#but there are worse things to be known for

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

reflection of me - rafe cameron

where s2!rafe accidentally walks in on you-his girlfriend of only a few months so far- having a panic attack

content: anxious!reader, panic attack, rafe being comforting, lowk non canon rafe because this is NOT how he would act in season 2 but 🤷‍♀️

au: this was sooo sweet to write

word count: 1.07k

Rafe had never been one for emotions. The idea of comforting someone wasn’t something that came naturally to him. He didn’t have the soft words or the patience for it, especially when things were messy. His life had been a constant swirl of chaos—drugs, violence, and uncertainty—and he’d gotten so used to navigating it that anything resembling vulnerability had become uncomfortable, foreign even.

But when he’d started dating you a few months ago, something inside him had shifted. He didn’t know how to explain it or even acknowledge it, but he cared about you in a way that was unfamiliar, even unsettling. Your laughter, your warmth—it all felt so different from everything he’d ever known. He couldn’t name it. He didn’t want to. But when you smiled at him, it felt like something real for once.

Still, he hadn’t expected to be here, standing at the threshold of the bathroom with the door cracked open, seeing you curled on the floor, your chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. He could hear the soft tremble of your sobs through the door before he even stepped inside. His heart skipped, a knot in his throat. He hadn’t ever seen you like this. You were always so strong, so put-together, and yet, there you were—on the floor, falling apart. The sight sent a wave of discomfort crashing over him. He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t prepared for this.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping inside. His voice was rough, unsure. You didn’t look up. You were shaking, your knees pulled tight to your chest, your hands gripping your arms. It was clear you were struggling to breathe, your body locked in a panic that Rafe knew all too well. His first instinct was to leave, to let you handle it. He wasn’t good at this, wasn’t good at comforting anyone, not even himself.

But something inside him told him to stay.

You looked up then, your eyes wide and glassy, and the moment your gaze met his, something cracked in him. You were scared, lost in whatever storm had overtaken you, and Rafe… well, Rafe had been in your shoes more times than he could count.

The weight of his own panic attacks, his own demons, flooded back to him. He had never been able to shake the feeling that he was constantly teetering on the edge, barely holding on. And now, seeing you like this, he couldn’t help but feel like he was seeing a reflection of himself. He hesitated. “Hey, baby… what’s going on?” His voice was shaky, a little too soft for his usual bravado, but it was real. It was raw. And maybe that was the part that surprised him the most.

You didn’t answer right away, your breaths still shallow, but you looked at him—like you were trying to focus, trying to hear him through the panic. He took a few steps closer, crouching down beside you. “Can I… can I touch you?” Rafe asked, voice hesitant. He wasn’t sure if that was okay. He didn’t want to make you worse, but the urge to help, to do something, was eating away at him. He could see it now—your chest rising and falling too fast, your hands trembling. You nodded weakly, a small, shaky exhale escaping your lips as you managed to whisper, “I can’t… I can’t breathe, Rafe.”

His heart ached at the words. Without thinking, he reached out, one hand gently touching the back of your neck, the other sliding down to rest on your arm. He could feel the tension in your muscles, the way your body was fighting against the panic. It wasn’t like anything he had ever dealt with other people, and it made his chest ache. He wanted to help you. He needed to. “It’s okay,” he murmured softly, his voice cracking just a little.

He hated that his words felt so empty, but he pressed on, pushing through his own discomfort. “I know… I know what this feels like. I get it. You’re okay.” You didn’t seem to respond, still too lost in the chaos of your own mind, but his words seemed to hit something. You were starting to focus on his voice, on the warmth of his hand on your arm. The moment his fingers brushed over your skin, a small shudder passed through you. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Rafe’s thumb slowly rubbed circles on your arm, trying to ground you the only way he knew how. His own breath was still shaky, his palms clammy, but he held steady for you. The last thing you needed was to feel like you were burdening him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice thick. “You’re not alone in this. You’re… you’re not alone, okay?” You managed to nod slightly, and that was enough. Rafe’s chest loosened just a little. He wasn’t great with emotions. Hell, he’d never been good at comforting anyone—but you? You were different. And for you, he could try. “Breathe with me, alright?” He said, his voice steadying as he gently nudged you. “Breathe in… breathe out. Just focus on me, baby. Focus on me.”

You started to follow his lead, your breaths shaky but slowing just a fraction. The panic didn’t disappear, not right away, but the tension in your body started to ebb. Slowly, you let yourself lean into him, your forehead resting against his chest. Rafe’s arms wrapped around you, and despite everything inside him that wanted to pull away, he kept you close, gently rocking you in his arms like a lifeline. His breath steadied in rhythm with yours, and for the first time, he felt something soft stirring inside him—something he wasn’t used to, something he didn’t fully understand. He wanted to protect you, to be the one you turned to when everything felt like too much.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re okay. You’re safe with me.” You squeezed your eyes shut, nodding, your body relaxing just a little bit more with each passing second. And even though Rafe didn’t fully know how to navigate this space between you, he knew one thing for sure—he wasn’t going anywhere. Not now. Not ever. You were his. And he’d take care of you, in whatever way he could.

And that… that was something he’d never been willing to admit to anyone before. But with you, it felt right.

taglist: @littlelamy

[kxsagi]

hey girl....imma...imma need u to write ab the whole... bicep crushing thing w Isagi cuz.. now u got me thinking 😈😈😩

“𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢’𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧”

a/n: need to see his biceps and triceps flexed as he grips the headboard 

yeah i’m down bad so i made two parts 🙁 (second part is a little suggestive)

“𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐚”

one look at your boyfriend and you only have one thought: #needthat. 

isagi stood by the kitchen counter, leaning against it lazily with one hand holding his phone, the other casually gripping a glass of water. his thumb scrolled absentmindedly, but your eyes? glued to the way his bicep flexed subtly each time he lifted the glass. the veins along his forearm shifted with every movement, stretching across his skin like delicate, winding rivers taunting you. 

you were supposed to be doing something productive. anything, really. but instead, you sat at the table, chin in your hand, fully mesmerized by the spectacle that was isagi existing. 

“you good?” his voice snapped you out of your blatant gawking, and you realized you’d been staring for way too long. his brow arched slightly, though there was a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. he knew. and oh how much it boosted his ego. 

“hm? yeah, just… thinking,” you lied through your teeth. 

but then he did it. the absolute audacity. he set the glass down and stretched. arms raised above his head, shirt lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of toned abs, but that wasn’t even the problem. the problem was the way his biceps peaked, perfectly rounded and taut, as he locked his fingers together, letting out a small sigh. 

and you? done for. 

“you’re still staring,” he pointed out, lowering his arms, but instead of dropping them to his sides, he bent one and flexed slightly, pretending to stretch his shoulder. oh, he was absolutely messing with you now. 

you scoffed dramatically, feigning annoyance. “don’t flatter yourself.” 

but isagi, being the menace he was, smirked wider. “flatter myself?” he mused, flexing again, just subtly, enough for you to notice. “nah, you’re the one doing all the flattering with your eyes.” 

your face felt hot. and it only got worse when he casually walked over and placed his hands on either side of your chair, leaning down slightly. the proximity gave you a front-row seat to the definition in his arms, the way his triceps curved beneath his skin, the warmth radiating off him. 

“wanna feel?” his voice was low, teasing, but it made your breath catch. 

you blinked, caught between playing it cool and completely folding. spoiler alert: you folded. instantly. without another word, you reached out, brushing your fingers along the firm muscle. warm, smooth skin stretched over pure strength. you squeezed lightly, your hand barely able to fit around his bicep. 

“jeez,” you muttered under your breath. “these things should be illegal.” 

isagi chuckled, and you could feel the vibration of his laugh through his arm. “should they?” he teased, bringing his face a little closer, his breath fanning over your ear. “you seemed pretty interested in them a second ago.” 

you glared at him, though the effect was ruined by the way you were still clinging to his arm. “don’t be cocky.” 

he leaned in further, lips just grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “too late.”

“��𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐩 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧”

you should’ve known better. you really should’ve. 

it started innocently enough – playful, teasing, nothing serious. you were lying on the couch, your legs draped over isagi’s lap while he scrolled on his phone, absentmindedly tracing patterns along your shin with his thumb. soft. casual. domestic. 

but then your eyes wandered (because how could they not?) to the way his forearm flexed slightly as he adjusted his grip. the shift was subtle, but you caught it – the faint ridge of muscle, the delicate winding of veins beneath his skin. and just like that, you were done for. 

you stared a little too long. and isagi? he noticed. 

“you good?” he muttered, not looking away from his phone. 

you hummed, feigning nonchalance. “mhm, just thinking.” 

“about what?” 

you glanced at his arm again. mistake. your fingers twitched slightly against his thigh. the urge was too strong. you reached out before you could stop yourself, lightly squeezing the bulk of his bicep. 

and you had the audacity to say, “huh… not that big.” 

his head snapped toward you, eyes narrowing slightly. oh, you were asking for it. 

he didn’t say a word, just slowly set his phone down on the coffee table. the shift was deliberate. predatory. when he turned back to you, there was a faint glimmer in his eyes, something dangerous and amused all at once. 

“what was that?” he asked, voice low and steady. too steady. if you wanna test him like that, you have to be ready for it. 

you blinked at him innocently, playing dumb. “what?” 

his gaze dipped to where your hand still rested on his bicep. “not that big, huh?” 

before you could offer some snarky retort, he moved. suddenly. swiftly. in one smooth motion, he grabbed you by the waist and flipped you beneath him, caging you against the couch with his arms braced on either side of your head. 

your breath caught. his face was only inches from yours, but you barely noticed. no, you were far too distracted by the wall of muscle surrounding you. his forearms, thick and unyielding, pressed into the cushion beside your face, framing you completely. 

“still not big enough?” he muttered, voice low and teasing, but there was a heat behind it that made your stomach tighten. 

you couldn’t answer. not when he shifted lower, bringing his chest flush against yours, and wrapped his arms around you. 

and then? he squeezed. 

slowly. deliberately. his biceps flexing against your back, the solid muscle closing around you like evil. warm, firm, and completely unforgiving. 

your breath hitched. “oh my gosh –” 

his arms tightened further, just slightly, enough to steal the air from your lungs. you squirmed, but the more you struggled, the harder his hold became. his biceps flexed again, the muscle shifting and pressing against your ribs, making it almost impossible to breathe without feeling him everywhere. 

“too tight?” he murmured near your ear, voice dark with mock concern. 

you shook your head weakly, your fingers gripping at the unyielding muscle. 

“no?” he taunted softly, his breath warm against your skin. “then let me…” his arms flexed subtly again, the veins in his forearms pulsing faintly beneath his skin, “hold you a little tighter.” 

and he did. slowly and thoroughly. 

you could feel the strain of his biceps beneath your palms, the way the muscles coiled, dense and unrelenting, keeping you locked against him. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as you tried to get some semblance of leverage, but he was immovable. 

his chest pressed against yours, warm and solid, each breath making the cage of his arms press into you further. you let out a soft gasp against his throat, fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt as your body went pliant beneath his strength. 

“yoichi…” you barely managed to breathe out, voice muffled against his skin. 

his lips brushed your temple, a dark chuckle escaping him. “what?” 

you squirmed slightly, your breath hitching when his arms flexed again, hard muscle coiling tighter around you. you felt it – the shift beneath his skin, the sheer force of it. crushing. suffocating. consuming. and yet? you didn’t pull away. 

no, instead, you clung to him, fingers tracing along the tense ridges of his arms, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. 

“tighter,” you whispered, half-daring, half-pleading. 

he froze slightly against you, his breath catching for just a fraction of a second, before he grinned against your skin. 

“you’re dangerous,” he muttered softly, but his arms obeyed anyway, flexing harder. pulling you in so snugly against him that your ribs practically caved into his chest, breathless and overwhelmed. 

and still? you didn’t tell him to stop. 

his lips brushed along your throat, teeth grazing gently against your skin. slow. deliberate. 

and then? he stilled. just for a second. 

his arms were still snug around you, keeping you completely captive, but he shifted back slightly, just enough to look at you. really look at you. 

your eyes met his, wide and slightly dazed, chest heaving faintly from the lack of air, but still, you didn’t pull away. you just stared up at him, your fingers still trembling slightly against the bulk of his arms. 

“you like this, huh?” his voice was a low rasp, but there was something softer in it now, something dangerously tender. 

you didn’t answer. you just tugged him down, pressing your lips softly to his. slow. deliberate. deep. 

he groaned softly against your mouth, arms still holding you tight, still keeping you locked against him. but this time, he kissed you slower. deeper. his lips moving against yours like he had all the time in the world. 

he didn’t let go. didn’t loosen his hold. no, he kept you right where you were, completely encased by him. 

and when he finally pulled back, just slightly, his breath warm against your lips, he whispered softly: 

“mine.” 

and with one slow, final squeeze, you melted entirely into him. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

REQUIEM.

PAIRING — captain hook!bucky barnes x fairy f!reader

CONTENTS — one-shot; alternate universe—neverland; inspired by peter pan; fluff; angst; past character deaths.

SUMMARY — A fairy without her wings and a captain without his crew—two misfits manage to find each other in the cruel dark world that is Neverland.

WORD COUNT — 3.1k

✩ masterlist ✩ bucky barnes m.list ✩ library blog

The forest is a cold and desolate place at night. During the day, when the sun is shining, Neverland is breathtaking. But that’s part of the trap, you see. 

And once you fall in, you can never leave. 

Peter Pan would never allow it. 

The boy who never grows up floats in the inky sky above you, unmoved by the fact that you’re alone in the forest this late at night, having been cast aside by your own kind. You would almost find him beautiful, flying amongst the stars, a trail of fairy dust trickling behind him, if you didn’t know him for who he really was. 

The only thing that saves you from his sinister motives is, despite your lack of wings, you are still a fairy. Tinker Bell made a pact with him all those centuries ago; she will help him take as many lost children as he wants—but her family, her species, is forever off limits. 

A part of you believes Pan really does love Tink in his own sick and twisted way. It’s why he’s kept his promise thus far, even as his glowing eyes find you on the forest floor. You think you see a flash of sympathy in Tink’s eyes as they fly overhead, and shame, red hot and suffocating, spreads through your veins like wildfire. 

You curl up into a ball in the grass, as small as you can, hoping it will provide some relief from the chill. Despite the painful memories, you remember home. It is never cold in the kingdom of fairies, only ever full of sunshine and blooming flowers. 

As is the norm with your kind, you were supposed to come of age at twenty years old, sprouting wings, finding a mate, and finally taking flight. Instead, you watched year after year as the people you thought were your friends left you behind, their colourful wings sparkling in the golden sunlight. 

You reached twenty-five and your wings are still nowhere to be seen. The taunting soon began; there hadn’t been a wingless fairy in existence in millennia. The children called you a freak, the adults shook their heads in shame. Some of them pitied you, most were disgusted by you. You turned to your parents, hoping they would still love you despite your differences.

