#he is allowed to be affected by his sacrifices

[storytellingbadger]

Hey little curious question for celestial phenomena.

Sun, has called New Moon / Nexus his twin.

But he also seemed to have called Old Moon that?

So...now that he is back...how is this part going?.

Cause I can't imagine nexus and old moon calling each other twins?

...I bet Old Moon had quite some feelings about Nexus Bering called Suns twin

It's fine if you don't have a answer, just kinda curious

Hello and thank you for the ask!

This is a good’un. Apologies for the essay.

Old Moon’s in a pickle and has no one to blame but himself, which means his margin for complaining is very small. He chose to “die” and swap in New Moon (let’s just call him Nexus herein for clarity). He chose to sacrifice himself and, consequently, forfeit his position in the family and abandon Sunrise.

Now he’s back, having been instrumental in rescuing Sunrise, Solar and Swift. But he can’t just pick up where he left off because so much has changed. Killcode and Bloodmoon are part of the family. They have a sister. Chaos abounds on a daily basis, but they’re happy.

Old Moon meant for Nexus to be better than him. Better person, better brother. But the reality of coming back and finding that Nexus speedran the mission and has a special bond with Sunrise is, selfishly, a bitter pill for Old Moon to swallow. Nexus struggles hard with feeling inferior to Old Moon, but Old Moon secretly feels the same way about Nexus.

Which brings us to Sunrise. Old Moon loved his twin and would’ve died for him, but he didn’t treat him well. Now he’s in a position where if he reverts to old habits - ignoring and bullying, using the killcode voice, “test subject” treatment, or whacking sticks, etc - there would be hell to pay. The family won’t tolerate it, never mind what Solar would do. And Solar’s a hell of a shock to the system - Sunrise has ended up with an eclipse-model, of all things. Someone clever and steadfast who won’t take any of Old Moon’s nonsense, and won’t allow Sunrise to slip into old doormat habits either.

So Old Moon has to share Sunrise in a way he never had to before. He has to compete for his time, approval, affection, everything. He’s no longer the centre of Sunrise’s world.

Long story short in answer to your question - Sunrise sees both Old Moon and Nexus as twins to him. Not in that they’re the same person, but they’re both closer than brothers. Old Moon and Nexus however do not think of each other so fondly. For a long time they’re not even friends, they just happen to share a twin. They’re both sometimes incredibly stubborn and childish about it and compete for “best twin” position. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s horrible and hurtful. It’s a work in progress.

Ultimately, Old Moon is hurt and bitter than Sun calls Nexus his twin too, but he also knows that it’s his fault, and therefore can’t say a word about it. He made Nexus, so now he has to share.

Thanks for the ask! Again, sorry for the mammoth response XD

[scliffe]

My theory is that the contract might have a direct influence on how much of power Sebastian can employ; since Sebastian has to follow some rules in the human world such as needing r!Ciel’s soul sacrifice to manifest, and even Ciel’s contract mark placement seems to affect how much of his power Ciel can draw out. He’s also asked Ciel to give out orders directly before; in Baron Kelvin’s manor and on the boat during Campania—so it seems he gets to draw out more power in the human world if he’s following a contract with a human. Basically, the contract stipulates how powerful he gets to be.

William mentioned demons without contracts before; so I assume that without a contract he would still be able to maintain his manifestation or exist in the human world as the ferry fee has already been paid—but this raises the question on why demons bother forming contracts with humans if they don’t need to be bound by one to exist, steal souls, or lead souls to damnation; the easiest answer is that having contracts allow them to draw more of their original strength.

For example; Sebastian has been shown to be capable of influencing people and interfering with their mental thoughts before, but never to the extent where he’s perfectly able to gaslight someone into believing a dead person is actually alive—so the reason why he could promise such a thing to Ciel when they were negotiating the contract was likely because having the contract would allow him to exert this particular power on full-strength towards his own contractor.

He is also able to form multiple contracts; though he claims that this is against his aesthetics—going by this theory, doing this might also divide his power among multiple contracts; which Sebastian does not like—but generally this sort of implies that he is capable of going against a contract if another contract allows him to. Since he only has one contract, however, expressly going against Ciel or losing the contract would probably limit his power.

This is why he prefers to exploit the major loophole in the contract; which is that the contract seems to be highly interpretative on the demon’s part—Sebastian isn’t considered to be breaching the contract when he’s still technically following it even if he’s deliberately misunderstanding his contractor; hence he can go against Ciel’s orders in order to protect his life, but when Ciel had a PTSD attack in Green Witch Arc, Sebastian can interpret that as Ciel abandoning his revenge and thus breaching the contract.

TL;DR I think Sebastian is capable of going against a contract (as for whether it’s physically painful, I doubt something like this would matter to demons) but the consequence of a contract breach (as opposed to bypassing the contract terms through loopholes) is losing at least some of his power in the human world (until another contractor comes around).

I also like the interpretation that Sebastian can abandon his contract anytime but simply chooses not to do so because that idea makes him much cuter in Campania.

so when ciel directly orders Sebastian, can he disobey and does he have any repercussion for doing that?

is he physically able to go against what ciel orders and is it painful to do so

bc ik sebadtina always finds a loophole but what if there isn't one. can he just say fuck it and not listen or will he be physically forced to do it still by their contract

[illusionremember]

fic idea where Cas loses his grace and becomes human and slowly goes mad from being compressed into this tiny little human body dying all around him. not like in endverse but a whole new way of deconstructing over time. the breadth and span of history and the cosmos is too much for a human brain to hold and it starts with migraines and phantom limb wings and rings and eyes. He has claustrophobia and dysphoria. He feels comparitively blind and deaf and brainfogged all the time. His human shape simply cannot contain him any longer because he was never made for that.

but like, with a happy ending somehow, I'm not a complete sadist :P

[wriokitty]

“Did you know—”

“I don’t care,” Sukuna interrupts, wholly disinterested. It’s half past three—(which is, of course, his fault, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less tired).

But you, wholly uncaring, promptly ignore him. “—That some female spiders eat the male ones after mating?”

“What do you want me to do with this information?” He looks at you irritably, glaring at you from the corner of his eyes. You flash him a grin—it’s a mischievous little thing, your lips curled in a cheeky, flirty way that warns him silently that he’s about to risk popping another vein. He seems to do that around you quite often, and it certainly feels like it’s underway once more.

(And, as it always is, his intuition would be right).

“It’s a warning,” you hum.

He snorts, raising a clearly disbelieving brow as he hums, “oh yeah? For what? Are you gonna—wha-hey!”

Not a lot catches Sukuna off guard. You giggle as he barks out a surprised yelp of your name, harshly shoving you away from his chest. There’s a nice, fresh, very crystal and very clear outline of your teeth marked right on the flesh surrounding his nipple.

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asks incredulously.

You let out a soft, amused little giggle that sounds through the room before he feels your weight shift and fall onto him, making him grunt as his arms steady you and his eyes stare up at your hovering face with an agitated purse of his lips.

“I’m eating you,” you say cheekily, “see?” For emphasis, you leave an equally as shocking bite to his bicep, your head leaning down to get a mouthful of his bare arm. He lets out a low, startled grunt before one large and very firm hand grabs the back of your neck and yanks you off.

“Have you completely lost it?” He hisses.

“We just mated—”

“Who on Earth talks about sex like that? We are not animals who—”

“—And now I’m going to eat you after mating. Like a female spider.”

“If you’re going to be weird, just go the fuck to sleep,” he grumbles lowly.

Sukuna is tired.

(And yes, the reason is partly because he’s a bit inexhaustible once he’s felt the velvet heat of your walls, and yes, it’s technically his own greediness that’s worn him out so physically for the night. But that’s all been the cost for something of greater benefit to him. Something he doesn’t exactly mind draining his energy for.

Bur your odd, unsettling, abnormal and very plainly weird schemes are not a part of the list of things he’s willing to sacrifice his energy for. There isn’t much pleasure in entertaining your nonsense most of the time.

