#chai tries to study

[jinwoosungs]

02/06/25; 05:22pm

sung jinwoo x fem.reader

thinking about meeting sung jinwoo for the first time during college.

despite your university being a larger school, you always took notice of a tall young man with startling, grey eyes named sung jinwoo. he seemed kind enough while sporting a smile that seemed to be as mysterious as the moonlight (not quite reaching his eyes, but always captivating nonetheless.) he was quite popular among your female peers, often being the object of their affections as they tried to gain his attention (almost desperately.)

of course, you were all too aware of how achingly charming jinwoo was: devastatingly handsome while being the star track runner for your university’s team, even if you had the courage to speak to him, there was no way in hell that he’d even remember such a closed off girl like you.

so, you did your best to avoid jinwoo’s line of sight, and it worked for the time being-

that is, until you ended up being in the same philosophy course with him. you had found that out when you had taken your seat in the back row, only to feel your heart physically drop when jinwoo entered the same classroom with a few of his friends.

you duck behind your philosophy textbook, mentally cursing yourself. you really didn’t want to be close to jinwoo, since you had no desire to even get a glimpse of his personality (fearing that you’ll end up yearning for him like the others did.) as you debated with yourself whether to switch out or not, in the end, you chose to stick around, realizing that you didn’t look pretty enough to capture his attention to begin with.

so, the semester was calm for the most part. your philosophy class only met every monday, wednesday, and friday, so it wasn’t like jinwoo would take notice of you during those class times. in fact, he seemed to enjoy talking with his friends, jinho and mincheol, the majority of the time. in a way, you were happy to be able to keep your peace.

that is until one day, you realize that jinwoo had forgotten one of his belongings in class. the sleek black phone was settled on his desk-

and you were the only one that was left behind.

you pace around the classroom, wondering how jinwoo could leave behind something so important like his phone! your eyes kept glancing at his phone, feeling like it was mocking you, since you weren’t cruel enough to leave it behind.

letting out a shuddering breath, you take jinwoo's phone and began your search for the star student, heading outside of the humanities building as you looked helplessly from side to side. despite not having a single clue where he would be, you find yourself walking towards the library. perhaps if you were lucky, you'd be able to find jinwoo studying somewhere.

you enter the library, the scent of printed paper bound into a variety of tomes filling your senses as you began your search for jinwoo. yet when you saw him settled on a table just a few feet away from the library's entrance-

you had a sneaking suspicion that he had been waiting for you.

with a shake of your head, you hold his phone in a tighter manner, walking up to jinwoo as you softly called out to him. "jinwoo?"

he was writing something in his notebook, with his gloved hand settled beside him. he sees your approaching figure and smiles, saying your name in such a gentle tone that it causes the heat to rise to your cheeks. you cough and quickly settle his phone next to him. "y-you left this behind in class."

a series of rich chuckles was heard coming from his parted lips, "is that so? my apologies for being so forgetful then." although he attempted to sound sincere, there was a subtle smirk that graces his features, letting you know that he had intentionally done this-

but for what reason, you couldn't say for sure.

taking a polite step back, you give jinwoo a stiff bow, "w-well, that's all i wanted to do. if you'll excuse me."

not even waiting for his reply, you turn yourself away from him, becoming dimly aware of the sounds of a chair moving as a warm grip felt on your wrist prevents you from moving forward. "wait." you heard his voice in your ear now, making you tremble as you tried to calm down your rapidly beating heart.

time felt like it had stood still when jinwoo slowly turns you around to face him, molten silver eyes drinking in your sheepish expression as he places the pad of his thumb on your bottom lip. you tremble at the sensation of his touch on your skin, feeling like your knees would give in any minute now from witnessing the smug expression on his stupidly handsome face.

"you're always trying to avoid me, it's cute, but at the same time..." jinwoo trails off, his hand now gripping at your chin so that you were fully looking at him, "it bothers me."

words failed you, with your mouth opening and closing as you struggled to find the right things to say. instead, jinwoo just smiles at you, hands caressing at your cheek before confessing to you, "the more you try to hide away from me, the more it fuels my need to chase after you. you're... so different from anyone else i've ever met. quiet, yet kind and beautiful."

your breath hitches in response to his words, earning another grin from jinwoo as he slowly frames at your face with his two hands, "i knew i had to trap you somehow, to get you to notice me... so... i took advantage of your kindness and left my phone behind, knowing that you'll return it back to me."

jinwoo continues to captivate you, and you felt your heart already becoming ensnared by his charm when he leans down to press a kiss against your lips. it was a chaste kiss, one that was no heavier than dew as you felt the sparks begin to fly from beneath your closed eyelids.

and when jinwoo takes a hold of your hand while settling your form next to him, interlocking his fingertips with yours, you knew that you could never get away from him-

not minding this fact one bit as jinwoo tied himself to your life.

end notes: a quick fluffshot for jinwoo before i post my next story

(⺣◡⺣)♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 6

<<<Previous Next>>>

The sun felt like it was shining more brightly today, you hadn’t even realized you were smiling.

Professor Almond Cookie’s voice droned on, his chalk tapping rhythmically against the board as he worked through another intricate magical theorem. Normally, you would’ve been struggling to keep up, your notes a frantic mess of half-understood scribbles and desperate attempts to make sense of it all. But today? Today felt… different. Maybe it was the fact that, for once, you actually understood the material. Or perhaps it was the lingering satisfaction of yesterday’s study session the way Shadow Milk Cookie had walked you through his research, answering your questions without outright dismissing you. Or it was just the sheer novelty of not feeling completely lost in class for once. Whatever the reason, you found yourself nodding along, absorbing the lesson with a sense of ease you hadn’t experienced before. You weren’t just bracing for the inevitable wave of confusion. You were actually following along. It was such an unfamiliar feeling that you hadn’t even noticed the small, contented smile on your face. At least, not until Professor Almond Cookie’s voice suddenly cut through the lecture. “Well, someone looks rather pleased with themselves today,” he commented, his sharp eyes flicking toward you. Your entire body tensed. The murmuring of students around you made it clear that you weren’t the only one who had noticed. A few curious glances were thrown your way, some amused, some confused. You could practically hear Chai Latte Cookie stifling a giggle from somewhere behind you. Heat crept up your face as you quickly tried to school your expression into something more neutral. “I-uh-um…just” you stammered, scrambling for an excuse. “It’s a nice day?” A few students chuckled. Professor Almond Cookie gave you an unimpressed look before sighing. “As long as that ‘nice day’ includes understanding this formula, then by all means, continue smiling.”

You gave a weak, awkward laugh. “Y-yeah, of course.” Professor Almond Cookie shook his head and returned to the lesson, and the class gradually settled again. But for the rest of the lecture, you found yourself a little more aware of the way your expression betrayed your thoughts. Not that you could help it. Because as much as you tried to brush it off, you couldn’t quite shake the satisfaction of actually knowing what was going on for once. As soon as class let out, you barely had time to gather your notes before Chai Latte Cookie sidled up beside you, her eyes practically gleaming with mischief. "So," she began, stretching out the word as she leaned in ever so slightly. "Are we going to talk about that?" You blinked, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. "Talk about what?" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, who had been lazily packing up his things, let out a small huff of amusement. "You were grinning like you’d just discovered the meaning of life." "I was not grinning," you defended, though even you weren’t convinced by your own words. Earl Grey Cookie, ever the composed one, simply adjusted his glasses and gave you a thoughtful look. "You did seem rather… pleased during the lecture. A stark contrast from your usual expressions of despair." You frowned. "Wow. Thanks for that." Chai Latte Cookie giggled, linking her arm with yours as you all made your way toward the hallway. "Oh, don’t be so grumpy! It’s cute seeing you happy for once." You groaned, rolling your eyes. "I was just… following along with the lesson, that’s all. I actually understood what was going on for once. Isn’t that enough of a reason to smile?"

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a skeptical brow. "I mean, yeah, but this-" he gestured vaguely toward you "was something else." "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you muttered, picking up your pace slightly. "Oh, I do," Chai Latte Cookie chimed, a grin spreading across her face. You froze for a half-second before cautiously glancing her way. "…What are you implying?" Chai Latte Cookie’s grin only widened. "I’m just saying," she began, voice light and teasing, "that someone has been spending a lot of time with a certain very renowned scholar lately." Your stomach dropped. "No." "Yes," she countered immediately, her voice practically dripping with glee. "Absolutely not," you insisted. "Absolutely yes." You groaned again, face heating up against your will. "That has nothing to do with this!" Chai Latte Cookie feigned deep contemplation. "Hmm. I don’t know… You have been smiling a lot more ever since your little tutoring sessions started. And we all know how captivating the Sage of Truth can be…"

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. "He is kind of hard to ignore." "You guys are ridiculous," you said, pressing a hand to your forehead. Chai Latte Cookie merely gave you a knowing look. "Oh, come on, I’m just teasing! Unless, of course…" She trailed off, watching you expectantly. You let out an exasperated sigh. "I am not smiling because of him." Earl Grey Cookie chuckled, shaking his head. "They do protest quite a bit, don’t they?" "Right?" Chai Latte Cookie beamed. You groaned for what felt like the hundredth time, covering your face with your hands. "I swear it’s just because I actually understood class today! That’s all! No great mystery, no hidden meaning, just me finally grasping something for once in my life!" Chai Latte Cookie patted your arm sympathetically. "Mhm. Whatever you say." You huffed, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. But even as the conversation shifted and your friends moved on to other topics, you couldn’t quite shake the tiny flicker of warmth in your chest. As you all walked through the winding halls of Blueberry Yogurt Academy, the conversation drifted from playful teasing to more mundane topics, assignments, upcoming exams, and rumors about the latest bizarre experiment gone wrong in the Regretful Alchemist’s laboratory. Still, no matter how much you tried to push it aside, that warmth in your chest lingered. The memory of Shadow Milk Cookie’s measured voice, the way he had indulged your questions rather than dismissing them, the rare glint of amusement in his eyes when you had stumbled over your words, it all lingered in your mind far longer than you were willing to admit.

You weren’t smiling because of him. You weren’t. You were just… relieved. That was it. Relieved that, for once, you hadn’t felt completely lost. That, despite your missteps and distractions, Shadow Milk Cookie had still guided you back on course, patient as ever. That his words, refined and precise, had somehow begun to make sense to you in a way they never had before. It was just relief. That’s all. "And there they go again," Chai Latte Cookie murmured, breaking you from your thoughts. You blinked, looking up to see all three of your friends watching you with varying degrees of amusement. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned back slightly, arms crossed. "They were definitely thinking about him just now." "I was not!" Earl Grey Cookie sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Perhaps we should focus on more pressing matters. Like the essay due at the end of the week?" You latched onto the change of subject like a lifeline. "Yes! Exactly! That’s important!" Chai Latte Cookie gave you a look that made it clear she wasn’t fooled in the slightest, but mercifully, she let it go. For now. "Fine, fine," she relented with a dramatic sigh. "But one day, you’re going to admit it." "There’s nothing to admit," you shot back immediately. Chai Latte Cookie merely smiled knowingly. You quickened your pace, pretending not to hear the quiet laughter behind you. Getting to the alchemy lab was not difficult Hazelnut Biscotti and Earl Grey parted ways with you. Chai latte clinging to your side.

The alchemy classroom hummed with quiet anticipation, the scent of charred herbs and alchemical residue thick in the air. You barely registered the professor’s words as you copied down the instructions written on the board, your focus narrowed to the familiar rhythm of ink against parchment. Today’s lab was supposed to be more dangerous than usual, some kind of volatile reaction that required extra precautions. You understood that much. But beyond that, your attention remained fixed on transcribing formulas, ensuring you didn’t miss a single step. If anything went wrong, it wouldn’t be because of careless note-taking.

Chai Latte Cookie, sitting beside you, nudged your arm lightly. "You should look up," she murmured. You frowned, still writing. "Why?" A pause. Then, quieter, almost careful  "Because you’ll want to see this." Something in her tone made you hesitate. Slowly, you lifted your head. The doors to the classroom had opened, and a procession of scholars entered, their presence commanding immediate attention. Their robes were fine, embroidered with sigils of knowledge and alchemical mastery, their movements fluid with the quiet confidence of those accustomed to the pursuit of truth. Even without knowing their names, it was obvious these were not ordinary visitors. And then you saw him. At the center of them all, standing as if he belonged to a world just slightly above this one, was the Sage of Truth. Ornate robes of pale blue and gold draped over his frame, each fold and embellishment arranged with deliberate elegance. The patterns woven into the fabric seemed almost celestial like the swirling paths of constellations mapped onto cloth. His hat, large and elaborately designed, cast a subtle shadow over his face, but it did nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze.

Your breath caught in your throat. Shadow Milk Cookie had an undeniable presence, one that didn’t need to be announced. The scholars beside him seemed almost secondary, as though their prestige dimmed in comparison to his quiet authority. He wasn’t speaking, wasn’t even moving much, yet you could already feel the weight of his scrutiny, the sheer depth of knowledge that followed him like an unspoken force. You swallowed. Chai Latte Cookie gave you a sidelong glance, but she didn’t tease. "I told you," she simply said. You barely heard her. Professor Star Anise cleared his throat, drawing the class’s attention back. "Today, you will be paired with one of these esteemed scholars for guidance. I expect your full cooperation." He glanced at his list. "Now then…" Names were called. Students hesitantly stepped forward to meet their assigned mentors, each movement charged with restrained nerves. And then "Ah." The professor’s gaze landed on you. "You will be under the Sage of Truth’s supervision today." A quiet stillness settled over you. You didn’t move, didn’t react right away. You only felt the weight of the words settle over you like an inevitability one you weren’t quite ready for. Chai Latte Cookie exhaled softly. Not in amusement, but in something gentler. Understanding. You swallowed again and slowly rose to your feet.

Your fingers curled around the edge of your desk as you willed yourself to speak up again, despite the nervous weight pressing down on your chest. “Professor?” Your voice was quiet, but it still managed to carry through the murmurs of the class. Professor Star Anise glanced up, his expression patient. “Yes?” You swallowed, forcing yourself to push past the hesitation. “If-If we’re working with the scholars, does that mean we won’t be with our usual lab partners?” The professor gave a thoughtful nod. “That’s correct. Given the complexity of today’s reactions, I’ve assigned you to scholars who can best assist you.” You hesitated, shifting slightly in your seat. “Would it… would it be possible for my partner to stay with me? We usually work together, and-” You hesitated again, feeling the weight of eyes on you. “I just think it might be easier that way.” Chai Latte Cookie, seated beside you, offered the faintest reassuring smile. Professor Star Anise regarded you for a moment before exhaling through his nose. “I understand your reasoning, but I’ve made these assignments carefully.” His tone was kind, but firm. “I trust you’ll be in capable hands.”

Your stomach twisted. You already knew the answer, but hearing it confirmed made your shoulders sink slightly. “I… Okay,” you mumbled, staring down at your desk. A quiet pause. Then, a voice, smooth and unwavering. “I assure you,” The sage of truth said, his words carrying the effortless certainty he always spoke with, “you will be quite alright.” You stiffened, hands tightening slightly. You had barely even looked at him yet, too caught up in your own worries, but now there was no avoiding it. Slowly, hesitantly, you forced yourself to glance in his direction. He stood poised as ever, the flowing blues and golds of his ornate robes unruffled, his expression calm and composed. The golden key at his side caught the light as he tilted his head slightly, studying you with an unreadable gaze. The assurance in his voice wasn’t forceful, nor was it dismissive. It simply was as though any other possibility was unthinkable. Chai Latte Cookie gently nudged your arm, and you let out a quiet breath. “…Right,” you murmured, barely above a whisper. There was no room left to argue.

