he can’t keep a secret to save his life.

“It’s nice meeting you, y/n.” Johnny’s hookup gives you a warming hug before leaving and when she opens the door to join him, you give Johnny the middle finger as your form of response. 

“Nice meeting you too!” You yell back to her and shut the door to finally do your business. 

Great, now everyone knows you fucked your housemate. 

[waywardstation]

More memory bleed thoughts!

I wonder if memory bleed can work in reverse: say Iridia is in a car holding very intense memory where she was present in real life. The intensity of the memory sweeps her up and for a moment she starts playing along with her “role”, even later telling Akari she could feel the things she felt when it happened.

This is just a minor inconvenience at times in Ingo’s head, as it’s mostly empty and the memories are all fragments, easy for a real person to snap out of. It becomes dangerous when in Emmet’s head, when the void-corrupted false memories make Ingo feel a distressing amount of false blame and anger. Even if for only a moment, a fleeting sense of disdain and jealousy, a derailment from truth. It makes him sick to his stomach.

Because what happens, how could he save his brother, if those feelings start to linger?

Oh Anon that has a lot of potential!

In Ingo’s mindscape, yes, Irida can feel the feelings she had felt at the time in events she was present for, when the memories are replayed in the traincars. Akari can as well, but the memories are largely untouched and unaltered, these memories are simply locked away. So they might feel simply sad when replaying a sad event they were involved in, or confused when a confusing memory comes up.

But with Emmet’s mindscape, where he’s been replaying scenarios over and over, and has been heavily altered/adjusted to where Emmet feels like he’s to blame, a lot of scenarios could come up where Emmet’s imagining Ingo is upset with him. And there are a lot, and it is intense, because we always tend to exaggerate things when we worry over them.

These scenarios may cause Ingo to get inexplicably upset, or start feeling like he should blame Emmet, and it is just nonstop with them going through all of these fake memory cars.

The thought of the feelings lingering could be good angst content haha, but I would hope Ingo has enough sense to know this isn’t right, and how he really feels. He still feels this intense anger or disappointment constantly flare up whenever a new scenario plays out involving how Emmet thinks Ingo would blame him, or be upset with him for “causing things.”

It leaves Akari and Elesa to deal with an Ingo who’s constantly acting angry, but knows that it’s just the memory bleed doing that (once Akari explains how she went through the same thing in Ingo’s mindscape), and that he’s not actually angry with Emmet. Would he just start directing his anger at everything else until the memories end to just get it all out? “Akari, Elesa, just go to the next car. I’ll meet you there, I just need to take my anger out on this trash can or something until it passes” or something haha

[moony-saraneth]

I read a LOT. and honestly, sometimes I have a little bit of trouble remembering what I've read. so, I thought I would start myself a little catalogue and why not go ahead and share it here.

so here we are, what I read August 1 - 7.

Tit for Tat (E, 388K, Drarry) by mintaminta

Our story picks up five years post-war. Harry's ready to come out and leave the public life behind; Draco's looking for quiet reintegration into magical society in London.

Truly Being Alive (E, 207K, Drarry) by mintaminta

Ten years later, Harry has the family he's always wanted. His life is orderly and secure in a way he could only dream of in his youth.

It's only that orderly things have a way of unravelling for Harry.

Among Ancient Pines (M, 73K, Drarry) by theartfulldodger

Every day, Draco Malfoy tries. With every fiber of his being he tries. But he doesn’t much think about what he’s trying for.

In his final term of Healer training, Draco is unfortunate enough to find himself on a plane, the only means of traveling to a small, magical town in rural Alaska. Years of hard work have culminated in an opportunity to work with an experimental wandmaker to study the intersection of Healing and wand theory. When Draco arrives, he doesn't find the wandmaker, but does find his apprentice, who happens to have ridiculously messy hair, a lightning bolt scar, and a definitely-not-charming smile. But Draco isn’t going to let Harry Potter get in the way of him becoming a successful medical researcher, even if Potter is stubborn, hot-tempered, reckless, surprisingly gentle, has bizarre taste in music, and likes to leave his shirts unbuttoned. How hard could the next few months be?

A fic about challenging assumptions, discovering self-worth, the silver lining in failing to meet expectations, and finding friendship, love, and purpose in a small Alaskan town that’s steeped in magic.

more than a piece of paper (NR, 2741, Wolfstar) by ThatFilmGraduate

Remus Lupin was not a spontaneous person by nature and he had been very vocal about his opinions on marriage in the past, but when he decided that he wanted to spend the rest of his days with his best friend and long-term boyfriend, Sirius Black, he planned his proposal in depth... but things don't always go according to plan.

In which Remus proposes in the kitchen and Sirius is very confused.

Bringing Up Weasley (M, 30k, Drarry) by VivacissimoVoce

A rogue hex turns Ron into a baby, and Harry and Draco have to figure out how to raise him together. Originally intended to be a "short" fic, it's a fun bit of fluff with a healthy dose of humor.

Crash (Into Me) (T, 13k, Drarry) by sweet_s0rr0w

Harry’s done plenty of ridiculous things for charity over the years, but Robards’ latest scheme really takes the biscuit. Or rather, the teacake.

Good job Malfoy’s there to suffer alongside him this time, eh?

Recollect (M, 60k, Drarry) by Relevant_Peach

Harry Potter awakens in hospital, with no memory of his life. He knows a couple of things. He likes ice cream. He remembers how to apparate. And he's gay. His girlfriend is in for the surprise of the decade.

As Harry learns more about his former life, and the choices he's made, he wonders whether the curse that robbed him of his past is actually a curse, or a chance to do things the way he wants for a change. Fortunately, a hot blond Harry meets in a bar is willing to come along for the ride as he figures it out.

Features an OOC Harry, a secret plot, in which people are UP TO THINGS, and a tiny bit of soul searching about the obligations of being a hero. Plus, an inexplicably vague Narcissa Malfoy, just because.

Romp and Circumstance (E, 35k, Drarry) by wolfpants

Since the war, Harry Potter has gone from Saviour to Scoundrel—not that he’s complaining.

With a schedule full of gorgeous men, alcohol, and late nights, why would he want to change? Enter Draco Malfoy: beautiful, sharp, and completely untouchable. When Draco comes to Harry with a proposition to help him attract an engagement, Harry’s up for it—after all, how hard can it be not falling for his former nemesis?

Very hard, apparently.

A Pocket Full of Stones (E, 67k, Drarry) by waterwings

A curse is spreading through the wizarding world, erasing memories of the war. Harry Potter is on the case!

Where Draco is the DMLE’s most wanted dark wizard and Harry is the private investigator tasked with bringing him in. It goes as well as one might expect.

[c-optimistic]

Great! I asked because if you didnt take prompts I wanted to be respectful of it, also okay if you dont feel like doing it or if you take your time, I admire and appreciate all your work. It's an angsty one😅 after the supergirl reveal, all the events and their drifting apart, Kara and Lena are rekindling their friendship, kara tells lena she's in love with her, lena confesses her feelings too but tells kara that after everything they cant be more than friends, angst here, then a happy ending 😁

“You’re my Lois,” she said softly, almost to herself. 

(It had been on her mind for days and weeks and months now, words she was afraid to fully verbalize, thoughts and feelings she wasn’t sure she quite wanted to string into something coherent. 

But now, in the silence, in their solitude, the words slipped out as easy as breathing, slipped out without her consent, her knowledge, her desire.)

Lena didn’t turn towards her, just wrapped her arms tighter around herself to stave off the chilly bite of the air. “I don’t know what that means,” she finally offered, voice terribly soft, eyes still focused on the city lights below them. 

(National City was beautiful in the fall. Parks turned orange and yellow and red, pumpkins and cartoon turkeys and the strong scent of cinnamon could be found on every street corner. Jackets got dusted off and pulled on, scarves wound their way around people’s necks, the smell of hot chocolate seemed to permeate the air. 

And Lena looked at home in the fall. Her hair was down more often than not, gentle curls framing her face. She was wrapped in soft sweaters and warm colors, looking gentler, calmer, more at ease.

And she was, in every way, Kara’s Lois.) “It’s...I—well.” Explaining was harder than she thought. Giving meaning to what she said was harder than she expected. “You’re the one I’d spin the world the opposite direction for, you know?” “Don’t be ridiculous, Kara,” Lena scoffed, turning away from the city and meeting Kara’s eyes briefly before walking through the sliding glass doors and back into her apartment. Kara followed sullenly behind. “What good would that even do?” “Turns back time,” Kara joked softly, watching Lena pour herself a glass of wine. Once maybe, days and weeks and months ago, she would have offered Kara a glass as well. Now she just set the bottle aside and sipped slowly, as if daring Kara to comment. “Why would you want to turn back time for me? And what does this have to do with Lois?” She seemed genuinely confused, and Kara realized she needed to be more direct. 