If anything, there’s pain—the stinging bite marks on his skin can attest to that.)

“I’m not tired,” you hum.

“Then let me make you tired,” he offers smugly, lips tugging into a cocky grin as he looks up at you.

“If you didn’t manage that the first time, what makes you think that’ll work the second?” You tease.

He doesn’t seem to like that very much, because with a growl, he pushes the back of your neck until your face falls into the crook of his neck, a strong, bulky arm wrapping around your waist and keeping you in place against his body.

It’d be awfully intimate, and awfully sweet if he didn’t mumble, “I love when you sleep because it’s the only few hours of the day I get to hear you shut the fuck up.”

“Maybe if you’d just appreciated my fun fact—”

“You bit my fucking nipple.”

“I could bite the other one, too, if you want,” you pipe up with an excited grin. He can feel it pressed against his skin as your face buries deeper into the space between his neck and shoulder.

Sukuna is tired. Most of the time, it’s because of you. All of the time, he chooses to allow it because he likes having you around for a good fuck.

(And, of course, there’s all that bullshit about love and affection, too. But that’s just that odd stuff you like to babble about—that odd, unsettling, abnormal and very plainly weird emotional part of you that somehow ropes him into being the same way every once in a while.

He doesn’t like it.)

“You need a lobotomy,” he mutters, wincing when you bite the skin of his neck in response. Not in a manner he likes, either—very much in a manner that makes sure he feels the sharpness of your incisors.

“Don’t be rude,” you scold, “I’m biologically meant to be your predator.”

“You biologically give me fuckin’ migraines.”

You grin—it’s a smile that’s easy. Smooth. Maybe a little giddy, too. It comes out only around Sukuna. Him and his gruff, rugged way of accepting your affection, and his double as rough and crude way of giving it back. His callused hands and toughened knuckles that brush along your cheeks carefully. His crass and undignified words that are carefully thought out enough to never cross the line. His downturned lips and narrowed eyes that only ever soften at the sharp corners around you.

“Next time, I’ll eat you for sure,” you murmur, settling against his chest and getting comfortable. He wraps both arms around you, warm and tight enough that you almost think you can forgo the blanket altogether. “Assert my dominance.”

“You can’t even open the pickle jar.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s only a matter of time until natural selection gets you,” he snickers quietly. You huff, biting back a smile as he yawns.

Gently, with a kiss over the bite mark you left against his neck, you say softly, “goodnight. Love you.”

“Night.”

“I love you.”

“For the love of—love you too, holy fuck. Go to sleep.”

[frecklenog]

“self immolation as a form of extreme political protest has a long history all over the world, and aaron bushnell’s death should not be discussed solely as a suicide”

and

“people who are already hurting and vulnerable can do more to help while they are still alive than they could in death, and should not repeat aaron bushnell’s actions”

are statements that can and must coexist, actually.

he felt that he was complicit in genocide as an active duty us service member, and, to an extent, he was. but also as an active duty service member, he was legally not allowed to quit his job as a member of the military.

his final act was to take drastic measures to draw attention to a genocide that many people in this country are turning a blind eye towards, and i commend him for his sacrifice. it should be honored and remembered.

that doesn’t mean i want anyone to feel that they should follow in his footsteps.

he should not have been made, by nature of his employment, to feel that he was complicit in genocide, because those in power should not be funding and supporting it in the first place. but they are doing so, and he made it clear that did feel that way. we can’t change that. that doesn’t give us the right to dismiss and ignore his actions.

“this [genocide] is what our ruling class has decided is normal.” and it shouldn’t be.

keep bushnell’s message in mind as you organize. protest, fundraise, call your representatives. these are actions that have a tangible effect. and they do far more to help than dying.

but i’m not going to condemn him, just as i’m not going to condemn the likes of thích quảng đức. i’m not going to say that his death was worthless, because it brought undeniable attention to the matter at hand, despite attempts by american media to gloss over why he did what he did.

i understand where people are coming from — self immolation is a deeply disturbing thing to witness, even blurred. i was very deeply affected by the video. but that’s exactly why he did it; to get through to people that this matters.

i don’t want anyone else to die, either. but remembering aaron bushnell and what he died for is not synonymous with encouraging suicide.

his last words were “free palestine” and, as people living in countries that are funding extermination, it is our job to carry on that cry until palestine is free.

that means living to see it through. ensure that he did not die in vain.

[bamsara]

If given the motivation I would ramble more about Trod, specifically Tyren and how he's my little dude but also a character who's behavior I've based on being a victim of obsession and idolization myself and how it's very cathartic to write a character exhibiting all the traits, both good and bad I've experienced in the Lamb's position and then knowing exactly how his story ends

That and some Narinder rambles and how Lamb is more comfortable with him than a sweet dog that surely shows more respect for them (idolization that does not see them as a person)

edit: nevermind I did end up rambling. Some TROD spoilers

its great I love this stupid dog and his scheming ways and writing just *why* he's doing what he's doing with genuine belief it's to better protect what and who he loves without actaully taking into account the subject of his affection's feelings on the whole matter. He would never hurt the lamb physically but clearly that three eyed cat is nothing but stress for them (and is he wrong? is Narinder not a source of stress? We are not light in the 'enemies' part of the friends to enemies to friends to lovers part of the trope)

Though the difference between Narinder and Tyren, the rehabilitation and the corruption, although all entitlement, is agency.

Narinder often touts himself as uncaring and hostile to the Lamb and is still angry from the betrayal, as they are, but their agency is still considered even in anger.

In the Fox chapter where Narinder wishes to sacrifice Grekimar and Tyren, Lamb refuses. They argue about it and Lamb stands their ground, Narinder is unhappy about it but does not go behind their back and sacrifice cultists anyway when he very well could.

After reuniting after the fight when Leshy is revived, Narinder and Lamb argues heavily over the subject of whether or not Narinder is allowed to kill Leshy, someone who harmed both him AND the Lamb severely, and even though he's bitter about it, Narinder acknowledges the Lamb was not given a choice prior and will sacrifice his own revenge and comfort so the Lamb can have their agency returned, at least a little bit.

^^^ This one is a complicated one because between both characters, neither killing the bishops nor keeping them alive would result in both characters getting what they want, with reasonable desires for it (wanting to have choice again, wanting revenge on their tormentors, ect)

so Narinder essentially sacrifices his comfort for the Lamb, someone who is constantly sacrificing pieces of themselves and sanity to keep everything in peace

It works the otherway around as well: Narinder demanding talismans and God Tears and Relics from the Lamb and they agree, not because they're required to do what he says but because that's their friend, and they trust him enough to help him with whatever he's doing

(and back to the argument where the refusal to sacrifice two followers was in exchange for some of their heart, Narinder refuses and breaks the deal off immediatly even though the Lamb was willing. The Lamb is obviously more important than whatever goal he had in mind, essentially scrapping his partnership with the Fox and method to gain power because he didn't want his usurper to be weakened. and other things.)

I won't talk about EVERY instance of this because this is already a long post, but overtime the two are forming communication, compromise, and even in anger, there is a respect there that puts them on the same level as equals.

Tyren does not really fall into that.

Tyren would never, and I mean NEVER hurt the Lamb physically. He would never yell at them, never be angry with them, never be upset with them, because he does not see them enough as a person to feel those things around them. And if the Lamb does disagree with him or make him upset, he will simply....disregard their current feelings on the situation and do what he thinks is best for him and them, even if it goes directly against their wishes.

And unlike Narinder, he would do it behind their back to stay in their good graces.

Tyren does care for the Lamb. Genuinely. He did long before that necklace was around his neck. He was already a little obsessed before the loyalty necklace was on him, it just gave him a slight edge.

He respects them but also doesn't. He takes their rejection at the party in stride and is completely unphased by it, completely understanding, but also plots to kill someone the Lamb called a 'friend' because the three-eyed hermit is clearly stressing them out and it makes no sense as to why they're crusading with him, or spending time with him when he's been nothing but a murderer and a blight.