As you followed Shadow Milk Cookie to the designated workstation, you tried to steady your breathing. The weight of the situation pressed down on you the unfamiliar setup, the intricate formulas written across the chalkboard, the hushed murmurs of students pairing off with scholars. And, most of all, him. The Sage of Truth moved with a deliberate grace, his ornate coat trailing slightly behind him, the golden key at his side swaying with each step. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter, didn’t seem the least bit burdened by the sheer pressure of expectation that always seemed to surround him. Meanwhile, you could barely keep your hands from fidgeting. As the two of you arrived at the workstation, your eyes flickered to the various alchemical components laid out before you. Vials of shimmering liquids, delicate crystalline powders, and enchanted catalysts glowing faintly under the laboratory’s light. The experiment ahead was clearly complex. You exhaled slowly, then, before you could stop yourself, muttered, "Did you choose me for this, or is fate just playing some kind of sick joke on me?" Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t react immediately. He carefully adjusted the sleeves of his robe, ensuring they wouldn’t interfere with the materials before him. Then, in that same measured, ever-assured voice, he replied, “Ah. An inquiry about destiny’s hand in our arrangement.” He turned slightly, and for the first time since you’d been paired together, truly looked at you. His gaze was unreadable somewhere between amused and thoughtful. “Do you believe fate conspires against you?” You hesitated, suddenly regretting asking at all. “It certainly feels that way sometimes.” He hummed, as though considering your words carefully. Then, with the smallest trace of something almost teasing though still draped in his usual scholarly refinement he added, “If I had chosen you, would that be more or less distressing?” You nearly choked on air. “That’s-” You scrambled for a response, heat creeping up your neck. “That’s not…I just meant” Shadow Milk Cookie let out a quiet, knowing hum. “I see.” Then, as if the conversation had already been neatly wrapped up, he gestured toward the materials before you. “Come. We have work to do.” You swallowed hard, trying to push past the lingering flustered feeling. Whether fate was playing a cruel joke or not, you had no choice but to endure.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping after him, keeping just a half-step behind as he guided you toward the workstation. The weight of the situation should have been pressing on your mind the delicate nature of the alchemical reactions you’d be performing, the risks involved, and the sheer importance of today’s lesson. Yet, all you could think about was him. How he carried himself with the same composed elegance as always, his long, ornate coat flowing effortlessly as he moved. The golden key at his side gleamed under the soft glow of the alchemical lamps, and his presence calm, assured, and unwavering. It was enough to make your stomach twist with nervous energy. You bit your lip before finally mustering the courage to speak. "So… you never answered my question," you said quietly, keeping your eyes on the floor as you followed him. "Did you choose me for this?" Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t falter in his step. If anything, he seemed to have anticipated your persistence. “What an intriguing notion,” he mused, tone as measured as ever. “Does the possibility unsettle you?” You frowned slightly. "That’s not an answer." He let out a soft hum, pausing briefly as he reached your workstation. Only then did he turn to face you, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Would you prefer if I had?" he asked, his voice carrying the same careful curiosity he applied to his scholarly inquiries. “Or would the idea trouble you further?” You opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond. Because, really what was the better answer? If he had chosen you, that meant he had seen something in you. But if he hadn’t, then that meant you were just some unlucky student swept up in an arbitrary pairing. Neither option felt particularly comforting. You swallowed. "I just want to know why." Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a moment before finally offering a small, knowing smile. "Perhaps," he said, turning his attention to the alchemical components laid out before you, "this is an opportunity to uncover the truth for yourself."

You stared at him, feeling somehow even more flustered than before. "…That’s not an answer either," you muttered under your breath. His quiet chuckle sent warmth creeping up your spine. "Ah, but it is an invitation," he countered smoothly. "Now, shall we begin?" You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to focus. Whether he had chosen you or not, you were stuck with him now. And something told you that no matter how many questions you asked, he would always find a way to leave you with even more. You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck before finally admitting, “It’s nothing against you. It just… feels like more eyes are on me because you’re here.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with quiet amusement, tilting his head slightly. “Oh? And why might that be?” You gave him a look. “You do realize you’re you, right?” His expression didn’t change, but the slight upward twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. “An astute observation. I am, indeed, myself.” You exhaled sharply through your nose, not quite a laugh, but close. “That’s not what I meant.” You shifted uneasily, glancing around before lowering your voice. “You’re one of the most respected scholars in the Academy. Everyone looks up to you. Of course they’re going to be paying more attention.” You hesitated, then admitted, “It makes me nervous.”

Shadow Milk Cookie was silent for a beat, watching you with an unreadable expression. Then, in a tone softer than before, he said, “I see.” You weren’t sure what you expected him to say after that, but he didn’t push further. He simply observed, waiting for what, you weren’t sure. Maybe for you to say more. Or for you to process your own thoughts. And against your better judgment, you did say more. “…But,” you continued hesitantly, eyes fixed on the alchemical components before you, “if I had to be paired with a high-ranking scholar… I think I’m a little glad it’s you.” That seemed to surprise him, if only slightly. “Oh?” You nodded, though you still couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. “Anyone else would have been way more intimidating. At least” You hesitated before forcing yourself to say it. “At least I know you’re patient.” A brief silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you worried you’d said too much. “Patience is merely the willingness to uncover truth at its own pace,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “And if truth requires time, then who am I to rush it?” You finally glanced up at him, unsure what you’d find in his expression. But there was no judgment, no unreadable amusement, just quiet understanding. You exhaled, some of your tension easing. “…Alright,” you murmured, glancing at the alchemical setup once more. “Let’s get started.” At least the weight of the watching eyes didn’t feel quite as suffocating.

You took a steadying breath as you turned your attention to the experiment before you. The alchemical setup gleamed under the warm glow of the enchanted lamps overhead. Delicate glassware, vials of shimmering liquids, and carefully measured ingredients laid out with meticulous precision. Shadow Milk Cookie moved with practiced ease, adjusting a few instruments before glancing at you. “We will begin with the base mixture. Would you care to measure the powdered lunar salt?” You hesitated, then nodded, reaching for the container. Your hands were steady, mostly, but the weight of expectation still pressed on you. Carefully, you scooped out the precise amount, adding it to the main flask where a pale, viscous solution swirled. A quiet hum of approval came from your partner. “Good. Now, we must introduce the catalyst.” You watched as he retrieved a small vial of deep blue liquid…something rare, no doubt. When he uncorked it, the scent of frost and starlight filled the air, tinged with a metallic edge. “The key is controlled diffusion,” he explained, lifting a delicate stirring rod. “Too much at once, and the reaction will destabilize.” You swallowed, watching closely as he poured the catalyst in a slow, deliberate stream, swirling the mixture with measured movements. The liquid inside the flask pulsed faintly, then settled into a mesmerizing gradient of gold and blue. “Your turn,” he said, stepping back slightly to allow you space.

You reached for the rod, hyper-aware of how close he was as you mimicked his motions. The swirling liquid responded in kind, shimmering under the alchemical lights. For a moment, you forgot the audience. Forgot the weight of being watched. It was just you, the experiment, and the guidance of the scholar beside you. Then a sudden shift. The mixture in the flask flickered, deepening into a shade it shouldn’t be. You stiffened. “…That’s not right, is it?” you asked, barely above a whisper. Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze remained steady. “It is… unexpected,” he admitted. “But not unmanageable.” Your breath caught as the flask began to vibrate slightly, unstable energy coursing through it. Your instinct was to pull back to stop but his voice, calm and unwavering, cut through your panic. “Focus,” he said. “Balance the reaction. Slowly, now.” You nodded, heart hammering, and adjusted your movements just as he had shown you. Gradually, the instability eased, the mixture settling back into a controlled glow. You exhaled deeply, barely realizing you had been holding your breath. Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a moment before offering a small nod. “Well done.” You blinked at him, still processing. “I… almost messed that up.” “And yet, you corrected it,” he countered smoothly. “That is what matters.” You hesitated, then let out a breathy, nervous chuckle. “…Thanks.” A flicker of something passed through his expression approval, perhaps? Whatever it was, he merely inclined his head before turning his focus back to the experiment.  You took another steadying breath before glancing at Shadow Milk Cookie. “What next?”

He studied the flask for a moment, the swirling colors reflected in his golden eyes. Then, with the same measured composure he always carried, he gestured toward a small container filled with crystalline fragments. “Next, we introduce the stabilizing agent. Starshard resin highly reactive, but essential for balancing the mixture’s volatility.” You nodded, reaching for the container. As you did, you hesitated, glancing at him for confirmation. “How much?” “A single shard will suffice,” he answered. “Too much, and the reaction will become inert. Too little, and the previous instability may return.” Right. No pressure. You carefully selected a shard, its surface glittering under the light. Holding it between your fingers, you hovered it over the flask, nerves prickling under your skin. You’d already nearly thrown the entire reaction off once…what if?... A gentle movement caught your eye. Shadow Milk Cookie had inclined his head ever so slightly, watching you with quiet patience. There was no exasperation, just that ever-present expectation that you could do this. You swallowed and dropped the shard in. The liquid shimmered, a soft glow pulsing outward as the colors settled into a stable gradient. The mixture no longer wavered or flickered unpredictably; instead, it swirled with a controlled, mesmerizing luminescence. A slow nod from your partner. “Excellent.” You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “That’s… good, right?” He offered the faintest smile. “Very.” Relief flooded your chest, and you allowed yourself a small, triumphant exhale. Maybe this experiment wouldn’t end in disaster after all. As the final step of the experiment settled, the solution in the flask transformed into a breathtaking metallic blue, shimmering as if tiny stars were suspended within. You stared, entranced, as the light caught the swirling liquid, making it look like an entire night sky had been condensed into the glass.

“Whoa…” The word left you in a quiet breath, eyes wide with awe. “That’s… beautiful.” Shadow Milk Cookie observed the reaction with a satisfied nod, the glow reflecting in his golden eyes. “A most pleasing result.” You hesitated for a moment before glancing at him. “What was the point of this experiment, anyway?” He tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the question. “A lesson in balance,” he said. “The components we used were all volatile in their own right. Alone, they would break down, scatter, or collapse under their own instability. Yet together, in precise measure, they created something stable something greater than the sum of their parts.” You looked back at the flask, mesmerized. “So… it was never just about creating this solution?” A quiet chuckle. “Not entirely.” Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table. You weren’t sure why, but something about his words lingered in your mind, heavier than they should have. You traced a finger along the glass, watching the swirling glow. “I think I get it,” you murmured, though whether you meant the experiment or something else entirely, you weren’t sure.

You glanced around the laboratory, noting that several other groups were still deep in their experiments, some struggling with their mixtures while others cautiously double-checked their notes. You, on the other hand, were done. The shimmering blue solution in front of you felt like an accomplishment, yet now that the task was over, a strange uncertainty settled in your chest. Shifting slightly, you turned to Shadow Milk Cookie. “So… when can we go?” you asked, keeping your voice low. “Do we have to wait for everyone else to finish?” He hummed thoughtfully, glancing toward the professor, who was making rounds to observe the other students. “We have completed the task, and our results are satisfactory,” he mused. “However, it is customary to remain until the session is dismissed. There may yet be additional instruction.” You deflated slightly, though you supposed it made sense. Still, sitting here under the weight of so many glances your classmates sneaking looks at him rather than you made your skin prickle with unease. You hesitated before speaking again. “Right. Makes sense,” you said, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Guess we just… wait, then.” He glanced at you, seemingly taking note of your discomfort. “Patience,” he said, his tone lighter than usual, “is a virtue in both alchemy and scholarship.” You sighed, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it.” You exhaled softly, letting the tension in your shoulders ease as you traced a finger along the edge of the worktable. Despite the lingering weight of the classroom’s watchful eyes, you found yourself… comfortable. Maybe not entirely at ease, but far from the nervous wreck you had been when these tutoring sessions started.

Your gaze flickered toward Shadow Milk Cookie, who stood beside you with his usual composed air, observing the finished experiment with satisfaction. Your eyes drifted upward, and before you could think twice, the words slipped out. “So… your hat.” He turned to you, one brow raising ever so slightly. “My hat?” You nodded, the corners of your mouth tugging up just a little. “Yeah. It’s, uh… it’s kinda goofy.” His expression didn’t change at first, and for a split second, you wondered if you’d made a mistake. But then soft laughter. Amused, almost entertained by your observation. “Goofy, you say?” he repeated, tilting his head slightly, as if considering the idea. You nodded again, a bit bolder now. “I mean, it’s a lot of hat. But, somehow… you make it work.” His hand rose to the brim of the ornate headpiece, as if weighing your words. “A scholar’s presentation is part of their presence,” he mused, voice still carrying the traces of laughter. “A symbol of the knowledge they carry. But I admit, few would dare to call it goofy to my face.” You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Guess I’m just special, then.” He regarded you for a moment, and there was something unreadable yet pleased in his expression. “Indeed,” he said softly. “You are.” The warmth that flickered in your chest caught you off guard. 

Your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t just the words…though those alone were enough to leave you stunned but the way he said them. So certain, so matter-of-fact, like it was the simplest truth in the world. Like you being special was something undeniable. You had admired him for so long from afar, from behind the pages of scholarly texts that quoted his insights, from lecture halls where his presence was spoken of with reverence. And now, here he was, standing beside you, speaking to you, as if you had always belonged in this space. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came. What could you possibly say? That you had spent so much time struggling, thinking you would never measure up? That you had feared he would see you as just another lost cause? That hearing those words from him made your heart stutter in a way you weren’t prepared to face? Instead, you simply stared, awe-struck, your mind blank yet full all at once. Shadow Milk Cookie observed you with quiet patience, his expression unreadable yet steady. He did not press you for a response. He did not look away. He simply waited, as if he had already seen the truth resting in your silence. And for once, silence didn’t feel like failure.

You blinked rapidly, snapping yourself out of your stunned silence. Heat crept up your neck as you scrambled to ground yourself in something anything that wasn’t the overwhelming weight of admiration threatening to root you in place. Right. Your study session. That was something normal, something expected. Something safe. "Um-our study session," you blurted out, your voice coming out a little more rushed than you intended. "We were supposed to meet today, right?" Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head slightly, as if considering your words before offering a small shake of his head. "Not today," he said, his tone smooth but not unkind. "I am overseeing this lab throughout the day. You are not my only partner in this endeavor." For reasons you couldn’t quite place, your chest tightened at that. It made sense, of course he was an esteemed scholar, not some personal tutor at your beck and call. But hearing it phrased like that, a small, silly part of you felt… disappointed? You weren’t sure. "Oh," you said, shifting your weight slightly. "Right. That makes sense." Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment before offering something almost resembling reassurance. "Worry not," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "We will resume our studies soon enough. But for now, I am needed here." You nodded quickly, as if to dismiss the feeling gnawing at you. "Of course. I wasn’t- I mean, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t forget or anything." The Sage of Truth hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than expected before he finally turned his attention back to the shimmering solution before you. You followed suit, exhaling quietly. You were being ridiculous. This wasn’t anything personal. You weren’t special. And yet, some irrational part of you wanted to be.

As the last group of students wrapped up their experiments, the professor strode to the front of the room, clearing their throat to signal the beginning of the lecture. The bubbling conversations and the occasional clinking of glassware died down as everyone turned their attention forward. You did the same, quickly straightening in your seat and focusing on the professor’s words. Or, at least, you tried to. As the professor began their lecture, you did your best to focus, keeping your eyes trained forward and your hands neatly folded on the desk. You had made it through the experiment without completely embarrassing yourself now you just had to survive the rest of class. Everything was going well. That is, until you noticed the faintest movement in your peripheral vision. You ignored it at first. Then, the movement happened again. A slow, deliberate flicker of motion from across the room too calculated to be accidental. Against your better judgment, you risked a quick glance. Chai Latte Cookie, seated innocently in her spot, was doing absolutely nothing suspicious. Her hands were primly folded on her desk, her expression perfectly neutral as if she were deeply engaged in the lecture. You narrowed your eyes slightly. That was when you saw it the tiniest, most imperceptible tilt of her head in your direction. You frowned. Then, she very subtly flicked her gaze toward Shadow Milk Cookie beside you. Your stomach dropped. You quickly looked forward again, pretending as though you hadn’t seen anything. She wouldn’t try anything else. Not in the middle of a lecture. Right? Wrong. A moment later, you felt something gently brush against your arm. Your breath hitched. Slowly, carefully, you glanced down. A tiny, folded scrap of paper. You shot a sharp look across the room, but Chai Latte Cookie still looked perfectly composed, her gaze fixed on the professor as if she hadn’t just somehow slipped a note across the distance between you. How did she even do that? Right teleportation magic. Something she was able to grasp so easily, you however struggled. For a few moments, you debated whether to open it at all. But, ultimately, your curiosity got the better of you. With careful fingers, you unfolded the tiny note beneath the desk. Inside, in her neat, playful handwriting, was a single sentence  So… is he even more impressive up close? Your face burned instantly. Horrified, you clenched the note in your fist and desperately resisted the urge to look in her direction. Chai Latte Cookie did not need to see your reaction. She absolutely did not need that satisfaction. Instead, you kept your eyes forward, forcing yourself to focus on the lecture, even as you knew that Chai Latte Cookie was grinning to herself across the room.