(In and of itself, it was a scary thought. She didn’t want to confess her feelings and be rebuffed. She didn’t want to tell the truth and leave herself open to...what, pain? A lack of reciprocation? Laughter at her expense?

And yet, and yet...Lena was her Lois, and she was worth it all the same.)

“What I’m trying to say,” Kara tried again, biting on her lip as she attempted to find the right words, beginning to think there were only three, not quite sure how to gather the courage to say them. “Remember Mon-El?” she said, switching tactics.

“Vaguely,” Lena responded, amused. She walked over to her kitchen, pulled out a kettle, a mug, and a packet of hot chocolate mix (an item she only kept at her place because she knew about Kara’s preference for it over tea). “What about him?” she asked as she put the water to boil, raising her eyebrow and looking at Kara expectantly. 

“When I sent him away, chose to save everyone over keeping him, Clark told me he could never do that,” Kara explained, that moment etched into her memory, inescapable and dare she say profound in the absence of feeling. “He said if it came down to keeping Lois or the world...well, he wouldn’t know what to do.”

Lena looked down, focusing on pouring the boiling water into the mug and adding the hot cocoa mix, stirring it in slowly. “Oh,” she whispered finally, pushing the mug towards Kara, “that’s what you mean about my being your Lois.”

“Lena, I—”

“—to be honest, though,” Lena interrupted, frowning, “I don’t think you have a Lois.” 

(Well, if anything could make those three words Kara wanted to say shrink back into their shell, it was that.

And for it to be said so casually, so abruptly, so utterly convincingly, as though there wasn’t any doubt in Lena’s mind. Well. That more than hurt, that felt vaguely offensive.)

“That’s so—”

“—you’re too,” Lena waved her hands, struggling with finding a word, “honorable,” she finally settled on. “You believe in duty, in sacrifice, in putting everyone before you.” She smiled, looking inexplicably proud, and picked up her wine glass, taking a small sip. “You’re too selfless. If it came down to it, Kara, you’d break your own heart a thousand times over for the world.” 

Kara blinked, wondering how Lena misinterpreted her. “No, Lena, I’m saying—”

“—no, I know,” Lena interrupted, setting her wine aside and walking over to stand in front of Kara, so close that Kara could practically smell the alcohol on Lena’s breath. Rather than meet Lena’s eyes, Kara kept her gaze on the ceiling. “And I love you, too. But we’re not Clark and Lois.” 

(And oh, Lena got it. She got it and she was braver than Kara, laying the words out there, giving the feelings between them a name, finally, finally, calling it what it was.

Love. She loved Lena.)

“I don’t pull off the suit as well as he does, I know,” Kara joked sadly, eyes still on the ceiling, knowing where Lena was going with this. 

(It was too soon. It was too much. It was too hard.)

“Kara,” Lena admonished, forcing Kara to meet her gaze. Kara’s vision was a little blurred, so she wasn’t quite sure if those were tears in Lena’s eyes or if her allergies were just working up again. “We can’t,” Lena told her, voice trembling. 

“Right. No. Of course.”

“Kara, after everything, being friends is hard enough, do you really—”

“—I said I got it,” Kara interrupted, blinking, horrified when her vision cleared and she felt something wet roll down her cheeks. She was crying. Crying. How utterly embarrassing. 

(She looked away again, unwilling to see pity in Lena’s expression, unwilling to confirm for herself that what was welling up in Lena’s eyes was indeed allergies. 

She looked away again, because she was willing to break her heart a thousand times over for the world, but she didn’t know how to cope with her breaking heart now.)

“I’m just.” She stopped, heaved a breath, and nodded curtly. “Just friends sounds good. But I’m going to go now.” She stepped back from Lena, practically power-walked towards the balcony door, stopping only when she felt something tug on her cape.

“Kara,” Lena began, but Kara didn’t turn. Couldn’t turn. Whatever courage Lena had been on when she’d managed to say the words Kara couldn’t seemed to fade, however, and she released her grip on Kara’s cape and pulled back. “You pull the suit off way better than him, don’t sell yourself short.” 

(It wasn’t what Lena wanted to say, Kara didn’t need the uptick of Lena’s heartbeat or the soft, regretful sigh she released a moment after the words escaped her lips. 

It wasn’t what Lena wanted to say, but it was what she did say, and Kara managed nothing more than a strangled laugh in response, taking off into the night and leaving Lena and a mug of hot chocolate untouched behind her.)

xxx

The next time she saw Lena was at game night.

(This was not for a lack of trying on Lena’s part. She’d invited Kara to lunch, to coffee, to a variety of science-related events—even Lena’s TED Talk—but Kara had declined them all, citing work or Supergirl-catastrophes.

Finally, Lena had sent a text reading just hmph, and Kara had spent the rest of the afternoon asking Nia if it was a good or bad hmph.) 

Game night, however, Kara couldn’t avoid. Namely, because it was at her own apartment. She had managed to avoid directly inviting Lena, resorting instead to a group chat message, something that had Nia shaking her head and muttering “children.” 

(And rationally, Kara knew better. She knew that she was supposed to be a better friend, that they were working on repairing their tattered and bruised friendship, that they needed to reestablish all those lines of communication and trust that had been burned to the ground. 

She knew, but she struggled. She struggled with the thought of looking at Lena and not thinking about how much she loved her, not thinking that Lena felt the same way, not thinking that had she been better—a better friend, a more honest friend, a kinder friend—then there would have been nothing in the way of her reaching out to take Lena by the hand, tug her forward, chase her lip, and—

Well. All those were things she was determinedly not trying to think of.) 

She was a bit of a mess by the time Lena arrived, looking as beautiful and breathtaking as ever, a bag of takeout in her hand, an unsure smile on her lips. 

“Are you sure?” Lena whispered, not entering Kara’s apartment. “If this is too much—”

“—I want you here,” Kara cut in, not really embarrassed by how desperate she sounded. Because now that she was looking at Lena, she forgot why she had wanted to maintain distance in the first place. Self-preservation no longer seemed very important to her. “I always want you with me.” 

“As a friend,” Lena added, cheeks flushed, suddenly very interested in her shoes, her heart pounding away, teeth digging into her bottom lip. 

Kara wasn’t sure what it all meant. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. So instead, she responded with the honesty she should’ve afforded Lena sooner—the honesty her best friend was owed. “In any capacity you’ll have me,” she said.

Lena didn’t respond, but as she walked by to enter Kara’s apartment, the fingers of her free hand ran over the inside of Kara’s hand, barely brushing over Kara’s palm, really, and it was like an electric shock, leaving Kara paralyzed to the spot until Alex took pity on her and unrooted her—physically dragging her over to the food and games.

(And the entire night, as Kara flexed the hand Lena touched repeatedly, she noticed that every time she looked over at Lena, Lena was already looking at her.

And the entire night, as Nia muttered “children” under her breath, Kara began to hope.)

xxx

As the weeks dragged on and Lena showed no signs of wanting anything to evolve between them, much of that hope evaporated. She was only holding onto the last tendrils when she had to show up at L-Corp (again) to stop some madman’s mad henchmen from trying to kill Lena (again). 

When the men were appropriately stopped and detained, Kara found herself on the balcony with Lena (again), staring out at the city (this too, again). Lena wasn’t drinking anything, and she wasn’t dressed in her soft sweaters. Instead, she was wearing a navy suit, hair pulled tightly back, hands in her pockets as she leaned against the balustrade, eyes on Kara. 

“You took awhile to get here,” Lena finally said, and Kara turned to her, a little offended.

“There was a fire, Lena. I had to make sure it was out before—”

“—but I thought I was your Lois?” she interrupted, with more than a little snark. Kara straightened, standing at her full height as she approached Lena.

“First of all, low blow. Secondly, you said it yourself, I don’t have a Lois. Maybe you need to find a less honorable friend,” Kara told her, eyes narrowed. 

Lena didn’t look sorry. If anything, she seemed...content. “I’ve been thinking about it, you know?” She tugged her hands out of her pockets, and Kara thought her heart slammed to a halt when Lena reached out and placed her hands on Kara’s shoulders, drawing her in. “I think the truth is,” she continued, hands sliding across Kara’s shoulders, interlocking behind Kara’s neck, “you’re my Lois. Because there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you, even give up a chance at something more, something I really want, because I was scared it wouldn’t work and I’d lose you completely.” 

“Something you really want, huh?” Kara said, her heart jumpstarting at the feeling of Lena’s fingers against her neck, at the way Lena’s thumbs rubbed gently against the base of her skull, at the way Lena leaned up, pressing their foreheads together. “Are you still scared?”