I think a good summary of all this ramble is that when the Lamb tells Narinder to leave Tyren alone, Narinder goes 'whatever i fucking hate you and this stupid cult anyways. die forever' but does what they ask, while Lamb tells Tyren to please leave Narinder alone, and Tyren goes 'sure! :) anything for you my lamb' and digs up a corpse and drops it's mashed remains outside of the cat's hut with a fake letter from the Lamb saying it's 'breakfast'.

Narinder and Tyren are both very selfish, but in different ways

None of this probably makes sense

It is also 6AM

[moonlinos]

It would’ve been sweet if it could’ve been me

♡ Pairing: Bang Chan × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Single dad!Chan, friends to strangers to lovers

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), mentions of parental guilt, themes of loneliness, Chan is stuck in the past, lying, mentions of feeling lost in life, story spans over a number of years, nipple play, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

♡ Word count: 8.2k

♡ Synopsis: Being a single dad to Hyerin is all Chan has known for the past four years. He and his ex-girlfriend reached an agreement that saw her going off to live a life she had always dreamed of while he was left with a life of loneliness, which he endured with a smile on his face for his daughter. A small gleam of hope seems to appear in his life in the shape of you. But hiding himself under a haze of lies seems to be his only option if he ever wants to keep you.

♡ A/N: Based off a request by anon! Thank you for requesting, this was so much fun to write 🩷 I will admit this is a lot more focused on Chan as a character than I originally wanted it to be, and I kinda went a bit crazy with the plot, but I hope you still like it! The song Chan sings to Hyerin is Little Star by Standing Egg 💗

Every day in Chan’s life is a monotonous, never-ending cycle. Like watching reruns of bad TV shows on gloomy Sunday nights, every second of his past and upcoming days is etched into his mind like a quilt of mundane tasks and repetitive moments.

But that wasn’t always the case.

Once, excitement filled his every waking moment. His weekends were a whirlwind of new places teeming with bustling crowds and unfamiliar faces who became fast friends. During his university years, he and his friends lived their lives with ardor, savoring every moment as if it could be their last. His days were filled with an array of unplanned parties and impromptu trips which brought a kaleidoscope of color to his life.

Until he met Dana.

He was about to graduate, and she swept into his life like a hurricane — flipping everything upside down before disappearing just as quickly, with only destruction and ashes remaining in her wake.

He was infatuated; she was bored. That was clear from the start, but Chan was too blinded by affection to be concerned with such a minute detail. So long as he got to have her by his side, he was happy. Their relationship lasted a year, yet it changed his life forever.

He was twenty-one when Dana announced her pregnancy. On his twenty-second birthday, she told him she didn’t want to be a mother.

By that point in his life, Chan had already forsaken everything he had for her. He turned his back on his old friends, the vibrant life he once led, and everything that once made him who he was. Without Dana, he would be left with nothing but the ugly reflection of his self-destructive choices made in the name of a loveless love.

And so, they came to an agreement. Dana would leave — that had been her plan from the start, anyway — but she would leave Chan with a small piece of their story.

Hyerin was born on November 20th, 2019.

Dana left on a plane to New York City on December 1st.

Now, the only speck of color in his life is Hyerin. In the four years Chan has been lucky enough to be her dad, he has found she is much more than simply a reminder of Dana or what could have been between them. Hyerin is his entire world. She is the love he’s unknowingly been searching for his whole life, and he would sacrifice every last bit of himself to make sure she only ever knows happiness.

They live a quiet life, with Chan working a less-than-fulfilling corporate job and spending all his free time with her. He sometimes allows himself to wonder what happened to his old friends — did they all eventually settle for the mundanity of adult life, or are they still chasing an endless thrill? But he never dwells on it too much. The sweet memories of his early twenties are now nothing more than a comforting escape when the weight of loneliness becomes too overwhelming.

Today is one of those days. A late Friday night after his shift, Chan sprawled on his couch with Jisung, a co-worker who became his first friend after many years, a silly smile on his face as he reminisced about a trip to Jeju in his sophomore year of college. This is how he lives most of his life; when he’s not in the present with Hyerin, he’s stuck in the past.

How could he not be stuck in the past? So many people he loved and memories he cherished were there.

“I don’t get how you just left all of that behind for someone,” Jisung scoffs, loosening his tie. “Why couldn’t she just join your group of friends?”

“It’s complicated,” Chan sighs, eyes wandering toward Hyerin’s bedroom door for the umpteenth time to make sure she’s still sleeping soundly. When he turns to look back at Jisung, his expression prompts him to elaborate. “What? You want the whole story?”

Jisung shrugs. “It’s not like we have any other plans for tonight.”

“Well, there was this girl in my friend group. We hooked up a lot, but our relationship went beyond that,” Chan explains, fingers tapping his thighs as the memories flood his mind. It was a sore topic, one he certainly didn’t enjoy remembering. “We never dated, but Dana was jealous, and I couldn’t blame her. Me and this girl were… very close. I couldn’t be in a relationship while also being that close to her, but I also couldn’t imagine us being only friends. So it was easier to walk away.”

Chan conveniently leaves out the fact that he walked away because an artificial love strangely provided solace for his heart, unlike the searing torment of unrequited love, which engulfed him like molten lava.

“And that was the last time you ever had that type of relationship with anyone?”

“With Dana? Yeah—”

“Hyung, you know what I mean. You told me yourself Dana didn’t love you,” Jisung points out. “I mean this other girl.”

Chan shrugs dismissively. “I guess, yeah. Doesn’t matter, though.”

And Jisung scoffs loudly at his words, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. Memories of that love flood Chan’s mind, and he's ready to let them sweep him away when Jisung abruptly turns so he sits facing him, resolve swimming in his eyes.

“Give me your phone,” his loud voice reverberates through the small apartment, prompting Chan to shush him with a stern look. “Give me your phone,” Jisung repeats himself with a harsh whisper.

Chan rolls his eyes but ultimately smiles at his friend. He retrieves his phone from the end table, handing it to a much too enthusiastic Jisung. “The password is Hyerin’s birthday,” he tells him, albeit a bit apprehensive.

He watches amusedly as Jisung types away at his own phone before doing the same on his, handing him the device with a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What did you do, you little menace?” Chan questions the younger boy, narrowing his eyes. Jisung simply shrugs.

“I got you a date tomorrow. Thank me later.”

Chan immediately sits up on the couch, eyes darting toward his phone screen. A chat with a single message from him to an unknown contact makes him question his entire friendship with Jisung.

Me: I’m your date for tomorrow 😉 Me: O’neul restaurant, 6 pm. See you there, cutie

“Jisung, what the fuck?”

“What?” His friend asks between giggles. “Sora has this friend she said desperately needs a date, and I have you in the same situation,” he explains, clearly proud of himself. “I just did you both a favor while also getting boyfriend points.”

Chan’s eyes shift toward his phone once more, inwardly cringing at the messages with a heavy sigh.

“And was making me sound this creepy necessary?”

Jisung waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, that was just a little treat for me.”

“And why the fuck is her name Mystery Girl?” Chan queries, the irritation making him unknowingly raise his voice.

“It’s a blind date,” his friend explains. “This girl’s apparently super picky, kept turning down every guy Sora suggested. So, she came up with this solution. Can’t turn you down if she doesn’t know what you look like.”

Chan groans, ultimately sinking back onto the couch with a defeated sigh. Jisung was trying to be a good friend, he knew that, but he wasn’t at all thrilled with the prospect of a date. Not only did he not want one, but he also had no time for such a futile thing. He had Hyerin, and she was the sole reason for his existence. He didn’t need anyone meddling in their little world. But he didn’t have the courage to tell Jisung that.

It would be a lie to say the past four years weren’t lonesome. Falling asleep alone in a cold, empty bed was a sorrow he had simply grown numb to. Yet, he still yearned to have someone to share the grapples of routine life with, someone whose presence alone would effortlessly diminish his worries, someone he could make love to before falling asleep and waking up intertwined.

But he couldn’t afford to have that.