You took a slow, steady breath, keeping your expression neutral. It’s just admiration, you told yourself firmly. That’s all it’s ever been. Shadow Milk Cookie was a renowned scholar, a beacon of knowledge of truth itself. Admiring him was only natural. Anyone with an appreciation for wisdom and discovery would feel the same. Chai Latte Cookie was just being her usual self, always reading into things that weren’t there. With quiet determination, you smoothed out the crumpled note beneath the desk and discreetly tore it into tiny, unrecognizable pieces before slipping them into your pocket. If she thought she was going to get a reaction out of you, she was sorely mistaken. You squared your shoulders, fixing your gaze firmly on the professor as they continued their lecture. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just admiration.You kept your eyes trained on the professor, feigning complete focus, though you could practically feel Chai Latte Cookie’s mischievous energy radiating from across the room. It was only a matter of time before she tried something subtle enough to avoid outright scolding, but persistent enough to drive you to the edge of your patience.

And sure enough, just as you began taking notes, the first attack came. A small, folded scrap of parchment landed neatly beside your hand, so precise in its trajectory that you knew it had been aimed with great care. You hesitated. A second passed. Then two. You could ignore it. Act like you hadn’t noticed…Another piece of parchment followed, this time making a soft, deliberate tap against your elbow.

You sighed, unfolding the first one under the desk with as little movement as possible. "So... are you going to admit it yet?  ;)" You rolled your eyes and immediately began tearing the parchment into tiny, unrecognizable shreds before stuffing them into your pocket. A second later, another note landed. "Don’t think I didn’t see that smile earlier. You liiiiike hiiim~" You nearly choked on air, snapping your head up in alarm before forcing yourself to feign normalcy. Across the room, Chai Latte Cookie offered you an innocent, almost angelic smile, resting her chin on her palm like she was simply daydreaming. You shot her a glare. She only grinned wider. The worst part? You knew she wasn’t going to stop. Just as you turned back to your notes, another note slid into your peripheral vision. "It’s okay! He is very charming. Wise, elegant, strangely handsome in that ‘all-knowing scholar’ way… And that hat! Don’t even get me started on the hat" You shredded this one even faster. A soft hum of curiosity beside you made your stomach drop. "You seem rather preoccupied," Shadow Milk Cookie observed, his voice smooth and thoughtful as he turned toward you ever so slightly. "Yet I do not recall the professor’s lecture containing anything so… perplexing." Your whole body tensed as warmth crept up your neck. Oh no. Chai Latte Cookie was going to love this. "Just, uh… reviewing my notes," you lied through your teeth, quickly scribbling something down in a desperate attempt to look studious. Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment, his keen gaze unreadable beneath the brim of his elaborate hat. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Ah. Ever diligent," he mused, though there was something knowing in his tone, as if he were filing this moment away for later contemplation. "A fine quality, indeed." You forced a small, tight-lipped smile, desperately hoping that would be the end of it. It wasn’t. Because the second Shadow Milk Cookie turned his attention back to the lecture, another note landed on your lap, as if Chai Latte Cookie had been waiting for the perfect moment. "Did he just call you diligent? Ohhh, he totally likes you too." You buried your face in your hands, mentally preparing for the longest lecture of your life. Sometimes you wished she would lose the ability to read lips.

As the professor dismissed the class, you took a moment to carefully set down your notes, stealing a glance at the shimmering blue solution you had created under Shadow Milk Cookie’s guidance. The way it caught the light, glimmering like stars, still left you in awe. You turned to Shadow Milk Cookie, hesitating for just a second before inclining your head respectfully. “Thank you for your guidance today, Sage of Truth.” He regarded you with that unwavering composure of his, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze, curiosity, perhaps? It was always difficult to tell with him. “There is no need to thank me,” he said smoothly, folding his hands behind his back. “Knowledge is meant to be shared, after all. Though, I must admit, you performed admirably today.” Your breath hitched slightly at the unexpected praise. “Oh…I, um. I just followed your instructions.” He gave a thoughtful hum, tilting his head slightly. “Many can follow instructions, yet still falter in execution. But you” He gestured ever so slightly toward the completed experiment. “proved otherwise.” Your face grew warm at the compliment, and you quickly busied yourself with adjusting the strap of your bag. “Well… I had a good teacher.” At that, the Sage of Truth let out a soft chuckle, a sound so rare and fleeting you almost wondered if you had imagined it. “Flattery will not change the truth, but it is noted nonetheless.” Your heart did something strange at his words, and you nearly forgot why you had been so eager to leave the classroom in the first place. Right. Chai Latte Cookie. You straightened up, taking a small step back. “I should be going now. Thank you again, Sage of Truth.” “May the pursuit of knowledge guide your path,” he replied, his tone as composed as ever. You nodded quickly, then turned on your heel and made a beeline for the door, only to catch sight of Chai Latte Cookie already watching you with that look as she leaned against the hallway wall. Oh. Oh no. You barely had time to brace yourself before she wiggled her brows and grinned. “Soooo… how was that?” You groaned, already regretting every choice that led you to this moment.

You huffed, crossing your arms as you came to a stop in front of Chai Latte Cookie. "What was that?" Chai Latte Cookie’s grin only widened. "Oh, you know what I mean. That little moment back there." You frowned, feigning ignorance. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, who had just strolled up beside her, scoffed. "Please. What is going on now…Chai you have to stop overanalyzing everything." Chai Latte Cookie cut in, tapping her chin in mock contemplation. "let’s see…they looked awfully flustered when the Sage of Truth complimented them." You stiffened. "I was just surprised! He doesn’t exactly go around handing out praise like candy!" "Uh-huh," she said, clearly unconvinced. "And what about that tiny, little moment where you got all nervous and started fumbling with your bag?" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. You pressed your fingers to your temple, inhaling sharply. "I was just trying to be polite. It was a normal conversation, nothing more." Chai Latte Cookie gasped dramatically. "Oh, so you’re saying that anyone can make the Sage of Truth chuckle like that?"

Your stomach twisted at the reminder. He had laughed, hadn’t he? A quiet, fleeting chuckle but still. You swallowed. "You’re reading too much into this!" Chai Latte Cookie hummed, unconvinced. "Mmm. If you say so." You felt your face grow warm…but only because she always had something outlandish to say."I do say so."

A/N as promised another part...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

<<<Previous Next>>>

[redroomreflections]

It Will Always Be You

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

The Loud House AU

Summary: Natasha and R and the many changes and phases of their relationship

Note : have you ever been so in love you just wanna...

w/c:4k

Natasha knew you before you knew her. Or at least, she saw you first. She’d staked you out.

No, that sounded all wrong.

She noticed you. Yeah, that was better. She noticed you.

You’d come into the coffee shop before her, moving with the familiarity that told her this was routine. Hands full—phone in one, chapstick in the other, a crumpled piece of paper wedged between your fingers with a number scribbled. It wasn’t the first thing she noticed, but she caught the way your gaze flickered around the room, searching, assessing. Not in the way she did, not out of habit or training, but just enough to pique her interest.

Then your eyes brightened, locking onto the nearest trash can. Without hesitation, you walked over and tossed the paper in, your expression unreadable but your shoulders just a little lighter. Natasha wondered if it was an old number, a bad memory, or something you didn’t want to hold on to.

You ordered an iced chai latte—no foam—and a croissant. She’d realized that was your usual, though she told herself she hadn’t been paying that much attention.

She tried not to stare. Tried to be her calm, detached spy self, to ignore your presence like she did with the dozens of other faces she encountered daily. But for some reason, you made it difficult.

She was here on one of her self-appointed people-watching missions—a little game she played with herself when things were slow—watching, observing, and cataloging strangers' habits. But you weren’t a stranger, not really.

Not anymore.

You were now on her radar.

She hadn’t meant to take so much interest. It truly wasn’t planned. But somehow, she couldn’t help but find you incredibly attractive—and just as enjoyable.

So she kept coming back. Not every day, not enough to be obvious, but often enough that she could tell you had a habit of tucking your phone between your elbow and ribcage while juggling your drink and pastry. You always brought your chapstick out of habit but rarely actually used it. That you never lingered too long—just enough time to get your order, maybe check a message, then head out, like you had somewhere more important to be.

She told herself it was nothing. Just casual curiosity. A fleeting distraction.

But then, one day, you looked back at her.

It was brief—so quick she could’ve convinced herself it meant nothing. But it did. Because your gaze didn’t just skim over her the way it did with the rest of the café; it landed on her. It was a flicker of recognition, or maybe just intrigue, but it was too much.

That was when she stopped coming.

She didn’t need you to notice her. You didn’t need to recognize her or start wondering why she always seemed there at the same time as you.

That was too dangerous.

For both of you.

*********

You started studying at the café more, hoping the stranger with the red hair would return.

She was beautiful. Interesting. Always staring at you whenever she thought you weren’t looking.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that you weren’t waiting for her. But you still stopped inside the café even when you weren’t hungry, just for the chance that she might be there. You wanted her to see you. More than that, you wanted her to see you seeing her.

You kept her presence to yourself. You didn’t want to seem delusional or desperate. It was nothing, really—just curiosity. Just wondering. Just wanting another glimpse.

But then she stopped coming as often. Made only rare appearances. Maybe she had better things to do. Maybe she had better people to see.

And just as you were beginning to accept that she might not return, she did.

This time, she didn’t just sit at her usual spot. She didn’t just steal glances when she thought you weren’t looking.

She walked right over to your table.

It caught you off guard, but the conversation flowed easily as if she had done this a thousand times before. Like she already knew you, in a way. She was charismatic, confident—and flirty, but not in a way that made you uneasy. Just enough to make your pulse tick up a little.

You noticed the thin layer of makeup on her face, the fresh gloss on her lips, the way her lashes framed those damn beautiful eyes.

She was someone you wanted to know.

And it seemed like—finally—she wanted to know you, too.

********

Natasha Romanoff is a woman who is impossible to ignore. Her red hair catches the light just right, drawing attention no matter where you go. The first thing that captivates you is how it falls effortlessly around her shoulders. Then there are her lips—full, soft, and dangerously tempting. The kind of lips that curve into a knowing smirk, one that spells trouble and promises something unspoken. You notice how Natasha’s gaze lingers before that smirk appears and how she enjoys the effect she has. She opens doors for you. She's a perfect gentlewoman. She takes an interest in everything you say. She's polite. Snarky. Quick-witted. She's Natasha, and you want her all for yourself. 

You notice how she moves—graceful, effortless, like she’s always one step ahead of everyone in the room. She’s never in a rush, never flustered. Even when she’s just leaning back in a chair, stirring her coffee absentmindedly, there’s something deliberate about her, like she’s always aware, always in control.

She smells good. Not just perfume—though there’s a hint of something warm and rich, like vanilla and spice—but clean. Fresh. Like she just stepped out of a shower, like her scent would linger on your clothes if you stood close enough.

She has a habit of checking her food before she eats it. Subtle, careful. At first, you think it’s just a quirk, but the more you watch, the more you realize it’s instinct. You wonder where that comes from.

She has a way of making you feel like the most interesting person in the room. When you talk, she listens—really listens. She doesn’t just nod along or wait for her turn to speak. She remembers things and brings them up later. Asks questions that make it clear she cares.

She’s not a cuddler, not in the way most people are. But she always makes sure you’re close. A hand on your lower back when she guides you through a crowd. Sitting just near enough that your knees touch under the table. Her fingers brush against yours when she hands you your coffee.

She teases you. Challenges you. Calls you out when you’re bluffing. But she never makes you feel small.

She makes you feel wanted.

And even though you’re not together—you’re starting to think she might feel the same way.

*******

Her girlfriend.

Natasha had never wanted to call anyone that before. Relationships were complications and vulnerabilities. Love was a liability—a weakness drilled out of her in the Red Room. Widows weren’t supposed to love. They weren’t supposed to need.

But then she met you.

And suddenly, none of that mattered.

For the first time, she felt alive. Like she wasn’t just surviving, wasn’t just existing between missions, between lies. Like she had a heart—something people always joked she didn’t have. But she did. You were her heart, walking around outside her body, impossible to ignore.

She couldn’t find the right words in any of the five languages she spoke to explain what she felt for you.

It wasn’t sudden or all-consuming. It wasn’t the kind of love that burned too bright and collapsed in on itself. It was steady. A slow build—love climbing over love, deeper with each moment, too powerful to ignore.

So she kept you close. Reeled you in. Let herself become someone who had a girlfriend. Someone who cuddled because being in your arms made her feel safe. Someone who let you sit with your feet in her lap because it made her feel comfortable. Someone who breathed easier just knowing you were near.

It confused her. Thrilled her.

But she never questioned it.

Her girlfriend.

Her girlfriend liked chocolates and despised bananas.

Her girlfriend, who had a ‘90s playlist, busted out whenever she was in a dancing mood.

Her girlfriend watched James Bond movies not for the action but simply because they made her happy.

Her girlfriend.

Her home.

******

Something about Natasha makes the air feel heavier when she’s near. It’s not suffocating—no, it’s the kind of weight that settles in your stomach, a heat that rises in your chest, an ache that lingers long after she’s gone.

She doesn’t touch you often, not yet. But when she does, it stays with you. A hand resting at the small of your back as she leans in to hear you better. Fingers brush against yours when she hands you something, lingering just a second too long. The way she stands close—so close—like she’s daring you to close the space but never doing it herself.

You’ve caught her looking. Not just a glance but the gaze that catches your breath. She watches your mouth when you speak and racks the curve of your smile. Her eyes darken when you lean in and laugh too close to her ear. She smirks when she catches herself, like she’s amused at her desire.

She’s subtle but never shy. She likes to test you to see how much you’ll take before you call her out. Her voice drops a little lower when she says your name. She mirrors you—if you cross your arms, she does too; if you tilt your head, so does she. It’s a game, and she’s playing it with practiced ease.

Then there are the moments where it’s not a game at all. Where the tension feels too thick to ignore. A night at the cafe, when her knee knocks against yours under the table, and neither of you move away. At a party, someone else tries to flirt with you, and she steps in just close enough to remind you who has your attention.

********

When Natasha asks you to marry her, you can’t say you were expecting it.

Not because you didn’t want it—God, you liked it—but because you had come to understand Natasha’s world, her past, the way she saw herself. Marriage was a gift, not a privilege. Not something you could demand of her.

And yet, you never shied away from the topic. You had always told her, without hesitation, that if given the chance, you would marry her. That she would be your wife.

You wanted forever with her.

The nights she curled into you, soft and warm, like she was still getting used to the fact that she could. The mornings she was up at 5 AM, slipping out of bed like a shadow while you burrowed deeper into her pillow, stealing what little warmth she left behind. The times you debated with her friends, challenging Sam’s ridiculous theories, making Steve shake his head at both of you.

You could live like this forever.

Even as the honeymoon phase faded, your relationship settled into something steadier and unshakable—you only became more established. More direct. More together.