“Terrified,” Lena breathed. “But I figure I could be a little more like you, potential heartbreak and all.”

Kara tried to nod, managing nothing more than gently head-butting Lena and making her laugh. “We probably need to figure out a better way to describe how we feel about each other, I think my cousin and Lois may get concerned—”

“—Kara?” Lena interrupted, pulling away just a bit.

“Yeah?”

“We can definitely talk about this if you want. Or you could just kiss me. Whichever you prefer.” 

(In the end, it was an easy choice.

And judging from the way Lena sighed into her mouth, she felt the same way.)

[softluci]

atla hcs

i’ve been thinking about this for a minute, and i wanna do a set of headcanons for how i think the brothers (and eventually the undateables) would feel about certain avatar: the last airbender characters, or something along those lines. i actually just wanted to talk about lucifer and azula, so everything else here is a bonus. this doesn’t matter, but for what it’s worth: wherever the mc pops up, they will be gn, enjoy!

also: this kinda goes without saying, but there are most definitely spoilers in here. for which seasons? i don’t remember, i watched this show when i was nine, but proceed with caution if you have yet to watch it.

lucifer

if it’s one thing you are not gonna play with him about, it is princess azula. this man is an azula supremacist, and while he might not say those words exactly, anyone would be able to tell that’s the case if they talked to him about the show for longer than two minutes. he actually wasn’t even interested in the show until azula showed up, and he will readily admit this to anyone who inquires about it. what makes it funny is the fact that her first appearance is literally, like, ten seconds, so that means he saw her and immediately knew she was the best, which, like—real recognize real. is he projecting? am i projecting? yes, no. in that order. shut up.

he actually almost couldn’t hide how proud he was when azula almost killed aang, this man is deranged. the same way he takes her wins personally, he takes every loss of hers personally as well, so when she lost that agni kai? 🚶‍♂️ 

the average azula enjoyer believes azula should get a redemption arc, lucifer believes azula should simply get whatever she wants, and the difference between those two things is striking.

average azula enjoyer: i believe azula deserves to heal and redeem herself. it isn’t fair that she was left with her tyrannical, abusive father during formative years of her childhood, with no one to help her or show her what it means to be good. she cannot be blamed for the way she turned out. it especially isn’t fair that she gets no redemption for evil things she did at age fourteen, for a year, while the entire show is iroh’s redemption arc, and he was doing evil for decades—he is literally called “the dragon of the west” because of it. additionally—

lucifer morningstar, resident azula supremacist: everything azula did, she was right to do, because i would’ve done the same. there was never a point at which she was wrong, it’s just unfortunate that nobody could keep up with her, her father included. the only reason why she ended up losing, ultimately, is because this is a children’s show, and good is supposed to win out. it was plot armor. if this were realistic, she would’ve beaten everyone—at the very least, she would’ve beaten zuko in the final agni kai, it’s just that he broke the rules and brought backup. at the time of the agni kai, she was literally the strongest firebender in the show. that’s actually the only part of this lucifer is right about, but you can’t tell him that.

if you ask him what his favorite quote in the show is, he’ll immediately say, “i can see your whole history in your eyes. you were born with nothing, so you’ve had to struggle, and connive, and claw your way to power. but true power? the divine right to rule? is something you’re born with.” and he will do it so well that it’ll give you the chills. 

in actuality, his favorite quote is, “i’d really rather our family physician look after little zuzu, if you don’t mind.” it’s just that it doesn’t have the same chilling effect as the first one. 

does he like any other characters? does he even care about any other characters? he has a deep fondness for sokka because he reminds him of mammon.  yes, and they are katara and suki, with honorable mention to avatar kyoshi. 

does he hate any characters? no, but if you mention avatar kuruk or uncle iroh to him, he might get annoyed. is mildly frustrated by aang, but has the sense to cut him some slack for being twelve and the last of his kind. never speak of ozai.

mammon 

toph supremacist. frequent user of the phrase, “toph is just fucking class.” knows for a fact that toph is the best and strongest bender in the entire show, and no one has ever managed to convince him otherwise. mainly because nobody really disagrees. like, have you ever even seen toph slander?

just like lucifer with azula, he wasn’t invested in the show until toph showed up, which, once again, is funny, because technically her very first appearance is only a few seconds long, so that means he saw her for a literal second and just knew. you can’t even be mad at that, real recognize real. 

no one will ever see him more proud than when he’s talking about one toph beifong. he can’t get over her raw, unbridled talent, and he really never should. if you let him (so, if you’re levi), he will spend so much time analyzing her character and every single one of her strengths, from the fact that she’s the only one who knows when azula is lying, all the way down to the fact that even though she projects a tough persona, she can still be vulnerable, AND—

not only is she strong, but her personality is simply untouchable. this girl grows on literally everyone; like, even lucifer likes her, even though he’ll die before saying it out loud. 

he gets so smug whenever someone asks him who his favorite is and it’s because he knows his taste is top tier, and what makes it worse is that no one can even disagree because toph is just that good. 

will never admit it, but he was shaking and crying during the scene where it looked like toph and sokka were literally gonna die. was also gonna cry when toph almost drowned. basically: he is eternally grateful to suki. 

his favorite line in the entire show is, “i am the greatest earthbender in the world! don’t you two dunderheads ever forget it.” it’s just fucking class.

does he like any other characters? he sees himself in sokka, he’ll tell you that much. he also knows that satan and lucifer like sokka because of him, and he found out because he heard them talking about it. to their joint dismay, they turned to see him standing behind them, grinning like an idiot, and they couldn’t even scare him into leaving them alone when he hugged both of them at the same time because, one, they didn’t really want to, and two, they couldn’t turn off their fondness for him fast enough ^_^. did they reciprocate his hug? did they stay like that for a little bit? did lucifer kiss the tops of their heads? maybe so🤨

does he hate any characters? not really, but he doesn’t particularly like azula because she scares him and makes him sad, like lucifer and doesn’t see her appeal. once tried to make a case for why she shouldn’t have a redemption arc and felt painfully human from the way he almost died. do not mention toph’s parents to him. the name ozai should also never be on your tongue.

levi 

resident sokka enjoyer and suki appreciator. do not ever call sokka dumb in front of this man unless you want a proper lecture. unlike a few of his brothers, he doesn’t like sokka just because of his similarities to mammon. he also likes sokka because he relates to him on a personal level. 

levi absolutely knows what it’s like to feel inadequate and outshined by people younger than you. he absolutely knows what it’s like to feel like your competence is overlooked. while he might be unfamiliar with how it feels to strategize for a war and lose a battle, but it is one of his biggest fears and it absolutely crushed him to see sokka go through that. 

on a lighter note, levi has a deep appreciation for sokka’s comedic value, despite the fact that it can overshadow his intelligence. levi would actually venture to say that he likes sokka’s funnier side because it overshadows his intelligence to the point that it throws the opposition for a loop. this is the aspect of sokka that reminds him of mammon. 

it also seriously warmed his heart to see how everyone missed sokka while he was away for sword training; he especially liked that episode because it was just an affirmation of the fact that sokka is an integral part of team avatar, which he really needed to see. 

you know who else is an integral part of team avatar who needs to be recognized as such more often? suki. do you know how much pain levi is in every time he thinks about the lack of suki screentime . it’s a lot . suki is just too good for the amount of screentime she has, he’s sorry, but it’s true. this is evidenced by the scene of her literally running across prisoners’ heads to apprehend the warden of boiling rock. that scene speaks for itself—she and the other kyoshi warriors end up as zuko’s body guards for a reason. 

he will never let anyone forget that if it weren’t for suki, sokka would still be a misogynist. she was an essential element to sokka’s growth as a character and everyone had better remember it or so help him. also , he is a firm believer in the fact that suki was the best love interest for sokka, with zuko as a close second. don’t ask questions. rip yue but argue with the wall.

his favorite line in the series? 