You had been wrong.

Your mother, at the very least, tried not to let it show that she was ashamed of you. But perhaps that was worse, knowing that she was trying to love you in spite of it all but couldn’t quite manage it.

Late in the night, you decided to leave the only place you had ever known and loved. You took nothing with you.

Perhaps you would die in the forest, surrounded by plants and flowers, underneath the winking stars. You close your eyes, still shivering, thinking that perhaps it wasn’t the worst way to go.

There are fates so much worse, as you would soon discover.

He had woken you up maybe minutes, maybe hours, after you had fallen asleep. When you opened your eyes, it was still dark. By all logic, you shouldn’t have been able to see his cerulean gaze against the navy blue sky, but there he was.

A human loomed over you, unsmiling and silent. He crouched in the grass next to you, sending you scrambling away as fast as you could. It only took him two strides to reach you again, his palm open and faced up on the dirt right next to you.

When you didn’t move, he gingerly picked you up with two fingers, lifting you all the way to his face as you twisted and struggled. Your tiny little fists did absolutely nothing, no matter how hard you threw them against his skin.

With a yelp, you were unceremoniously tossed into the air before he caught you in his open palm. You couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped you.

Warmth. He was so warm.

You curled up on the rough calloused skin of his hand, unable to fight the lull of sleep until you woke up again in the morning. This time, you were aboard a ship, bobbing slightly with the gentle waves of the ocean.

The stranger had placed you upon a wooden table in what looked like the captain’s quarters, a handkerchief draped over you as a makeshift blanket. You could see him standing outside the doorway on the quarter deck, telescope stretched out in front of one eye, as he searched over the horizon.

It was only in the morning light that you realized he only had one good arm, that you realized who he was.

In the stories, they called him Captain Hook.

You had heard of him in tales of a villainous pirate that had reached your kingdom long ago. He was said to be cruel, even sadistic; you never thought you would ever meet him, or that he would take you in.

For the first few weeks, he downright refuses to speak to you. But the rules of decorum no longer apply here; after all, he is a pirate and you are no longer amongst the fairies. Unrelenting, you pester him with questions.

Why would he save you if he doesn’t want to be friends? You didn’t have any friends back at home… well, not anymore. You would like to know what true friendship looks like before you die.

How come he leaves the candle lit all night for you, even though it disturbs his sleep? Some nights, after some considerable effort, you blew out the flame just to see what would happen. He would calm, his tossing and turning would cease, as if he were more comfortable in the darkness. Hidden. Obscured. Safe.

Where was everyone else? Is a captain really a captain if he has no crew? There are signs that people have lived here. Markings on the walls, drawings on old bits of parchment hidden haphazardly between the pages of a book, clothes that are either too small or too large or too feminine for him, a hairbrush with long strands of red hair tangled in the bristles.

Unable to fly, you could not venture far from the captain’s cabin. That is, unless you grabbed onto his sleeve as he passed by. He tutted at you in disapproval once he felt your weight on his shoulder, but he silently allowed you to sit there for as long as you liked.

Sometimes you would sing to yourself, old songs your mother used to sing that used to bring you comfort. Sometimes you watched the sun set over the horizon. But today, you played with the chain of a necklace that rested around his neck, hidden underneath the collar of his loose-fitting shirt, tugging at it out of curiosity.

The shift in movement revealed a set of tags with names on them. Steve, Sam, Sharon, Joaquin, Tony, Natasha… but was is the last one that has you reeling in shock, dropping the chain as if it burned your palms.

Peter.

Peter? 

Peter Pan?

The nameless captain reached up to grab you off his shoulder and marched back to his cabin to practically toss you down onto the wooden table. You tumbled out of his grasp, surprised and breathless at his sudden harsh treatment. Your heart plummeted to your stomach when he took out a glass jar and placed it upside down on top of you, rendering you trapped.

You cried for hours until he finally set you free, something akin to shame and guilt in his eyes.

When you didn’t forgive him for days, because he hadn’t even so much as asked for your forgiveness, he took you out of the ship for the first time, out onto the beach where the ship was docked. He placed you gently onto the warm sand, and your anger was washed away with each lick of the waves. You rolled around in the sand, shrieking with laughter as you ran and frolicked, squealed with glee as the water lapped at your feet.

You had never been to the ocean before, you told him. Again, he didn’t speak as he picked up a pretty pink shell and handed it to you. You held it above your head on shaky arms in what you hoped was a display of strength, and you swore you saw the smallest hints of a smile in his chiseled features. You ran around with it held above you, waving it back and forth and relishing at how the air suddenly cooled when you were underneath it.

When he finally took you back to the ship after you grew tired, you insisted he bring the shell with you. You laid down next to it, smiling at the way it sparkled and shone, at how you could still hear the sounds of the ocean as you fell asleep beside it.

You finally found the courage to ask one day. Why did Peter Pan hate him so much, enough to spread such wicked lies about him? He still didn’t answer you, but he didn’t get angry this time. Instead, he looked at you with such sad eyes, you decided not to ask anymore.

His pain was now your own. You lay your head on the fingers of his flesh hand as he grasped the railing, closing your eyes when you felt his knuckle-white grip loosen.

How did he lose his arm? Another touchy subject, but you’d always been a curious little bird. He didn’t seem to mind your questions anymore, but he still did not answer.

It was alright, you told yourself. You’d speak for the both of you. He moved to take his false arm, the one with a hook for a hand, away from you. But you leapt onto it, wrapping your arms around it as best as you can. Your arms didn’t even reach halfway around him, but he gazed down at you in what you believed was shock. You fell asleep there that night, waking up to the sight of his face in front of you, having fallen asleep at the table himself, evidently not wanting to wake you.

Who was Steve? You’d heard the name sometimes in his sleep. It was one of the names on his necklace. It was the name signed onto the drawings that litter the ship. Drawings of flowers, trees, the sunset, the ocean. Drawings of what Neverland could be. And of him, of your captain.

What was his name? It was this question that finally allowed you to hear his voice. As you gazed at him, instead of the evil, instead of the sin you had always heard about in those tales about him, you saw only yourself in his steely blue eyes. You saw your own loneliness and longing reflected back at you, and you knew for certain right then that the tales were untrue.

You never hoped to leave the ship.

You had nowhere else to go, after all.

But the real reason you stayed was because there was warmth there, a kind of warmth you’d never felt, even before you were an outcast.

You prayed you’d never have to.

“James,” he finally answered. His voice melted into your skin, seeped into your veins, and traveled straight to your heart.

Magic eluded you for years. You thought it had forsaken you. You thought it had deemed you unworthy. Turned out, magic came to you in the form of a lonely captain on a deserted ship, himself nothing but a lost soul that Peter Pan could not—or would not—touch.

They called him Captain Hook.

You would only ever call him James.

James would never tell you that finding you on that forest floor was what saved his life. He would later learn what you were, but even without fairy wings you remained the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in Neverland.

For a moment, he thought he had been hallucinating. There was no way a cursed being like him would find a solace like you after centuries of sorrow. It must be a trick. He must have finally lost his mind from grief. You could not be real.

But then you opened your eyes and the rest was history. James knew he needed to protect you then. Although, if he were really being honest with himself, he wasn’t doing it solely for you. The last time he had allowed to care, to love, Pan had taken everything from him. But you were off limits. The boy who never grows up was not allowed to touch you, not unless he wanted to hurt the only person who’d been loyal to him for as long as she had.

It’d been a very long time, and Pan is no longer the Peter that James remembered and loved, but there were still pieces of Peter in there somewhere—the traces of a boy who loved just as fiercely as he desperately wanted to be loved in return. It was why no matter how hard he tried, James could not bring himself to end the tyranny. Because to kill Peter Pan would be to kill the boy he used to be.

It would mean killing Peter Parker, the very last of James’ crew.

And if James had walked away from you that night, then he could bid what remained of the already shattered remnants of his soul goodbye. You were such a tiny little thing, but somehow you already took up more room in his life than anything else had in years.

“Why did you save me if you didn’t want to be friends?” You asked him one day, sitting at the table in his cabin, tiny legs dangling off the edge. You kicked them underneath you innocently, eyes hopeful as you asked the question.

He did want to be friends, but he didn’t remember how.

He didn’t want to be friends, because his heart longed for something more.

“How come you leave the candle lit all night for me, even though it disturbs your sleep?” He thought you might have been cold, but honestly this wasn’t just because of you. He left a candle lit at night even before you ever came along, as sleep had been the one to disturb him. Most nights, it eluded him. But on the rare occasions it did come, it was almost never peaceful.

And perhaps it was his way of atoning, of trying to guide other lost souls away from the darkness.

“Where is everyone else?” They are all dead… except one. Rage flooded into him when you found the tags with the forbidden names engraved on them. It had been a very long time since he’d had to share space with another living being, and sometimes he forgot how delicate you were.

His anger lashed out then and he cruelly trapped you underneath a jar, hating himself for it when he heard your crying and sobbing into the night. Your little hands bang—tinkle—against the glass, begging him to let you out.

You withdrew from him after that.

He wanted to say sorry. He wanted to tell you he’d never do it again. He wanted to promise to cut off his other hand if you didn’t believe him.

He didn’t know how. He couldn’t find the words important enough.

So, he took you to the beach, watched as you played and jumped and leapt. The happiness that radiated from you when he gifted you a tiny pink seashell is debilitating. The water splashed at your feet, and when you looked up at him, smiling, it took everything for him not to weep.

When was the last time he found joy—pure unadulterated joy—in Neverland?

He found it in your eyes then. He silently vowed to do everything to keep it there.

“Why does Peter Pan hate you so much?” Hate was perhaps not the right word, because Pan had never taken the chance to kill him either even though he’d had plenty of opportunities.

But Peter was drunk on power and fairy dust, allowed it to turn him into the tyrant he was today, luring the lost and terrified spirits of children under his spell in a misguided and twisted attempt to build some kind of family.

He might sympathize with Pan, if it hadn’t turned him into a bully. And he never liked bullies; neither did the rest of his crew. They fought alongside him, determined to free Neverland and return it to the utopia it once was. They did not succeed.

“How did you lose your arm?” The stories told that it was bitten off by an alligator. But in reality, he’d given it up. Peter wanted to know how badly he wanted his friends back.

I can return them to you, but you can’t have something for nothing.

He should have known better than to make a deal with the devil; he never does give you what you wish for.

I never said I would give them back alive.

“Who is Steve? I hear you say his name sometimes.” This was the name that always hit him hardest. It belonged to his first mate, his best friend, his brother in arms. He was half-surprised when he had to blink away tears, astonished that the grief he had grown so comfortable with still had the power to bring him down under again.

Tiny, stubborn, and hot-headed Steven, who always chose to do the right thing, no matter how hard it would be.

He remembered cradling Steve’s small body in his arms, burying him under the sand along with the rest of his friends. He had kissed them all goodbye, clutching at their limp hands as his lips caressed their foreheads before he walked away, but he would leave a part of his soul with each of them.

“What is your name?” He looked at you then, and centuries of ache compelled him to tell you. It was a gift, one’s own name, and to share it with another person was sacred. It was an act so simple, but it was capable of forging a bond. When you told him yours, he craved it—that connection to another creature he hadn’t had in so long.

“James.”

It was a word he hadn’t spoken in years and it sounded strange on his tongue, like it didn’t even belong to him. But then you repeated it, slowly, one, twice, three times, and he knew that nothing was ever going to be the same.

You called to him that night, sounding happy to be able to do it, to say goodnight to him and follow it with his name.

“Good night, James.”

The fog suddenly lifted. The name that had been so foreign to him suddenly belonged to him again. He remembered James Barnes, the person he used to be, the person he needed to rediscover.

He remembers the person he must remain. 

fin.

AFTERWORD — i’ve always thought about writing a sequel or rewriting this as a miniseries, and i’ll never say never when it comes to this story, but i’ve yet to be struck with any kind of inspiration that could possibly do this fic justice. maybe one day? who knows.

© 2024 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. no part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. followers with zero engagement, serial likers, and blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

[seat-safety-switch]

Wait, who told you they built this city on rock and roll? Did you ask them for their credentials? The reason why I ask is, and I'm sure you're starting to wonder yourself by now, is that I'm pretty fucking positive that they were not qualified geologists.

Yes, I realize that I'm "shouting" and making a "hostile workplace." Do you know what else is a hostile workplace? This office after about thirty seconds of quartering winds, when it implodes into the parking garage. You guessed it, because its foundation was constructed entirely on glam metal at best, which we all know is terrible at supporting two hundred thousand tons of concrete in compression.

Ted. Ted. Get over here. Do you see this sinking piling? Yeah. You see it. Ted, get a drill team in this building fucking pron-to, and let's see if these dipshits actually managed to hire someone to put a 50-storey skyscraper on top of a bunch of old Tonto albums. I can already feel the weight of our sins swaying above us, ready to crush the entire populace of downtown if a seagull shits on the building wrong. God willing, we're going to find out that it's at least progressive rock.

It could be a lot worse. It really could, Ted. When I was your age, I went to this new fancy-dan geodesic dome thing they built for the World Fair. Everyone was so proud. And they were dead like, fifteen minutes later. Crushed to molecule-thin paste. Why, Ted? Because they built it on bubblegum pop. Germans love that shit, it's so easy to get for cheap. Bubbles are voids. They had to have known. I won't let them forget.

[thatoneautisticshark]

A/B/O ghost price.

This was supposed to be small.. it is now 1753 words.

Content warnings- A/B/O, slight mention of SA,

John knew Simon, and he knew he was struggling. A rut knocked the shit out of any alpha, even with release. A rut clouded the brain, and it hurt to not get release.

So John couldn't imagine Simons pain.

Simon who refused to find an omega. John knew he wasn't the type to settle down. But in the 6 years they had known eachother Simon had never once been with an omega.

John understood not wanting to be with someone in the military. It could complicate things. But Simon wouldn't even pick someone up from a bar, or even hire a worker!

John couldn't stand watching the pain he was in every 4ish months, he had even offered to pay for a worker, do all the explanation so Simon wouldn't have to do a thing and still get release.

But no.

Simon adamantly refused anything. So John had to settle, for bringing food and water, as well as cold face clothes to try and help however he could.

Today was no different. Simon's blasted rut was back, and the omega was forced to watch the man he cared for so so deeply, practically writhing in pain on the bed, tears in his eyes, face flushed and red, in such immense pain.

He sat beside the other man, gently wiping the sweat off his face, watching Simons breath heave. “Simon, please. You are in so much pain.”

Simon cut him off without even letting him finish, growling in frustration “No. Not… not fucking happening” He panted out.

Price groaned. “Riley! I ..I will cover the cost…. I'll deal with everything. Please! I can't stand you in so much pain”

Simon stubbornly shook his head. “No! I'm not …. I can't…”

Can't?