At least this date was bound to fail; the woman’s demanding nature, coupled with Chan’s unwillingness to even be there in the first place sure to make their wasted time brief.

Just as he’s about to grumble about the messages again, Hyerin comes stumbling out of her room, her small feet shuffling against the floor as she rubs her sleepy eyes.

“Oh, honey, were we being too loud?” Chan asks sweetly, and his eyes discreetly shoot daggers at Jisung, who mouths an apology.

Hyerin firmly shakes her head, the crooked pigtails Chan clumsily had tied this morning coming undone as she does so. He smiles at her, propping his elbows on his knees and waiting for her to speak her little mind.

“I had a dream,” she mumbles. “With a dragon.”

Chan gasps, hands wrapping around her tiny frame and picking her up before walking toward her room. It took him some time, but he ultimately learned that it’s best to ease her back into bed while she’s distracted, lest she throws a tantrum.

“And was it a nice dragon?” He asks. Hyerin giggles, and Chan is positive that the sound has the power to light up even his most somber days.

“Of course it was a nice dragon, daddy,” she tells him. “You said I only have nice dreams ‘cause my mind is pretty, remember?”

Chan nods as he gently tucks her back into bed, triple-checking that she is comfortable and warm. “Of course, of course. How could I forget?” He slaps a hand on his forehead with a sigh. “Hyerinnie has the prettiest mind. It can only make up pretty things.”

Hyerin smiles at him, tugging her blanket close to her chin, her doe eyes already heavy with sleep and blinking languidly. Chan asks her the same question he does every night, although the answer remains unchanging every time: would she like him to sing to her? She drowsily tells him she wants to hear him sing her favorite song, Little Star.

Chan promptly gets under the covers beside her — Hyerin pouting and whining about how he’s stealing her blanket for himself, to which he can’t help the hearty laugh that escapes his lips. Since turning four, she’s developed quite a strong personality that Chan soon finds he adores, much like everything about her.

He turns on his side to watch her features as he sings; her nose and mouth so similar to his, and the way she furrows her brows while falling asleep mirrors his own habits. Chan might not be a happy man in his job or his personal life, but the boundless happiness his little gift provides him surpasses anything else he could wish for. Every now and then, he finds himself wanting more, but it’s not long before he realizes he already has everything he needs.

Chan goes over his rather extensive list of how to care for Hyerin with Jisung for the tenth time that evening, making sure the younger man knows what to do in any situation that could arise in the couple hours he’ll be gone. Hyerin is the one to usher him out of the apartment, assuring him she’ll be fine with her uncle Han, and Chan has to stop himself from wallowing over the fact that his once tiny baby is rapidly blossoming into a young kid.

He made no real effort to dress for his date; a simple button-up shirt and jeans served him just fine, seeing as he plans to return home as soon as possible. His date and he haven’t talked much at all since his initial texts yesterday, texting each other only to confirm the time and place of their basically forced date.

He arrives fifteen minutes late, all but running from the bus stop to the restaurant while cursing Jisung under his breath. This was definitely not worth the hassle, and Chan wanted nothing more than to be back at home with his daughter. He’d pick watching Tangled with her for the hundredth time over an unwanted date in a heartbeat.

Chan finally walks into the restaurant, informing the waiter that he’s there to meet Cherry. His face visibly grimaces as he mutters the words. Fuck this blind date bullshit.

He’s led to his table, dragging his feet behind the waiter. His attention is immediately drawn to the pencil holding his date’s messy ponytail together. He chuckles quietly, circling around the table and forcing out a smile to introduce himself.

But then he’s met with a sight he had long given up hope of ever seeing again: you.

You, who were next to him as he made stupid decisions during college. Like when he drunkenly thought it wise to bet his laptop in a game of beer pong.

You, who always made him your special hangover soup after a party. He especially loved it when you let him keep the leftovers, knowing that he and his roommate were hopeless in the kitchen.

You, who filled the space in his cold sheets with warmth and always made his bed feel like a sanctuary.

You, who let him make love to you despite you both swearing to be only friends.

You, who later had to watch him walk away from you like a coward, driven by sheer fear.

You, staring back at him with a stunned look on your face.

“Chan?” You ask, an unsure lilt to your words.

And Chan embarrassingly fumbles over his words, his tongue tying itself into knots in front of you. He notices you pursing your lips to stop from giggling and clears his throat a bit too loudly, a few patrons turning their heads to look at him. But he can’t bring himself to care, not when it seems the universe has turned the wheels of his fate in his favor for once.

“Uh, hi,” is all his brain can muster among the jumble of thoughts inside his head. He mentally berates himself for acting so damn awkward when you’re clearly not as affected by this encounter as he is.

“Damn, it’s been so long,” you marvel, eyes not leaving his face for a second. “I thought you moved to a different country or something. It’s so strange how we never ran into each other.”

Chan forces out a chuckle, hands now fiddling with the menu on the table. Of course you two never ran into each other; he only ever leaves the house for work or when he has to accompany Hyerin, and he doubts you frequent playgrounds or zoos.

“Yeah, I… don’t go out much anymore,” he simply says.

You hum, and he properly takes in your appearance. You haven’t changed one bit; from your hair to your choice of clothes, you’re still the same girl who ruled over his every thought during college.

You two order your food and fall into an infuriating cycle of small talk. Chan doesn’t want to talk about the weather or if you have seen the latest movie yet — he’s desperate to ask you how you’ve been, if you ever pursued your dreams, if you can still outdrink anyone in your friend group, and—

And if you’re still single because you find relationships a hassle.

But as the food arrives, you fall into an even more frustrating cycle: silence. Chan feels restless, squirming in his seat every few minutes while you calmly eat and watch the people around you. He remembers your habit of scanning crowded rooms and making up stories for strangers with your vivid imagination. He wants to ask if you still do that, but it seems he’s only grown into more of a coward since your last encounter.

You’re the first to break the silence, waiting for the waiter to leave with your plates to ask what Chan has been doing since graduating. It’s a casual question with no weight to your words, as lighthearted as you have always been. And the complete opposite of his every possible answer.

How can he tell you he’s given up music altogether, now surrounded by gray walls and lifeless faces in his corporate job? How can he tell you he’s alone most of the time, partly by choice and partly because he doesn’t know how to dig himself out of this comfortable hole he’s trapped himself in?

How can he possibly explain that he agreed to be a single father, sacrificing his own happiness for the selfish whims of a woman who never even loved him?

You’re still the same; the same carefree eyes and attitude, same easygoing approach to everything life throws your way — such as meeting him again after years.

All of him has changed.

Chan can’t tarnish your colorful life, can’t sit before you and spill out his problems or grumble about the overwhelming loneliness in his life when he knows damn well that was a consequence of his own choices.

He wants nothing more than to be the same Chan he was in college. Creating life stories for strangers in dive bars with you, not caring about whether he’ll have enough money to pay the water bill next month, not having to bear the burden of something as precious as a human life depending solely on him.

It’s selfish, but he wants nothing more than to go back.

So he does.

“I actually still write songs, though it’s only a freelance thing,” he lies. He hasn’t written a single note in years. “Other than that, I’ve just been taking it day by day. Same as I’ve always done, I guess.”

And your eyes immediately light up — you’ve always loved his songs, after all. Your conversation flows much like it used to in the past after that, with you making witty jokes and Chan laughing loudly at them. You tell him you started working as an art teacher for the elderly when living off of commissions became impossible, and that you adore the stories they share about their younger years. They remind you of your own stories together, you admit with a genuine smile.

Your conversation is endless, continuing even as Chan walks you to your car in the empty parking lot. The night has grown colder, and the crescent moon gleaming in the sky above him almost feels like a sign that things will change for the better.

As you two stand in front of your car, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Ever the free soul, you ask him outright if he would like to come back to your place. There are no further implications hidden in your request beyond a hookup. Nothing’s ever heavy with you, every little thing always feeling light as a feather.