“zuko’s gone crazy! i made a sand sculpture of suki, and he destroyed it! oh, and he’s attacking aang.” 

it’s not profound or cool or anything like that, but it makes him smile and giggle every time he thinks of it ^_^. 

does he like any other characters? he has a lot of love for toph and azula for the sole fact that the series improved exponentially after both of their introductions; he thinks both of them are in leagues of their own and seeing them in action just puts a smile on his face. he’s also inexplicably fond of king bumi. 

does he hate any characters? not particularly, actually! he pretty much respects and appreciates everyone, except the guy who mutilated his thirteen year old son for speaking out of turn.

satan 

just pick a girl. any girl. and from the way he talks about them, you’ll think they’re his favorite. he can and will go on about the girls of atla for the rest of eternity.

but since we’re being specific:

katara appreciator. azula enjoyer. basically, between him and lucifer, no tongue raised against azula shall prosper. he has a deep respect for each of their wraths. he also really must have a thing for angst because both of these characters just break his heart. 

if you let him (in other words, if you’re levi), he will go on about how it’s not fair that people call katara annoying when, in reality, she just hasn’t healed from the trauma of seeing her mother’s corpse at age eight, followed by having to take care of her village, meaning she got literally no time to grieve properly, and—

call katara annoying in front of him and you might actually have to meet god for your shallow views of such a deep, complex character. 

he will also go on and on about how katara would be the best bender in the show, if it weren’t for toph, who is untouchable. instead, he’ll talk about how katara almost killed pakku for being misogynistic and how she single handedly beat azula during sozin’s comet. you will frequently hear this man say, “katara aang’s master for a reason,” and he’s right. 

similar to if you call katara annoying, if you call azula scary in front of satan, he’s bullying you. he’s sorry, but it has to happen. no way you’re scared of a traumatized fourteen year old, what are you, eight? or do you have no understanding of azula’s depth? both are unacceptable. 

satan is the average azula enjoyer, times about seven. you simply won’t get away with speaking poorly of azula in front of this man, so if you’re like mammon and don’t like her, you better tread very carefully. 

one time mammon tried to be like, “azula is too far gone to deserve redemption anyways,” and satan literally reverted to his demon form as he said: “if i were abandoned with my terrible father as a child, with literally no one to help me, and then my friends betrayed me, and then, as i was about to be crowned ruler of my country, my dumb fucking idiot brother showed up with his dumb peasant friend for backup, which isn’t even allowed, i might be mad forever too, actually—” and then he threw the nearest chair at mammon for his criminally bad take.

another reason why satan loves azula so much is because he’s convinced she’s a lesbian and satan is the most “let’s go lesbians!!!” person you will ever meet. you actually can’t convince him that she isn’t a lesbian. forget chan. nobody gives a fuck about chan.

what’s his favorite line in the entire series? 

“trust me, zuko—it’s not going to be much of a match.” 

like, come on. katara is just too good. 

does he like any other characters (other than the girls of atla)? he’ll never admit it, but he has a lot of respect for sokka and a soft spot for him because he reminds him of mammon. he also has a lot of respect for aang because he reminds him of beel of how well he handled literally everything despite being twelve. 

does he hate any—yes. never speak of avatar roku. or iroh. or ozai. for good measure, don’t mention general zhao either. 

asmo 

what lucifer is to azula, asmo is to ty lee. like do i even have to say anything else. but for what it’s worth, he also love, love, loves azula because she reminds him of lucifer, from her strength and class, all the way down to her descent into madness. and even though she breaks his heart just as much as she does satan’s. he may or may not have cried over azula in satan’s room while they were talking about her. unlike lucifer and satan, he can respect it if you don’t like her, but it’ll make him so sad. 

but enough about azula. ty lee is where it’s at for him. her subtle strength and unwavering love is something to die for, and he will defend it against anyone, up to and including lucifer, and he’ll win too. asmo is not to be trifled with and neither is ty lee; he can make a strong argument as to why ty lee is the strongest character in the show, and you will have a very hard time trying to refute his points. (the main point being: it’ll be really hard to win a fight against someone who can paralyze you in a few seconds, bender or not.)

the fact that ty lee ran away from home because she was tired of the fact that nobody ever saw her as her own person is just something that tugs at asmo’s heartstrings. he thinks ty lee’s bravery is just something that can be so personal. 

also—he has a massive appreciation for the fact that, even though there’s a war going on and ty lee is in near-constant danger, she still has the sense to maintain her appearance and worry about the skincare of not just herself, but also people she’s close to. that is a detail he will never let anyone forget. 

never mentions it in front of lucifer but one of his favorite scenes is when she paralyzes azula to save mai. once again: ty lee’s bravery is just something that can be so personal. 

he doesn’t have a favorite line in the series, but his favorite exchange of dialogue is between ty lee and azula, wherein ty lee is trying to teach azula how to flirt. he thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world.

does he like any other characters? of course! he likes everyone ^_^ . you’d actually be hard pressed to find someone he hates. ozai. it’s ozai. he has a real soft spot for mai because she reminds him of belphie. something about their shared aversion to affection is just so cute to him!

beel

aang supremacist, will hold steadfast to the fact that aang is the best character in the show and you will struggle to figure out how to convince him otherwise. 

if you ask him why aang is his favorite, the first thing he will do is gesture to a picture of him and say, “look at the material,” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, before diving into a ten minute in depth character analysis for this boy. 

come on. he shouldn’t even have to explain himself. not only is aang one of the strongest, most competent avatars to exist, ever, he also mastered all four elements in a year, when he was twelve—he’s literally a different breed. and he managed to beat ozai in his own way, without killing him, as a means of staying true to a culture that could have literally died with him at any point in the show. aang is just fucking class.

he also admires aang for his near unwavering kindness and lighthearted nature. and for never going berserk and killing everyone he sees, especially after finding out his people were killed while he was in ice.

you have no idea how much pain beel was in when he found out that the air nomads were just gone. seeing a child find out that not only their family is gone, but also the entirety of their people and culture, just absolutely broke his heart. and that guilt aang was feeling? hit way too close to home for him. 

he also thinks it’s really nice that aang was so quick to forgive zuko after everything, and the two of them ended up being really good friends. it just puts a smile on his face. 

after some reflection with levi, he would’ve liked to see the full scope of an airbender’s power in the series; as in, he would’ve liked to see someone suffocated, but it’s okay, because aang wasn’t like that.  and he heard it happens in the next series over.

anyway, beel’s favorite quote in the show...well, it isn’t really a quote, as much as it’s a dialogue between two characters. it’s the scene where toph asks, “do you really think friendships can last more than one lifetime?” and aang says, “i don’t see why not.” it could bring a tears to his eyes just thinking about it; and in the next series over when it’s proven to be true, he absolutely cried. 

does he like any other characters? he’s actually really fond of zuko and mai because they both remind him of belphie. he also likes sokka for the same reason lucifer and satan like sokka. he has a deep appreciation for katara because aang would literally be dead without if it weren’t for her.

does he hate any characters? well, he doesn’t really like azula. he feels bad for her, but he doesn’t like her. but as for who he hates? take a wild guess. 

belphie 

zuko makes him sob is his number one. yes zuko is his favorite because of his redemption arc, yes he sees himself in zuko, no he will not explain any further than that, what’s your point🤨

in actuality, he will never be able to properly articulate how important it is for him to see that redemption is, indeed, attainable, if you put the work in. in a similar vein, he will also never be able to give words to how important it is for him to see that forgiveness is also attainable.  it means the world to him. that is why it makes him cry. the feeling is overwhelming. i’m gonna cry if i think about it for too long.

he will cling to the fact that zuko is the best character in the show, and he will cling to it even when zuko embarrasses him by saying stupid shit like, “no lightning today?” and even when zuko is so awkward it causes him physical pain. that’s his number one and he’s not changing on it!

firm zukka supporter. will not argue. that’s all.

what’s his favorite line in the entire series? it’s one of the two you’re thinking of. make that decision for yourself.

does he like any other characters? he positively adores aang and will readily admit that it’s because he reminds him of beel. bonus points for aang because he also loves the dynamic between him and zuko. toph is a distant third, mainly because he just really likes her attitude. he looks at her and thinks, now this is someone who would not hesitate to kick lucifer’s ass. 

does he hate any characters? you better believe it. he hates iroh because he reminds him of dia. he can’t really bring himself to like azula because she makes him a different kind of sad. and if you know what’s good for you, you will never mention ozai. 

[misscorn]

Day 5: Roleswap/Formal

This @takaritsuweek prompt inspired me to do something I've been putting off for years: a rewrite of my fic Stalker-Senpai. So, please enjoy the first chapter :D its pretty much the same except third person now lol, we'll see how much I change in the future!

***

It was such a stupid reason to fall in love with someone. 

Onodera Ritsu had been struggling to reach a high up book on a shelf, wobbling slightly on his tiptoes for a few brief moments before Saga Masamune decided to intervene, mostly just because something about watching the underclassman struggle was both sad and annoying. The older teen grabbed the book for Ritsu, handing it over with a blank expression.

Ritsu returned the simple, polite gesture with such a wide and sincere smile that Masamune's heart reached incredible speeds that he didn't know were possible. Why is he looking at me like that? Masamune wondered, shifting from one foot to the other, feeling warm from Ritsu's gaze.

Masamune swallowed hard as Ritsu took the book out of his hands and said an enthusiastic thank you, one that was way too cheerful considering all Masamune had done was reach up and grab something. The older boy couldn't help but to notice Ritsu's cheeks were a little red from what he assumed was embarrassment and Masamune suddenly wished to see that adorable expression every day. 