Price paused, and threaded a hand into the alphas hair. “Why not love? Tell me… please” Price borderline begged. If he could find out the issue, he could help.

Simon tensed “It…. I.. can't risk… hurting an omega… I .. I can't be like him” He shook his head repeatedly before burying his face back in the pillows, whole body still shaking in pain.

Price paused at that, staring at the other. That changed things. If it was a fear of hurting or taking advantage of an Omega in his rut, just sleeping with a rando would probably be worse.

Simon would need someone he trusted could hold their own, stop him if he went too far.

“Do me then.”

Simon blanched “Fucking what?? You… I… huh?”

Price repeated it, voice calm and measured “Do me then. You know I can fight back, and I'll stop you if you hurt me.”

The other almost looked like he was considering it for a minute before shaking his head again. “No… no …I…I…can't… I can't…. I could hurt you… or… be to harsh topping”

The omega didn't even think about his next words. “Then I'll peg you.”

Ghost coughed, whipping round to stare at Price his eyes wide and already flushed face turning yet more pink. “HUH?!?”

Price sat still for a moment, internally cursing his smart mouth, why did he say that? But the fact remained that Simon hadn't immediately said no.

So Price may as well give it a shot. “I'll peg you. I trust you wouldn't hurt me anyways, but you can't do anything if you are being pegged. And then at the end you can knot me, me still topping. No harm done. Or if even the idea of actually knotting me is a no, I have toys, okay?”

Price chewed on the inside of his lip, as Simon sat there wide eyed. He'd either get a no, or be told to fuck off. He should have kept his mouth shut but he was too deep to back out now.

Simon let out a shakey exhale before very very quietly murmering “Okay.”

Price exhaled loudly in a mix of relief and disbelief. Simon had agreed. He could help.

“Okay… okay yeah. How about..” he hummed softly thinking “I get you off a few times … then knotting? Get most of it out of your system before the knot. Sure it won't fix the whole problem, but it'll let you rest for a while afterwards yeah?”

Simon nodded silently, leaning his head against the omegas thigh, and Price couldn't help himself, he ran his fingers through the sweaty greasy locks.

He couldn't believe Simon was actually letting him help. It was absurd, he really never thought he would be fucking an Alpha to help their rut.

But here he was.

Price swung a leg over those beefy thighs, sitting on the Alphas hips, the musk and scent of an alpha in heat really knocking his senses now.

There was no resistance when he pulled Simons shirt off, pants following.

And fuck that looked painful.

Simons prick was swollen and red, clearly aching for relief, and price was taken aback by how strong the alpha musk was. Simon stank, but god was it getting the omega hormones going in Prices mind.

“Fuck Si” he breathed, stroking the swollen dick, watching the taller man writh, burying his face in the pillows.

It was barely a minute before the alpha came for the first time, growling loudly, mixed with a whine as he came all over Prices hand, wound so tight.

“Fuck Simon. That's it, good boy, yeah? Being good for me. Bet that feels so nice” Price didn't really know where the words he was spewing were coming from.

If he was to be saying anything like that to any other alpha he'd probably get his face torn off. But this was Simon.

Simon who was still so unsure and obviously had trauma around this. So if the encouragement was helping, Price wasn't going to stop, traditional roles be damned.

The alpha was already trembling, pink in the face, and hiding it in a pillow. Price knew he was struggling with this, but he made no sign he wanted it to stop, and his thick cock was sitting hard, warm and heavy in Prices hand.

Price used two fingers to scoop some of the cum up, using it to help give his hand an easier slide. “That's it baby, just let go, yeah?”

The man below him honest to god whined, and Price felt his own dick twitch with interest, as he trailed a hand down to the others arse, gently squeezing.

The low gutteral groan that action earnt him was impressive.

Price slicked up his fingers with the cum, slowly pushing one past the tight ring of muscle, waiting to check if the reaction was negative.

It was far from negative, he decided as his hand got covered with a second coating of cum.

The whines coming from the alpha below him sounded more fitting of an omega. He was whining and keening.

Taking Prices fingers like a pro as he bucked his hips. Surely he was prepared enough to take Price. The captain finally, finally took his own dick out of his pants, moaning at the feeling of finally getting some stimulation himself.

And god. His dick slid right in.

Simons head fell back against the pillows. “Oh…. oh fuck… fuck… fuck… P-Price…. Sir”

Prices hand automatically soothed Simon's thigh. Rubbing it firmly. “Shh. Relax darling boy, being so good. Taking it so well yeah? This is gonna feel so good baby”

Simon's hand blindly fumbles with one of Price's hands, and right when Price is about to question it Simon successfully interlocks their hands.

And somehow that felt so much more intimate. Not only was he fucking Simon. But Simon was holding his hand. He has seeked it for comfort.

Price slowly began rolling his hips, loving the emotions and complete love and lust playing out on the other's face.

The way his eyes rolled back, the way his nose scrunched cutely on every good thrust. And fuck, Price was in love with this man.

Everything about him, he could watch the alphas face for hours and never get bored.

He hadn't particularly noticed his trusts were picking up until he heard Simon. “Oh fuck! Ah… ahh… P-Price… I'm gonna …”

The man below him tensed before cumming again, the amount of cum on the sheets and the both of them obscene at this point. Even for a rut.

As much as Price wanted to keep fucking into that lovely heat. He forced himself to pull out, sitting back on Simons hips.

“Let's get the knotting done, yeah? Get you properly relieved love”

Simon tensed making eye contact for the first time since they started. “I .. uh… I”

Price glanced at Simon, pressing a kiss to his nose, “You're okay love. I promise you won't hurt me"

The alpha relaxed slightly but was still tense as Price pulled his pants down fully and tossed them aside.

He rose up on his knees, carefully grabbing Simons hard dick, and sitting down on it slowly, moaning at the insistent stretch.

Yes this was for the good of Simon, but fuck Simon has a good dick. Girthy, filling Price up just right.

He has to remind himself that it's for Simon's sake, not his own. He can jerk it in the shower later.

Although looking at the alpha, eyes blown wide, face red as ever, limp in the cushions, he seems to be having a good time.

Price begins to grind his hips, focused on bringing Simon closer to knotting, but he can't help but moan at the feeling of the cock hitting in him just right.

It only takes two minutes of some riding, half hearted mind you, Price isn't even lifting halfway up, before a swelling knot begins to catch on his rim every time.

He can see the slight uncertainty on Simons face, and soothes a hand along his chest. “That's it, good boy. Let it happen yeah? Gonna feel so much better.”

He leans forward, kissing Simon silly as he feels the cock inside him jump, filling him with hot seed.

To his own surprise, he cums over his belly, which is odd, usually he takes much longer to orgasm. He isn't about to complain however.

He flops gently forward, resting against Ghost's chest, being careful not to prematurely tug the knot.

“Good boy Simon. That was so good. Fuck.. see I'm all okay.. not hurt… feeling better?”

When he gets no answer, he looks up in concern to see Simon has already conked out.

He huffs a laugh “Dumb Alpha”

[aphroditelovesu]

Poison - Aftermath

❝commission: an 'aftermath' type one shot. In part, I'd like to see what happens right after Alexander joins and Y/n in their room. I'd also be curious to see how Roxanna's father would handle the fallout of the attempted poisoning. Idk, I find the idea of an ambitious man like Oxyartes scrambling to cover his ass funny. — requested by 💻 anon.

❝ 📜 — lady l: oh, I confess I enjoyed writing this. If you pay attention, there are slight spoilers for the future of TLQ! I felt bad for Roxanna, I won't lie. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! :))

❝tw: mild angst, mention of attempted murder, mention of injuries, and implied threat.

❝📜pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader.

❝word count: 1,303.

— poison (part one).

Your tent was quiet. The guards outside were silent, but you knew they were there.

Not that you complained. You knew their presence was to protect you, especially after what happened at the banquet today.

Roxanna had tried to poison you.

In a not-so-subtle way, and worse, in front of Alexander and the others. You knew she felt threatened, not only by you but by the babies you were carrying. Alexander didn't know yet that you were expecting twins, but still... She had threatened your life and the life of his child.

And that wouldn't go unpunished.

You heard Roxanna's screams even in your tent and didn't want to think too much about what was happening. You knew she probably would be and was being whipped, since that was one of Alexander's favorite forms of punishment, but you didn't want to think about what that entailed.

It should have revolted you, made you furious and terrified, but... You didn't. You didn't feel bad about it, not when she threatened not only your life but the lives of your unborn children.

Maybe it was your maternal instincts kicking in, but you couldn't feel the slightest bit of guilt or empathy for Roxanna's situation.

She brought this on herself.

Sighing heavily, you sat down on the cot, knowing that you would have to wait until Alexander returned. He had always slept in your tent since your kidnapping and you hadn't complained. You had come to enjoy his company, even love him in your own way and having him by your side didn't bother you anymore.

After what seemed like hours, Alexander entered the tent, his steps heavy and his breathing irregularly, as if he had run a marathon.

"It's done." He said and sat down next to you, looking at your face as if searching for something. You could tell that he seemed worried that you were mad at him.

But you weren't. If it had been a few months ago, you would have been, but now...

"Good." Was the only thing you said and he seemed surprised.

"Aren't you mad?" Alexander asked slowly, taking your hand in his, squeezing it lightly.

"No." You sighed and squeezed his hand back, "Roxanna shouldn't have tried to poison me. She should have known it wouldn't work."

Alexander frowned, surprised and a little apathetic at your indifference. You had changed and he didn't know what to make of those changes.

Well, at least you weren't mad at him.

"I wanted to kill her." Alexander confessed, pulling you into a loving hug, your head pressed against his chest. "But I know that's not a viable option."

You hummed in agreement.

"You're the King but you know that killing your Queen isn't a good thing to do. Not... Not without a good reason." You mumbled.

"And her trying to murder you, our child, isn't that reason enough?" He pulled you away a little, looking at your face with confusion. "How are you not angry about this? You could have been killed!"

You could feel the panic, the fear of losing you in his words.

"She wouldn't have killed me. I'm not that stupid, Alexander. I know she doesn't like me but I don't think you should kill her." You said, kissing his cheek as a way to calm him down.

Alexander took a deep breath and took your lips in a passionate kiss, pouring all his fear and love into the kiss. And by the gods, he was scared.

You pulled away after a few seconds.

"And she's not my Queen." Alexander corrected you, your faces pressed together. "You're my Queen. My only Queen."

You smiled at his words, feeling your heart skip a beat in your chest. You knew you were falling in love, or maybe you were already in love with Alexander and didn't care. He was good for you, in his own way.

Alexander caressed your face and kissed your forehead, murmuring against it, "I guess you were wrong when you told me to marry her."

You bit your lower lip. "Give her time. She's still young."

"You're young too. We're young, (Y/N)." Alexander grumbled, hugging you again. He was shaking slightly and you couldn't tell if it was from anger or fear. Maybe both. "And even so, I never tried to kill my stepsibilings."

You laughed. "You didn't, maybe, but your mother did."

Alexander smiled for the first time since that situation. "Well... I can’t argue with that." He kissed you again gently.

"And I can take care of myself." You murmured against his lips. "Don’t worry. I won't let her or anyone else hurt me."

Alexander looked deep into your eyes and said, "If she tries to do anything to you again... I will kill her. I don't care if there are repercussions. I will do it slowly and without remorse. And I'll enjoy it.''

His gaze softened and you sighed. Maybe you should have been scared or worried, but all you felt was a rush of affection. Knowing that he was so in love with you, that he loved you so much, that he was willing to go against his own laws, his own morals, made you feel warm inside.

It made you feel loved.

"And I expect nothing less." You whispered and let him kiss you again, laying you down on the cot, his calloused but comforting hands caressing your round belly and your sides.

The lit torches cast a glow in the darkness of the tent that mingled with the moans and the sounds of your bodies moving against each other.

You were safe in his arms and that was all that mattered to Alexander. That was what he kept telling himself as he made love to you again and again.

Oxyartes was furious.

He just didn't know if it was with Alexander or with his own daughter. With her stupidity.

Oxyartes stared at his daughter's scarred back in horror. The marks, the scars that the lashes she received would leave, would mark her forever. Blood dripped from the wounds and Roxanna's grunts of pain made him shudder at the barbarity that had been committed against her.

Alexander did this. It was a punishment, a clear warning that any form of conspiracy, of disrespect against him, against (Y/N) and their unborn child, would not be tolerated.

"It hurts..." Roxanna whimpered as one of the servants carefully dabbed a damp cloth over the wounds.

Oxyartes crossed his arms, his dark eyes shining with uncontained hatred. It wasn't just toward Alexander, but toward his own daughter.

"What were you thinking when you decided to try to poison your husband's first wife so blatantly?" He growled each word, his hatred palpable. "Have I taught you nothing?!"

Roxanna's tears kept falling and he grew increasingly frustrated. Sure, he was upset that his daughter had been hurt, but he was more concerned about what this could mean for him, Bactria, and his people.

They had been spared, yes, but Alexander was a vengeful man and he could punish everyone for Roxanna's reckless actions.

There was no limit to what Alexander could do. Not when it came to (Y/N).

They needed to be careful.

Oxyartes dismissed the servants and helped Roxanna to her feet.

She trembled in her father’s arms and he touched her face, his touch gentle, a contrast to the anger that shone in his eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, father..." She whispered, her voice weak.

"It's okay, my little star," He said, caressing her cheek tenderly. "Everything will be fine."

But the way he was looking at her, his eyes so full of anger and disappointment, Roxanna knew that nothing would be fine. She had made a terrible mistake.

One that could cost her, them, everything. And he would have to discipline her properly.

[revelboo]

Any tips for getting over nerves for posting writings or headcanons in the transformers fandom... I'm trying my best to not be do nervous

In my case, I tend to think of these short form fics as first drafts- I’m telling myself a story and it doesn’t have to be perfect (that’s what they were always meant to be, but things got a bit out of hand), but that mentality helps so I don’t fret and stress about whether it’s good enough. If it makes you happy, go for it!

Bad Idea Pt 20

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• Sprawled flat on your back, staying out of the pool is harder than you’d have thought. Mostly because when he leaves, you’re bored out of your mind. Really need to ask him if there’s anything you can do. Doubt you can actually help him in any way, but it’s infuriating being directionless. Useless. Glancing at the pool, you catch big bird shuffling slightly on his perch. Watching and waiting for you to screw up so he can tattle. Or so he can try to drown you. Figuring out what the drone’s thinking as his head tips, staring at you, is beyond you. Though, you’ve been trying to play nice for Soundwave. To pretend you don’t hate his awful brat.