And then one night, with Willow in her arms,  with that familiar smirk playing at the edges of her lips, Natasha simply asked, “Marry me?”

Not flashy. Not dramatic. Just a question, like she already knew the answer.

Because she did.

Because you had always been hers, and she had always been yours.

******

You’re sure you’ve never felt intimacy so intense. You’ve had relationships before, but nothing like this. Nothing that leaves you breathless with a single glance. Nothing that makes you crave someone’s touch even when they’re right beside you.

With Natasha, everything is heightened. Every kiss, every touch, every moment. The way she holds you—possessive, careful as if she’s afraid you might slip away if she lets go for even a second. Her hands are always searching, mapping your skin like she’s memorizing you. Like she’s terrified of forgetting.

Her presence alone is enough to unravel you. She walks into a room and your pulse quickens. She watches you from across the space, and you feel it—like a promise, like a challenge, like a pull that neither of you can resist.

It’s not just the passion that surprises you—it’s the softness, too. She traces invisible patterns on your back when you’re lying in bed, lost in the quiet of the night. The way she tucks your hair behind your ear before kissing you slow, deep like she has all the time in the world.

She’s still Natasha—teasing, smirking, quick to steal the breath from your lungs with a well-placed whisper. But she’s also something else with you. More open. More willing to give. More willing to feel.

And you? You’re more than willing to take.

*******

Your first year of marriage is spent raising a child. Not just any child—your niece.

Of course, your brother is there, but she’s yours all the same. You tuck her in at night, tie her shoes in the morning, and listen to her endless stories about everything. You see Natasha with her, holding tiny hands as they cross the street, kneeling to wipe away tears, pinky-promising five more minutes before bed.

And that’s when you know—you want this with her. A family. A child with Natasha’s sharp green eyes and your smile. A little life was built between the two of you.

The routines come easy. You pass her a protein smoothie whenever she gets in from training. She takes it without question and kisses you before heading upstairs to shower.

Thursdays are just for the two of you. The passion is still there. The comfort is still there.

*****

People think you have an easy marriage. That your relationship is perfect, that you don’t argue, fight, or disagree. And sometimes, it feels like a burden to uphold that illusion.

It’s not that you want conflict. But its absence doesn’t make sense either.

Of course, you bicker. As a married couple, you spend almost every day together—disagreements are inevitable.

There was one fight. You don’t even remember how it started. Something about dinner plans, maybe. You were exhausted, she was stubborn, and somewhere between an offhanded comment and a sharp retort, it spiraled.

You’d retreated to your room, slamming the door behind you, needing space, needing time. But when you emerged, the apartment was quieter than usual. Natasha wasn’t on the couch, wasn’t in the kitchen. She was making herself scarce.

That’s when you knew—you’d handled it wrong.

Natasha isn’t fragile. She isn’t weak or simple-minded. She is a woman with her thoughts, opinions, and feelings—a woman who doesn’t take too well to threats or unkindness.

She’s new to relationships. New to compromise.

And so are you.

******

Losing James changes you. Natasha sees it in how your shoulders hunch, and your eyes lose some of their light. She watches you retreat into yourself, slipping further and further away, and she doesn’t know how to stop it.

She doesn’t know how to help you.

She holds you when you let her, when the weight of it all becomes too much when you collapse into her arms and let the sobs shake your body. She strokes your hair and whispers that she’s always here, even when words feel useless.

She doesn’t talk about her grief. Instead, she pushes herself harder in the gym and lets the pain sit heavy in her chest until exhaustion takes over. And then she cries in the quiet moments when no one is around to see.

One day, she leaves a little blue plush on your pillow. There’s a small ‘J’ stitched onto its tummy. She doesn’t say anything when she gives it to you; she just watches as you run your fingers over the fabric, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

He was your baby.

And he was real.

******

It’s a while before you let her touch you again. Sleeping in bed next to each other had been enough, and yet too much. At times, you wanted nothing more than to be alone—to not feel her, to not feel anything.

Natasha understood in the way only she could. She didn’t push, didn’t demand. She stayed close enough that you could reach for her if you wanted but never so close that you felt suffocated. She held you in the dark on the nights you let her, her arms strong and steady, as if she could keep the grief from swallowing you whole.

But there were nights you turned away. Nights where her warmth was unbearable, where the thought of being touched, of being held, made you want to disappear into yourself. And she let you. Even when it hurt her, she let you.

It took time. Longer than either of you expected.

It wasn't soft or careful the first time you kissed her again. It was desperate, messy, an ache pouring into her mouth. She kissed you back like she had been waiting forever.

And when you finally let her touch you again—really touch you—it wasn’t about need or desire. It was about grounding. About finding your way back. About feeling something other than the hollow space inside your chest.

********

Fostering was a new challenge. After having the house to yourselves, after falling into the rhythm of just the two of you, bringing a child into your space was an adjustment. You had both busied yourselves with work, filling the quiet with long hours and distractions. But suddenly, there was Cara.

Cara, nine years old and full of contradictions—shy but feisty, guarded but affectionate in her way. A tiny whirlwind of energy and attitude, with scraped knees and an ever-growing collection of baseball caps. She was the cutest little tomboy you’d ever seen and was exactly what both of you needed.

Natasha watched you become a mother before her eyes. She saw it in how you taught Cara how to cook, patiently guiding her little hands as she chopped vegetables or measured ingredients. She saw it in the way you brushed Cara’s hair, gentle but firm, and in the soft yet steady scoldings when she pushed boundaries.

You were a mother in every way that mattered, and Natasha fell in love with you again.

********

The siblings came next, and it was clear that Natasha’s eyes widened when you mentioned the little one’s name. James.

Barely 15 months old. Still clinging to you like a second skin, fresh-faced and full of drool. He was a tiny mess of energy, always in motion, always needing something, but oh, so sweet.

Then there was Charlotte. Three years old and full of fire, with a stubborn streak a mile wide. She was spiteful at times, but there was a gentleness in her that balanced her strength, a curious mind that asked endless questions.

They completed your family in a way you hadn’t known you needed.

And Natasha, despite all her experience with the chaos of life, was tested every day by the ebb and flow of your growing family. Between the schedules of five people, the endless needs, the tantrums, the moments of pure joy, and the quiet exhaustion that followed, she saw a side of you she’d never known before.

But through it all, she loved watching you. Loved seeing how you balanced it all and mothered with such calm determination. You were their rock, and in turn, she became yours. Together, you learned what it meant to navigate the beautiful, messy, and unpredictable world of parenthood.

*****

You haven’t put your time on a schedule. You couldn’t simply stop and start your libido like flipping a switch. With five kids, it was becoming increasingly challenging to meet each other’s needs.

Which is fine, you convince yourself. It’s fine to have slumps. It’s okay to fall into bed exhausted, to prioritize sleep over stolen moments, and to feel more like partners in parenting than lovers. It’s normal.

And yet, there are nights when you miss it—when you miss her. Not just the routine touches, the quick pecks on the lips, the absentminded brushes of fingers as you pass each other in the kitchen, but the intensity. She used to look at you like you were the only thing in the world worth touching—the way she used to take you.

Natasha notices. Of course, she does.

She always notices.

So, she does what she does best—she makes a plan. One night, when the house is quiet, she leans into you with that look in her eyes, the one you haven’t seen in a while.

"I miss you." Her voice is low, rough with something unspoken.

And just like that, it’s not fine anymore. Not enough anymore.

You don’t wait until the perfect moment. You don’t plan or make space for it on some imaginary schedule. You just take each other, like you used to.

Like you always will.

*****

Seeing your partner grow old is fascinating. It’s something you don't see people talk about often. Everyone is so afraid of aging and getting older. Truth be told, Natasha was looking forward to it. she got to notice the little things about you. The crow's feet were barely visible, the smile lines, the way you'd become sexier to her. At times, she would notice you inspecting yourself in the mirror. your chest or your stomach, your hands—turning them over as if searching for proof that time was catching up to you. She never understood why people feared it. To her, it was proof of life, of living.

She traced the lines on your face with her fingers at night, memorizing each like they told a story only she was meant to read. 

"You're staring." You’d say it with a huff, trying to ignore her gaze.

"I like watching my wife get even more beautiful." She'd answer quickly, meaning every word.

Natasha had never imagined growing old before she met you. Widows weren’t meant to. But now? Now she wanted every gray hair, every softened edge, every morning waking up beside you—just to see how time loved you, too.

*****

You're forty-seven when Cara gives you your first grandbaby. You're both by her side, holding her hand, coaching her through her birth. You press ice chips into her waiting lips as Natasha whispers sweet words—this life. Parenthood has prepared you for this moment. For the late nights and early mornings. For the quiet strength, it takes to be someone's rock. Cara squeezes your hand through a contraction, and you meet Natasha’s eyes over her head—silent understanding passing between you.

Your first baby is having a baby. It feels surreal. You remember the first time you brushed her hair, the first time she called you Mom. Now she’s here, bringing new life into the world, and you’ve never been prouder.

Natasha strokes Cara’s damp forehead, murmuring, “You’re doing amazing, malyshka.” The same way she once did for you in your most challenging moments. You offer more ice chips and whisper words of encouragement, and when the first cry of your grandchild fills the room, tears slip down your cheeks.

******

Your thirtieth wedding anniversary is a quiet celebration, as you both prefer. No grand party, no extravagant gestures—just the two of you, wrapped in the comfort of three decades spent side by side.

The kids insist on a dinner, and you let them, but the real celebration happens later, when it’s just you and Natasha on the back porch, sipping wine under the soft glow of the garden lights.

Thirty years.

Thirty years of laughter, arguments, and stolen kisses in the hallway. Of raising children and losing sleep, of rebuilding each other in ways neither of you expected. You reach for her hand, tracing the veins that have become more pronounced over the years, and she smiles at you like she did when she first walked into that café all those years ago.

“You’d still choose me?” you ask, half-teasing.

Natasha smirks, bringing your hand to her lips. “Every time."

[solxamber]

Riddle, Romantic, “Chai Tea” by audrey ( here’s a link if you need it: https://youtu.be/eGMQ82ujZtQ?si=niFp-AZx61FTnUb1 )

valentine’s day is a top tier holiday because it guarantees the cutest fics <3

real!! i really do enjoy the valentine's season

"With you, it's easy" || Riddle Rosehearts

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Chai Tea by audrey

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 670

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Pre-relationship, mutual pining, fluff

The soft clink of porcelain echoed in the quiet café, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the comforting scent of cardamom. You sat across from Riddle Rosehearts, your hands wrapped around a steaming cup of chai. Outside, autumn leaves danced lazily across the cobblestone paths, but inside, everything felt still—like the world had paused just for the two of you.

You were mid-sentence, rambling about a song you’d heard earlier in the day. "I think you'd like it," you said, taking a sip of your tea. "It’s got this really soft piano bit that reminds me of the rain."

Riddle watched you with quiet focus, his eyes softer than usual. He wasn’t particularly interested in the song—music had never been his strong suit—but the way your eyes lit up, the small curve of your lips as you spoke, was a melody all on its own.

Why does it feel like this? he wondered, fingers curling gently around his own cup. Every moment with you was calming yet exhilarating, like standing on the edge of something unfamiliar but wonderful. He wasn’t used to this kind of comfort. Rules had always been his foundation, structure his shield. But with you, there was no need for defenses.

"You’re not even listening, are you?" You teased, your voice cutting through his thoughts. The playful accusation was paired with a smile, and it made his stomach flutter.

He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. "I am listening," he replied, more defensive than he intended. His gaze dropped to the swirl of tea in his cup. "I just… don’t have much to add. But I like hearing you talk."

Your cheeks warmed at the rare vulnerability in his voice. He likes hearing me talk? The thought made your heart beat just a little faster. You reached across the table, lightly brushing your fingers against his hand. "I’m glad you’re here, Riddle."

His breath caught. No one had ever said that to him so simply, so earnestly. His fingers twitched under yours before he let them rest, allowing the contact without pulling away. "I… am glad too."

Later that evening, Riddle found himself thinking about the way your hand had felt against his—warm, gentle, grounding. It wasn’t grand or dramatic; it was simple, like the warmth of tea on a cold day. And maybe that’s what terrified him the most. Not the intensity of his feelings, but the ease of them.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop replaying every detail of his expression. The faint pink dusting his cheeks, the way his gaze softened when you touched him. Does he feel the same? You tried to silence the hope growing in your chest, convincing yourself that Riddle was just being kind. After all, emotions were hard for him, and you didn’t want to read too much into every little gesture.

A week later, you found yourselves back at the same café. This time, Riddle spoke more. He asked about your day, listened intently as you shared small, inconsequential details. In return, you asked him about his studies, about Heartslabyul, about things that made him light up with passion and pride.

The conversation flowed like the tea between you—effortless, warm, soothing.

And then, as you both reached for the sugar jar at the same time, your fingers brushed again. This time, Riddle didn’t pull away. His hand lingered atop yours for a second longer than necessary.

"You’re important to me," he said suddenly, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat. The vulnerability in his eyes was unguarded, raw. "You’re important to me too, Riddle," you replied, just as softly.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward; it was full of understanding, like a shared secret spoken without words.

In that moment, surrounded by the scent of chai and the rustle of autumn wind outside, both of you realized that maybe this quiet companionship had always been love in disguise.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[thebibliosphere]

I know you've had success with adding some caffeine back and I'm so happy for you! I, personally, have found that chai tea specifically has reduced the severity of my chronic migraines. Someone told me that ginger and cloves could help migraines and I was very "press X to doubt" but I tried chai tea and it has reduced the severity or delayed the onset of several migraines. I don't know if you're able to try these given your other medical conditions, but I thought I might as well ask just in case it could help. Sorry if I'm overstepping.

Ginger is extremely helpful with migraines for some people. Some limited studies have even shown that it is comparable to sumatriptan as a migraine abortive. (There are a few studies, but this one is at the top of my bookmark pile.)

I'm working my way up to being able to try ginger again -- ginger tea used to be a staple for me when it came to migraines. It's just that one of my last major bouts of anaphylaxis that put me in the hospital involved a meal that had ginger in it, so I'm being cautious. I don't think it was the ginger that triggered it; I'm just, y'know... the ✨trauma✨ persists.

[rentenwins]

silly little excuses (newneighbour!leehan x reader)

masterlist link | next chapter

synopsis: how oblivious can one get? leehan and his most favourite thing in the world… oh and his fish too, i guess.

content: NON-LINEAR TIMELINE this won’t make sense unless you read prev chapters!!, tooth-rotting domestic leehan, how does one feelings?, sungho is supportive but annoyed, f-bomb is dropped, banter, food depictions, FISH AND WATER

a/n: hi… i feel really bad for disappearing ;-; really bad writer’s block and very stressful time for me despite my uni break… but we are getting somewhere :’) hope you can all forgive me, enjoy!

wc: 2350+

taglist: @haechology @jenuinne @saintriots @badaspookie @yveol @yunextdoor @lailols @rawrbamgyu @amarecerasus @pandorahearts19 @luvvhaerin @saritahwang @bee-the-loser @secretlyseochangbin

chapter 7: testing the waters (literally)

“Temperature shouldn’t drop below 22 degrees C, nor the pH below 6.5 and— oh yes, I keep their food just underneath here, and if you see anything uneaten for a few hours just remove it gently with the net. What else…”

You stare at the drawer underneath Leehan’s fish tank as he just showed you, seeing how incredibly neat and organised it all looks. It’s the day after the beach trip with your friends, and now you’re in Leehan’s apartment as you had promised him yesterday. He had just gone through the whole process of how to read the thermometers and pH readings, as well as the quality of the filters.

(As Leehan said, “Oh, but I already cleaned them so they shouldn’t act up. But in case one of them does, just turn one off. One filter really is all they need, but I just find this more thorough…” You look at the tank fondly. He really does love his fish.)