God, what am I thinking? Adorable? He's a guy, Masamune hoped none of his thoughts were showing on his face. Apparently they weren't since Ritsu gave a quick and polite nod before scampering off. Masamune found his eyes following the underclassman and his feet almost followed as well. Almost. But Masamune somehow managed to hold on to a string of self control. 

All he did was smile and say thank you, why am I acting like such an idiot? I don't even know his name, Masamune silently scolded himself. It was too late, though. Masamune was already on his way to become a hopeless, lovelorn fool.

It didn't take long for Masamune to notice that Ritsu was in the library as often as he was after their minuscule interaction. It was like Ritsu had suddenly appeared and was now here everyday. Not that Masamune was complaining; he found the underclassman's constant presence very comforting. 

He reads a new book almost every day. Either he has a short attention span or a lot of time on his hands, Masamune noted. It was quite difficult to keep up with Ritsu's appetite for literature, though Masamune did his best. I want to read all the books that he reads, Masamune thought as he grabbed a novel Ritsu had recently finished. The older teen was hoping that he could use this as a way to get to know Ritsu better. Masamune was particularly ecstatic to learn from his book-stalking that his Kouhai's name was Onodera Ritsu. 

The two of them always sat at different tables, but Masamune made sure to keep Ritsu in his sights. Masamune loved seeing the brunette's reactions to what he was reading. At times Masamune would hear a small chuckle leave Ritsu or see Ritsu purse his lips in thought or even see Ritsu rub at his eyes insistently to hide the fact that he was tearing up. I want to know what he's reading, Masamune would think desperately before he was able to get his hands on the book, I want to know what makes him smile and laugh, I want to be the one who makes him smile and laugh. Masamune felt positively pathetic with this train of thought, but he couldn't help himself. 

Yes, it was official: Saga Masamune was in love at fifteen years old. He didn't understand how it happened so fast nor did he fully understand why, but he had enough self awareness to realize he was totally whipped for an underclassman who he hadn't even said a single word to. 

That was precisely Masamune's problem; talking with people wasn't exactly his forte and he feared that he would somehow scare Ritsu off if he approached him. Not to mention, this feeling of want, this inexplicable desire to hold someone through the night and into the day, this need of seeing someone's face just to feel at ease, all of it was new to Masamune. It was scary to be so enraptured in someone. It was terrifying to know that someone else had so much power over him, power that Ritsu didn't even know he had. If Masamune confessed his feelings, he'd be freely handing that power over and Masamune didn't know if he was even capable of being vulnerable and trusting like that. 

It didn't help that watching Ritsu from afar suddenly wasn't entertaining enough for the cruel deity laughing at Masamune's hopelessness. What other possible explanation was there for their paths crossing once again? He had peacefully watched Ritsu and stalked his library cards for three years, but now those days were seemingly over.

Masamune was reaching toward a book when a smaller, more delicate hand came into contact with his. Masamune looked over, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of Ritsu. Ritsu was quick to rip his hand away and met Masamune's eyes with an anxious gaze. Ritsu opened his mouth, looking like he was about to apologize for nothing.

"You can take the book, Onodera." Masamune said quickly before he could speak, not enjoying the sight of Ritsu appearing so guilty and worried. He wanted to alleviate the anxieties clear on Ritsu's face, but he seemed to only make it worse.

"How do you know my name?" Came the quiet, nervous response. The book was quickly forgotten by them both. Masamune felt like he was short-circuiting as he wracked his brain for any possible excuse or lie, but his mouth started moving without his permission.

"I love you."

What?

What?

What the hell did I just say?!

There was a pause between the two of them, the air around Masamune feeling as if it were crushing his bones.

"...eh? Eh?!" Ritsu's face flushed a beautiful shade of red, but Masamune didn't have the time to admire it because he was desperately trying to think of a way to prevent Ritsu from sprinting away.

"What I meant to say was-well-would you want to go out with me sometime?" Masamune asked, watching Ritsu's surprised, flustered expression closely. The brunette shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, as he opened and closed his mouth, grasping at straws for a response.

"Y-Y-You know I-I'm a guy r-right?" Ritsu finally settled on after a few seconds of awkward silence.

Masamune almost wanted to laugh. Out of all the things Ritsu could've said, that was what he decided on? Masamune's lips quirked up ever so slightly in amusement as he started to find it a little easier to breathe.

"Yeah, I'm aware." Masamune replied dryly. "Does it bother you that I'm a guy?" That had been one of the reasons Masamune had been so hesitant to approach. It was possible that Ritsu wasn't even into guys and now maybe the two of them didn't even have a chance of being friends.

"I-no! Not really? I don't-" Ritsu inched closer and closer to retreating, which simply wouldn't do.

"It's alright, Just take a breath, okay? You don't have to say yes." Masamune quickly assured him, though I really, really want him to say yes, Masamune hoped it didn't show. 

"I-I don't even k-know your name..." Ritsu started, seeming to try to find some sort of excuse, perhaps wanting to spare Masamune's feelings instead of outright rejecting him. However, Masamune's heart was stubborn and dead set on Ritsu. He wouldn't be dissuaded easily and not knowing his name was an easy fix. 

"It's Saga. Saga Masamune."

Ritsu nodded slowly, visibly swallowing as he wrung his hands, seeming to be carefully considering his next few words.

"O-O-Okay...I-I'll go out with you...Saga Senpai..."

-

When an upperclassman grabbed a book for Ritsu and handed it over he was grateful for a few seconds, but forgot about the interaction quickly. It had been nothing particularly special after all. If there was anything he did remember from the brief conversation-if one could even call it that-it was that he felt terribly embarrassed for being too short to reach a book. And then a certain name started to pop up everywhere...

Ritsu scanned the shelves for a new read, not looking for anything in particular, just something unfamiliar and fresh. He started to reach for one when a larger hand met his and he instinctively recoiled away from the touch as if it had burned him. He looked over to see an older student that was often slinking around the library, somehow always seeming to have a certain aura of sadness around him.

"You can take the book, Onodera." He told Ritsu quickly, his expression blank and unreadable.

"How do you know my name?" Ritsu asked hesitantly, though he already knew the answer. This is my stalker. Saga Masamune, Ritsu felt nervous now that he was face to face with him. Ritsu had been ignoring the behavior for the longest time, three years in fact, but now his stalker was right in front of him.

Ritsu often liked to reread books that he particularly connected with and it didn't take long for him to realize a certain name kept appearing and reappearing underneath his own.

Saga Masamune.

Ritsu didn't know anything about this 'Saga' person. He was far too shy to ever venture out to try to talk to many people, especially an upperclassman. He was still young and fresh enough to high school to think that upperclassmen were untouchable Gods. Though, after noticing the name he also noticed that a certain upperclassman was constantly in the library: the one that had helped Ritsu grab a book. Ritsu decided he was as good as a suspect as anyone to be his stalker. It wasn't like many other students spent hours upon hours in the school's library. To confirm his suspicion, Ritsu once quietly walked up to his table when he had fallen asleep sitting up and took the opportunity to look in the back of his book. There was his name: Saga Masamune. The upperclassman shifted and Ritsu took that as his que to quickly put the book back down and retreat.

Ritsu tried to ignore it, not understanding Masamune's motives or actions and wondering if perhaps he was looking a little too much into it. That was, until the two had bumped into each other again. 

"I love you." Masamune said.

Ritsu's heart punched the inside of his rib cage before beating erratically in all directions. A confession had been about the last thing he was expecting. 

"...eh? Eh?!" Is all Ritsu could choke out in response with his legs feeling weak yet also prepared to sprint a mile if necessary.

"What I meant to say was-well-would you want to go out with me sometime?" Masamune asked, but Ritsu's confusion didn't cease. 

"Y-Y-You know I-I'm a guy r-right?" That question sounded much dumber out loud than it did in my head, Ritsu thought as he refrained from facepalming. Masamune smirked a bit at his question and Ritsu tried not to frown, feeling like he was being made fun of and this confession had perhaps been a joke of some sort to mess with him.

"Yeah, I'm aware. Does it bother you that I'm a guy?"

Ritsu struggled to swallow as he started to shake his head. "I-no! Not really? I don't-" He wanted to hide behind the bookshelves at this point and forget this entire conversation.

"It's alright, Just take a breath, okay? You don't have to say yes."

"I-I don't even k-know your name..." Ritsu lied, wanting to somehow escape this situation.

"It's Saga. Saga Masamune." He replied smoothly. The upperclassman obviously didn't see their lack of knowledge of one another as an issue and suddenly Ritsu was out of excuses. 