• Tendrils drawing closer to his frame as he works to repair a console, Soundwave goes out of his way to pointedly not look in the direction of Megatron’s throne. Specifically the warlord’s little human since aside from a faintly jingling harness and a short little mostly sheer covering, they’re bare. Already one of the Vehicons had glanced at the human, attention drawn by the faint, silvery sound of the harness and Megatron had smashed them face first into a console. Repeatedly. Making more work for him. Knows his oldest friend’s moods are ever shifting. That he’d dressed the human that way knowing someone would look and knowing he’d lash out. Amusing himself by causing chaos.

• “Hey, big bird,” you call out and his plating ruffles up in jagged, offended angles. Well. You’re off to a great start. “Look, you could tell me your name if you don’t want me to call you that. I mean, we should get along.” Especially since you’re banging his alien daddy. Which, come to think of it, is probably most of why he hates you. Shuffling further away from you on his perch, he turns his back to you in an obvious dismissal. Alright then, so much for that. “Don’t be that way. I can call you worse things.” And he’s glaring hatefully at you again. “Like Tweetie Pie.”

• Stilling as Megatron slips up beside him, idly toying with a loose wire as he surveys the damage he’d done without any guilt, Soundwave waits. “You have a human, too,” Megatron says swapping to Cybertronian and it’s not really a question, but he inclines his head anyway. Studying the warlord, there’s something like uncertainty in his optics and the grim set of his mouth. And he wonders what Megatron’s human is to him. A toy? A distraction? Or do you actually matter? “Does yours care for you?” Tendrils flicking restlessly, it clicks. Megaton’s so used to just taking, conquering. But genuine affection? That’s not something he can demand and just seize for himself. It’s something he has to earn, so you must matter to him. Isn’t sure what to make of that.

• Shrieking and ducking when big bird dives at your head, you run away swearing. Why couldn’t you just leave him alone? But no, you had to antagonize the little psycho. Had known the second his optics had dimmed that he was somehow looking up the name the way Soundwave had done when the little brat had blabbed that you’d called him a DILF. And big bird slams into your back, knocking you flat. Grabbing and pulling your hair with his beak while you smack at him and curse. And a shadow falls across you both. Eyes wide, you realize there’s a masked and visored mech you don’t know looming over you. And he awkwardly lifts a hand. “Question,” he says and big bird pinches your ear hard, before turning to face the stranger, wings flared aggressively. Protecting you? The stranger backs away immediately, both hands up submissively.

Previous

[secretlypeerless-cucumber]

Previous

There is a rat on An Ding Peak.

Shang Qinghua is not sure when they managed to weasel their way in, but there is for sure a rat amongst his children.

What's heartbreaking is that his own kids won't tell him who is suspicious! Traitors! This wasn't supossed to happen! He taught them too well.

Snitches get stitches is so frustrating when you are the one who needs information! Worse of all, he can't even go to Cucumber-bro to complain because he now has the Original Goods hanging from him at all times! His life is so hard.

He thinks he narrowed the possible mole down to two new disciples who came to the sect at 16 last selection. He hadn't seen them yet, because like anyone they are very busy at all times, but word of mouth tells him they are; twin sisters, smart and quick like snakes, beautiful, and as lazy as a house cat. Why someone like that would choose An Ding of all places to blend in Shang Qinghua can't say, but he is so close to catching them.

And as luck will have it, he sees a group of his children tailing a pair of ponytails swaying on what little wind there is, sadly they rounded a corner and Qinghua only saw their backs, but most importantly. Why are his children not working?! They do not have time for them to follow the moles like lovesick puppies! This must be their plan; to enamor all his disciples and bring ruin to CQM via lack of resources. Shang Qinghua might just need to kill a child.

After following them for a while, the girls separate from the group and slink off to the forest without looking back once. This is his oportunity.

"Shidi needs to up security on An Ding, this is too easy." Um... What? "Shidi is good at many things... security might jut not be one of them."

He is confusion. Um hello little spy, WHY ARE YOU CALLING HIM SHIDI?!

Ah... Twins... This is just Cucumber-bro and the Original Goods.

...At least it wasn't a spy?

But it got worse.

Shen-Shixiong and Cucumber-bro must have known he was there because he now sees them EVERYWHERE.

Im the canteen? There they are, eating prim and proper like a king's favorite concubine. In the warehouses? There they are, sleeping on a shelf or perusing the wares. On the offices? There they are, again! Reading the accountant books like they were high literature.

The worst part-

"Shizun! Shizun!"

-is that they know he can't say no to them, for fear of having Yue-Dage come for his head. That man is really going crazy these days.

With a tight smile, Shang Qinghua turns arround to see his undercover shixiongs running towards him -like spoiled children- and hide behind his back while some Bai Zhan disciples run to them. Oh god they are haunting Bai Zhan too?! "Um... What were my disciples up to?..."

"Shizun, those brutes were badmouthing An Ding-"

"So we taught them a lesson-"

"And now they want to fight with us."

Shang Qinghua is crying tears of blood, trying so hard to stay standing. Ah, Cucumber-bro, why must you get along so well with the Original Goods?! He prefered when you only raged about his writing!!!!

[ilvermornie]

amortentia ୨୧ lorenzo berkshire x fem!reader

in which lorenzo’s plans to keep his infatuation with you to himself fail (successfully?)

warnings none | masterlist

all of enzo’s friends knew he was in love with you. sure, he never outright said it himself, but these boys have known him since he was just a lonely kid sitting alone on the train to hogwarts, nervous for what was to come; they could read him like a book.

they noticed the way his eyes would fill with curiosity as soon as your name was brought up in conversation, needing to know what you’d been up to lately. they noticed how his voice would change whenever he’d speak to you - becoming softer, more gentle. most of all, they noticed all the crumpled up letters, failed attempts at confessing his undying love to you buried deep in enzo’s wardrobe. saying things has never been his strong suit.

after the fifteenth letter (one which included the line “if you don't want to date me that's okay but please give me a chance anyway”) was haphazardly shoved into the usual hiding spot, enzo decided to simply keep his little secret to himself. if he couldn't even write how he felt about you, how was he ever supposed to speak about it?

unfortunately for him, he made that decision a little too late, as the boys found the letters long before he had gotten to fifteen, and made it their lives’ mission to make you two official.

the plan started with a friday potions class.

“look at him, poor boy,” pansy whispered to draco, her eyes lingering on enzo’s figure as he stared longingly at his own cauldron of amortentia, as if willing you to come out of it.

draco hummed, now also staring at enzo with his brows furrowed. contrary to popular belief, he didn't enjoy other people’s misery - only those who deserved it, and enzo definitely did not deserve it. it was at that moment when draco decided to concoct a plan to finally bring his friend and his true love together. he was done toying around with the secret enzo had unknowingly shared with all of them.

seeing snape distracted with some hufflepuffs who just couldn’t seem to brew anything right, draco gestured for enzo’s partner, mattheo, to come over and help him come up with a plan. but if enzo was bad with words, mattheo was even worse when it came to gestures.

“what?” mattheo mouthed, his brows furrowing in confusion. draco tried again, his patience growing thin. this time, mattheo did get something out of draco; the wrong thing.

giving draco a thumbs up and a large smile, mattheo slyly pulled his wand out of his pocket and made the whole potion spill all over enzo.

instantly, enzo jumped, feeling a complete shift in his entire body. everything was warm, and he couldn’t think about a single thing but you. his mouth begged to betray him, wanting to say words he only ever thought about in bed, staring at his bedroom ceiling, but luckily he swallowed them down.

turning to mattheo, he yelled, “what the hell is wrong with you? why would you do that?”

“oopsies,” was all he got out of mattheo.

promptly, snape appeared and lectured mattheo for what he had done, deducting fifty points from his own house in the process. this didn’t faze him, partially because he never cared for the house point system anyway, and partially because just earlier that morning, he had overheard you talking to your friends about how you liked enzo back, you were just too nervous to tell him.

in mattheo’s eyes, he was doing you both a favour. did he know what would happen to someone who was doused with a fresh batch of amortentia? no, but he knew it would be something magical.

as soon as class ended, enzo ran to his dorm room and locked himself in there, trying to do anything to calm his nerves. he couldn’t be seen outside until the effects of this wore off, or else he’d do something that would result in him becoming the laughingstock of slytherin.

meanwhile, a heated discussion was happening in the slytherin common room.

“how was i supposed to know you wanted me to come over?” mattheo said, angrily sitting down on the deep green couch.

“because that’s what everyone does when they want someone to come over, you idiot!” draco shot back, exasperated as he paced around the room.

not wanting to waste any more time on draco and mattheo’s argument, as well as seeing the possibility of an opportunity coming out of this, pansy said, “okay, well, it’s already happened and there’s nothing any of us can do to reverse it. what happens to someone who just had amortentia poured on them anyway?” she turned to blaise, who’d been reading up on that very subject the entire time.

giving the textbook in his hand a quick glance, he replied, “it says here they become ‘consumed with their infatuation with the person the amortentia smells like’ and that they have to ‘fight the urge to do rash things as a result of that infatuation’,”

instantly, mattheo rose from the couch and exclaimed, “this is perfect! all we need is to bring y/n and enzo here and he’ll finally tell her how he feels!” then, to draco, he said, “who's the idiot now?”

the four didn't even have to move from their positions for their new plan to begin. a mere second later, you walked into the slytherin common room, a green and silver scarf in your hands.

“hey, is emilia here? she left her scarf...” you asked, scanning the room for both your friend and the boy you were madly in love with, and finding neither one of them. at this, you pouted. you had really hoped to see at least one of the two, especially the latter, since you were worried he’d been avoiding you lately.

guiding you to an empty seat, mattheo said, “nope, no emilia here, but don't worry! i’m sure she'll turn up soon,” as he did so, he gave pansy a look, urging her to distract you with conversation. after lorenzo, pansy was the one you got along with most, and distract you was exactly what she did. in fact, she did it so well you didn't notice a certain love-filled brunet come down the stairs to the common room.

after sitting with his feelings for a while, enzo felt the effects of the amortentia subsiding and decided to go down to the common room to give mattheo a piece of his mind, thinking he was in the clear. unfortunately, he was not, for as soon as his eyes met yours and he saw the way you brightened up, a large smile on your beautiful face, the effects of the amortentia were back and as if they never left in the first place.

he began to turn around, but ever-attentive theo had already seen him, “oh look, there’s lorenzo!” he said, smirking. enzo had no choice to stay where he was and pray that he didn't mess everything up.

“hi enzo!” you said, your hands immediately making their way to a stray piece of your hair as you tried to make yourself look as presentable as you could, “have you seen emilia? she forgot her scarf in class earlier today.”

enzo took a deep breath, making a mental script of what he was going to say so that the script the amortentia had planned for him wouldn't take over, “no, i haven't. sorry.”

your brows furrowed, being caught completely off-guard by his response. sure, enzo had his moments every once in a while, but this was too blunt, even for his worst days. as you pondered why he would be acting so strange, you noticed how flushed his face was.

getting up from where you sat and making your way over to him (much to his dismay), you said, “are you okay? you look a little red,” to which enzo just hummed, not trusting his mouth to say anything more.

‘it’s fine,’ he thought to himself, ‘as long as she doesn’t get any closer or say anything more, i should be fine.’

you put the back of your hand on his forehead, trying to feel his temperature, “are you sure you're okay?” you mumbled under your breath, concerned about how hot he felt.

enzo reached his breaking point, and the words came spilling out of him, “no, i'm not okay. how could i be okay when i’ve been in love with you for god knows how long now and haven’t been able to do anything about it? i tried everything! i watched those stupid muggle movies you like to see how they’d confess, i went to that love café in hogsmeade and asked the lady there how she thinks i should do it, i wrote fifteen failed love letters, fifteen! and none of it worked, so i just decided not to do anything about my feelings, but it was killing me, y/n, watching those other guys flirt with you, do all the things i wish i could do but couldn’t! and then today in potions, mattheo spilt amortentia all over me and now all i can think about is you, it physically hurt to keep this all inside of me, even now that i’ve said it all and ruined everything!”

the room was silent, save for draco who whispered, “who knew he could be such a sap?” to pansy.

meanwhile, your head was reeling, trying to absorb everything that had just happened. enzo had been just as in love with you as you had been with him this entire time, and you’d been nearly killing yourselves staying silent and hoping the other would say something.

while you were trying to process enzo’s unintentional confession, he was praying to anyone that would listen for you to just say something, even if it meant breaking his heart, at least then he'd finally know for sure how you felt. anything would've been better than the silence you faced him with now.

what broke you out of your trance was enzo storming off after realising he'd messed everything up, both his friendship with you and any chance he may have had with you as a boyfriend. quickly realising what you had done, you grabbed his hand, “enzo, wait.”

“i’m sorry, i’m just... in shock! i mean, wow, i’ve never been confessed to at all, let alone like this,” you felt your face getting warmer, still in complete disbelief at how this was your real life, “i like you too, enzo, as more than friends, and i think all that stuff you did is really sweet, even though i can tell you’re a little embarrassed about having to admit it.”

as soon as those words left your mouth, enzo’s mood did a complete 180 - he had never smiled a smile this wide in his entire life, he didn’t even know smiles could get as big as the one he had on right now, “really?” he asked, taking your other hand in his so he was now holding both. you nodded.

“okay then, let's rewind. y/n, would you like to go on a date to hogsmeade with me this saturday?” he asked, making a show of being perfectly chivalrous which had you stifling giggles.

letting one slip, you replied, “yeah, enzo, i’d love to. but can you just do me a quick favour first?”

“anything for you,” was his immediate reply, shortening the distance between the two of you as he cradled your head in his hands.

trying to ignore your racing heartbeat, you said, “send me those fifteen letters. i wanna read all of them.”

[endofthelinegang]

Hello!!

Can I maybe have HCs or a little snippet of Matt Murdock trying to help a sick reader? Like, just a simple cold? How would it be like? 🥺🥺

Thank you in advance!! 🫶🫶

bruh i am literally sick rn, someone be my matt murdock i am DYING

The first sign of your cold hits late at night, and Matt notices before you do.

He’s beside you on the couch, listening to some legal brief Foggy sent over, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your arm—absent, soothing, just there.

You shift slightly, tugging the blanket closer, barely registering the way you swallow a little harder than usual.

His touch stills.

“Your throat hurts,” he says softly.

You blink, barely realizing it yourself until he says it out loud. “…A little.”

The way he frowns is almost imperceptible, but you catch it—the smallest crease between his brows, the way his fingers flex against your skin.

“Did you feel off earlier?” His voice is gentle, but there’s an edge of concern.

“I’m fine, Matty,” you murmur, pressing your face against his shoulder, exhaustion creeping in.

He doesn’t argue—but that’s when you should’ve known you were doomed.

He shifts slightly, pressing his cheek against your hair, listening.

You barely register the way his breathing slows, how he maps you in real-time—the way your chest rises, the faint strain in your exhale.

When he speaks again, it’s quiet, certain.

“You’re getting sick.”