He says he would love to, but quickly excuses himself under the guise of calling his roommate about the spare key. Chan hurriedly calls Jisung as soon as he turns a corner in the parking lot, ensuring you won’t be able to hear him. It’s juvenile, the way he’s actually taking pleasure in almost creating a different version of himself — a version much closer to who he was when you were his, at least in some sense of the word. He’s a father, he should be responsible and dependable, but the weight of that role had been thrust upon him far too abruptly. He can’t be faulted for wanting to go back in time.

“Okay, I have no time to explain,” he blurts out as soon as Jisung picks up the phone. “Would it be too much to ask you to stay the night?”

Jisung chuckles at the other end of the line. “Damn, was the date that good?”

Chan ignores his sly comment, because yes, the date was everything he never thought it could be.

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” he assures him. “I’ll even pay you if you want. How much—”

“Hey, no need for that,” Jisung cuts him off. “You know I love looking after Hyerin.”

And the pang of guilt inside his chest at the mention of his daughter’s name almost knocks the air out of his lungs. He feels ashamed, as if he’s neglecting his daughter for a hookup, going after a fantasy that has long crumbled and faded away.

“How is she? Is she okay?” He asks, guilt washing over him like a wave. He hadn’t thought of his daughter for a second that entire night. “Did she cry at all? Did she notice I was gone for longer than I promised?”

Jisung calls out his name with a chuckle, prompting him to stop his rambling. “Relax. We painted each other’s nails, she did my makeup, had her dinner, and is now sleeping soundly after listening to another one of uncle Han’s phenomenal stories about frogs,” He details, causing a hearty laugh to fall from Chan’s lips at the image of Jisung’s face painted with Hyerin’s cheap children’s makeup. His friend then adds, “Go get laid, man.”

And so Chan hangs up the phone, all but running toward your figure waiting by your car. You smile at him, taking his hand and pulling him into a tight embrace. It’s the first time he holds you in almost five years, and he feels his dull world away from Hyerin slowly fill up with vibrant hues.

It takes you less than fifteen minutes to reach your apartment building, and Chan is thanking any higher power that might listen for that. The sheer anticipation of what is implied to happen once you two are alone together has him picking at his cuticles until it stings.

He’s nervous, to put it lightly. A couple of terrible drunken hookups in dingy motels after office gatherings were his only sexual encounters after Hyerin was born.

But once you’re standing in front of him in your living room, your eyes never leaving his even as you’re slipping off your heels, Chan knows you’re both equals in this playing field. 

He’s the one to pull you into a kiss, lips barely grazing against yours. But the feeling of finally kissing you again after so many years was like wildfire, consuming him wholly until the kiss turns feverish. His hand travels from your shoulders to your lower back, pulling you flush against his body. You hum against his lips, fingers clumsily undoing his buckle, and the prospect that you might be as eager as he is has him gripping the fabric of your dress.

Chan swears his vision goes black the moment your fingertips brush against his hardening erection, the feathery touch enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

A hand is pressed to his chest before he has the chance to think, and you’re pushing him backward until his back meets the wall. You immediately drop to your knees in front of him, leaning forward and nuzzling your face against his clothed cock.

“I missed you,” you whisper, hungry eyes looking up at him. “Don’t think I got to say that.”

Chan takes in the sight of you, memorizing and storing it in his mind alongside the countless images he already had of you on his knees for him. His fingers thread in your hair, your lips falling open with a sigh.

“I missed you too,” he professes. You have no idea how much.

With a smile, you quickly work his zipper open, pulling his jeans down his legs and pressing a wet kiss to his clothed erection. Chan feels your tongue lap at his member through his boxers, lips sucking around the head as your nails scrape the flesh of his thighs lightly.

It feels like you mouth at his length for hours, the light gray fabric of his boxers stained with your saliva and his precum, leaving Chan panting and tugging at your hair. You trail soft, wet kisses down his thigh while pushing his boxers out of your way, his cock already swollen and flushed. He’d be embarrassed for the way his body reacted so responsively to you if you weren’t also visibly as affected.

Your tongue circles his length languidly, lapping at a small bead of precum with a hum. Finally wrapping your lips around his tip, your tongue flicks teasingly beneath the head of his cock, Chan sucking in a deep breath and using his grip on your hair as leverage to pull you toward him. You almost obediently drop your jaw to slide his now fully hardened length into your mouth, your hand wrapping around the base as you begin to bob your head up and down his cock. Chan hisses your name when you relax your throat after a few passes, taking him fully into your pretty mouth, your nose brushing his pelvis.

“Fuck, you always looked so pretty like that,” Chan chokes out. “Pretty lips taking me so well.”

You groan at his words and the vibrations traveling along his shaft have Chan growling with a harsh tug of your hair, causing you to sputter as his cock hit the back of your throat. You seek purchase in his hips as tears prick the corner of your eyes. You’re unrelenting nonetheless, circling your tongue around him before pulling away, hands now sliding up his thigh before gently gliding over his balls. As you slowly lick from the base of his shaft all the way up to the sensitive tip, Chan’s gaze shifts down as he catches a glimpse of your thighs rubbing together. He feels himself twitch, and immediately pulls you away from him.

“Don’t wanna come like this, I need to fuck you,” he rasps out.

You stand back up, legs wobbly, and fumble with the buttons of his shirt while he slides your dress down your shoulders. Your movements are messy and filled with urgency, your breaths quickening as you both want nothing more than to strip away any form of barrier between you. Piling up five years of yearning will do that.

As your impatience reaches its peak, you tear open the last remaining buttons of his shirt, your nails grazing his skin as you slide the fabric down his shoulders. A wave of goosebumps travels across Chan’s body, and his hands abandon the task of removing your dress in favor of tracing the curve of your ass before picking you up off the floor.

“First door on the right,” you tell him, your words answering his unspoken thoughts as if you could read his mind. Chan nods, your proximity making it impossible for him not to press his lips to yours, tongue sliding over your bottom lip before licking into your mouth with a low hum.

He collides with a wall, missing the entrance to your bedroom by a hair’s breadth, and you giggle against his lips. Chan smiles back. Nothing’s ever heavy with you.

He lowers you onto the bed gently, his body instinctively slotting between your spread legs the way he did so many times before. You soon also wrap your thighs around his waist as you always did, pulling him closer until his cock is pressed up against your clothed pussy.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, grinding your hips forward and eliciting a quiet moan from Chan’s lips as he hastily nods. With a tight grip on your waist, he flips you both effortlessly.

Promptly sitting up on his thighs, you finally rid yourself of the inconvenient fabric of your dress, followed by your bra, your nipples instantly hardening. Chan sits up, eyes transfixed on your chest as his calloused thumbs trace the nubs before his lips circle around one, sucking harshly. As you gently roll your hips, he can feel the way your soaked panties cling to his skin as your core presses up against his thigh.

Your fingers tangle in his hair with a whimper, pushing his face into your breasts as he bites the sensitive skin. His lips leave your nipples with a wet sound, then trailing kisses up the column of your neck until his gaze is locked on yours again. He was dying to mark you, bite and suck on your skin until it blossomed into a beautiful maroon — but he knew better. You weren’t twenty anymore, and you weren’t his; in no sense of the word.

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him, eyes heavy with lust.

And he knows this is a terrible idea. This was exactly how he came to be a father.

But it’s not his mind that’s doing the thinking, and so he nods, his grip on your hips tightening as you pull your soaked panties to the side just enough to slide the swollen tip of his cock against your slick folds. Chan sucks in a breath, fighting a war against his own body not to come from this feeling alone. It wasn’t just how long it had been since he was with someone, it was you. It was all you. The effect you had always had on him having never faded, simply laying dormant until his body had you again.

Chan rests his forehead on yours as you slowly sink down on his length. His lips find your neck again, gently sucking the skin into his mouth as you slowly grind down on him, a whine falling from your lips and going straight to his cock. His hips buck up unwittingly, causing you to moan loudly in his ears. But your slow pace remains, and Chan knows he should savor this moment, but he wants nothing more than to fuck you into the mattress until he forgets every minor issue aggravating his brain.