I should say I don't like guys, or that not interested, or that I have a girlfriend, Ritsu thought, but instead he just gulped nervously and nodded slowly.

"O-O-Okay...I-I'll go out with you...Saga Senpai..."

Why did I say that, why did I agree to this, what am I going to do now, oh God, I bet this really is just a joke and he's going to start laughing at me now, if my parents find out about this I'm completely done for-, Ritsu's panicked thoughts continued to race, but stopped once a gentle hand reached up to ruffle his hair. 

And that was how the wonderful, complicated mess of their relationship started. 

[flowesona]

picture perfect - yandere! kihyun x f! reader

a/n: i know i don’t normally post monsta x content on this blog, but i enjoyed writing this fic and wanted to share it here without the feeling of guilt that comes with posting a non-request on the joint blog! please let me know if you like it :>

warning: stalking, abuse and suicidal allusions

The strap of his camera bag weighed on his shoulder, but not nearly as heavily as it did on his conscience. Yet he had no choice but to comply - with the threat of losing his scholarship on the line, he was putty in the hands of his psychotic professor, who’d sent him on the ‘mission’ to stalk his ex-wife. 

His musings on the morality of what he was doing were cut short as he heard the front door of the house he was observing open and close. There she was. 

Kihyun raised the camera and snapped a few pictures, capturing the flush faced woman as she walked out onto the drive. A young girl was in her arms, swaddled in a warm coat as her mother opened the car and tucked her into a car seat. 

She had a child. As if she was dead-set on making Kihyun feel awful. Still, he persisted in taking the photograph from his hiding spot, hoping the camera wasn’t too loud. Luckily, the woman was too occupied with taking care of her daughter to pay attention and soon enough she was climbing into the driver’s side of the car and leaving. 

He gazed after her, still rooted to the spot even though his job was done. When he snapped out of his daze he pulled out his phone and texted his boss of sorts, who immediately asked to meet him in the red room for a ‘friendly chat’. 

“There wasn’t anyone else there, right?” Junho asked, having snatched the camera out of Kihyun’s hands the second he arrived.

“No sir, just the woman and her child.” Kihyun confirmed, shifting on his feet uncomfortably.

“I’d prefer a clearer angle next time. This feels a bit distant.” His professor commented. “I’ll give your camera back once I have these printed.”

“Wait, n-next time?” 

“Yes. You need to do this until we’re back together, understood?” Junho snapped.

“Sir, I can’t do that!” Kihyun protested, only for Junho to approach him in such an intimidating manner that he found himself backing up.

“I guess this scholarship really doesn’t matter to you, then. A shame.” The professor tutted. “And how disappointed your parents will be when they find out the reason you were kicked out of photography school was stalking a poor innocent woman.”

Kihyun felt his heart drop to his stomach as Junho gave him a seemingly friendly pat on the shoulder. 

“I’ll see you this afternoon for my lecture, correct?”

The student just nodded numbly. 

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

The neighbourhood was quiet at night, only the occasional hooting of owls breaking the silence. The blackened streets only lit by a few street lamps provided a cover for Kihyun, dressed in all black with a key clutched between his fingers.

‘She’ll be asleep by 10PM, she has to work late on a thursday so she can never stay up late.’ The words of Junho lingered in his mind as he slipped the key into the keyhole and the front door creaked open. ‘Besides, she never remembers to lock the door. That’s always my responsibility.’ 

The first thing he noticed was that the house clearly needed an extra pair of hands. There were cobwebs in the corners, and the floor was littered with unorganised toys and shoes.

But that wasn’t his purpose. He was there with a mission: a sick, illegal one at that, but something he had to do nonetheless to preserve his chances of success in the future. He found his target quickly and quietly, pushing open the bedroom door cautiously to see the sleeping woman.

Kihyun could almost understand how Junho was so obsessed with her. She looked simply ethereal splayed out, fast asleep. 

He raised his camera up and snapped a picture of her from the doorway, before advancing into the room. Every step closer only made his heart race more, from dread of what could happen if he was caught but also the minor crush he was developing on the older woman.

It was just as he was getting a close up that there was a small knock at the door, just barely audible. Then, before Kihyun could even think to hide, it was pushed open to reveal a small figure silhouetted by the light from the hallway that had inexplicably turned on.

“Mommy?”

The woman in question groaned, creeping open her eyes. The figure dressed in all black standing over her was unmissable. She let out a shrill shriek, falling out of the bed and scrambling to the doorway to grab her daughter.

“Who the hell are you?” She screamed. “Get out of my house!”

“I-I-I…” Kihyun struggled to come up with an answer, his brain clouded. He’d planned an answer beforehand in case this happened - he’d simply gaslight her into thinking it was a dream - but at that moment his mind was fuzzy.

“Get out, before I call the police!” The woman screamed again.

“Please… you have to understand…” He stuttered. “Can I just explain?”

“What could you possibly have to explain?” She snarled back, holding her daughter closer to her chest.

“I’m not here of my own accord. Please, don’t call the police and I’ll explain everything. I swear on my life I would never hurt either of you.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Get talking.”

Kihyun gulped, before taking a breath in and explaining it all.

“Your ex-husband is my photography professor. He’s blackmailing me to essentially stalk you, to take photos of you for his “collection”. If I don’t do it, he says I’m going to lose my scholarship, and I can’t just let that happen. I’m really sorry for all the distress I’ve caused, but please don’t ruin my life because of it.” 

The woman sighed, but visibly relaxed. 

“Almost sounds believable.”

She put her daughter down. 

“Go to your room honey. Go back to sleep, okay?”

The young girl nodded and plodded off. 

“We should talk.”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

A half empty glass of sherry was nursed between (Y/N)’s fingers, but Kihyun’s remained untouched. 

“I’m really sorry. You shouldn’t have to suffer because of my relationship.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s all because of that power-abusing bastard.” Kihyun attempted to comfort her. They’d spent the last half hour giving a brief recounting of their lives, a mellowing experience for the both of them.

“I mean, clearly you’ve got talent, and I would hate to see that go to waste because of me.” (Y/N) sighed, taking another sip of the alcohol to soothe her woes. “I guess you can just continue doing this. He’s just way too smart to break his restraining order and get arrested.”

“Are you sure? I hate invading your privacy, especially now that I know you.” It made Kihyun’s heart ache to even think of being such a creep to the kind-hearted woman.

(Y/N) out and took one of his hands into her own. 

“You’re such a sweet guy, Kihyun. Do you have a girlfriend?”

He felt his face heat up, not quite wanting to admit how the only woman who he was remotely interested in was her.

She chuckled seeing his expression.

“Well, you’re always free to get a drink with me. Or we can have something more, if you’re interested.”

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Minji loved Kihyun. Whenever he visited after his work for the day was done, she would be waiting by the door with a puzzle she’d picked out for them to do together. (Y/N) would always make them tea as Kihyun entertained her daughter by helping her sort out the puzzle pieces so that they could do the edges. Then they would sit together, the perfect picture of domesticity as Minji talked excitedly about nothing in particular and (Y/N) rested her head on his shoulder and slowly drifted to sleep. He’d leave the dozing (Y/N) and energetic Minji alone as he cooked them supper, often with Minji by his side asking questions about everything he was doing.

There hadn’t been one moment when he’d asked (Y/N) out, or vice versa. Things just fell into place, and there was such a warm feeling Kihyun got as a new part of the family that he almost forgot about his responsibilities. Having to take photos of (Y/N) as if she was a stranger jarred him, when he’d taken to capturing more intimate photos on his phone, saved for the mornings where he didn’t want to get out of bed. 

Kihyun knew he was falling for (Y/N), deeply. It was dangerous knowing his scholarship was on the line and one fuck up could ruin his career permenantly. 

One day, as Kihyun was helping Minji with her homework as (Y/N) was doing the laundry, the phone rang. 

“I’ll get it.” (Y/N) sighed, letting the iron rest as she reached for the landline. “Hello?”

There was a pause as Kihyun paid no mind to it, quietly pointing out where Minji had made a mistake.

“Junho?” Kihyun froze. Surely he wasn’t going to make a move, surely he wasn’t going to win over (Y/N).

“I’m busy actually, so if you could leave me be-”

Minji smacked the arm of the out-of-focus Kihyun.

“Kihyun, what does this word mean?” She whined loudly, giving him her biggest puppy dog eyes to try and draw him back.

It stayed silent as Junho spoke to (Y/N) down the phone.

“No, you must be hearing things. She’s just reading to herself.” (Y/N) stuttered, and it was like someone had poured a bucket of ice down Kihyun’s back.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” She finally snapped back. “Go to hell, and stay away from my family.” 