The next morning, you wake up feeling like you got hit by a damn truck.

Your throat is raw, your body aches, and your head is stuffed full of something awful.

You groan, burrowing deeper into the sheets, trying to will it all away.

Then you realize Matt is already awake.

More than that—he’s not getting ready for work.

You crack one eye open, voice hoarse. “You’re still here?”

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, sleeves rolled up, tie abandoned, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “You sound worse.”

“Wow, thanks.” You try to sit up, and instantly, his hand finds your back, steadying you before you even sway.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To—” You wave weakly, trying to indicate something—water? The bathroom? Your brain is foggy as hell.

Matt just hums. “That’s funny. ‘Cause I could’ve sworn you’re staying right here.”

Good luck trying to take care of yourself.

You try to push off the blanket, but suddenly, Matt’s hand is pressing it back down—gentle but firm, like he’s dealing with someone who doesn’t know what’s good for them.

“Matt,” you groan, voice muffled in the pillow. “You have a job.”

“Mmm.”

“Go do that.”

“M’busy.”

“Doing what?”

His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Making sure you don’t die.”

You have never been more aware of how much Matt notices things.

You shiver? Blanket.

You sniffle? Tissues.

You try to sit up, just slightly? His arm is there, steadying you before you even realize you need it.

He moves so effortlessly, like he’s reading you second by second, knowing what you need before you can ask.

It’s almost infuriating how good he is at it.

“You’re hovering,” you rasp, giving him the best glare you can manage.

He tilts his head, considering. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re stubborn,” he murmurs, shifting closer, his hand sliding up your arm in slow, deliberate strokes. “And I know you. You won’t stop until you have to.”

He makes you tea with the kind of care that feels sacred.

He hands it to you carefully, fingers grazing yours, and doesn’t move until he’s sure you have a good grip on it.

“Sip,” he says softly.

You take the smallest drink, the heat unwinding something in your chest.

Matt makes a pleased sound, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“See?” he murmurs, voice dipping into something warm, fond. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

You can feel how much he loves you in the quiet moments.

The way his fingers brush through your hair, absent and steady.

The way he leans into your space, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

The way he tucks the blanket around you twice, like he needs to be sure you’re safe.

And when you finally start to drift, exhaustion dragging you under, you hear it—

The quietest, most barely-there whisper against your temple.

“I’ve got you.”

Final Verdict?

Matt doesn’t just take care of you—he makes sure you feel loved through it. You’re his priority. His responsibility. His person. And he’ll gladly sit by your side and out-stubborn you until you accept that.

[wisteria-lodge]

Dumbledore & the Rejected Drink

So there's this little character quirk Dumbledore has. He really likes offering, and asking for drinks. It's his go-to social ice-breaker. BUT there's also a motif of that drink... not happening. And it's not a children's literature thing, there are plenty of scenes of the Order drinking, Harry, Ron and Hermione drinking, Hagrid, Slughorn, Narcissa, the Fat Lady all drinking. Mundungus, Trelawney, and Winky drink *too much.* It's just a Dumbledore thing! No one wants to drink with Dumbledore!

In Book 4 he invites Barty Senior, Madame Maxime and Karkaroff to have "a nightcap" with him after the Goblet of Fire ceremony, they all turn him down. :(

When he goes to pick up Harry in Book 6, Dumbledore pours mead for all three Dursleys, which they obviously don't drink. (And the longer they don't drink the more insistent the glasses get, until they're bouncing on the Dursleys' heads.)

In the next scene, he asks Slughorn for a drink, which he does get... but Slughorn doesn't drink with him.

Slughorn will later plan to give Dumbledore a bottle of mead for Chirstmas, and then just... not do that. This is a huge plot point too. Like with the bouncing glasses at the Dursleys, the narrative is drawing attention to the fact that no one is drinking with Dumbledore.

Dumbledore mentions that if anyone sees him leaving the castle, they'll think he's "off into Hogsmeade for a drink (...) I sometimes offer Rosmerta my custom, or else visit the Hog’s Head... or I appear to." So again with this "thwarted drink" thing. He's not actually drinking at the Hog's Head. (We learn later that the Hog's Head belongs to Aberforth so that's like... he's not even drinking with his brother. who owns a bar.)

There's a bit in Book 3 which *might* count, where Dumbledore asks Hagrid for "a cup of tea. Or a large brandy.” And Hagrid agrees, but we don't see him actually drink with Dumbledore (and we don't know for sure that he's going to go with the alcohol.)

Dumbledore drinks with exactly two people in the entire series:

1. Harry

“Madam Rosmerta’s finest oak-matured mead,” said Dumbledore, raising his glass to Harry, who caught hold of his own and sipped. He had never tasted anything like it before, but enjoyed it immensely.

2. Voldemort

“May I offer you a drink?” “That would be welcome,” said Voldemort. “I have come a long way.” Dumbledore stood and swept over to the cabinet where he now kept the Pensieve, but which then was full of bottles. Having handed Voldemort a goblet of wine and poured one for himself, he returned to the seat behind his desk. “So, Tom . . . to what do I owe the pleasure?” Voldemort did not answer at once, but merely sipped his wine. “They do not call me ‘Tom’ anymore,” he said. “These days, I am known as —” “I know what you are known as,” said Dumbledore, smiling pleasantly. “But to me, I’m afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges’ youthful beginnings.” He raised his glass as though toasting Voldemort, whose face remained expressionless.

Then, the only other time Dumbledore and Voldemort actually meet face to face, we see this dynamic continued:

“There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!” snarled Voldemort. “You are quite wrong,” said Dumbledore, still closing in upon Voldemort and speaking as lightly as though they were discussing the matter over drinks.

Like, I get it. Dumbledore is put on a pedestal by most people who know him (I'm also thinking of his comment about how people always give him books as gifts, when he really wants socks.) He's just a person, he's just a guy, but the vast majority of people in his life treat him as this all-knowing powerhouse and maybe... aren't that motivated to break that illusion by getting to know him on a personal level. No one is drinking with him (this symbol of connection and equality) even though he keeps offering.

So, it does make a lot of sense that Harry drinks with him in Book 6. Book 6 is where Dumbledore finally decides that he can tell Harry his secrets, and pass the torch onto him. In the French translation, this is where he and Harry start using informal pronouns with each other. He sees Harry as his equal.

But Voldemort.... like. The idea of him and Dumbledore drinking together is brought up twice. It's also interesting that at one point Dumbledore had a drinks cabinet in his office, but doesn't during the main series. Did Dumbledore have (or want) more of these 'equal footing' connections before the first Voldemort war? I wouldn't be surprised.

So we have Voldemort and Dumbledore: the two brilliant, powerful, goody-two-shoes students who won every award in the school, then opted for jobs they were aggressively overqualified for after they left, learned to read minds, spent Books 4, 5 and 6 battling it out through proxies. They're oddly similar people. And they treat each other as equals.

I'm not totally sure what I'm supposed to do with this info, to be honest. I guess, start shipping Dumblemort?

EDIT: Have been informed that this ship is called Riddledore, which does sound much less stupid.

[prettyyysick]

adamsapple is such an underrated ship because of it’s angst potential. like. Adam and Lilith were brand fucking new to being alive. Adam didn’t know wtf was going on. i don’t think he was always an egotistical little cunt, but he probably felt like he had the authority to boss Lilith and Eve around because the angels didn’t correct him. they just gave him women and were like, “this is your wife, go populate the world. it doesn’t matter if you guys like each other or not, lol.”

i think the angels wanted to be hands-off in their development to let things occur naturally, but they didn’t understand that creating a new intelligent species requires guidance and parenting. angels have been around since, seemingly, the dawn of time with divine knowledge. they were assuming it would all work out. it didn’t. Adam NEEDED guidance on how to treat people, just like Lilith needed freedom to explore her curiosities. both were lacking that.

so, Lilith runs off and Lucifer decides to interviene and comfort her. they fall in love. (in my personal headcanon, Lucifer had been fucking around in the garden and befriended both Adam and Lilith before she left, so they were FRIENDS). can you imagine the confusion and pain that Adam felt? his counterpart that was literally created to be with him, ran off and chose a LITERAL angel. one of the beings that CREATED HIM. but it gets worse, according to the bible, the angels take a rib from Adam and give him a new wife— Eve. they probably told him something like, “she’s made from you, so you guys will be more compatible.”

Lucifer and Lilith then felt bad for Eve and humanity as a whole, so in his pride, he decided it would be a great idea to give her the fruit of knowledge... and possibly fuck her, considering what he said in the battle scene (in my headcanon, they had a threesome). which then DAMNS ALL OF HUMANITY and casts them out of eden, into an empty earth full of hardships. so now, Adam’s first wife left him for Lucifer, his second wife betrayed him for Lucifer, and he’s stuck hunter-gathering in the wilderness for the rest of his life.

then GUESS WHAT? his own fucking son kills his brother! what the fuck! Adam was going through it while he was alive. he was probably miserable. and we see no sign of Eve in heaven. no wonder he turned into a fuckboy.

i like to imagine that human Adam looked up to Lucifer and thought of him as an ethereal being, a friend, a teacher and a creator. he could’ve had feelings for Lucifer just like Lilith did, but he wouldn’t have known that liking other men was an option at the time. Lucifer loved humanity and wanted what was best for both Adam and Lilith, but no one went about it the right way. and it ended horribly.

ugh. i need enemies to lovers where they reconcile and talk about their feelings. they are both traumatized.

[bartonomy]

A LITTLE MISHAP!

PAIRING Barty Crouch Junior x Gryffindor!fem!reader

SYNOPSIS absolutely bored of your arses, you and your friends accidentally summon something worse than a demon

CONTENT WARNINGS crack!, pandora being the token raven in the lion house, debuting my favourite nickname for dear bartemius

SYNOPSIS 2.3k words

library.

You should have known that any game Pandora Rosier suggested would end in absolute horror.

It started as a totally, regular, normal night. A storm raged outside, rattling the windows of the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory, but inside, everything was warm, golden, and just the right amount of chaotic.

James (not part of the plan but insisted to help a damsel in distress (lily)) had sneaked in butterbeer from the kitchens, Marlene was dramatically retelling her latest Quidditch victory (complete with accurate air reenactments) with her girlfriend in her arms, and Mary was sprawled across your bed, half-listening and half-reading the latest Witch Weekly. Dorcas, ever the voice of reason, had been the one to suggest a game, if only to distract Pandora from her latest experiment involving moonstone dust and a stolen Niffler trinket.

And then, of course, Pandora pulled it out.

The book was old- thick, heavy, and bound in a leather that looked suspiciously alive. You have seen it a few times since she acquired it from her equally as eccentric uncle. The pages crinkled like dried leaves as she flipped through them, muttering excitedly under her breath.

“It’s a divination tome,” she explained, eyes gleaming with eerie delight. “But not the fluffy, crystal-ball nonsense Augburn teaches. Real divination. Spells for contacting the other side.”

You exchanged a wary glance with Lily. She looked utterly unimpressed. Marlene, however, looked downright ecstatic. Mary scoffed, rolling onto her stomach. “You mean ghosts? We live in a castle full of them. I can go ask the Grey Lady for relationship advice if I want to be spooked.”

“This is different.” Pandora’s light voice aired out. “This is summoning.”

Which, in hindsight, should have been your first sign to shut the book and go back to braiding Mary’s hair.

Instead, curiosity (or perhaps stupidity) won out, and ten minutes later, the six of you were sitting in a circle on the floor, the candles dimmed, and Pandora reciting something in what sounded like very questionable Latin. You held hands, mostly for the aesthetic and vibes, but also because, if something did go terribly wrong, it was nice to have a buddy to cling to.

The air shifted. At first, it was subtle. The dormitory grew colder, the flames on the candles flickering as though disturbed by an invisible breeze. Then, the shadows stretched unnaturally along the walls, curling like ink in water. Your stomach twisted, a prickling sensation running down your spine.

“…'Dora,” Dorcas said slowly. “What exactly was this spell supposed to do?”

Before she could answer, the entire room lurched.

It felt like the world had hiccupped, reality itself skipping a beat similarly to apparating. The shadows pulsed, the air crackled- and then, with an ungodly pop, a figure appeared in the center of your summoning circle.

A very real, very alive figure.

A bloody boy.

A boy who, by the looks of things, had been mid-sentence before he was unceremoniously yanked through time and space.

His expression went from slightly annoyed to bewildered to absolutely furious in the span of three seconds. His sharp blue eyes darted around the room, taking in the six of you, the book, the circle of candles, before finally landing on you.

“Excuse me,” he said, voice dangerously low. “Where the bloody hell am I?”

There was a beat of stunned silence. Then, as if he was graced upon realization, the borderline maniacal bloke pointed an accusatory finger at Pandora.

“What did you do?!”

Pandora looked from the boy to you, her expression somewhere between awe and mild panic. “…I think I accidentally summoned him?”

The boy, who was wearing (hideous) Slytherin robes, by the way, and not just any Slytherin robes, but the kind only someone with an absurd amount of family wealth and blood purity obsession could get away with- made an outraged noise.

“Summoned?” he repeated incredulously. “Summoned? What the hell, Rosier! I was in the middle of a conversation- ” He stopped short, his eyes narrowing. “Where is Regulus?”

You blinked. “Regulus? As in Regulus Black?”

“No, Regulus Frownalot” He answered sarcastically, expression flickered, something calculating shifting behind his eyes. “Yes, Regulus Black. Wait. Who are you?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but before you could, Lily- bless her prefect instincts- stood up, dusting off her skirt. “Alright,” she said, ever the problem solver. “Let’s remain calm. Clearly, this was some sort of magical mishap, and we just need to figure out how to send you back.”

The boy turned to her, incredulous. “Send me back? Oh, brilliant idea. Let me just pop over to the nearest return portal- oh, wait! I can’t, because you lot just ripped me out of existence!”

“Technically,” Pandora said brightly, “I think we just shifted your existence a little!”

“You think?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Okay, everyone shut up for a second. Let’s take a step back. You- Slytherin boy- who are you, and why were you talking to Regulus?”

He gave you a scathing look. “I am Barty Crouch Junior. And I was talking to Regulus because that is what friends do. Why am I even telling you this? You should've introduced yourself before asking me! I asked first, red moron!”

You stared at him, ignoring his absolute pathetic juvenile behavior. “Barty Crouch Junior? As in Crouch Crouch?”

“Wow,” Marlene whispered. “We summoned a Crouch. That’s a new level of unfortunate.”

Barty looked moments away from hexing someone. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I inconveniencing you by being unwillingly transported into your- your filthy lion's den of all places?” His lips curled in distaste. “Merlin, it smells like Quidditch and coitus in here.”

“Alright, first of all, we are all perfect little saints practicing celibacy,” you shot back, but you could hear a mumbled 'like hell we are' from somewhere next to you. “Second, we didn’t mean to summon you.”