Leehan’s a bit off today, you observe. He talks as much as he usually does, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes like they usually did. Now that you think about it, his smiles yesterday weren’t as quaint either. The boy took to wearing his glasses today, but it doesn’t do much to hide the bags under his eyes, nor to distract from the way he slurs his words a bit today out of an obvious tiredness.

“I think that’s all of it. But seriously, if you need anything, just text me.” Leehan says to you while you insist that it’s really not a problem.

This wasn’t your first time in his apartment, but Leehan was still jittery because of his crush! In his own house! Showing her a hobby that he never really opened up to a lot of people about!

Consequently, Leehan can’t help but recall a conversation from a few weeks ago, the same week when he had embarrassingly showed up to your doorstep asking for ingredients for his dinner.

——

“y/n, I think I like her.”

The line is silent, and a part of Leehan’s sanity comes back to him at the words he just blurted out. A crush. On his neighbour. Someone that he hardly knows. Mortifying to Leehan at least. The silence was almost killing him.

“Sungho? Are you still th—“

“About time you doofus!,” Sungho cuts him off with a shriek, “you and y/n’s heart eyes for each other were giving us high-blood pressure for goodness sake.”

“Us? Who’s us?”

Sungho scoffs at Leehan’s question, “Me and Taesan, duh. And probably Jaehyun too at this point. Don’t you know how hard we’ve tried to be subtle in helping you? God, I didn’t know y/n was this oblivious either, y’all really are meant for each other.”

“Helping? What on this earth have you been helping me with this whole time?”

Sungho groans, loud this time that Leehan has to remove himself from the speaker for a second. “The study session, leaving you alone with her. That ring a bell? Oh, and the chai latte. Leehan, I’ve known you for how long now, if I really wanted to get you something to eat I would’ve just gotten you those gummies you hoard.”

Leehan doesn’t even take a mild offence because he was too busy confirming his suspicions.

“So you were trying to sabotage me! Embarrass me in front of her and everything!”

“Oh good Lord, Leehan.” Sungho drags a hand down his face, “This was a plot for you to get closer to her! God, are you really that much of an idiot that I have to tell it to you like this straight up? I’ve never seen her so nervous, the way she looks at you like she’s mesmerised for some effed up reason. and the cooki— oh my god those cookies were the first fucking sign, I can’t believe yo—”

“Wait, hold on. Those cookies? I thought she made them for everyone.” Leehan leans back in his chair looking at the ceiling trying to process every interaction with you for the last few weeks.

“Well, yeah, she does,” Sungho says a little calmer, “but the last time she made those types of cookies were for Woonhak’s graduation and she wouldn’t stop complaining how time-consuming they were to make. Leehan. She likes you. So much that she’d make cute little biscuits for you and not give the rest of us. You know, like she usually does.”

Leehan is quiet, still trying to process the information Sungho just dumped on him and still staring at his ceiling. Sungho sighs and breaks the silence.

“You’re going to Busan right?”

“Yeah?” Leehan replies, more of a question and not a reply, “Not for another few weeks during study break. Why?”

“Let her take care of your Corydoras or something while you’re gone. Like house sitting.”

Leehan gets annoyed at Sungho a lot, but nothing gets him more annoyed at than when Sungho actually makes sense.

Sungho continues, “I was gonna tell you to confess to her but you can’t really do that if you’re on the other side of the country.”

Leehan slides down his chair, “I hate to say it but I think you might be getting somewhere with this.”

Leehan hears Sungho laugh. “Well, if she wonders why you asked her to take care of your fish and not us instead, just be honest.”

——

Honest.

The word reverberates in Leehan’s head throughout the current ordeal. It was reverberating all of last night when he was trying to fall asleep, the events at the beach were replaying in his mind. And it was the first time in his life he was at the beach and wasn't just thinking of the sea and swimming in it.

“Honest… trust.” he thinks.

You were both sitting on Leehan’s dining chairs that he pulled over from his small dining table to sit in front of the fish tank, showing you how he takes care of them.

“I’ll show you how I feed them, then you can try for yourself.” Leehan says as he stands and carefully opens the lid of the glass tank. He then opens the neatly organised drawer and pulls out a container of bottom feeder flakes.

“Just take a bit,” he demonstrates as he pinches a bit between his thumb and his index finger, “and you need to submerge it in the water so it sinks properly and so they don’t need to exert too much effort to swim to the surface.”

The fish food that Leehan releases into the water sinks slowly to the bottom to where the corydoras were all huddled. You watch as few of the fish start to eat and prod at the flakes.

Leehan passes the fish food in your direction to encourage you to give it a try as you stood from the chair. You take a pinch the same way Leehan did and you hesitantly let your hand hover over the water. Leehan seems to have read your hesitation and lightly grabs your wrist that was over the tank. You feel like you forgot how to breathe, yet your heart rate skyrockets and you feel your legs are wanting to give way.

Through it all, he doesn’t seem to notice any of this while gently lowers your hand until the flakes have been submerged, and you release the flakes between your fingertips. You see the fish curiously swim around the flakes like they've never seen it before, honestly you could watch them all day. Distantly, you remember Leehan’s hand that guided your fingers towards the water in the tank so you instinctively look at him, unsure of the blush on your face. But you’re met with the sight of Leehan enamoured with his fish as they ate and effortlessly glided in the tank.

He seemed to come back to his senses as he gazed at his hand still gently holding your wrist above the water. He gently lets go and clears his throat, hoping that his hair was long enough to cover his very red ears.

“Sorry I— wait here.” He manages to stutter out as he steps in long strides to his kitchen to grab a tea towel. He comes back with a tea towel adorned with cartoon corals and offers it to you to wipe your hands on, his ears still very visibly red. You mutter a ‘thanks’ and he clears his throat. Who knew a little gesture like that would’ve sent him to a frenzy? It’s silent again for a second as he takes the tea towel from you.

“How long are you away again for?” You ask to ease the awkwardness with a clear of your throat.

“Just three days, gonna visit my family and my nephew.” Leehan seems to reply easily, also trying to calm his blush down, “have you been to Busan before?”

You shake your head. “Well, did you want anything from there while I’m gone?” Leehan asks.

You shrug, “No clue.” Leehan looks like he’s deep in thought so you supply, “You really don’t have to get me anything, Leehan. Just— just come back safely, is all.”

Leehan’s eyes widen for a second before he laughs nervously, suddenly unable to meet your eyes at where you’re both standing.

“Well, I’ll think of something. I need to thank you in some way or another.” Leehan replies. He says it’s a ‘thank you’ gesture for taking care of his fish, but deep down he knows it’s also for his helpless little crush on you.

“Let’s hang out when I come back.” Leehan says to you, eyes holding yours as you couldn’t do anything but look back at him. His eyes trace your face, down to your lips where he doesn’t dare linger.

“I mean it. Just us two.” He adds.

You were taken aback, you almost laugh. There was no way he’s asking this right now. Right?

“Sure. If you’d like to,” you say with a dryness in your mouth. God, when did it get so warm?, “now you really gotta promise to come back safely.”

——

It’s Monday night, and Leehan had already left for Busan in the morning. You run some errands in the afternoon before coming back home, all with perfect timing so you could look after Leehan’s fish after lounging on your couch.

You make your way to Leehan’s apartment with his spare key, attached to it is a cute little green alien keychain. You go inside and make your way to the fish tank.

You step closer and open the drawer where all the supplies are kept and you’re met with a piece of paper that was undoubtedly Leehan’s handwriting.

Hi y/n, thank you for taking care of the Corydoras while I’m gone. And don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about your gift

Leehan ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

You can’t help but smile at the letter he had left. Putting it aside so it doesn’t get damaged, you start the routine Leehan had taught you the night prior. Checking the pH, the water temperature, then opening the tank to feed the Corydoras. You do it with care just like Leehan did, and stare at the fish as they swim around the tank, the slow hum of the filter the only thing that can be heard in the quiet apartment.

You felt happy that Leehan has trusted you with his most precious pets, knowing how much they mean to him. You sigh, not really fully knowing what he meant of ‘hanging out’. Not like you already do it with all your other friends. But he said just you two! ‘He probably just means well!’ you thought ‘to be nice, like an extra thank you. It’s not that bad.’

Before you know it, 30 minutes have passed of you just staring at the tank alone with your thoughts about Leehan, only disturbed by your onset of sudden hunger. You remembered the warmth of his hand over your wrist. You sigh and groan again as you stare at the tank and its colourfulness, then you really start to pay attention to it.

It was colourful, clean and vibrant. Leehan’s care was evident. and to you it was endearing. Who else would take so much care in caring for little creatures. You remember the sparkle in Leehan’s eyes as he looked at his pets after demonstrating to you on how to take care of them. You smile at the memory and your stomach flutters again, and not from hunger.

A sudden knock on the door startles you on the chair you were sitting on in front of the tank before the dread of Leehan’s words could haunt you again.

“Y/n? You in here?” You hear Jaehyun’s voice before the door opens as he lets himself in. He’s greeted with the sight of you in front of Leehan’s tank.

“Myungjae?” You turn around confused, “How’d you know I was here?”. Jaehyun was holding a plastic bag, clearly from food delivery, taking his slides off at the door’s entrance.

“I could ask you the same thing,” He chirps as he makes his way into Leehan’s apartment, “What? Are you missing Leehan already?” He places the delivery bag on the small dining table, smiling at himself, proud of his own little jab. The smile falters when your usual bite doesn’t come his way. He nervously looks at you, still sitting on the chair but your gaze meeting anywhere but his.

“Y/n.” Jaehyun says slowly as you look up at him, “I was just joking! I mean, I guess we all miss Leehan! Even though he… hasn’t even been gone for what? 10 hours? But seriously, who’s counting anyw—“

“Fuck, I think I like him.” You blurt before you could stop yourself. Your eyes immediately widen and you feel your heart plummet to your feet as you realise what you just said out loud. You smack your hand over your mouth as Jaehyun looks at you with mouth equally gaped wide.

The silence was palpitating, even the hum of the filter seemed too loud, and even with Jaehyun in the same room.

“Y/n.” Jaehyun tries again, and you meet his gaze again. But this time Jaehyun doesn’t look as calm as he walked in. His face looked like it was about to explode, like how he usually looked at Woonhak before he would scold him into next year.

“Y/N ARE YOU SERIOUS, YOU’RE ONLY REALISING THIS NOW? GOD YOU BOTH REALLY WERE MADE FOR EACH OTHER.”

next chapter.

[historicity-was-already-taken]

re: October 7

Regardless of what idiots who think Hamas is a fun progressive resistance org have to say, the fact is that the October 7 massacre is going to be something Jews talk about, mourn, and commemorate for the next X,000 years. Long after there is a place called Israel, and a group called Hamas--and frankly, anything resembling the world as we know it today--there will be Jews taking a moment to commemorate the events of October 7, 2023.

And that's not even a FUCK THE HATERS AM YISRAEL CHAI statement. It's not a pro-Israel statement or an anti-Israel statement or a pro-Palestine statement or an anti-Palestine statement or a Whatever Simplistic Binaries We've Tried to Impose on This Situation statement. It's not even a political statement.

Speaking as a Jewish Historian, the Jews are a people with a long memory. We still commemorate revolts and massacres and attempted massacres of the Jewish people that went down over 2500 years ago like they happened yesterday. It's not an accident that, when the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising went down, the Zionist participants* immediately drew parallels between themselves and the crazy fucking patriarchal spouse and child-murdering zealots who held out against the Romans at Masada in 74 CE. Jews forget nothing, from the Babylonian Exile, to the Crusade-era massacres, to Jednabwe.

Jewish memory is hardly an impeccable source of historical knowledge (see Yerushalmi's Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory); but we forget nothing. We will remember October 7, and some day we’ll probably have a commemorative cookie about it. It will be the subject of books and dissertations, and studies of post-Holocaust and post-modern anti-Semitism. The Jews will insist on learning from this, about this, and re-interpreting this. Forever.

Civilizations, groups, nations; they can keep hating and trying to destroy the Jewish people; but 2000, 3000 years from now, it will be by the grace of Jewish ethnoreligious memory traditions that anyone will remember their names.

*it was staged and carried out by the Jewish Fighting Organization, which was a politically pluralistic org. Everyone from the anti-Zionist Bund to the centrist General Zionists belong to it. Except for the Revisionists lol

ETA: This post is not a secret rhetorical tool to express stealth support for Israeli war crimes in Gaza. Or any level of support for violence against Palestinians. Ever. I hate that I even have to add that; but like I said: anti-Semitism's gone pomo.

Also, my mental soundtrack while writing this post.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dpxdc AU: Danny can’t fix Jason’s whole…deal… and doesn’t want to answer any questions on ectoplasm but he can get Jason to the best therapist he knows! Jason mistakes Danny constantly pushing Jazz his way as an awkward little brother move to set them up romantically- which uh, isn't necessarily a bad thing? Jazz has her own vested interests.

… heads up that this got long...

Jason ran his hands through this hair, relieving them from their previous position of cradling his face in embarrassment. Why was he sitting in a nice cafe with Danny’s redhead sister and a five dollar chai latte? For all the awkward live wire feelings he had, at least she was calm and composed. How many times had this happened already?

“So… the green stuff again?” Jazz asks, taking a sip from her own stupidly expensive drink and giving him eyebrows that beg for his explanation.

“Yeah. I was trying to get your brother to explain stuff without all the science mumbo jumbo. I just, I guess that means he defers to you.” Jason sighed, and tried to not think about how pretty her eyes were as she observed him.

“Not likely. But is the search for your answers helping you cope from day to day or making you climb an impossible mountain?” Jazz asks and it makes Jason fluster.

“It’s a moving goal post, sure, but I need answers if I’m going to fix my-“

“I think it might help you to realize that people don’t need to be fixed, they just need to grow.” Jazz interrupts.

They finish their drinks in a comfortable nonchalance, the rest of their conversation doesn’t go anywhere beyond their mutual hobbies and he’s grateful for that.

Jason's been doing a lot of introspection since this all started.

——

The first time it happened was months ago.

He confronts Danny after a mission, just wanting a simple answer on whether or not Danny thought the Lazarus pit contained ectoplasm? Could ectoplasm be separated from blood? Danny looked a little uncomfortable.

“Look dude, I know you want to know more but like, having this info isn’t going to help you. You need to talk it out.” Danny sounds sad and his eyes are filed with something adjacent to pity. It riles up the pit inside him.

“Oof. See that whole reaction thing. That’s not ectoplasmic, that’s something different. C’mon follow me.” Phantom cringes as he talks to him, and then floats across the rooftops, going slow enough that Jason can keep up on his grapple.

The arrive at a modest apartment building, not too far from his territory but clearly outside of it. Danny opens a window and slides in ahead of Jason, and all of a sudden he’s seated at a kitchen table with hot chocolate and teal blue eyes peering into his soul.

“Danny, some warning next time you’re bringing a crime boss to my apartment.” Jazz sighs and its not said with any malice or sarcasm. Danny gives her a grin and a peace sign before disappearing.

“So you want to talk about it?” Jazz turns back to him and asks.

“About?” Jason’s deep voice is going through the modulator and it sounds more sinister than it should.

“Death. Dying. The afterlife. Those are the normal things Danny brings people to me for.” She blinks.

“There’s a misunderstanding, I don’t need to talk, I need answers on Ectoplasm.” He grits out.

"Hm. Well that's not my field of study, but I can tell you that however your feeling is probably a valid response towards the trauma you've faced in life. Do you think showing yourself some kindness might lessen your desire to know the knitty gritty details?"

Jason scoffs.

"Oh. You're serious. No. I don't think being kind to myself is a valid approach to dealing with an infection that's cost me a lot of family relationships." Jason rolls his eyes. The woman looks contemplative for a moment and Jason can tell that while the dim kitchen lights are doing her no favors, she's incredibly beautiful. He pockets that information and refuses to think about it.

"So...Lets take this a different direction. Do you think successful people know what they're doing or do you think successful people need help to get where they want to go?"

"Most people are dumb and trying to get by." Jason grits out.