(Y/N) slammed the phone down and let out a huge sigh, her breathing having quickened. Kihyun quickly abandoned the english homework and took the shaking mother into his arms, letting her sob into his chest. 

“He knows, he knows. This is a nightmare, he’s going to ruin your career, he’s going to-” 

“Shhhh.” Kihyun held her just a bit tighter, feeling the same fear dwelling in his stomach but quashing it so that he could be strong for her.

“I’m so sorry, I should have never initiated anything between us.” (Y/N) continued to cry, but Kihyun shook his head.

“I wouldn’t exchange you for anything, not even my career.” He smiled. “I’ll sort this all out, don’t you worry.”

The young man saw over (Y/N)’s shoulder the crestfallen face of Minji staring at the couple, and he removed one of his hands from his partner’s back to beckon the young girl, who squealed in delight as she attached herself to his legs.

“No one will take this away from us. I swear”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Processing photos was a relaxing process. Whilst his professor preferred to use digital cameras, Kihyun liked watching the developing film, the quiet that enveloped the room save for the buzz of the LED lights. 

His peace was interrupted with the arrival of Junho, who dropped his bag rather loudly on the floor.

“Yoo Kihyun. I trust you’ve been keeping up with your work?” His voice possessed such animosity it made the student shiver.

“I’m sorry sir, I was busy yesterday. I wasn’t able to take any pictures of your wife for you.” 

“But you visited her, no?”

 Silence spread throughout the darkroom.

“I didn’t. I’m very sorry, I hope you can forgive me.” 

Junho let out a deep, irritated sigh.

“That’s a shame. But also, I know you’re lying to me Kihyun, and I want the truth.” He snarled, grabbing the student’s wrist in his iron grip. “Why did I hear my daughter say your name yesterday?”

“You must have misheard her.” Kihyun replied smoothly, his heart racing nonetheless.

“I wasn’t born yesterday.” His superior snapped back, twisting the young man’s wrist until he cried out in pain. “You think you’re so smart, you think you’ve got the world in your hands. But just you wait. First, I’m making sure you lose your scholarship for severe misconduct. Then, I’ll phone all the contacts I have and make sure you can never get into another school like this, no matter where you go, Finally, I’m going to make sure (Y/N) doesn’t even remember your name, so that you have nothing left after your useless escapade.” 

“Fuck you.” The student hissed, tears brimming in his eyes. He couldn’t let this happen, let himself lose everything he worked for and (Y/N). He finally snatched his wrist away. “I’ll kill you before anything of that happens, you rotten bastard.”

“What will that achieve? You’ll still lose your career, your life, and (Y/N) and Minji will hate you for the rest of their lives.”

No, that wasn’t true. Kihyun had been woken up too many times by (Y/N) crying out in her sleep, wrecked with the emotional damage Junho had done to her. He’d always go and make her a cup of camomile tea, and rub her back when she cried to him about how she wished that she’d never met Junho. She’d be much better off if he was dead.

His swiss army knife was in his pocket. Maybe he could end all their troubles here.

“Now get out of my site, rat. No point doing any more work when you’re going to be kicked out by the end of the day, right?” Junho’s triumphant smirk only served to piss off Kihyun even more.

He found the knife in his pocket, flicking the blade out and letting it rest in his hand.

It was when Junho gave him a shove towards the door that he snapped and pulled it out, brandishing it in front of his face.

“Nice tool you have there, little rat. What are you going to do with it? You haven’t got the guts.” It was to Junho's surprise that he found himself pinned down to the floor, Kihyun’s weight on his chest keeping him from moving as the blade was dragged up his wrists. One of the student’s hands was clasped over the professor’s mouth to keep him from screaming out as he finished his work. The light was leaving the villain’s eyes, and it was sickeningly satisfying to see as Kihyun cleaned off the knife before leaving it in the dying man’s hands. Even if his victim tossed the blade away, it would still have the prints and Kihyun would be cleared nonetheless. He cleaned off his hands, shrugged on his jacket and left the bastard in a pool of his own blood.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

It was just after three o’clock, with Kihyun having spent the afternoon in the library studying his theory textbooks, that he got a text from (Y/N).

‘Can you pick up Minji from school as soon as possible please? I can’t leave the house right, I’ll explain it later.’

His heart thudded. He was more than ready to do it for (Y/N), to be the rock of stability in her life. If she ever needed him, he would be there.

Minji was chipper as always, not questioning why she’d been asked to leave classes early although Kihyun did have some difficulty proving to the receptionist that he had permission to pick her up despite not being her father.

She chattered to Kihyun all throughout the journey home, practically bouncing in the seat even after he gently scolded her for distracting him. He could never be mad at her, she was too cute. 

Minji was ready to jump into her mother’s arms the second the front door opened, but the sight of (Y/N)’s reddened eyes as she pulled the two inside before quickly shutting it behind them was enough to concern her. 

And as soon as the three were hidden from the eyes of the public, (Y/N) broke down into tears. 

“M-m-minji… your daddy…” She choked out. “He’s…”

Kihyun rushed to comfort her, letting her sob into his chest.

“We’ll explain to you later, Minji. Do you want to go to your room and play with your dolls?”

The little girl bit her lip, trusting Kihyun but also concerned about the state of her mother. He gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder with his spare hand, and it was enough to sway her and run off. 

“Honey, we need to sit down.” Kihyun muttered, gently leading her over to the armchair. The mother sniffed and detached herself from him, wiping at her eyes.

“It’s Junho. I got a call from the police. They found him dead, and they think he killed himself.” Kihyun couldn’t care less, but seeing the state (Y/N) was in he knew it was best to fake sympathy and coo apologies.

“It’s all my fault, I told him to go to hell, I told him I hate him. It’s all my fault, I killed him!” She wasn’t exactly wrong, she had been the cause of his death, but Kihyun didn’t want that weight on her shoulders.

“No, it’s not. You’re not to blame for whatever he did.” He whispered. 

“I shouldn't have ever fought him. If I’d been a bit more tolerant, he w-w-wouldn’t be dead!” A new wave of tears dripped down (Y/N)’s cheeks.

“Don’t blame yourself, you did the right thing.” Kihyun repeated, like a mantra. (Y/N) just shook her head at the response. 

“Please, Kihyun. I love you, but this should have never happened.” There was a pit in Kihyun’s stomach as the love of his life spoke. “I think… I think we need some time apart. This doesn’t feel right.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. 

Surely Junho hadn’t been right. Surely (Y/N) didn’t hate him?

“We’re meant to be together, (Y/N). I’m here for you, no matter what. I’d do anything for your love.” He clasped her hands in his. 

“I know. I just can’t do this, the guilt would eat me alive.” She continued, her eyes still watery. “What would I look like, Minji’s father dying and me staying with my new man without a care in the world?!” 

“He was a rotten bastard!” Kihyun raised his voice, standing up. “Why should you care if he’s dead? He hurt you, he deserved everything he got!”

(Y/N) was stunned.

“How could you be so heartless? I never wanted him dead!” She snapped.

“And what if I did?” Kihyun replied heatedly. “He had it coming!”

There was silence, although Kihyun’s blood was boiling so hot he was surprised there wasn’t steam coming out of his ears.

“Dear lord, Kihyun. What did you do?” (Y/N)’s voice was barely a whisper, but he heard her loud and clear.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve.” Kihyun said simply.

“Get out of my house right now.” 

He didn’t move.

“I’m calling the police.”

Her empty threats meant nothing to the lovesick man.

“I’d do anything for you.” He affirmed. “Don’t test that.”

(Y/N) was shaking. She was out of the grasp of one obsessed man, only to fall into the arms of one much worse.

He sat down next to her again, taking her hands into his own.

“No one could ever take me away from you. I swear.”

[infinites-chaser]

Librarian! PH. 52 MLQC MC / Victor :)

HELLO ANON U WERE ONE OF THE FIRST PEOPLE TO RESPOND TO MY LIBRARIAN ASK GAME I’M SO SORRY IT’S TAKEN SO LONG,,, victor is just. hard to write. aLSO I'm doubly sorry since i’ll be combining this with the Victor ask from @truth-be-told-im-lying ​ hope neither of you mind T-T i don’t think my mind could do two victor ficlets akwlfjsdkls

ANyway I love you both LOTS AND LOTS hopefully this attempt at Victor isn’t extremely out of character;;; it’s a lowkey soulmates AU if that counts for anything :> aND this fic gets the special treatment of an actual Title bc True was wonderful enough to help me by typing Victor as an Enneagram Type One

okaaay and without further ado, 

49, 52 + Victor/MC

‘[He] wakes up in [his] bed, determined to begin again.’- These Ghosts Are Family, Maisy Card. (pg. 49)

‘As [he] pushes through the onlookers to meet [her], he is certain he is the only person moving.’- These Ghosts Are Family, Maisy Card. (pg. 52)

((pronoun changes in both quotes to better fit the ficlet))

spoilers for Victor/MC’s childhood!

spend my whole life searching

Victor doesn’t believe in soulmates. (After half a lifetime of searching turning up nothing, he doesn’t believe in much.)