“Oh, that’s comforting. I feel very much safe now”

“Look, we’ll figure out how to send you back, alright?” You folded your arms. “Until then, you’re just going to have to sit tight and deal with it.”

Barty scoffed. “Fantastic. Trapped in a room with a bunch of Gryffindors. What a dream come true.”

“You know, for someone who just got accidentally kidnapped, you’re being remarkably annoying about it.”

Barty glared. You glared back back with your best scowl. But something in the air crackled. And for the first time, a flicker of something else crossed his face- mild curiosity, maybe, or amusement.

“Fine,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Let’s see if you Gryffindors can actually fix this mess.”

Barty had spent the last hour in a state of perpetual annoyance, arms crossed, watching as you and your friends frantically flipped through Pandora’s cursed book. He had interjected a few times, mostly to mock the inefficiency of Gryffindors under pressure, but for the most part, he just sat there, an unwilling hostage to whatever this absolute mess of an evening had become.

And then there was Pandora.

Barty had tolerated a lot of things tonight: being yanked out of existence, being surrounded by Gryffindors, even Marlene’s relentless teasing. But Pandora Rosier who had been nothing but comforting to him? She was testing him.

Because while the rest of you were frantically trying to find a spell to reverse whatever Pandora had done, the witch herself had been flipping through the book at a leisurely pace, humming to herself, occasionally muttering things like, Oh, that’s an interesting rune placement, I should write Xeno or Wow, that would have been so much worse, Evan would like it.

And now? Now she was giggling. Barty had had enough.

“Are you enjoying this?” he snapped, watching as she grinned at some obscure text.

Pandora looked up, unbothered. “Immensely.”

“Wonderful,” Barty deadpanned. “Glad to know my involuntary abduction is providing you with a bit of light entertainment, Panda.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Barts,” Pandora said, waving a hand. “It’s not like you’re suffering.”

“You summoned me, Pandora!”

“And you’re the one acting like I performed dark magic,” she shot back, turning a page. “Honestly, I’ve seen worse displacement spells. You could have been summoned into a lake. Or the astral plane.”

Barty narrowed his eyes. “I hate you.”

Pandora beamed. “Regulus would be so sad to hear that.”

“Regulus is going to murder you when I tell him about this.”

“You think that,” Pandora mused, “but I reckon he’d be far too amused to be properly angry. He’s got that weird little laugh when he’s trying to hide how funny he finds something. You know the one.”

Barty scowled because, unfortunately, he did know the one.

Marlene, ever entertained by the spectacle, leaned over to you and whispered, “I kind of love that she’s not scared of him.”

You grinned. “Oh, she thrives on chaos.”

Barty, meanwhile, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we focus? I’d rather not be here when the sun comes up, thank you very much.”

“We are focusing,” Lily snapped, looking dangerously close to hexing him herself. Tou grinned, taking great pleasure in the teens anger. "Yes, Barts, we are working so hard right now. Do be patience, will you."

“I highly doubt that,” Barty muttered. “At the rate you’re going, I’ll be a permanent resident.”

Dorcas groaned, flopping back onto her bed. “We’re trying, alright? But magic like this isn’t exactly easy to undo!”

Mary, who had woken up ten minutes ago, no one really noticed that she fell asleep like a baby in her girl's lap, groggily mumbled, “What if we just… did the spell backwards?”

Pandora looked delighted by the suggestion. “That’s actually not the worst idea-!”

“No,” Barty interrupted. “Absolutely not. I am not about to let any of you risk splitting me in half because you thought it would be fun to rewind me into existence.”

“You say that like it’s not a completely valid risk,” Pandora mused.

Barty clenched his jaw. “I swear to Merlin-”

And then, after another twenty minutes of arguing, another round of searching, and another layer of pure exhaustion settling over the group-

You suddenly stopped flipping through the book. Everything went quiet. You furrowed your brows, then looked up at Barty. “…Why are we even doing this?”

Barty exhaled sharply. “Finally. Thank you. That’s what I’ve been saying-”

“No, no,” you interrupted, shutting the book with a thump. “I mean… why are we looking for a spell when you could just… y'know, walk out the door?”

The room fell into dead silence. Even the storm outside seemed to pause.

Barty blinked. “…What?”

“You go to school here,” you said slowly, as if explaining something to a particularly dense child. “Your dormitory is literally downstairs. Instead of looking for some complicated reversal spell, you could just… leave.”

A full beat of silence.

Then, a particularly annoying groan of frustration could be heard. “You-” Barty gestured wildly, “-You fuckers had me sitting here for hours-”

“To be fair,” Pandora interjected with a raised hand, “you didn’t think of it either. Aren't you supposed to be smart, Mister 12 O.W.L.s? ”

Barty let out a strangled noise of pure exasperation. “Dont go smarty pants with me, Panda. Are you telling me that I could have left at any time? That you idiots had me sitting here, wasting my life, when all I had to do was walk out the door?”

“Well,” Pandora said cheerfully, “yes.”

Lily, meanwhile, had buried her face in her hands. “I cannot believe we’re this stupid.”

Mary nodded, looking absolutely done with all of this, just muttered, “I need a drink.”

Barty stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. “You know what? I’m done. I am leaving. I never want to see any of you again.”

Dorcas, still half-sprawled on her bed, yawned. “Go on, then.”

Barty stormed toward the door. You watched him go, something oddly anticlimactic about the way he just- left.

No grand magical solution. No complicated ritual.

Just… walking.

He reached the door, yanked it open but paused, tilting his head. He turned back, eyes landing on you for just a second longer than necessary.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Barty scoffed. “Nothing.” He looked at Pandora, scowling. “You’re the worst.”

Pandora smiled like he’d just paid her a compliment. “Tight sleep, Barts! Remember to use the acorn essence for the whackspurts.”

He rolled his eyes but nodded. And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the stairs.

The second he was gone, Marlene burst out laughing. “That was so much better than if we’d actually figured out the spell.”

Lily groaned. “I still can’t believe we didn’t think of that earlier.”

Mary, flopping back into the pillows, simply muttered, “I hate magic. Should've just ignored the damn letters.”

Pandora, ever the menace, just picked up her book again and sighed happily. “That was so fun. We should summon people more often.”

You looked at her, horrified. “'Dora, no.”

But as the others laughed, as the storm outside finally settled, you couldn’t help but glance at the door, thinking of the strange way Barty had looked at you before he left.

Temporary housemate to acquaintances indeed.

[hermesserpent-stuff]

cackling over Zebadiah's mental thought process lol

Zebidiah curls up his lip as he finds more trees scratched up. He knows that his youngest son had been taken in by evil forces as soon as he had seen those teeth. And then Luther had been murdered by the demonic soul taking over his youngest’s body. His eldest is dead. 

The grave had been too small and all too heavy on his heart. His other son Victor is beyond his grasp. Beyond the saving grace of prayer, despite what his wife thinks. He had not known how the demon got into his boy till he discovered that witch snooping around with eyes that reflected the burning fires of hell. 

Then he had known.

The witch wanted to make his boy into a familiar to continue his wicked witchy work. He must have entranced his youngest with promises and honeyed words like the devil so often does when calling people off the narrow path. The young are not as wary as they should be of promises from strangers.

That witch had absconded with the demon that lived in his sons body as soon as Zebidiah had locked the vile creature down in his cellar. But it seems that the witch had settled in the woods far enough to take a while to reach them but not too far for spreading mischief. There is a disease dancing through the homes in the village and he knows. He knows this is the evil workings of the witch that he has failed to tell the village about. 

It had been his son that gave in to evil and his own failure to kill the witch and familiar. His failure that has cursed his village. He needs to catch the witch alone and shoot him. Then shoot the body that once had been his child. Maybe that would put Victor’s soul at peace. But the witch must go first or it will work vile magic and reanimate his sons body into something worse.

He pauses his creeping and the sound of splashing and laughter. He peaks at the river and finds the witch with those red eyes of fire and blood and pitch black that shows the loss of a soul. The witch is in the river laughing, the sound deviously inviting and sweet.

“Minou! We make a regular fish outta you yet!”

A new satanic name for his child's body? His fingers stiffen around the long loaded gun. His child's body snorts in reply and flicks a wave of water.

“As long as you stay the only goose, I'll be alright with that.”

“Aw Vic, you say such sweet things.”

Minou, Vic, whatever that thing is that is in his little boys body grins, mouth of teeth sharp. There is a twinkle of mischief in those jaundice yellow eyes that makes Zebidiahs stomach twist. Then fast as a shot the familiar is grabbing hold of the witchs arm and dragging them into the water.

To kill it?

[xylusbible]

never leaving — caleb x reader

—

💫 content: post-fight/making up with caleb 🤍 reader is mc (ig). established relationship. xavi mentioned (as your best friend)

💫 word count: 2.4k

💫 content warning: MDNI ‼️🔞, smut, make up sex, sex on the floor (lol), intercourse, possessive caleb (👅)

💫 xybb notes: everytime i think the caleb rot has left me, i’m wrong… i originally wrote this for another fandom with another pairing, but never posted it because i thought it was ooc but it actually worked perfectly with caleb so here we are. its slightly unfinished but i think its good enough. i’m also so obsessed with his ‘Rain’s Embrace’ bond date, as well as his possessive ass in chapter 9 of the homecoming wings main story. so this is an amalgamation of those. i’m sorry it’s not like a full complete thing but i had to stop there because i thought it would drag on otherwise…. hope you enjoy x (hoping to god next thing i post will be xavi, sylus or raf cuz this has to end lmfao)

this fucking rain. when you left for work this morning you wish you had bothered to check the weather for the rest of the day. now after your hellpawn of a shift (even as it was only an in-office work day), you got off the train to a torrential downpour. lucky you.

your week couldn’t get any worse.

work has been so rough the past few days. you’re exhausted after every shift, and barely have the willpower to get up the next morning to do it all over again. on top of that, your landlord sent a message that rent would be raised after your next payment. it’s not that the job doesn’t pay well, but this means less money for leisurely things (arcade tokens, kitty cards gacha, etc.), and that really wasn’t helping your mood. lastly, you haven’t talked to caleb all week..

you got into a fight with him over the weekend. things had been a bit tense between you lately and a smartass remark of his was apparently your last straw. well it was anyway… but after the shitty week you’ve had, you’d kill to be wrapped up in your boyfriend’s arms right about now. but you’re stubborn and headstrong, and you’re tired of forgiving him so easily when he doesn’t deserve it. he should have to work for your forgiveness.

you’ve been ignoring his messages since the fight and you were wondering how long it would take before he decided to give up and try a different method. you’ve been rolling around the idea of talking to him again throughout the week, but on top of everything else going on, you’re anger and annoyance towards him stayed at the forefront of your brain.

you cursed softly as you thought over everything again on your soggy walk home.

the fight began after caleb read a text on your phone from xavier. it was a harmless message, asking if he could come over sometime in the next few days after work to finish a tv series the 2 of you have been binging. you were in the kitchen grabbing a water when your phone went off and you asked caleb to see who it was. he made some snarky remark about how xavier seems to be over at your place more than he himself is these days, and you were just so tired of having this conversation over and over again.

xavier is literally your neighbor, and coworker and close friend. that was it. you’ve known caleb basically your entire life and you’ve been together for years now, so you don’t understand why he still has the audacity to be so possessive when it comes to your other guy friends.

so you blew up at him. you couldn’t help it. it had been a long time coming, since you’d already had multiple conversations about this topic before.

you both end up arguing for what seems like hours. you bring up trust, and a ‘how long do we have to be together for you to understand that i don’t want anyone else but you ?!’. both your voices are raised and it ends with you saying you want a break and kicking him out.

you sigh in frustration after going over the argument in your head for what seems like the thousandth time since it’s happened. you kick a rock.

stupid caleb. as soon as you see your apartment building come into view, you decide you’re going to turn your phone off as soon as you get home, take a hot shower to get all this rain water off of you, and then sleep the whole weekend and hope that everything will be better when you finally get out of bed on monday.

except, those plans all get thrown into the trash, as the closer you get to your building, you see the unmistakable figure of your boyfriend standing outside the lobby, equally as soaked as you.

you stop walking and stand still as he looks up to make eye contact with you. he stands up straight and jogs towards you, a look of concern evident on his face as he places both hands over your head as if that will actually be enough stop the rain from hitting you.

“where the hell is your umbrella?” he asks, or more like scolds. you roll your eyes.

“where’s yours?” you say back, fully noticing his drowned rat appearance.

“i didn’t check the weather before i went out,” he said with a frown.

“neither did i,” you sigh. you avoid eye contact and cross your arms.

“what are you doing here, caleb?”

“i came to talk to you. you haven’t answered any of my messages all week.”

“well i don’t want to talk to you unless you’re here to apologize.”

he sighs and moves to take your hand in his to pull you underneath the tiny awning of your apartment building. as soon as you’re under, you shake your hand out of his. he looks at you with a hurt expression.

“that’s why i’m here,” he says. “well?” you ask, eyebrows raised as you wait for him to continue.

“i’m sorry okay? i’m sorry for being a dick about xavier. it’s just— we don’t get to spend that much time together these days. we’re both busy with work all the time and xavier gets to see you practically everyday, while i only see you on weekends and random weekdays, and it ticks me off a bit that he gets to live right above you while i’m train rides away.”

“that doesn’t mean that you get to take it out on me. you know i don’t like xavier like that. you act like i’d rather spend more time with him than you. i spend time with him because we’re always around each other so it’s easy, but that just means i cherish whatever amounts of time you and i have together because i don’t get to see you as often.” a frown takes hold of your expression.

“with what little time we do get to spend together, the last thing i want to hear while we are, is you complaining about my friends,” you huff.

caleb gives you the saddest puppy dog expression you’ve ever seen and you have to look away to avoid forgiving him instantly.

“i understand that now. i didn’t meant to make you feel like i think you like him more than me. i’m just frustrated with the lack of time we get to spend together. i just can’t get this stupid idea out of my head that you’ll realize one day that i’m not worth the time and effort, when you already have someone else so close to you that you’d be able to see more often,” he admits. you notice his fist clenched at his side as he speaks.

“idiot. ever since we graduated from high school, we’ve been apart. there’s been times the past few years where i’d only see you every few months, and we made it work then, so i don’t know why you’re acting like it’s hard now,” you say.

“i love you, caleb. whatever time we can spend together, i’m happy to have. i just wish you’d pay attention to that instead of worrying about others.”

his expression softens at that.

“i’m sorry, pipsqueak, really. every moment we spend together is like a gift. i shouldn’t be taking it for granted. i love you with every cell in my body, i just can’t stand the idea of someone getting the chance to spend more time with you than me.”

you blush and scoff quietly at the cheesy way he talks.

“then make the time we spend together worthwhile and stop thinking about xavier.”

he moves one hand up to place under your chin, tilting your head upwards so you’re forced to make eye contact with him.

his expression is dead serious as he speaks.