"So, accept that you're dumb. And then get by." Jazz replies, and then sighs and leaves the room.

Jason however, is now pissed off. Who the heck was she to say that to him?

____

The next time he finds himself across the table from Jazz, he's been on a wild goose chase with Danny and lands himself in a fancy restaurant. Why the hell was she here?

"Uh, it's called self care." Jazz replies, because apparently Jason asked that out loud. But he's not going to let this lead get away from him.

He takes off his helmet, years of muscle memory make him check that his Domino mask was in place, and sits down across from her. She raises a brow and then sighs.

"You think Danny might give me answers if I hold you hostage over, what is that, some kind of gnocchi dish?"

"Mm. Probably not." Jazz says, taking a bite and pulling out her phone.

"You're just going to ignore me then?" Jason finds himself a bit flabbergasted, he was a fucking crime lord, not someone to be ignored! Like he's just- just some bad blind date!

"Uh huh. You don't want to work on your issues and it's not my job to lead a stubborn horse to water."

"The expression is that you can lead a horse to water but you can't-"

"Can't what? Or are you still going to tell me it's not a huge waste of my time to tell you that you need to accept and forgive yourself to be able to move on. Find peace. Rest." Jazz is taking bites between her last few words but her glare remains unshakeable.

Jason is about to get up and leave when a terrified waiter comes over: "A dish, as compliments from the chef. Your guest's meal as well." He's shaking as he speaks and it makes Jason feel bad.

"Thanks." He grits out.

"...Is that the lasagna?" Jazz is looking at his food curiously, and Jason pushes it forward to indicate that she can take a bite. Probably not the safest thing for a civilian to do considering people regularly try to poison Jason but, meh. He's kind of pissed off at her still.

"It's pretty good. I was debating between that and the gnocchi- Okay let's think about this differently. You want to know about the green stuff, Danny is never going to tell a mortal about it and you keep denying yourself basic self-respect. What does your support system look like?"

"You're really pushing my buttons lady-" Jason can feel the green, but after a breath and seeing her unimpressed gaze "-I have a few friends who know what my deal is, I have an older brother who claims to forgive me, and a merry band of goons that I call my henchmen."

"Henchpeople?" Jazz asks.

"I mean, sure. That's more accurate."

"What do you do for fun?" She asks.

"I take down crime syndicates-" she levels him with another glare, he wonders why its so effective on him "-I read."

"Yeah? What genres?"

"Classics." He can admit only that much.

"Nerd. Are you going to eat any of that? You really shouldn't let food waste like that when it's not even fighting back."

"I don't know why I'm even bothering to talk to you right now." Jason spoke plainly.

"I dunno either but it's easier to tolerate you without the stupid helmet speaker. Anyway, If you like to read, hopefully that means you like to see new scenarios, new plots, stuff like that. You ever think to put yourself in side-character mode and contemplate what your whole deal is bringing to the table?"

"...How so?"

"Like, if you don't think it's worth it to treat yourself well, how do the main characters feel? Or, you know, if you were a child reading your story, what would you shout at them to move forward differently?"

"... I've decided that I only read poetry." Jason grumbles, trying to deflect with humor the fact that he does have some thoughts about what she's saying. She actually laughs at his joke though- he hadn't anticipated that.

"Uh, what is the Dr. Suess line? Stop telling outlandish tales, stop turning minnows into whales? something like that."

"Dr. Suess? Really?" Jason laughs.

"Sorry Mr. Classics, I spent most of my childhood raising my brother, forgive me for not knowing any fancy poetry." She huffs but he can tell she's laughing with him still.

They get off the topic of his mental health crisis and it turns out the Lasagna isn't half bad.

----

Jason keeps chasing Danny. Danny keeps leading him to Jazz. It goes for a few rounds before the ghost kid makes a joke about Jason liking her better anyway. Jason asks what the hell Phantom means by that, but Danny just laughs and says that Jason should just ask for her number.

...This does not sit right in his gut all of a sudden. Does he think that, that Jason is only pursuing this knowledge to keep talking to Jazz?? Does Danny want him to pursue Jazz? Does HE want to pursue Jazz???

----

He spots the Replacement in the Cave's lab before he heads upstairs to grab a cookie and leave as a civilian. The reason he even looked that way being that Tim is holding glowing green vials.

"Is that-"

"Yeah. They're literally the same except for the magic mumbo jumbo that Ra's has mixed in with the pit. Leave me alone now."

"So there is a way to heal it or, or extract it or-" Jason can feel his heart racing, but his constantly-exhausted sibling is looking at him like he's grown a second head.

"Dude. You're not gunna be able to flush it out with like, a juice cleanse. You're probably better off trying to find a magic user to deal with the curses and a therapist to do the rest." Tim looks like he's trying to be patient despite being deeply, deeply vexxed.

"Therapist- why in the hell would I-"

"I mean hasn't that been Danny's entire solution for you? He's only had one strategy the whole time he's lived in Gotham." Jason rolls his eyes.

"His solution is setting me up on dates with his sister not-"

"Dates!?! His sister is THE break out psychologist, she's done more for Arkham in the last year than decades of political reform! You've been goin on- wheez- oh my god I have to call Danny-" Tim is cackling, the lazarus water all but abandoned.

"Don't you fucking dare!"

After a (from both brothers) number of punches, a few headlocks and a large portion of threats, Jason agrees that Tim can tell his boyfriend but no one else.

Kon can keep a secret right? That's why he's the favorite?

----

"So... You and Jazz huh?" Danny looks amused as he floats by- Kon could not be trusted. The entire Justice league knows. Jason might have to die again. Apparently he said as much.

"Oh buddy, it's okay! You don't have to die again! I'm sure that if she likes you, she likes you just as you are, weird little zombie boy." Danny teases, turning intangible as Jason swings a punch at him.

"What do you mean if she likes me?" Jason asks, swinging with his grapple, trying to keep up with Danny.

"You think I read her diary or something? Weirdo. You need to talk to her about it tho, it's funny and all but I'm sure she's not a fan of the JL hot goss."

"I didn't start any of this-"

"My guy. Chill. I know, but uh, I did definitely tell her about it so... Oh look! We made it all the way to her apartment! BYE!"

Jazz is standing in the window and she looks like an absolute vision. Her glare makes him want to shit his pants however, and he knows that it's going to take all of his brain cells making contact to survive this encounter.

He sits on the fire escape when he realizes that she's not moving from her spot in the window, blocking his way. Ouch.

"So let me get this straight, you thought this whole time-"

"I thought Danny was being annoying and trying to set us up! I didn't know you were a shrink!" He tries to defend himself.

"...Why should I date an idiot?" the like yourself goes unsaid but he can hear it. Jason is scrambling.

"...I can make even better lasagna than that fancy restaurant you like." is what he lands on. Jazz bursts out a laugh.

"I was just fucking with you, but honestly what a great response." She's wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"Just fucking with me?" He grins a bit, unable to stop himself from getting excited.

"Yeah, I've been telling everyone at work that I'm dating the Red Hood for like, months now. It's been stellar for my hostage record, I haven't had an issue since I started the rumor!"

"We're dating?" Jason asks, a bit bewildered but charmed.

"I wouldn't give free therapy to just anyone! Now about that Lasagna-"

Something, something, something- they seal the deal with a kiss.

[auspicioustidings]

The Wild Prince

Blue Blood Part 1

Summary: You are the Duchess of a small Kingdom and your father trades you away for military aid.

@chai-isms made the mistake of saying they liked a royalty AU and this... sort of didn't turn out anything like I had actually planned 😂 So sort of royalty AU ish? Maybe? IDK it's basically just shameless smut.

Word Count: 2.6k

CW: Mention of abuse, smut

Part 2

At least they hadn't put you in a dungeon you had thought at first, but after a month this room was driving you mad. The servant that delivered you food would not talk with you, would not answer any of your questions about what was going to happen to you.

The war had been raging for two years, but it had been a far away thing at the start. It was something so totally removed from your life in your father's castle that you weren't even fully aware that your side had been losing. It was only when he had returned six months ago and the way he looked at you had changed that alarm bells sounded in the back of your mind. While you may have not had a mother to tell you of such things, you knew enough from the gossiping of the servants when they thought you were not listening that you were of age to marry and as you were on only child, your father should try and make a match.

It made you bristle a little to think of. You managed the household well, was it so important that it must have a man at the head when he was gone? 

And then the war had come to linger in your home, blanketing your days with the unease of something being kept from you. When your father had them pack you up into a carriage you raged at him, only earning a backhand straight across your cheek that left an angry mark, a thin line in the middle of the bruise from his ring having split the flesh. He had growled that this marriage was how you could finally be good for something, informing you then that he had remarried and his new wife was expecting a child. It had put you in a state of numb shock that lasted for the whole week of travel.

You had tried your whole life to be worthy of your family name, to be a good daughter. It had been for nothing. Your father was sending you off as some sort of bargaining chip to give him an edge in this war and there was not one thing that you could do about it. 

Now you could only pass your days gazing out of the window and wondering where on earth you were. If only you hadn't been in such a daze, had actually taken some study of your surroundings when you had arrived. You had been taken to the room in this tower immediately on your arrival, hardly able to discern what was happening through your hazy misery. There had been people around you knew, you remembered somewhat foggily a thumb dragged across the fading mark on your cheek. A low growl, a bitten off curse. 

As the night fell you sighed at the sound of the bath being drawn for you in the other room. This was the routine, every second night a bath was drawn for you, candle light dancing across the water when you sunk down into that wet heat. The servant would be gone and you would bathe alone. After a lifetime of having maids scrub at you it was strange at first, but peaceful in a way. 

Tonight was much the same, your muscles relaxing as you let your head roll back and closed your eyes. The sound of someone entering startled you, opening your eyes slowly to look over. You had been prepared to see the meek servant, not a young man dressed regally who did not seem the least bit concerned that he had walked in on you in such a vulnerable and improper state. 

You didn't yelp, the noise caught in your throat. Instead you curled in on yourself, trying to hide any view of the delicacies of your body from his gaze. He walked closer, kneeling by the bath so he was so close that you could smell the orange oil from his fingers. 

"Do you know who I am?" he asked with a gallant smile. It was as if he was some potential suitor at a revelry instead of a stranger in your bathing chambers.

You shook your head, feeling like the water had turned to freezing and locked up all of your muscles. He was handsome in a way that bordered on overwhelming, the brown of his skin and eyes catching the light from the candles to make him almost seem holy in the way he glowed. 

"My name is Kyle Garrick" he said and you felt the panic you had been holding down burst out of you.

Kyle Garrick, the 3rd Prince of the largest Kingdom on the continent, the one that bordered your tiny Kingdom to the East. People called him the Wild Prince, the one who should never have been legitimised. Prince Garrick was not the Queen's son, his mother was a Princess of a conquered kingdom who the King had grown fond of, his favourite concubine. They said that the war hero and King's right hand, Duke John Price, had trained the Wild Price himself. The Duke had won countless battles that changed the fortunes of the Kingdom with Prince Garrick by his side. They said the Duke's men were all monsters of some sort or other. The Wild Prince. The Ghost. The Blood Druid. The men were practically fairy stories to someone like you, not living and breathing people that you might one day meet. 

"Y-your royal highness! Please forgive my rudeness" you cried, head snapping down in supplication. You were a nobody to a Prince, some minor Duchess in a tiny bordering Kingdom. To be naked in front of him was wrong on so many levels. 

He laughed and the warmth of it sent shivers down your spine and tears to your eyes. Your eyes were fixed on the water as his fingers started to dip into it, moving back and forth and coming dangerously close to your legs still pinned to your chest.

"Look at me Duchess" he said and you found yourself giving a quick shake of your head. How could you look at him? You were shaking, naked, completely unworthy to be in his presence. 

"I said look at me" he ordered, your chin roughly pulled up with the hand not playing with the water near your legs. Gone was the gallant smile, his eyes now dancing with the amusement of a predator playing with their prey, your own eyes widening when you felt the brush of his fingers on your bare shin. The hand on your chin moved your head to the side.

"Good, your cheek has healed up. Couldn't have you getting married with a marked up face now could we?"

You didn't know what he wanted you to say. You were desperate to be anywhere but here, his presence was oppressive, bearing down on you and making your insides feel like they were fizzing. You had never felt so vulnerable. He didn't seem to mind your silence, only smirking and running his fingers up your shin more deliberately, taking delight in the way your pupils dilated and your breathing hitched. 

"That little bitch on the throne is blocking me from granting Ghost a proper title, I can imagine her face when she realises he's married the sole noble of the Western territory."

You could barely concentrate and he ran his hand up and down your leg, cresting over your knee occasionally causing the brush of his pinky against the swell of your breasts. That fizzing heightened and you involuntarily shifted, feeling a jolt between your legs from the friction of squeezing them together. You tried to focus, to keep your eyes on him and actually find out what was going on. If the whole situation wasn't already wildly improper you were sure you would have reacted with more horror at him addressing the Queen of this nation as a little bitch.

"I don't... Western territory? I am sorry your Royal Highness, I'm only a Duchess of the Kingdom to the West. I'm not a noble of any of the territories here," you said, not able to keep your voice even and instead hearing the breathlessness of it floating through the steam. 

"There is no Kingdom to the West Duchess, not after the Duke dared to mark what wasn't his to touch," the Prince cooed, as if it wasn't something world shattering to have said. Your Kingdom had been fighting a war with another small Kingdom for years only to be conquered in the space of a month. For you. They had conquered a whole Kingdom because of a mark on your cheek. 

You were overwhelmed, heart beating violently fast and frozen muscles going pliant. Plaint enough for him to apply pressure and shift your legs a little so they weren't completely pinned against your chest, allowing his exploration to continue past your knee and to your thigh. You heard a desperate whimper on the air, confused when you realised a second after it must have come from you. 

The Prince chuckled, shifting his body so that he could guide your head to his shoulder, holding a hand to your hair to keep you there. Your hands came to cling to his shirt, soaking it. You didn't know what was happening to you and it was grounding to be able to bury your face into him, cutting off your sight so you could try and get a handle of your other senses.

"That's it Duchess, just relax yeah? Ghost doesn't want to break you on your wedding night, so we're going to work on getting you nice and ready for him until then" he whispered right behind your ear. 

You didn't know what he meant. Nobody had ever prepared you for what happened on the wedding night, until a month ago you hadn't even known you were to be married so soon. When his hand finally dipped between your legs to cup at you there you cried out, tears spilling over at the new sensation. 

"Gods you've never-" he growled lightly, only stopping himself when he felt you tense to pause and readjust his voice to be gentler as he carefully ran a finger up your slit. "Bet they told you it was a sin, that you couldn't touch yourself here" he groaned when he felt the change in texture from water to arousal. 

They had their work cut out for them getting you ready for the Hunt. MacTavish would oversee the ritual of it obviously, would massage the divine oils into your flesh and dress you properly to be released into the woods after the wedding ceremony. When Ghost hunted you down and took what was rightfully his it would seal the marriage in the eyes of the old Gods, but he would be in a frenzy from the incense, incapable of preparing you properly in his pursuit of sinking into your heat and marking you his from the inside. So they would have to do what they could for you beforehand, spend the next week before the ceremony doing everything to keep you wet and wanting.

Kyle, clear headed and not under the influence of any of Johnny's bloody Druid smokes or potions, already found it hard to keep calm. The noises you were making, it was like a challenge being presented to him to get you to make more. Get you boneless and begging for it. When he started to make firm circles on your clit he got unbearably hard at the broken moan spilling from your lips as your hips started to move.

You felt like you were standing on the top of a tower looking over the edge, your stomach in knots. You had been told it was sinful to touch yourself in this way and in your efforts to be only the best daughter you could be you had taken heed and never tried. But this? Gods it was setting you ablaze. You could feel your insides clenching on nothing, feel your hips lifting to push against his fingers. He was speaking absolute sin into your ear and it made every sensation more intense, sending pulses of pleasure straight down to your core.