Such as the fact that he knows you will leave his life again the second you find out he lied to you.

So his hands find your waist and he flips you down onto the mattress once more. His eyes bore into you as you suck in a breath.

“Fuck me,” you plead, hips grinding into his cock again. “I want it, please—”

Chan doesn’t waste another second, retreating only to plunge back harshly into your cunt. He moves with deep strokes, hips falling into an erratic rhythm, your nails digging into his back as your thighs clenched around his waist. All he can hear is static and your choked moans as he presses you into the mattress.

“Missed this so fucking much,” he groans against your ear. And finally succumbing to his desires, he bends down to suck and nibble on the delicate skin of your neck, mind too focused on how your walls squeeze around him to worry about marking you. He laps at the small bruises he leaves behind, your fingers tangling in his hair as you mewl.

You roll your hips, matching his rhythm, and Chan feels a familiar heat rise within him. He reaches down to glide small circles around your clit, your body jolting and squirming. He absentmindedly smiles against your skin.

After an entire night of pretending his life was the same as it was five years ago, fucking you required no acting.

“It’s too much, fuck,” you whimper, tugging him by the hair until your lips are crashing together in a sloppy kiss. Your walls tighten around him, body clenching as the tension finally snaps, your orgasm coursing through your shaking body as Chan growls into your parted lips.

He keeps fucking into you, until his hips meet yours one last time, and a low groan reverberates through the room. His cock twitches inside of you as his body stills, filling you with his warm release which leaked out of you and onto your sheets as he pulled out with a sigh.

Chan throws himself onto the mattress, labored breaths leaving his heavy lungs. He pulls you into his arms, and you melt into his embrace as if it were a habit. It’s as though he’s gone back in time, even if temporarily.

He feels like he’s simply a guy making love with the girl he adores in the familiar comfort of his dorm room again.

When the first rays of sunlight seeped into your room, Chan was already awake. He watched as you slept, eyelids fluttering and a small smile adorning your lips.

It was as if you were his, in every sense of the word.

Guilt.

That’s what Chan feels every time he sees Hyerin’s laughing face on his phone’s wallpaper when he’s out, entertaining the silly lie he crafted.

It’s been two months since you reconnected and you effortlessly slipped him back into your life. The reunion with his old friends was expected — but Chan dreaded it, regardless. He found that out of the nine people that once comprised their group, only five remained. He wasn’t the only one who had gone his own way.

But he was the only one who had done it in the worst way possible, carelessly ghosting every single one of them, hoping his existence gradually faded from their memories.

That made facing his once best friend frightening. Minho was the first friend he made on the very first day of university, when Chan walked into his dorm room only to find he had snuck his cat into the building.

They were roommates for two years, and best friends for four. Chan complained loudly when he was assigned a new roommate. Minho was silent as he watched his best friend turn his back on him with no explanation.

Minho initially ignored him entirely, and Chan doesn’t fault him. When his vibrant face turned cold upon seeing him walk into a bar, Chan knew he earned that the moment he decided to ignore his friend’s every text message and phone call. When Minho made backhanded remarks about how nice it felt to have him back in their group, he knew he deserved it for not answering the door the only time his friend came looking for him.

It takes a drunken argument leading to a fist colliding with Chan’s cheek for Minho to finally address him. It takes them being escorted out of the bar by security for them to finally have a conversation, tears and resentment flowing freely as they sat at a bus stop late at night. After that, their friendship returned to what it was before, as if they had never been apart even for a second.

Despite the years and the changes, Minho was still his best friend — which was why he was the only person he came clean to.

Hyerin loved Minho, especially his cats. Her new favorite pastime quickly became going over to his house to play with her new ‘friends’, as she called them. And Chan was overwhelmed with happiness to witness his best friend falling under his daughter’s spell — his house now containing its very own box filled with every toy Hyerin mentioned even once, his kitchen stocked with all her favorite foods, and his cats falling asleep beside her anytime they came over to visit.

It was as if he was watching his two worlds collide. His past and present, which he had separated out of a senseless fear, intertwined so effortlessly it made him feel stupid for ever thinking he needed to build this barrier. For assuming the people he loved so much would reject him.

Made him feel even worse for walking away in a futile attempt to protect his feelings, because it only resulted in more hurt.

After so much of his time spent wondering, Chan finally has the answer to his questions. Some of his friends did settle for an ordinary adult life, some already married and some focusing their energy solely on climbing the corporate ladder. Still, some remained relatively unchanged — much like you did.

His social life blossomed again after reconnecting with his old friends. However, he still refused to hire a nanny, too fearful to leave Hyerin to a stranger’s care, resulting in constantly having to come up with excuses when his parents aren’t able to babysit. He won’t deny that he often fabricated these lies purely because staying in with his daughter and watching Tangled now outweighs any appeal of noisy nightclubs.

Jisung remained his salvation whenever he wanted to spend the night at your place, with Chan slowly but surely running out of reasons as to why you can’t go to his apartment for a change. He hasn’t had the heart or the courage to tell you the entire truth yet, only owning up to his lie about his job after you understandably asked him to listen to his new music and he was put on the spot.

Ever since you walked back into his life, he finds himself weaving a web of little white lies that slowly chip away at his heart.

He’s at a small gathering for his friend’s birthday, listening to Minho all but eulogize his fiancee. They have been a couple since university, Chan playing the wingman and encouraging his friend to finally do something about his crush (mostly because he couldn’t handle any more of Minho’s whining before going to sleep). Despite what everyone around them surmised, they beat all the odds and statistics and stayed together even after university. Chan would be happier about that if he hadn’t bet money on them breaking up before graduation. He wonders if Hongjoong will ask for his twenty bucks now that they’re friends again. 

“No, really, settling down with someone is so good,” Minho says after another shot of Soju, a silly smile etched onto his lips. “I thought I would hate it, y’know? Thought slapping such a significant title on our relationship would wear it down, but it’s the complete opposite. Ever since she proposed, it’s like we’re two love-struck nineteen-year-olds again.”

Chan smiles, saying they should drink to that purely because he hopes the sensation of alcohol burning his throat will numb his overwhelming jealousy. After congratulating Minho for the umpteenth time, he finds himself listening to yet another story about his relationship.

And he’s happy for Minho, just as much as he’s happy for Wonwoo for getting married last year. He couldn’t express the overwhelming joy he felt upon discovering these people, who once meant so much to him, had successfully navigated their way through life. But envy rears its ugly head every time he listens to one of their stories, because Chan’s direction in life seems to be a winding road. He’s a father, and his love for Hyerin is immeasurable, but he’s still actively lying about this side of him simply because he feels as if maybe he made the right choices in life at the worst possible time.

As he’s walking out of Hongjoong’s apartment with you later that night, he wraps an arm around your waist, a smile spreading across his face when you nestle closer to him. You two discuss Wonwoo’s marriage, with you talking about how beautiful the ceremony was, but ultimately scowling at the mere thought of getting married. Chan feels the corner of his heart crack at your words, but he laughs it off.

“Do you think he wants kids?” he wonders aloud.

He expects you to laugh at his sudden curiosity. He doesn’t expect you to dig at the fissure in his heart with your words, causing it to shatter completely.

“Gosh, it’d be so weird to see.” You cringe, snuggling deeper into his arms as a chilly breeze brushes against you two. “I like kids, but I’d never have them myself. Feel like it’d kinda ruin my life.”

Chan feels his grip on your waist loosen.

“Having kids doesn’t ruin your life,” he reasons. “You’re given the chance to care for something so precious, so important to this world…” he trails off, shaking his head and taking a step away from you. It feels as if exasperation has filled his entire being. “You look into their eyes and see yourself, and it’s— the love you feel when you first see them is so pure and earth-shattering that you can’t think of anything but how to make that tiny being only experience the good in the world. It doesn’t ruin your life.”

You eye him with confusion, cocking your head to the side and huffing out a laugh. “You talk like you know what that’s like. If you ever have kids one day, then you’ll know—”

“But I do know,” he’s yelling before he can stop himself, his footsteps coming to a halt. “I know because I have that. I have that and it’s the most precious thing in my life and yet I’ve been taking it for granted. And for what?”