“from now on, when i’m with you, i’ll make sure you know that you’re the only thing i ever have on my mind.” he uses his thumb to wipe a raindrop off your bottom lip.

you realize then how much you’ve truly missed his touch.

“do you forgive me?” he asks, letting go of your chin and placing his hands on your waist loosely, as if he’s prepared for you to push him away again.

“you’re going to have to prove it to me,” you say, stepping a bit closer.

“show me that you trust me, that you trust my love for you. prove to me that you love me enough for the distance not to matter,” you tell him.

once he seems to realize that you’re not going to pull away, he pulls you closer. you place your hand on the front of his shoulders as you hold eye contact.

“i will baby, let me start right now,” he says, squeezing your waist a bit.

you nod and he closes the distance between you. you slip your hands around his neck as he kisses you deeply. the only sound being the backdrop of the rain around you. you stay like that for who knows how long before he pulls away slowly, placing his forehead against yours.

“anything you want, i’ll give it to you,” he whispers.

“i just want you, caleb,” you answer easily.

“then i’m all yours. i’ve only ever been yours,” he says.

he kisses you one more time, before moving back and taking your hand once again to pull you into the lobby of your building. you both rush quickly to the elevator; and do your absolute best to keep your hands to yourselves as you make your way up to your floor. you hand him your keys as he once again leads the way.

as soon as caleb unlocks door and you’re inside, he’s slamming you up against it, shutting it quickly and attaching your lips harshly this time.

you gasp and use your hands to tangle into his rain-wet hair.

he holds a tight grip on your hips as he shoves his tongue into your mouth which you greedily swallow around, desperate to take as much as you can get from whatever he’s willing to give you.

within minutes of heated kissing (more like swallowing) caleb moves to undo the buttons of your ruined blouse and you follow suit by moving to rip open his belt from his pants loops as quickly as you can manage.

you finish before he does and move to shove his soaking wet pants and underwear down before finally breaking the kiss to drop down to your knees in front of him. you use one hand to take hold of his half hard member and the other to cling onto his thigh desperately as you look up at him with pleading eyes as if asking for permission.

to your surprise though, he shakes his head and dropped to his knees as well, taking your face into his hands and kissing you again.

“i can’t- take the foreplay, baby, just let me have you,” he says into the kiss before pulling back the slightest amount to be able to look you in the eyes.

you nod easily, hurriedly, and he wastes no time in pulling you into his lap and moving you to lay on the floor, you back against the doormat.

it took him only seconds to flip your wet and heavy skirt up to reveal your equally soaked panties. he moves down quickly to bite at the waistband of the undergarment and use his hands to rip them right across the middle, freeing your midsection, not having the patience to take the time to take them off properly.

you gasp at the display of strength and with the dismay of a ruined pair of her underwear, but before you could say anything, caleb moves back up to kiss you once again—easily batting away whatever thoughts you had about your underwear. you wrap your arms around his neck as he pushes your legs apart enough to fit between them, using one hand to lift one up and forward, leaving you slightly open.

you exchange no words as caleb breaks the kiss momentarily for you to both look down between you as he uses his free hand to take his now fully hard length and place it at your entrance. he bumps the tip of his dick against your cunt a few times to get it more wet before slowly pushing it inside.

you moan unabashedly at the feeling of the head of his cock nestled inside of you, feeling like it’s been literally forever since he was there last.

“come on,” you breathe out heavily, not wanting him to wait any longer.

he moves his head up to look at you in the eye again and uses a hand to cup the side of your cheek gently, before moving his hips forward in one quick thrust, bottoming out instantly. you let out a shaky yell and roll your eyes back a bit at the action.

caleb leans in again to take your bottom lip between his own and suck it into his mouth before pulling his hips back slowly, just to slam them in again. you moaned around his mouth and move one hand up to his hair again to grip it tightly as he starts a quick and rough pace, fucking you into the floor beneath you.

caleb lets out soft grunts of his own into your mouth before you can’t focus on kissing any longer and he moves to mouth at your neck instead.

“i’ll never let you leave me, pips,” he whispers into your neck as you tug on his hair.

“you know this is where you’re meant to be,” he says, moving his head up to meet your half focused eyes with his own.

“yours,” is all you can manage to get out between moans.

“that’s right baby. you’re mine. only. always will be,” he says.

you nod frantically, as you shut your eyes tightly.

“never wanna- be anyone else’s..” you say between moans.

“good, cuz you can’t. i won’t let you..” he moves to whisper directly into your ear before moving down to your neck once again, but this time, to bite.

[iyoonjh]

Beyond Plus Ultra! – The anatomy of falling in love

Chapter 8: Is This a Shōjo Moment or Am I Just Delusional?

wc: 4930 words

Y/N had spent the entire weekend avoiding eye contact with her friends.

It wasn’t easy, considering they had spent approximately 48 hours analyzing her life choices like a panel of international scholars.

Jungwon’s betrayal had been swift and merciless—dropping the whole “Y/N has a crush on Soobin” bomb in the group chat like he was announcing breaking news. After that, it was over for her.

She had been interrogated. Mocked. Harassed. 

No, it wasn’t the fact that she had a crush on someone outside their usual social circle—her friends couldn’t care less about that. What truly entertained them was how utterly hopeless she was about the whole thing. The disastrous flirting, the way her face cycled through five different shades of pink at the mere mention of Soobin, and, of course, the fact that she literally stole a book because she was too busy staring at him. Y/N couldn’t even be mad at them for teasing her—she rarely got crushes, let alone one this intense, so naturally, her friends had made it their mission to mercilessly roast her for it. 

The relentless teasing was unbearable. They were calling her the smitten swindler. The daydreaming delinquent. Sunoo even changed her contact name to "flirty thief”.

It had gotten so bad that Y/N actually considered changing her name, transferring universities, and moving to a remote mountain village where no one would ever ask about her feelings for Soobin.

Worst of all?

She couldn’t even deny it.

Because yes, she had been spending a suspicious amount of time at the manga shop lately. And yes, maybe she had started looking forward to seeing Soobin, in the way someone might look forward to a season finale of their favorite show. And maybe she liked the way he got all flustered when she talked to him, how he had that adorably awkward charm that made him so easy to tease. Maybe she wanted to keep talking to him, to see how much pinker his ears could get, to hear him stammer over his words just because she looked at him for too long.

Maybe.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was that she was going back to the shop today. She hoped the stolen manga volume episode was settled and long forgotten. She was glad she fixed it immediately  and wouldn't be at risk of being known as The Girl Who Scammed Soobin Out of Five Bucks.

Y/N was just about to turn the corner when she almost collided with two suspiciously frantic figures.

Beomgyu and Heeseung.

They skidded to a halt in front of her, wide-eyed, looking like they had just robbed a bank and were making a dramatic getaway. Beomgyu’s hair was slightly disheveled, his shirt wrinkled like he had been manhandled by fate itself, while Heeseung clutched a half-eaten bag of chips like it was evidence.

All three of them stood there for a long, tense moment.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “What… are you two doing?”

Beomgyu recovered first, throwing an arm in front of Heeseung like they were shielding themselves from interrogation.

“Nothing,” he said too quickly. Way too quickly.

Heeseung, not as quick on his feet, pointed a single, accusatory finger back toward the manga shop. “We weren’t messing with Soobin.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I never said you were.”

Beomgyu elbowed Heeseung so hard that his friend stumbled.

“What he meant to say,” Beomgyu said, plastering on his best innocent smile, “is that we were just leaving. Completely normal exit. Totally not escaping after tormenting Soobin for the past fifteen minutes. 100% not before our shift ended.”

Heeseung coughed. “Allegedly.”

Y/N crossed her arms, unimpressed. “You guys realize you’re making this sound way worse than it probably is, right?”

Beomgyu gasped, hand to chest. “Are you saying I look guilty?”

“Yes.”

Heeseung nodded. “Yeah, man. You look guilty as hell.”

Beomgyu shot him a betrayed look. “Bro.” He quickly brushed it and continued to Y/N “How about you? You returned!”

Heeseung crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “At this point, we should be charging you rent.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Hilarious.”

Beomgyu smirked. “It’s what I do.” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait… why are you here again? Don’t tell me…” His expression turned mockingly serious. “Have you become one of us?”

Heeseung gasped, playing along. “Oh god, she’s joined the dark side.”

Y/N snorted, tilting her head. “I don’t know. Do I get health insurance?”

Beomgyu scoffed. “Of course not, we're not a corporate empire.”

“Then I’m afraid I can’t commit,” she sighed, placing a hand over her chest in exaggerated disappointment. “My loyalty can only be bought with dental coverage.”

“I respect that,” Heeseung said solemnly.

Beomgyu nodded. “Fair. The best we can offer is unlimited terrible opinions on anime and occasional emotional damage.”

“Tempting.” Y/N replied.

Beomgyu grinned, nudging Heeseung. “Damn. She’s really holding out.”

“Unbelievable.” Heeseung sighed.

Y/N rolled her eyes, pushing past them. “Anyway, I'm heading inside, bye.”

“Tell our dear Boobie we said hi,” Beomgyu called out.

“Or don’t. Either way, he’ll be thinking about it for the next five hours,” Heeseung added.

Y/N laughed and stepped deeper into the shop. 

The familiar chime of the door made Soobin freeze.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

It was her.

Soobin had barely survived the last time Y/N had been in the shop. He was still recovering from the emotional whiplash of hearing her laugh at his dumb jokes and have a great time with him and his friends. He had spent 48 hours straight reliving their last conversation, analyzing every word, every glance, every microexpression like it was a final exam.

And now?

Now she was back.

Soobin panicked. His hands twitched uselessly at his sides. Should he greet her? Should he pretend to be busy? Should he disappear behind the counter and pray for divine intervention? WHY WAS SHE LOOKING AT HIM?

“Hey,” she said, all casual and cool, like she wasn’t the architect of his current mental breakdown.

Soobin, a certified disaster of a human being, cleared his throat and said, "Hey."

Nailed it.

Y/N wandered toward the shelves, pretending to browse, but Soobin could feel her presence like a rogue asteroid hurtling toward his entire existence.

"I just ran into Heeseung and Beomgyu," Y/N said, crossing her arms with an amused smirk. "They looked like they were fleeing the scene of a crime. I’m guessing they ran off to avoid closing the shop?"

Soobin let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah… they do that sometimes. Their favorite trick is disappearing the second it’s time to do actual work."

Y/N laughed. "Classic. And let me guess—you just let it happen?"

Soobin shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean… I don’t really mind closing up." He offered her a small, shy smile. "I like the quiet."

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. "That’s kind of nice, actually."

Soobin blinked. "What is?"

She gestured around the shop. "That you don’t see it as just a chore. You actually enjoy the time alone here."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. It’s… peaceful. It’s like my own little world when I’m here by myself."

Y/N hummed, eyes flickering toward the shelves, the dim glow of the overhead lights making the space feel cozier than usual. "I get that," she said softly, before turning back to him with a teasing smile. "Still, you should make them suffer a little. Next time, fake a power outage or something."

Soobin laughed, the sound light and so unfairly cute that Y/N almost forgot what air was.

"I’ll keep that in mind," he said, his gaze lingering on her just a second longer than usual.

She kept looking at him, her expression thoughtful. "You’re closing soon then, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Soobin said. He glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until closing. Ten minutes until he could collapse in private and overthink this entire interaction for the rest of his life.

Then she said the most unexpected words Soobin had ever heard:

"Do you have plans after this?"

The words barely registered. Was he hallucinating? Had he fallen into an alternate dimension? Had he died and ascended to a better reality where Y/N casually asked him questions that required coherent responses?

He blinked. “Uh. No?”

Y/N smiled like that was exactly the answer she had been hoping for.

Oh God.

"It’s insanely hot outside," she said. "I was thinking of getting ice cream. Want to come?"

He could feel his soul exiting his body.

She was asking him to get ice cream? Him? Choi Soobin? A certified weeb who still hadn’t figured out what to do with his hands in social situations?

His brain short-circuited. He hadn’t been prepared for this. What was he supposed to say? Play it cool? Was there even a way to respond coolly when your crush, who was miles out of your league, just casually asked you out—because that’s what this was, right? An outing. A one-on-one, post-manga-shop, middle-of-summer outing.

Soobin had officially stopped responding.

Meanwhile, Y/N was going through her own mental catastrophe.

Why did she ask? Why did she say that? What if he said no?

The weight of her impulsiveness crashed down on her like a tidal wave. This wasn’t part of the plan. The plan was to build a friendship, to gradually get closer to him, to not accidentally reveal how much she had been thinking about him for the past few days. But no—her mouth had worked faster than her brain, and now she was standing there, waiting for an answer, exposed.

If he said no, she would die. Right here. Right now. Instant cardiac arrest.

She tilted her head, feigning casual confidence, but on the inside, she was screaming.

Soobin, on the other hand, was experiencing a full-fledged existential crisis.

She had no idea. No idea that he had spent the past two days thinking about every second they had talked, replaying her laugh in his head like some kind of deranged romantic protagonist. No idea that he had debated texting Yeonjun to ask if it was normal to feel this level of panic over a girl saying your name. No idea that she was the reason he had stared at his ceiling last night, questioning everything he knew about his own emotions.

And now she was looking at him, expectant.

Waiting.

Soobin swallowed.

“Uh—”

Say yes. Say yes, you idiot.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m free.”

Oh, thank god. Y/N barely stopped herself from sagging in relief.

“Cool,” she said, trying to sound normal, casual, like her heart hadn’t just tried to escape her ribcage. “It’s way too hot outside, so, you know… ice cream seemed like a good idea.”

“Yeah,” Soobin agreed, still in shock. “Good idea.”

Neither of them moved.

The silence stretched, awkward and ridiculous, as if neither of them actually knew what the next step was. Y/N was still gripping the strap of her bag like it was a lifeline. Soobin’s hands hovered near the counter, still unsure where they were supposed to go.

"Cool. Let’s go." Y/N finally broke the awkwardness. 

Soobin sprang into action like he had just been given a mission of national importance.

He turned so fast he nearly took out an entire display stand, then scrambled to grab the shop keys. Fumbled them. Dropped them. Picked them up like it was all part of the plan. Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing as he hurried to lock up, jamming the key into the lock with the grace of someone defusing a bomb. She had never seen someone so genuinely flustered by the concept of ice cream.

He took a step back, stared at the door for a moment. Then checked the handle. Checked it again. Paused.

Y/N tilted her head. "Worried it’s gonna unlock itself and run away?"

Soobin cleared his throat, stuffing the keys into his pocket like he totally wasn’t just overthinking how doors worked. "Nope. Just being thorough."

"Right," Y/N smirked, crossing her arms. "Because closing up the shop is such an intense, high-stakes operation."