"Doing so well Duchess, pretty little clit taking it so well. Doesn't it feel good?"

You whined incoherently. You were desperate for something you couldn't name, feeling incomplete.

"I know Duchess, I know. Beautiful cunt wants something to clench on, greedy little thing" he said, fingers leaving your clit to trace down and circle your entrance, teasing with just the tip of his finger pushing against you before he growled and returned to your clit with renewed vigour. "You're going to cum for me. You're going to cum just like this tonight and tomorrow I'll make sure you get a finger inside to squeeze yeah? Fuck love going to get you to beg for my tongue, get Price to teach you how to ask real nice for it."

You couldn't really focus on the words anymore, too lost in the approaching crest of this wave. Kyle was mostly saying them for himself now anyway, hips rutting away against the side of the tub to try and get some relief. 

The orgasm was the most intense thing you recalled ever feeling, body going taught like a bowstring as the Prince brought you through it with his fingers. Your whole body felt like it had been flooded with sensation and then all at once you were boneless, limbs dead weights.

"Good girl Duchess."

You were shivering now, the water having cooled. When his hand left the water you went to move your head, but his other hand kept it there. You could hear the sound of skin on skin, his hot breath at your ear getting heavier and more strained before the sound stopped after a loud groan from him. You weren't sure what was going on, but it made you tingle a little again between your legs. 

His hand returned to the water, dipping in and out a few times before he finally let your head out from his shoulder. The dim light hurt your eyes after so long in darkness and before you could try and ask him what had just happened he scooped you out of the tub, not caring that he was getting his clothing completely soaked in the process.

The next 10 minutes were confusing and blurry in your mind, him drying you off and dressing you for bed like he was a servant rather than the Prince of a Kingdom that had just conquered yours. He tucked you in, bade you goodnight and made his way to the door. 

You thought that was it until he paused, tensed. Was he going to reveal that this had been a test and you had failed? Were you about to be thrown out? You had never felt so thoroughly ruined and anxious before. What did he want from you?

Kyle knew he shouldn't, but fuck it, what was the use in being a Prince if he couldn't indulge in the small things every once in a while. He whirled around, marched back to you in the bed and pressed a hard kiss to your lips before leaving again, making sure to lock the door behind him. Price was leaning on the wall in the hallway waiting for him, raising an eyebrow when taking in the absolute state Kyle was in.

"Fine" Kyle sighed, "I admit that this was a good idea, you were right and I should never have doubted you and your magnanimity. Happy?"

"Cheeky today Gaz?"

"Nah, just taking the piss. It was a good call Sir, she'll be good for Ghost."

He licked his lips on his way to his chambers and felt a rush of heat at the taste of you lingering there. Not just Ghost he thought.

[snickerdoodlles]

ooo kimchay au where kim starts falling behind in uni bc of idol related activities and gets paired with chay as his tutor?

oh man oh man oh man okay okay okay

the easy route here would be to make Kim and Chay the same age, but!! more fun to me is canon ages, more shenanigans SO

Kim is forcibly assigned a tutor

Kim Does Not Want A Tutor

he tries to run up the bureaucracy tree to find out who he has to bribe to get out of this. in true bureaucracy fashion, he can't get anywhere before the day of his first tutor assignment rolls around.

Ugh.jpeg

Kim gets to his stupid tutoring trying to find the stupid email for this stupid assignment--

"eep"

Kim looks up to. the cutest boy he has ever seen in his life.

fuck_im_GAY.png

and. he still has to get to stupid tutoring. when the cutest boy he's ever seen in his LIFE is telling him how much he admires Wik and gushing about Kim's latest song.

(life is UNFAIR)

moving stuff along: Chay and Kim walk up to the tutoring office or whatever i'm making up for their school, lah lah lah, flirting flirting flirting, etc etc etc;

front desk person: your tutor is 'Porchay Pichaya'

Chay: i'm a WHAT

so there was a system fuck up and Chay and Kim got paired together instead of both of them getting assigned to the right tutors. WhoopsTM

there's several reasons for why Kim could stay at this thing with Chay (might as well since he still has to do the assignment, Chay offers to tutor him anyways then panics when he realizes he has nothing to tutor Kim on, Kim has a spine of wet tissue when it comes to denying his crush on Chay, etc)

and there's several reasons for why they can stay doing this even tho Kim is really busy and does need help with his course load (he gets a study buddy with Chay and it is actually helpful in unexpected ways, maybe tutoring Chay fills a different set of units so he can drop a course to free up some time, Kim has a spine of wet tissue when it comes to denying his crush on Chay, etc)

lots of options, I love them all, but most importantly:

Kim and Chay flirting hanging out until tutoring becomes "tutoring" and they're making out on the desks and against the bookshelves and Kim has to spend an extra semester in uni making up some units he had to drop to better balance uni, idol activities, and new boyfriend

WORTH IT

[tobiasdrake]

who do you think is the best teacher in Dragonball?

That's a tough question. But I'm leaning towards Mr. Popo.

Our journey through teachers begins, of course, with the Muten-Roshi. Goku's only with Roshi for about eight months so we don't get to see a lot of his teaching, even though other Kame-senryu students are with him for longer. In that time, he's able to instill a very important philosophy in Goku that will guide him through his life.

It's the Muten-Roshi who imparts Dragon Ball's central theme of never being satisfied with yourself and always striving for self-improvement. He went to great lengths to instill that in his pupils - lengths so great that even Roshi questions whether they were truly necessary.

And he does have other good things to teach. Most notably, he's the one who teaches Goku the value of mental discipline and rest.

This well-balanced approach to self-improvement is something Goku carries with him. Part of what makes him so exceptional as a martial artist is that he understands that training and technique honing is only part of the process.

One of the things that makes Goku a great martial artist is that he understands your body needs time to recover and grow after exertion. That is the turtle master way.

But for all his benefits as a mentor, what the Muten-Roshi sucks at is fucking teaching martial arts. In terms of philosophy, he has much to impart. But when they ask him, the Muten-Roshi, the Old Heavenly Master of Martial Arts, to teach them martial arts?

He just gives them bodybuilding instruction. Roshi tells them that this is all the Kame-senryu is: Extensive strength training to become so physically tough that you can knock out a foe with one punch. He is, however, full of shit.

Despite claiming that martial arts is just being really strong, his fight against Goku in the 21st Tenkaichi Budokai sees him pull out all kinds of esoteric techniques and skills to level the playing field against Goku's insurmountable might and analytical brilliance. The Muten-Roshi knows a ton of practical martial arts technique. He's just not sharing.

I'm half-convinced he held all this stuff back on purpose just so he'd have a few aces up his sleeve in the tournament proper. Which even Roshi isn't sure was actually necessary.

His next teacher is Karin, the God of Martial Arts. Karin has some useful wisdom to impart with regard to anticipation.

And he introduces one of the most important items in the Dragon Ball series.

Thank you Viz for the redundant translation of "Holy Hermit Bean Bean". I don't get enough migraines from the dub constantly calling them Senzu Beans. This is the Chai Tea of Dragon Ball.

Goku is with Karin for about three days, and it goes pretty well. Karin presents Goku with a challenging test to overcome, which he must do by getting lighter on his footwork and learning to anticipate Karin's moves.

But for the most part....

It's still just strength training. Tenshinhan's out there learning secret Tsuru-senryu techniques to levitate in the air and nobody's willing to do more for Goku but bulk up his muscles. Speaking of which.

This guy tried to murder his own students because they wouldn't do an assassination for him. Fuck this guy. He sucks. Get out of here!

When you get to the moon, tell Toninjinka that his mochi needs wo-- Oh, wait, the moon's gone. Uh. Have fun in space.

Goku's next teacher would be God. Or at least he would be if God ever bothered to teach him. Which he didn't. Goku has never studied under God.

He made Goku stay at his Temple for three years to prepare for his rematch with Piccolo. But he gave up on that after deciding Goku didn't have what it takes to do what he felt must be done: Kill Piccolo and let God die with him. Goku's soft heart wouldn't allow him to do it.

So he dumped Goku on Popo and went, "You deal with this, I'm busy," and then went off to pursue the Mafuba/Evil Containment Wave instead. Goku's training was a scrapped project for him.

Nonetheless, Goku grew substantially during his time in Heaven. (Look at him! He's so much taller-- No, I jest.) Popo is the first teacher to offer Goku something that isn't strength training.

It's almost like he's never had a master teach him spirit or skills before. It's almost like.

Mr. Popo doesn't offer Goku more strength training. Instead, for the first time, Goku has someone who wants to teach him technique.

This is some of the most game-changing instruction Goku ever receives in his career. Over the next three years, Popo sharpens Goku not just physically but spiritually.

He technically doesn't learn to sense ki here; He gained a rough comprehension of it from drinking rat poison earlier that day. But as Popo demonstrates here, there's a world of difference between "Oh cool I can sense your ki" and "I feel Yamcha's ki 700 km in that direction. He's sitting in his home eating breakfast Wheaties and scratching his butt. Puar's preparing to make eggs aaaaaand now he's a frying pan."

This is where Goku makes the transition from martial artist to Heavenly Martial Artist, and the difference is stark. When he shows up to the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai, he's on a whole different playing field.

He no longer experiences reality the same way as everyone else. He's ascended to a higher plane of understanding. All because of Popo, since God abandoned this project and ran off to do his own thing instead. Goku is literally the "Dr. Gero's computer kept working and completed Cell anyways" of martial arts.

Great work, Popo. Gold star.

Kaio is next on Goku's list of mentors. He's working on a bit of a time crunch; Goku only has six months to spend with him. Kaio's training emphasizes two things. One is, of course, more strength training though this time there's an interesting twist to it.

Planet Vegeta's gravity is at least as strong as the gravity on Kaio's world. This is where Goku's introduced to the concept of gravity training for the first time - Something that, ironically, Vegeta would cling to more heavily than Goku. Goku's been doing weight training since Roshi, but the idea of increased gravity as a substitute for (or in addition to) weight is introduced by Kaio.

Goku himself would incorporate this gravity training into his later efforts to more fully master the Kaio-ken on his way to Namek. Speaking of which, that's the other thing Kaio imparts on him. From him, Goku learns the Genki-Dama and the Kaio-ken.

Kaio pretty much became Goku's forever teacher after this point, but we rarely see him do more than supervise. Which makes sense, since Goku officially became a Master himself as of the Namek arc. Though all of Goku's teachers will always be looking out for him, his art becomes truly his own from this point onward.

That brings us to Piccolo.

Piccolo comes from the "My Daddy beat me and I turned out fine" school of shaping young minds. It's to be expected; He was literally Evil Incarnate just eight years ago.

While Piccolo's journey of redemption is heartwarming to see and he does succeed in honing Gohan into a weapon, his skills as a mentor leave something to be desired. He fails to consider Gohan's psychological needs. He builds Gohan's strength and teaches him technique, but fails to grasp that this four-year-old child does not have a warrior instinct to get out there and throw hands with planet-killers.

He throws Gohan into the deep end and Gohan sinks like a stone. Failing to develop his bond with Gohan and offer the kid the encouragement he needs to get out there and do this is a fatal error in his training.

Piccolo pays for this mistake with his life.

Finally, that leaves Goku himself.

As a Master in his own right, Goku has so much to impart onto Gohan. At least, whatever Piccolo hasn't already. As a teacher, Goku is encouraging of Gohan and offers him clear and unmistakable guidance.

He talks things over with Gohan, explaining ahead of time what their goal is and how they're going to achieve it.

Like Popo, Goku's pretty great as a teacher. There's just. One. Small. Problem: He fails to consider Gohan's psychological needs. Yeah, that's right, Goku walks face-first into the same error that Piccolo died for, which is why Piccolo freaks out on him for it.

It helps that Piccolo not only has personal experience making this exact same mistake, but also the wisdom of God now.

Like. It's important to note that it's not that Goku misunderstands Gohan. He knows, intellectually, what kind of person Gohan is. He knows Gohan's passions lie elsewhere.

Nonetheless, Goku sees too much of himself in Gohan, overlooking the reality that Gohan was so gung-ho about training with Goku because he thought he was helping his dad. Despite clearly conveying the mechanisms and goals of their training, Goku never even thought to broach this topic with him because he just. Assumed.

Even though he knew Gohan longed for academia, he assumed Gohan also had the spirit of a martial artist in him. That Gohan was still driven by the same fire that he is, compelled to push his limits and test himself against mighty foes. He makes that fatal mistake that so many parents make, of projecting himself onto his child.

Goku pays for this mistake with his life.

Android 16 is able to salvage Goku's mistakes and make this work, much as Goku once salvaged Piccolo's. And to his credit, Goku learns and is able to offer Gohan the emotional support and direct coaching he needs to finish the job.

I particularly love "Show me the power that we made together" because it puts the emphasis on his and Gohan's bond, rather than Gohan's fighting. It demonstrates the expansion of his understanding of Gohan's motives.

Nonetheless, this was a pretty significant error too make as a teacher so I can't give Goku full marks.

With that in mind... I gotta give it to Popo. Popo took God's castoff dumpster-project, poured himself into it, and gave Goku some of the greatest instruction of his entire career. A+

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

“Blind Spot” highlights the heartbreaking experiences these Jewish students endured. But it also draws attention to their bravery and courage in standing up against antisemitism, pushing for a change at their schools to make them more inclusive and safer environments, if not for themselves then for future students on campus.

The featured students are not portrayed as victims but as the heroes in their own stories. They are seen taking action to make their schools more welcoming and safer for Jewish students in areas where too many school administrators allegedly failed to act. “Blind Spot” says such students “are on the front lines of a modern-day civil rights movement,” and they include Yasmeen Ohebsion from Tulane University.

When she first appeared in the film, the Israeli-Persian student admitted that she “couldn’t muster up the courage” to speak out against a professor who required students to read a writing by an antisemitic author, who promoted the narrative that Israel is a white supremacist and apartheid state. By the end of “Blind Spot,” Ohebsion is seen testifying in Washington, DC, in March 2024 in front of the US House Committee on Education and the Workforce, urging policymakers to pressure school administrators to take action against anti-Israel hostility and violence on her campus and others. Ohebsion concluded her testimony by proclaiming “Am Israel Chai” (“Long Live Israel”).

“The first word that comes to my mind is: inspirational,” Gold said of Ohebsion and other students featured in “Blind Spot” during an interview with The Algemeiner. “I don’t know that I would’ve had what it took to do what they have done. I was just blown away by each and every one of them. Their poise, courage, brilliance, articulateness, and their decision to stand up rather than just keep their heads down and do nothing and say nothing. And without them, none of the other non-students in the film would be able to help them.”

As noted by Gold, “Blind Spot” also features interviews with many non-Jewish pro-Israel supporters who are allies of these students, including Forham University President Tania Tetlow, Tulane University student Raymell Green, US Rep. Ritchie Torres (D-NY), and Carly Gammill, director of legal policy at StandWithUs.

“Attorneys need clients. Without these students as clients, the attorneys would not be able to use the law as a tool to help the students,” Gold explained to The Algemeiner. “The students had to come forward first, and they had to do so knowing that their cases would likely not be resolved before they left school. These students knew they were doing it at best for students to come and not for themselves. And to have that kind of selflessness, at that age or any age, is just so inspirational to me and so notable. It just confirmed the wisdom of the conscious decision that we made from the beginning to tell this story through the eyes and voices of the students who were impacted by it.”

Others in the film who speak in support of the Jewish college students experiencing antisemitism is New York City Councilwoman Inna Vernikov; llya Bratman, executive director at the Hillel at Baruch College; Alyza Lewin, president of the Louis D. Brandeis Center for Human Rights; Dr. Naya Lekht, a research fellow at the Institute for the Study of Global Antisemitism and Policy; and Susan Tuchman, director of the Center for Law and Justice at the Zionist Organization of America.

“We went out of our way to show scenes of adults talking to students, to show the mentorship and the attention to address their feelings and comfort them, encourage them and support them,” Gold said. “We tried to show that these students do have some support. It’s not necessarily coming from the people it should, like school administrators, but other people are stepping in.”