He scoffs bitterly, his gaze fixing on your features; your flushed cheeks and slightly smudged lipstick, the way your puzzled eyes gleam under the moonlight. He shakes his head. 

“For childish illusions. The illusion that I could go back in time if I pretended hard enough, the illusion that this romanticized idea I have of my early twenties was superior to the life I have now,” Chan lets out a heavy breath, averting his gaze to the pavement. “The illusion that I could ever have you.”

“So it’s my fault you chose to lie about being a dad?” You blurt out.

He doesn’t lift his head. He can’t, the burden of guilt and shame weighing too heavily on his shoulders for him to face you.

“It’s my fault. You were simply the catalyst.”

“What do you even mean?”

“I mean I’ve always felt this way,” he exasperates, finally lifting his head but keeping his gaze anywhere but on you. He’s a coward. “I’ve always felt like maybe I was too young to be a dad, too immature to fully understand the consequences of the choices I made. I don’t regret my daughter, but I certainly regret the timing, and this haunts me every day. Meeting you again just made these feelings worse because you represent everything about my past that I no longer have.”

You remain quiet for a beat, but it feels like an eternity as Chan is forced to endure the deafening ring of your silence.

When you finally speak, your voice is unsteady. “You know, that’s why I always figured it was for the best that you left.”

“What?” Chan turns his gaze toward your face at last, your words stomping on his scattered heart one last time. He expects anger, but sorrow has taken over your expression, one so heavy he doesn’t recall a single moment in the years he’s known you where he’s seen you like this.

“You were always like this, Chan. You might think you were a different person back then, but you said it yourself,” you shrug with a sullen chuckle. “It’s only an illusion.”

He hums, nodding his head as it dawns on him. “You were never gonna be mine, were you? No matter what I did. I lied to you because I thought you would never want someone like who I am today. But I guess that was all in vain, ‘cause I’ve always been like this.”

“You always talked about getting married, settling down, having kids.” As you run a hand through your hair, an exasperated sigh falls from your lips. “You went along with our bullshit, but even back then, you were always like the dad of our group. This has always been you, Chan, but that’s not a bad thing. Don’t think you need to change or lie about who you are ‘cause you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, but…”

He scoffs. “But?”

“But we’re too different. We’ve always been. We’re great together in every way but the way you want us to be — the way I would love for us to be as well,” you simply say, offering him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And would it kill you if we tried? ‘Cause this unfulfilled hope has been killing me since I first fell in love with you.”

“What’s her name?” You simply ask, avoiding his question altogether. Chan furrows his brows. “Your daughter, what’s her name?”

He shifts on his feet. “Hyerin.”

“I hope she knows how lucky she is to have you as a dad.”

Chan shakes his head. “I’m far from the perfect father.”

“Good,” you state matter-of-factly. “Perfect wouldn’t be you.”

You fall into a much lighter silence, although it’s still far from comfortable. A swarm of questions fills Chan’s mind, but his words fade into silence and die on his lips.

He knows everything is over when you suck in a sharp breath, muttering, “I can’t be what you need. When love becomes too serious, I feel trapped and run away. You know what that’s like,” you trail off. “I know we loved each other back then, and I know I still love you now, but I think it’s my turn to walk away. I’m sorry, Chan.”

And just like that, he’s left to watch your figure slowly grow smaller and smaller as you fade into the dimly lit street. You don’t reprimand him for lying or question if he also loves you still. You don’t explain why you can’t make an effort, probably because you’re unsure of the answer yourself. It turns out you both remained unchanged.

And after all this time, it’s only then that Chan realizes you were always just as lost as he was.

Chan didn’t allow himself to think much about you since he watched you walk away that night. He missed you often, as he had done for so long before your last encounter, but he had long grown numb to that feeling.

In the two years he was apart from you for the second time, he learned that life isn’t black or white. He could be a father while also being his own person; a son, a friend, a boyfriend. He learned that prioritizing Hyerin didn’t mean neglecting himself, as that would negatively impact her as well. She couldn’t only know happiness if her father was always dripping with sadness.

He learned he doesn’t have to choose between who he is now and who he was at twenty years old; they were both him, with certain moments bringing out glimpses of one or the other.

Hyerin started elementary school and is blossoming into a caring little girl, no longer needing Chan to tie her pigtails in the morning or remind her to brush her teeth before bed. Although she still demands that they maintain their nightly routine of lying together until she falls asleep to the sound of his voice singing her favorite song.

During his first parent-teacher conference — after walking into the classroom fifteen minutes late — he’s stunned to see you sitting across from him yet again, a pencil holding up your ponytail the same way it did that night at the restaurant. He couldn’t help the smile that spread on his lips.

You were Hyerin’s teacher. He recalled picking her up after her first day of school and listening to her gush over the art teacher who was so pretty and nice, and talking about how she wanted to be like her when she grows up.

It felt as if you were destined to find each other every time one of you chose to walk away.

Your friendship picked up again slowly this time — no rushing into bed together and no rushing into long overdue serious conversations. They had already been avoided for years, anyway, they could wait a bit longer. This is exactly what you needed; patience. Chan had never had the patience to wait for you, while you never had the patience to understand your own feelings.

It’s been ten months now, and he’s yet again sitting before you. The teachers and parents converse around you both as you sit in silence. When you think no one is watching, you exchange glances, struggling to suppress the silly smiles that insist on spreading across your faces.

As people leave the room one by one after the meeting, Chan approaches you.

“You’re Bang Hyerin’s father, correct?” You speak with a grin.

“Correct.”

“She’s an amazing kid,” you tell him.

He smiles, shifting his gaze toward his feet before his eyes find yours again as you speak.

“We could grab a coffee this weekend.”

This time, there are further implications hidden in your request. You’re not asking as a friend, like you’ve been doing these past months. Some things are heavy with you now, and this is something he’s only recently come to find. He’s also come to find that he loves that change.

So he answers, “Sure. Tomorrow at three?”

“Then I’m your date for tomorrow,” you say with a giggle. “See you there, cutie.”

And Chan lets out a hearty laugh at that, which earns him a scolding look from the other teachers in the room.

He isn’t sure what will come of this. Maybe you two are better off as friends and all it will take is a couple of months to figure that out. Maybe time has changed you both more than he can understand, and you will finally be able to try something real after all these years of unfulfilled hopes and childish illusions.

Either way, Chan knows he won’t let go of you this time.

He wants you to be his, in any sense of the word.

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings, @seungseung-minmin, @yourcvndx, @hynjinnnnnnnie @vlctorriaa @yongbokkiesworld

[luv-lock]

⸻ ᴜ ɴ ᴛ ɪ ʟ ᴅ ᴇ ᴀ ᴛ ʜ ᴅ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ᴀ ᴘ ᴀ ʀ ᴛ ⸻

Pairing: Show Aemond Targaryen x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

˚꒰notes꒱‧ English is not my first language. Gifs belong to @barbieaemond. Hope you enjoy!

Aemond’s obsession with you is intense yet restrained. He’s not the type to openly declare his feelings or show affection through words or flowery gestures. Instead, he watches you, studies you, absorbs every detail—like he’s trying to memorize you. Your smallest gestures, the sound of your laughter, even the way your eyes shift when you’re uncomfortable—all of it becomes ingrained in his mind. You’re his fixation, his secret treasure, the one thing he allows himself to crave.

At first, his presence is barely noticeable. He’s there, quietly lingering in the background, watching you in ways that feel both protective and invasive. But as time passes, you realize he’s always there, always watching.

“You have no idea, do you?” he’d murmur one night, his eyes holding an unsettling intensity. “How long I’ve waited, how much I’d sacrifice just to keep you close.”

Aemond’s possessiveness doesn’t manifest in obvious ways. He doesn’t need to announce that you’re his—he knows it, and in his mind, so should you. The way he stands close to you, how he always seems to position himself between you and others, the subtle but possessive hand he places on the small of your back—all are quiet signs of his control.