Once upon a time, he might’ve. (He wanted to). His heart rate doubled and sped up to match hers— a carefree little girl skipping across the road, too far away to hear his nerves cry danger, too caught up in dreams and fantasies to hear his warning shout. Time slowed down so he could save her, and on that afternoon on the crosswalk, drops of rain suspended in the air, he did.

At that age, he hadn’t had the sense to wonder why a young girl like her had been crossing the street without supervision. Why her smiles had come freely, but had always looked a little sad, a little wistful. Why she’d been so eager to accept his baked treats. Why she’d been at the playground without a parent. Why she’d always been alone.

Now, seventeen years later, he wishes he did. Wishes he’d known something as simple as her last name.

He dreams of her. Of finding her again: the girl whose heartbeat matched his. The girl whose smile had slowed down time itself for him, as if short moments with her could’ve each stretched into a gentle eternity. He’d wanted them to. He’d wanted to capture every moment spent with her, to make them last, to savor them, so they’d pass slow and sweet like honey on the tongue.

Time had passed slow when he’d wanted it to. Those sunlit afternoons had been sweet, they’d been happy.

Only, time is a fickle thing. When he takes his eye off it, it races away, too fast for him to keep up.

The kidnapping. The experiments. The torture.

The escape.

She saves him. He’s too slow to save her.

And even if he can stop time, here’s the thing: he can never turn the clock back.

Still, he wakes up. Every morning, he gets out of bed. Gets dressed and goes to work. The world around him moves on, and demands he does, too, even if his heart’s still eleven years old and clutching her motionless body, eleven years old, the only sound in his ears his pounding pulse, the absence of the accompaniment of hers an accusation more painful than any hateful words.

It’s a recurring theme in his life, time. It’s ironic, really, when he thinks about it. That he can stop time without lifting a finger, and yet, when it comes to things he cares about, people he loves most, he’s always eleven years old again, always too late.

(His Evol’s time control, but perhaps, all this time, he hasn’t been controlling time, it’s been controlling him. He’s imprisoned by a single moment, a memory, a regret. A past that can never be undone.)

Whenever he has spare time, he devotes himself to searching. Resigns himself to the fact he’ll probably never find her, if all he has to go off of is a child’s face, once preserved in his memory, now fading. Hair color. Eye color. Age. A name. Nothing more.

The searches turn up nothing. 

He spends late nights in the office to distract himself, builds up a capitalist kingdom of a company, if only to put off for a few hours more the prospect of returning home to face his nightmares alone.

His father praises him for LFG’s growth over dinners filled with awkward silences. The name Victor Li appears more and more often in business newspapers. Investors approach him. He gets interviews. Gets offers for TV appearances, for sponsorships.

He takes them, these material successes. Wonders if any amount of them could ever make up for the failure from his childhood. If they could bring her back. He tells himself if he finds her, when he finds her, when he brings her back, it’ll be to a more perfect world. One in which he’ll never fail her again. It’s a foolish thought, but it keeps him going. With it in mind, he proceeds to work twice as hard.

Souvenir is what saves him. A small allowance, a self-indulgence, a seed of hope planted in what he thinks is his darkest time.

It’s for her, more than any of his frantic searching ever was. A dream, a foolish one, that one day she’ll step through his memories and through the restaurant’s door, that one day they’ll share a pudding together again, their hearts beating as one.

He doesn’t get to open Souvenir often; his job doesn't let him. He made sure of that, long ago. But when he does, after the last customer’s left, and he’s put up the closed sign, he cooks for two.

(The first time, Mr. Mills had taken a single look at his silent, still face, and his expression must've spoken volumes. The older man hadn't said a word, only helped clean the kitchen after, the normally gentle lines around his mouth pulled taut in a worried frown.)

He sets the second place at the table himself: carefully places fork, knife and spoon beside lukewarm appetizers, tucks a napkin under soup bowls going cold. Watches the empty seat and the untouched meal for an eternity before finally eating his own. His technique's impeccable. It has been ever since he'd aced his culinary lessons, since he'd bought out the school. He'd used the finest ingredients. He always does.

The food still crumbles like ash in his mouth. (It always does.)

Mr. Mills will find him there, nursing a glass of wine long into the night. He knows better not to question it, but sometimes he'll pull up a chair, drink a glass, too. talk of everything and nothing, talk of his parents, his sister's family, of times gone by.

Victor will never admit it, but the older man's presence makes those nights less hard. his stories, his memories — they keep the ice in his heart from spreading any further when it feels like nothing else will.

Ten years stretch into thirteen, into fourteen, into fifteen, into a broken clock, time stopped because does the passage of time mean anything if he measures it, measured it in time with her? If she's gone?

The meals shrink. First appetizers vanish, then entrees too, until all that's left are desserts, puddings that he stares at all evening, puddings a girl had loved once, that he can almost imagine her sitting there eating, her noticing him watching her and her answering blush and smile. His smile back.

Almost, because after all these years without her, he can’t quite imagine her face. Not as she would look now. Not even as she was, seventeen years back.

(He dreams and finds he doesn’t remember what her smile looked like, exactly. Doesn’t remember the sound of her heartbeat mingling with the sound of his.

Memory is cruel. Memory is imperfect. No matter if you can stop time, no matter how hard you try to memorize a moment, when you revisit it, it’ll never be the same as when you lived it the first time.)

Then:

The day starts like any other. He wakes up, gets out of bed, gets ready for another day of work, another night of searching. He scrolls emails while waiting for his espresso machine to heat, then puts his tablet aside when the coffee's done. He eats in silence. As always, he's done five minutes before he needs to leave for the company, the perfect amount of time for him to do a last-minute check in the mirror— his tie's straight, his shirt unwrinkled, not a hair on his head out of place. The reflection that stares back at him is unchanging; these days it barely shows even the passage of time.

He sighs. Shakes the thought off like the piece of lint it is on his otherwise immaculate state of being, and heads for the door, the lock automatically clicking behind him at eight o'clock am, exactly on schedule, exactly as planned.

He's about to take a seat in his car when an inexplicable urge to walk to work takes hold of him. He pauses. Calculates and re-calculates the time it would take (fifteen minutes, not accounting for rush hour traffic making crosswalks slow), and he's about to decide it's not worth it, it's a silly thought, but the urge intensifies.

Do it, the eleven-year-old in his heart seems to be telling him. You won't regret it.

He frowns and rubs his forehead— for a moment, he wonders if all his searching, all his foolish hopes are finally getting to his brain.

He decides to take the walk, anyway.

He regrets it, not nine minutes later, when despite the sun's light shining strong through the clouds, a light rain begins to fall.

Worse still, the traffic lights haven't changed once in the past ninety seconds. He won't be late, he'd accounted for this, but he's stuck in a crowd of pedestrians, and their chatter's beginning to grate on his nerves. He's considering calling the mayor about it after exactly one hundred seconds have passed— clearly, the light's broken, this is far too long for commuters to wait— but then, finally the walk sign flicks on.

He's already across the street when it happens:

First, a phone rings.

Then, the loud honking of a car.

Tires screech.

Time slows. Time stops.

He's back on the crosswalk in a matter of heartbeats, the inattentive idiot in his arms (it's a girl, it's always a girl, hair dark, eyes wide, expression shocked).

"You..." She says, blinking up at him with those wide, almost-familiar eyes. Distantly, he registers the echo of a heartbeat overlapping with his.

"Who are you?"

Who are you? His mind asks, but deep in his heart, he already knows the answer. It can't be.

"Evolver?" He says instead, shoving down memories that threaten to surface: another rainy day, another crosswalk, another heart that had seemed matched to his. He tells himself he's being delusional, that he thinks he can hear her heartbeat because she's in his arms, wide-eyed and fragile, her heartrate skittering back and forth like a fool— this isn't like his careful, methodical searching, this is a fluke beyond flukes, it means nothing, it'll lead to nothing in the end.

But she's in his arms, warm and soft against his protective embrace, she's in his arms and it feels so right it's almost painful, his pulse pulled into a panicked pace to match hers.

He sets her down abruptly, as if burned, and turns to go.

"Someone can't come to your rescue every time."

Around them, suspended raindrops begin to fall. The world, resumed. The world, once again predictable and mundane. Except for her.

He knows, without looking back, she's staring after him, her heart, his heart, still racing.

He allows himself a smile.

He allows himself some small sliver of hope.

(His frozen time starts moving again.)