"You never know," he shrugged, playing it cool. "One wrong move and suddenly, the shop is haunted."

Y/N snorted. "Tragic. A ghost manga shop. Forever doomed to misplace volume twos."

"Exactly," Soobin nodded sagely, as if that was exactly what he had been worried about all along.

Finally, they started walking, the warm summer air settling around them like a lazy embrace. The city buzzed softly in the distance, but here, in this quiet stretch of sidewalk, it felt like they had slipped into their own little world.

A comfortable silence stretched between them, neither in a rush to fill it. Soobin walked on auto-pilot, his brain desperately trying to process the fact that this was actually happening.

That she was actually here.

Next to him.

Wearing that dress.

Soobin swallowed hard, forcing himself to look straight ahead instead of glancing at her every two seconds like some kind of love-struck idiot. But god—how was he supposed to function when she looked like that? The streetlights cast a soft glow over her, catching the curve of her smile, the way her hands absentmindedly played with the tie of her bag. She had pulled her hair up into a loose ponytail, a few strands falling around her face like some kind of dream, and Soobin was losing his mind.

Like—was she aware of what she was doing to him?

Was she trying to make him suffer?

Because it was working.

His hands were shoved in his pockets, shoulders stiff with effort as he tried to act like a normal human being. Like his heartbeat wasn’t currently attempting to break the sound barrier. Like this was just a regular walk with a regular friend to get regular ice cream.

Not some insanely perfect, slightly surreal moment where the girl he’d been secretly obsessed with for ages had just casually asked him to hang out like it was no big deal.

Was it a big deal?

For her? Probably not.

For him?

Catastrophic.

Soobin risked a quick glance at her—just a peek, just to see if she looked as relaxed as she seemed—and oh, bad idea.

She was smiling softly, eyes flicking up toward the sky like she was just content to be here. Completely unaware of the fact that Soobin was fighting for his life.

As for Y/N, for the first time all day, it felt like she could breathe.

She shouldn’t feel nervous. This was fine. It was just ice cream.

And yet—her heart had other plans.

Because Soobin was right there, walking beside her, hands stuffed into his pockets like he was trying to look cool and casual –and failing, but in an endearingly awkward way. The soft glow of the streetlights highlighted the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his dark hair fell a little too perfectly over his eyes, and it was honestly a little unfair.

Since when was he this cute?

Since when did his voice make her stomach flip whenever he spoke? And why did she suddenly care so much about how she looked right now?

She had thrown on this summer dress without thinking, tied her hair up in a quick ponytail, and hadn’t even looked in the mirror before leaving—but now she was hyper-aware of every detail. Was the dress too much? Did she look too eager? Too much like she had been thinking about this all day?

Which, to be clear, she absolutely had been.

But it wasn’t like she could admit that.

No. She had to play it cool. She had to pretend that this wasn’t a big deal, that she wasn’t freaking out over every single thing he did—the way he kept sneaking glances at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice, the way he had triple-checked the shop’s lock like he needed to stall for time, the way his lips kept parting like he wanted to say something but kept overthinking it.

He was nervous.

And somehow, that made her feel better.

Because if Soobin was nervous, that meant she wasn’t the only one feeling this way.

Y/N exhaled slowly, eyes flicking up toward the sky, pretending to be lost in thought while, in reality, she was panicking.

Did this mean something to him? Or was she just reading way too much into this?

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, watching as he pretended to be completely fine when he was very much not.

And god—he was adorable.

"Relax, Soobin," she teased. "It’s just ice cream."

Just ice cream.

Yeah. Sure.

Just ice cream with the girl who was rapidly becoming his entire world.

Soobin forced himself to nod, ignoring the way his palms were sweating. "Right. Just ice cream. Totally chill. Super normal."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You keep saying that, but you look like you’re preparing for a boss fight."

Soobin laughed nervously. "No boss fight. Just… casual dessert consumption."

"Okay, now you’re making it weird."

"I know," he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know how to be normal right now."

Y/N laughed, nudging his arm lightly. "Don’t worry. I think it’s cute."

Oh. Oh.

Soobin froze mid-step, his entire body locking up like a glitching video game character. Heat flooded his face instantly, spreading from the tips of his ears down to his neck, the kind of overwhelming warmth that no amount of cool summer air could fix.

His heart slammed against his ribs, beating so fast it felt physically impossible to appear normal. He could feel it in his throat, in his fingertips, in the way his breathing completely betrayed him—shallow, uneven, a total giveaway.

His brain? Useless. Completely wiped.

Every coherent thought? Gone. Vanished. Evaporated into the night air.

Because she called him cute.

And now, Soobin was approximately five seconds away from having a full meltdown before he could even enter the ice cream shop. 

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

The ice cream shop was small but full of charm, the kind of place that felt like it had been plucked straight from another decade and preserved in a bubble of nostalgia. The floors were checkered in black and white, slightly worn from years of foot traffic, while the pastel-colored walls were decorated with vintage posters of old-school sundaes and milkshakes, their edges curling slightly from age. A massive neon sign in bubblegum pink script hung above the counter, glowing softly against the pale yellow paint:

"LIFE IS SHORT, EAT DESSERT FIRST."

The air smelled like sugar and vanilla, mixed with the cool, almost frosty scent of fresh-made waffle cones. The hum of the old freezer in the back blended with the occasional cheerful chatter of customers, their voices muffled under the soft tunes of a jukebox in the corner, currently playing a faint, crackly rendition of some forgotten ‘60s love song.

A row of bright red barstools lined the counter, their vinyl cushions shiny and slightly creased from years of customers swiveling around excitedly while waiting for their orders. Behind the counter, an old-fashioned glass display case showcased rows of toppings—sprinkles, chocolate chips, crushed Oreos, chopped nuts—all arranged in little stainless steel trays. The ice cream tubs were lined up behind it, colorful and inviting, from classic vanilla to an electric blue cotton candy that practically glowed under the lights.

Soobin tried not to read too much into that.

"This place is cute," Y/N mused, stepping up to the counter, her eyes flickering across the pastel menu overhead. She traced a finger along the glass display, inspecting the toppings. "I feel like I just walked onto the set of a ‘60s diner movie."

"Yeah," Soobin nodded, a little too stiffly. Still recovering from being called cute. "I come here a lot. They know me."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Got a secret ice cream addiction?"

Soobin blinked. Oh no. Did he just make it sound like he came here alone all the time? That was embarrassing. That was so embarrassing. He scrambled for a recovery.

"Uh—no, I mean, like, with my friends. Sometimes. Not… like, alone. Not that it’s weird to eat ice cream alone! People do that! I just—"

Y/N snorted, cutting him off. "Soobin, relax. I wasn’t about to judge your solo ice cream adventures."

He groaned, covering his face. "I—can we just pretend I never said anything?"

"Nope," she said cheerfully, turning to the menu. "This is getting filed under ‘Things To Tease Soobin About Forever.’"

Soobin sighed in defeat as the employee behind the counter—an older lady with bright purple glasses—gave him a knowing smirk. "Your usual, sweetie?"

Y/N turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Oh, so you do come here often."

Soobin felt exposed.

"Just, uh… sometimes."

Y/N grinned, clearly enjoying this too much. "What’s your usual?"

Soobin hesitated. "…Cotton candy."

Silence.

Y/N slowly turned her head to look at him, like she wasn’t sure she heard correctly.

"Cotton candy?"

Soobin shifted uncomfortably. "Yes."

Y/N pressed her lips together. "Like… bright blue cotton candy?"

He nodded stiffly.

A long pause. Then—

She burst out laughing.

"Hey!" Soobin protested, ears turning pink. "What’s wrong with cotton candy?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" Y/N waved a hand, still giggling. "It’s just… I thought you’d be more of a ‘chocolate fudge’ or ‘cookies and cream’ kind of guy, but no—here you are, ordering the most childlike flavor possible."

Soobin crossed his arms. "And what’s wrong with that?"

"Nothing," she said again, biting her lip to hold back a fresh wave of laughter. "It’s just unexpectedly… adorable."

Soobin groaned. "I literally can’t win with you."

"Never," she agreed.

The employee chuckled. "And what’ll you have, sweetheart?"

Y/N took a moment, scanning the options. "Hmm… I’ll take a double scoop. Coffee and caramel."

Soobin eyed her. "You make fun of my cotton candy, but you’re out here getting the most ‘retired old man’ flavor combo?"

"Listen," she said, as if she were about to impart wisdom, "coffee ice cream is elite. You’ll understand when you grow up."

Soobin scoffed. 

They took their ice creams to a booth by the window, the shop buzzing with low conversation and the occasional clatter of spoons against glass. Outside, the summer night stretched lazily, warm air still lingering despite the late hour.

"So, let’s talk serious business," Y/N said, leaning forward. "If you had to pick one anime character to fight, who would it be?"

Soobin frowned, licking his ice cream. "Why would I want to fight anyone?"

"Because," she said, as if this was common knowledge, "sometimes a character just deserves to get drop-kicked."

Soobin considered this. "Okay… maybe Mineta from MHA?"

"Strong choice," Y/N nodded approvingly. "Now, are we talking one punch, or are you committing to a full-blown brawl?"

"Depends. Do I get powers?"

"Nope. Just raw Soobin strength."

He scoffed. "Okay, so I die."

Y/N grinned. "Probably. But hey, it’s the thought that counts."

Soobin shook his head, smiling. "What about you?"

He asked the question casually, like this was just a normal conversation between two normal people getting ice cream. Like he wasn’t currently having a minor crisis over how pretty she looked.

Because God, she was so pretty.

The soft glow of the neon lights reflected in her eyes, making them shine a little brighter, and her lips curled into the kind of easy, confident smirk that made his stomach feel light. Her hair, still pulled up in that loose ponytail, framed her face perfectly—like she had stepped right out of a coming-of-age movie where the effortlessly cool girl always steals the scene.

And that’s what got him the most.

More than just how pretty she was, it was how cool she was. Not in a forced, try-hard kind of way, but in that effortless, annoyingly natural way that made everything she did seem interesting. She wasn’t just some untouchable campus princess, like he once thought. No—she was funny, quick-witted, and so ridiculously at ease in a way that he would never be.

She could poke fun at him without making him feel stupid. She could carry a conversation without making it awkward. And somehow, she had completely flipped the dynamic—because Soobin had always assumed he’d be the one intimidated by her, but now?

Now he was realizing that she wasn’t trying to be intimidating at all. She was just… her. And maybe that was the coolest part of all.

Soobin swallowed, suddenly very aware that he had been staring.

"Oh, easy," she said, not even hesitating. "Makoto Itou from School Days."

Soobin nearly choked on his ice cream. "Y/N—that’s not a fight. That’s a crime scene."

"Exactly."

He stared at her. "…Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"Too late," she teased, stealing a small bite of his cotton candy ice cream.

Soobin froze.

Because suddenly, his brain wasn’t thinking about anime fights anymore. Suddenly, it was too busy processing the fact that Y/N had just eaten off his spoon like it was no big deal while he was sitting here actively dying.

He needed to distract himself, fast.

Soobin reached for his drink—his beloved Coke Zero.

And in a tragic twist of fate, his brain-to-hand coordination failed spectacularly.

The cup slipped. His fingers fumbled.

And in the span of one horrifying second—

Coke Zero. All over Y/N’s bag.

Soobin’s soul left his body.

"Oh my god—Y/N, I—"

Y/N looked down at the mess, blinking. Then, to his absolute shock, she just shrugged, not fazed at all.

"It’s fine."

"Fine?!" Soobin gawked. "I just—your bag—I—"

"It’s just a bag, Soobin," she laughed, dabbing at it with a napkin. "Relax."

Relax. Relax?!

Did she not realize that he was on the verge of collapsing from sheer mortification?

"I—let me take it home and wash it," he blurted, already reaching for the bag. What the fuck am I saying? Wash it? 

Y/N pulled it back. "It’s really not a big deal."

"It is a big deal," he insisted. "I ruined it. Please. Let me fix it."

Y/N studied him for a moment, lips twitching.

Then, in a move that should have been Soobin’s first clue that she was up to something, Y/N let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

"Alright," she relented, dramatically sliding the bag toward him like she was making a high-stakes business deal. "But only if you promise to take very good care of it."

Soobin nodded furiously, sitting up a little straighter, dead serious. "Of course. I’ll have it back to you in perfect condition."

And he meant it. He was going to treat this bag like a priceless artifact. He’d hand-wash it, air-dry it, maybe even apologize to it for what he had done. There was no room for error.

Y/N tilted her head, clearly amused by how intense he was about this. A slow, knowing smirk crept onto her face.

"Great," she said, way too casually. "In that case…"

She extended her hand to him as if expecting him to give her something. 

Before Soobin could even process, she asked him “You’ll need my number."

Soobin’s brain flatlined.

He stared at the phone in his hand like she had just asked him for the nuclear launch codes. Like this was a trick, a test, a hidden camera prank where, any second now, someone would jump out and yell, "GOTCHA! YOU REALLY THOUGHT?"

His ears burned. His palms definitely weren’t dry anymore.

Meanwhile, Y/N just waited, looking perfectly at ease, like this was no big deal—like she hadn’t just turned his entire world on its axis with one simple sentence.

Soobin swallowed, struggling to function. 

Because, okay—sure, maybe she was just being practical. Maybe she was thinking, I need this idiot to return my bag, so obviously, I should give him my number.

But also…

Was this an excuse?

Was she doing this on purpose?

Because if she was, she was evil.

Soobin gave her the phone with shaky fingers, hesitating only for a fraction of a second before she started typing in her number. Y/N could feel his eyes on her, like he was watching closely, studying her as if trying to uncover her true motive. 

Y/N grinned as she saved the contact, tapping at his screen before showing it to him.

“Y/N 🫡”

He blinked. "…What’s with the salute?"

She shrugged, giving him his phone back. "Just making sure you know your bag-washing duties are of the highest importance."

He put his phone back in his pocket quickly, carefully, like he might accidentally ruin this moment if he held onto it too long.

Soobin huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Right. Of course. National emergency level."

"Exactly." She leaned back, twirling her spoon between her fingers. "Oh, and don’t think this means you get to ignore me after you return the bag."

Soobin’s heart did something weird.

He blinked at her, trying to decode the sentence in real-time. "Wait. What?"

Y/N smirked, teasing, playful. "You have my number now. Use it."

Soobin’s brain short-circuited for the second time that night.

And Y/N?

She just sat there, eating her ice cream like she hadn’t just sent him into emotional cardiac arrest.

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profiles: d&d saturday mass group | bling bling losers

author's note: this is the cutest chapter so far ig, i'm down bad for shy nervous soobin!! cotton candy THE BLUE ONE is my fav ice cream flavor btw hehe he has her number now, imagine him trying to text her i'm dying already! please let me know what you guys think in the comments hehe tysm for your support!! <3

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