[woundedsoul12]

Something for the brain rot today. Little drabble based on a prompt for a ~coffee shop au~

Rook poured over the books before her, frantically trying to study for tomorrow's final. She was tucked in her favorite corner of her favorite coffee shop, a simple chai latte warming her hands but barely drank as she studied. 

Maker's breath, why did she decide to take micro again? Oh right, requirement for her program. 

She let out a groan as her head sank into her hands. She had to pass lab and lecture, or the whole semester was for naught. 

Tears threatened as she tried again to remember the various structural differences of a bacteria versus a virus. She knew this, or had known it weeks ago. But now, panic was setting in as she tried to cram for tomorrow. 

“Hey-”

Her head snapped up at the soft words, trying to hide her distress as the cute batista stood above her. What was his name again? Ah yeah- Lucanis. 

He wore a gentle smile, not of pity but understanding. And in his hands was a piece of her favorite raspberry cheesecake. 

For the love of the Maker, how did he know? She ordered it occasionally, but she never thought frequently enough for him to pick up on her tell. If she didn't have the hots for him before, she was certainly falling now. 

“It's Rook, right? You looked like you needed this.” He sat the plate down before her, careful to avoid any of her books haphazardly perched on the table. “And maybe, get some fresh air. It's actually my break time if you want-” 

Rook wished she could be smooth. She wished she could say something clever, but instead, she was just her. 

“Yes!” She blurted out with much more enthusiasm than necessary. She blushed deep red and just knew she had messed it up, but Lucanis simply smiled before extending a hand to her. 

“Don't worry, we can bring the cheesecake with us.” 

[kptssecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @dr-lemurr!

Merry Christmas drlemurr! I love all the beautiful art you contribute to the fandom I hope you enjoy your gift <333

Ship: KimChay

Tags: Fluff, Boys in Skirts, Established Relationship, Gender Exploration, Being Walked in On

*****

A Reason To Be Pretty

Kim's meeting with his manager ended a lot earlier than expected. Kim used to want to drag out meetings and schedules so he could be Wik for longer, but now he has a beautiful boy waiting in his apartment for him to scoop up and kiss and cuddle so he had no problem leaving his manager's office half an hour early.

Kim opened their apartment door and walked in expecting Chay to leap up and greet him from the couch where he spends all his time studying and playing video games, but there was no Chay in sight. Kim walked around the house but couldn't find his boyfriend anywhere, maybe he went out, Kim thought. Finally Kim checked the bathroom. He opened the door not bothering to knock as he and Chay were not fussed about privacy with each other.

“Chay I’ve been looking for you everywhere, I was starting to get worried.” Kim whined. As he stepped onto the tiled floor all he could do was stare and blink.

Chay was standing in front of the mirror in a short blue pleated skirt, knee length socks, and a camisole, holding a tube of mascara. There was even a little bow clip in his hair. 

All that occupied Kim’s mind in that moment was how adorable Chay looked. 

Chay froze and blinked back at Kim before scrambling to run away. Being in the bathroom he did not have much luck and ended up squatting in between the sink and bathtub.

“I didn’t know you would be back so soon.” Chay said as he looked up at Kim.

“Huh.” Kim responded stupidly.

Chay opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally saying, “How about you get out of the bathroom and I get up from sitting on the floor and we can have a better conversation in the living room.”

“Yes. That's a good idea,” Kim nodded before exiting the bathroom backwards. He sat down on the couch and waited for Chay.

After a few minutes he came out and Kim sat Chay down in his lap and stared at him, the skirt was gone but he still had a bow in his hair. Chay blushed all the way to his ears.

“Um you weren’t really supposed to see that but it's okay I think? Is it okay with you? I just don't know. I saw the skirt one time and I tried it on and it just made me happy for some reason I don't know, that's not weird is it?”

“Slow down baby.” Kim chuckled, “yes it's okay.”

“It's okay,” Chay repeated with a sigh.

Kim brought his hands to his boyfriends cheeks, “Do you want to talk about it? Do you do that a lot when I'm not here?”

“Not like every time, only if I’m in the mood for it I guess. If that makes sense.” Chay said.

 “Is it like a sex thing or…..?”

Chay blushed even more, “I don't think so, though I wouldn't mind that if you wanted it to be.” He paused and frowned a little, “I don’t know why I like it so much, I don't want to actually be a girl or anything I don't think?. It's just fun for some reason. It's freeing; I feel so myself and...” he paused and looked down at the couch they were sitting on, “I like feeling pretty.”

“You looked very pretty.”

“Really?” Chay asked and Kim nodded in response, “Thank you.” He murmured into Kim's neck.

“You can wear it around the house if you want, when I’m there.” Kim played with the little bow clip in Chay’s hair, he couldn’t help but still think it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

“You want me too?” Chay looked back up at his boyfriend with eyes full of wonder.

“Yeah. I could even buy you another skirt if you wanted,” he placed a kiss on Chay's fluffy hair, “or more clips.” Kim was never going to pass up an opportunity to spoil him, and he would do anything to help Chay be more Chay.

Chay cuddled as close as he could into Kim’s body, “I’m so glad you came home early.”

Kim gently held his cheeks and kissed his adorable person, “Me too, pretty baby.”

[shou-jpeg]

-Back on the Beat-

Part 4. 06

One year later

November 19th, 9:50pm 

Kim hits a high note and the crowd goes wild. 

He’s sweaty and high on adrenaline, approaching the end of his largest show yet. 

It’s only a few hundred people, but it’s also a sold out show, and Kim still feels a little overwhelmed with that knowledge.

Porchay is in the crowd. 

He had walked into their apartment five weeks ago and announced to Kim that he was going to celebrate the end of his first year of university by devoting himself wholly to being WiK’s #1 fan; a job he then applied himself to with as much, if not more gusto than he applied himself to studying medicine. 

He looks ridiculous right now, dressed head to toe in unofficial, homemade WiK merch. He’s also holding a handmade sign above his head and Kim has to stop himself from smiling like an idiot every time he looks over at him so his fans don’t start rumours.

They'd agreed to keep their relationship on the down-low, for now. Only while Kim builds his audience, since being single sells.

He holds Chay’s gaze throughout the entirety of the song they wrote together and the people around Chay are definitely noticing. Kim isn’t doing a very good job at being subtle, he thinks.

Oh well. 

He’s exhausted, but he raises his arms over his head and makes a heart with his fingers to thank his audience as he closes the set. The crowd goes wild once more and Chay is giggling into his hand over something.

He’s so cute. 

He’s probably laughing at Kim though, Kim thinks warily. 

~~~

A few days later, Chay announces that a photo of Kim from his concert is going viral on twitter and is doing wonders to boost his popularity both nationally and internationally. Something about people thinking he’s cute?

Kim considers how much he can press and the wary way the bodyguards back at the compound look at him when he walks past. 

He’s definitely not cute.

Porchay won’t let him see his phone though, and he can't be bothered to check himself.

Whatever. So long as it’s getting him good reviews.

May 23rd, 6:05pm - a few months earlier

“I think Jimbo likes you more than me now.”

Porchay scoffs. “That’s just because I’m the one who feeds him most of the time. You’re always out these days, being all popular and in demand. What will we do when you become proper famous?”

“You don’t like having a popular boyfriend?” Kim pouts, turning to look at Porchay from where he lies on the bed, watching him play with their cat. Porchay only moved in last week, yet he’s taken on being a cat parent like nothing else. Kim has barely even cleaned the litter this past week. It’s been a weird disruption to his daily routine, but it has given him a lot less to worry about with his increasingly erratic schedule. 

He released the song they wrote together last month and it hit the national top 10. He’s had three different studios reach out, wanting to sign him. 

Kim tries not to think about it too much; it’s too overwhelming, how good he feels about it. The bars he usually performs in are starting to become too small for the crowd that he draws. 

He should probably hire a manager. 

Porchay looks up at him. “P’Kim as your biggest fan, I could not be more thrilled to be dating my idol. It’s like I’m living inside of a fanfiction.”

Kim hums, hesitant.

“Does that mean we get to live happily ever after?”

It’s way too soon, they’ve only been together six months. Kim was ready to spend his life with Chay from the moment Chay unblocked him, but he’s pretty sure there are rules around these things. 

Kim isn’t good at this. Porchay told him so himself… though he was smiling at him fondly when he did. 

He’s smiling that same smile at him again now. 

“Yeah,” Chay says, soft. “We get to live happily ever after, p’Kim.”

February 10th, 9:28am

“I want to study medicine.”

Porsche looks at him with almost comical surprise, and Porchay tries not to laugh at his expression.

They’re out at their new weekly brunch date together, and Chay has been waiting for the right moment to bring this topic up. He’s spent a lot of time over the past few months, both on his own and with Kim’s help, figuring out what he wants to do with his future. He’s feeling pretty confident in his choice, but he hasn’t even begun looking at universities yet and enrollments are coming up soon. 

“I’m not sure what field I want to specialise in yet, but I’ve thought a lot about it and medicine feels like the right direction for me. I should have at least a year of classes before I have to choose my field - I want to feel it out a little and see what feels right for me. I was hoping you could help me look at university courses?”

Porsche puts his fork down and settles back, serious but obviously trying to hold back his glee. “Of course, Chay. We can get you into any university you want.”

“No!” Chay interrupts him, “I want to get in on my own merit. I only want help finding a good course… please…”

Porsche smiles at him, big and wide and happy. “You can do it! Come around here, let’s start now!”

Chay gets up and moves around to join Porsche on his side of the table, bringing his phone with him. 

“Okay, so I’ve already been looking at a couple courses. Tell me what you think, hia…”

February 6th, 11:39pm

“What about some sort of doctor?”

Porchay looks up at Kim. 

They’ve been going through lists upon lists of career ideas and quizzes and self help guides. It’s been nearly four hours and Porchay really shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was with the seriousness and intensity at which Kim approached the task. 

Kim loves solving cases and sorting through things. It’s something Porchay discovered recently, and even though the topics themselves sometimes aren’t so cute, the way Kim gets when he has something to solve in front of him definitely is. 

He reaches over to smooth the little furrow between Kim's brows. “What kind of doctor?”

“I don’t know. You said before that you wanted to do something to help people, but didn’t put your own self at risk.” He's right, but it’s also a little left field. All the results from Porchay’s quizzes have pointed him in the direction of something creative, and they haven’t done much research outside of creative careers yet. 

Doctor. 

Porchay thinks about Porsche and his new, scary job. He thinks about Kim and his tendency to push himself too hard. 

He thinks about Khun, and Kinn and all the bodyguards.

Doctor. 

Yeah. Something about that feels right.

January 26th, 10:45am

It’s their two month anniversary and Porchay is nearly jumping on his heels as he waits in the lobby of Kim's building. Kim approaches slowly, trying to look cool and not at all as nervous as he feels inside. 

Chay has been secretive about today, only telling Kim to keep his schedule completely clear. He's been distracted every time they've seen each other over the past couple of weeks abd Kim has had to put a surprising amount of effort into not trying to suss out what Chay has been planning for them. 

An effort that proved even more challenging when Khun's crytic texts began rolling in even couple of days.

Of course it turns out Khun was on the money with everything. As usual.

“You never use it, so I stole it back the other week and made you this.”

November 28th, 10:35am 

“I’m a little nervous.” Chay is sitting across from him, boba tea in hand and a light flush to his cheeks. 

They’re at their usual boba tea spot, but it’s also their first date.

Kim is feeling the same. 

“Mmmm.”

Chay laughs at him lightly. “P’Kim! Are you nervous too? You’ve hardly said anything since we got here.”

Kim takes a moment to consider, looking up from his tea at Chay’s slowly growing smile. 

“...mmmm.” Chay laughs loudly enough that a few people around them turn in their direction. Kim smiles. 

Success.

THE END

< Prev - First - Extras >

Playlist

[yansurnummu]

Fading Light

Drals and Zerith-var rest for the night in Rawl'kha. Zerith-var ruminates on his strange new companion.

Rating: T

Words: 831

(AO3 link)

It was some small comfort to Zerith-var to know that at least some things hadn’t changed so much. He watched the bright colours of the sky as the sun set over what remained of the city of Rawl’kha, breathing in the sweet, spiced scent of the cup of chai in his hands. It was perhaps a little more watery than how they would have made it in his time, but he tried his best to force himself to appreciate the little things.

He took a deep breath, pulled from his thoughts by the flicker of a flame between the fingers of his companion across the table from him. He lit a pipe of some sort he had held between his teeth, dried leaves catching and producing a sour smell.

Zerith-var eyed the strange elf as he leaned back in his chair, exhaling smoke. After the chaos of the day, running all the way to Rawl'kha and finding his hidden sanctuary in ruins, finding that he really, truly was far from his own age, he allowed himself to really study Drals for the first time. 

Everything about him was alien to Zerith-var. The longer he studied him, the more fascinated and curious he became. His clothing and armour were strange, black and embroidered green, the patterns geometric and organic at the same time. The metal plating on his bracers and chestpiece were nearly chitinous, reminiscent of beetle shells but on a much larger scale. In the fading light, the lantern on the table cast a golden glow over his ashen grey skin, the most obvious oddity that had been nagging at the back of his mind. He was sharp-featured, like many elves Zerith-var had met in his time; though too tall to be Bosmer, but too short to be Altmer.

His hair, for the most part, was black as night, though strands of silver showed underneath where it was smoothed back behind his pointed ears. Zerith-var’s eyes traced the lines on his face in profile, from the sharp bridge of his nose to the creases around thin lips. He was… handsome in a way, he allowed himself to admit. The one amethyst eye that was not covered by his eyepatch flicked his way, and Zerith-var tensed as he was caught staring.

“What?” Drals said simply, the creases around his eye highlighted as he narrowed it.

“I do not wish to be rude,” Zerith-var sighed, “but your appearance is… strange to me. I… hm.” He hesitated, trying to find an inoffensive way to word the question and coming up with very little. 

Drals nodded curtly, looking away once more.

“Right, yes,” he grumbled, gesturing at his eyepatch and the scarred half of his face with one hand. “It's a long story. My ex-wife tried to kill me, I spent half a lifetime trapped in a Daedric Plane, and was cursed by the Prince of said plane. But I think it's sorted now. Hopefully.”

“That is… not what I meant.” Zerith-var grimaced, circling his hands around the ceramic cup on the table in front of him. “Besha ahnz’ii. I have never seen an elf of such a grey complexion.”

Drals blinked at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving. 

“Oh. By the Three, you have been gone awhile, haven't you?”

“It would seem that way,” Zerith-var said solemnly, picking up his tea cup once more. “And what is this ‘Three’?”

Drals only sighed, putting his pipe to his lips.

“Well… I suppose we’ve the time for a brief history of my homeland. So, the story goes…”

Zerith-var listened intently as Drals told him what he was sure was a very opinionated version of the story of his homeland, a Morrowind he had never heard of before. He found that he enjoyed listening to Drals speak; his tone was rough and he had a bit of a dirty mouth, and it was something that Zerith-var found himself charmed by.

As they talked into the night, Zerith-var's gaze wandered. He quietly – and, he hoped, covertly – appreciated the lantern's glow on his skin and the deep shadows it cast, the bit of dark hair visible under the collar of his shirt, the parting of his lips as he exhaled smoke. He had a haunted, intense look in his one eye, a look that disarmed Zerith-var every time it was directed at him.

Were he a younger Khajiit, perhaps he would have pounced at the chance to know him more intimately. To press his hands against grey skin, to learn if his hair would be as sleek under his fingers as it appeared. But he was no ja'hadaliit, and he had little time now to entertain such desires. 

Not that it mattered, anyhow. There was a dark, looming guilt hanging heavy over his heart, one that he was not certain would allow him to love freely again. He would just have to look at Drals – the handsome, intelligent, mysterious elf that he was – and long for something he could not have.