When others try to get too close to you, his gaze alone is enough to send them away. Aemond doesn’t tolerate competition; to him, you’re his, and he’ll ensure that no one ever doubts it. He won’t raise his voice or cause a scene like his brother—his icy stare and that ever-present hand on his sword are all he needs to convey his message.

“You belong to me,” he’d say in that low, measured tone, his fingers tracing a slow line down your arm. “Do not let them forget that.”

Aemond knows everything about you—your daily habits, your secrets, your fears. He’s intelligent, calculating, and patient, and he uses those skills to orchestrate situations that keep you close to him. He knows who you speak to, where you go, and even your thoughts before you voice them. He’ll play on your fears, your desires, using them to his advantage, always pushing you closer into his web.

He won’t openly restrict you. Instead, he’ll manipulate circumstances so that you have no choice but to turn to him. When you need comfort, he’s there; when you feel threatened, he’s there, his hand on his sword, ready to protect. In his mind, he’s the only one who can understand you, the only one who’s truly worthy of you.

“You see how they look at you, don’t you?” he’d whisper, his tone almost affectionate, a hint of jealousy darkening his gaze. “They don’t deserve to even stand in your shadow.”

Aemond’s jealousy is quiet, subtle, but no less dangerous. He seethes when others try to approach you, though he keeps his composure, his expression unreadable. But if anyone dares get too close, Aemond’s revenge is swift and ruthless. He’ll ruin reputations, destroy alliances—he’ll make them pay in ways that leave no question about his power. His jealousy isn’t petty; it’s all-consuming, a cold, lethal fire.

If he catches you in conversation with another man, he’ll silently insert himself into the situation, his icy gaze boring into them, making it clear that you’re untouchable. He won’t show his rage outwardly, but the consequences will be devastating. And if anyone dares to harm you or threaten your relationship? His retribution will be terrifyingly swift.

“Let them try,” he’d murmur, his fingers running possessively through your hair. “They’ll regret ever thinking they could touch what’s mine.”

Aemond struggles with vulnerability, his past leaving scars he can’t hide. His emotions are buried deep, guarded by layers of pride, shame, and bitterness. But with you, his intensity surfaces in ways even he can’t fully control. You’re the one thing that breaks through his walls, and he both hates and craves that vulnerability. He’ll never openly admit his love, but it shows in the way he’s constantly there, always silently protecting, always watching.

And when he’s alone with you, he lets that restraint slip. He holds you as if you’re a lifeline, a fragile thing he could lose at any moment. His touch is both possessive and desperate, a reminder that you’re the one thing in his life he can’t stand to lose.

“You’re the only one I need,” he’d confess in a rare moment of vulnerability, his voice almost breaking. “The only one who matters.”

He believes the world is a dangerous place, full of enemies who’d harm you, and he’s determined to be your shield. He’ll demand that you stay close to him, questioning your every move if it takes you out of his sight. He’ll use his power to keep you safe, even if it means isolating you from everyone else.

If you try to resist, he won’t argue or raise his voice. Instead, he’ll find subtle ways to manipulate the situation so that you have no choice but to obey. And in his mind, it’s all justified—it’s all to keep you safe.

“Stay close to me,” he’d command softly, his hand tightening around yours. “The world is full of threats, and I’ll be damned if I let any of them touch you.”

He’s possessive to the point of madness, convinced that you’re the only person who understands him, the only one who sees him for who he truly is. And if he ever feels like he’s losing you, his obsession will consume him, driving him to desperate, dangerous lengths.

He won’t hesitate to use every resource at his disposal to ensure you remain his, even if it means trapping you in a world where he’s your only companion.

“If you ever leave, there’ll be no place you can hide,” he’d say, his voice low, his gaze dark and unwavering. “You’re mine, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Aemond’s love isn’t gentle or kind; it’s fierce, unyielding, and impossible to escape. Once he’s set his sights on you, there’s no freedom, no escape. His love is a trap, one that tightens around you until you realize there’s no way out. But in Aemond’s mind, it’s a love like no other—a love that binds you together, that defies the bounds of mortality itself

In Aemond’s world, love is something that consumes, devours. Once he’s claimed you, there’s no escape—only him, and the unbreakable bond he’s forced upon you.

“Even death wouldn’t stop me from finding you,” he’d murmur, his lips brushing over your forehead, his arms wrapped tightly around you. “No one else could ever love you like I do. Remember that.”

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[whokilledsamara]

I saw you write for homicipher! Can I request some Mr Silvair Headcanons? I barely see content of him and I'm hungry 😭💕 I will give you my heart as a sacrifice 🏃🏻‍♀️💨

MR. SILVAIR HC {N/SFW}

a Mr. Silvair hc list. {an: hand over that heart!!! >:3}

warnings! : sadism, orgasm denial, smut, blood play, Mr. Silvair is an extreme dom, marking, hair pulling, semi cuckhold, experimenting, afab and amad genitalia described

{an : this isnt bad per se, BUT he is very sadistic and is in denial of his love for you}

SFW HC "relationship" hc

unfortunately, a relationship with Mr. Silvair will be difficult to maintain.

he is in HEAVY denial that he loves you, and claims it is just experimental for "science", though inside he cant deny that you make him feel a certain way.

in his eyes, if Mr. Chopped likes you, then he likes you. simple.

wont push your boundaries, so tell him if you dont want him to do something specific when experimenting.

he will rarely let you touch him, but at no times will he allow you to touch his "eye" bandages. those are off limits to anyone.

doesnt understand "love" or most human reactions, so dont expect him to be all lovey dovey with you.

very work influenced man. will be nose deep in books.

doesnt hold grudges at all. so if you upset him a simple apology will fix it. even if there is no apology, it wont affect him.

he is relatively friendly with the others, but mainly close to Mr. Chopped.

doesnt sleep, so sometimes will watch you sleep. for "experiments" of course

i swear this man doesnt know how to button his shirt.. so you will have to be used to that.

he really likes your eyes. he has a weird fascination with the colors.

surprisingly possessive. usually he wouldnt care, but he does tense up when someone else touches you.

he does make it known that he is attracted to you, but tries to exclude the word "love"

NSFW HC sexy time..

he knows every spot, being a doctor and all, therefore he doesnt need much teaching. does enjoy learning things he already knows though for some reason.

adores your body. he doesnt express much emotion in general, but if you are lucky he will show a little bit over your body during sex.

makes little to no noise during the act, likes watching your expressions.

will absolutely let Mr. Chopped watch. for some reason.. only as long as you are comfortable with it of course.

respects boundaries, so please respect his.

he makes sure to keep your hands tied or something at all times. will rarely let them be free.

he doesnt give head often, but will on certain occasions. usually doesnt let you give him a blowjob, so that is very rare from him.

will laugh as he edges you. you would have to beg for him to let you cum, and even then he might not. likes to see you cry over him.

if on the rare occasion that your hands arent tied, he will let you pull his hair. he quite enjoys it actually.

if, and only if you allow him, he will use his scalpel to make light cuts along your body so he can lick the blood.

definitely the kind of guy to fuck you during your period if you menstruate. he gets down like that

{an : i love him sm, im definitely going to make a fic for him. send in requests!}

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[transformers-spike]

"Is this why the Autobots are fond of humanity? To indulge their sweet heat cycles? How many human mates has Optimus taken for himself? It seems as though their motives to protect them were never altruistic, much less noble." PLEASE, PLEASE GIVE US A SUB-STORY WHERE THIS TIME IT'S OPTIMUS AND A HUMAN SO IN THEIR HEAT CYCLE PLEASEEEE

Idk am I creating a humans in heat universe for the TF Fandom? I know people like making the bots go through it but I think the humans being affected is so much funnier. Just begging these massive robots to fuck us lmao

How must it feel to burn from the inside out? Betrayed by your own body, rendered unable to function by the fire in your core. You described it as an aching, an insatiable need to appease the hormones overtaking your nerve endings. A mere touch is enough to worsen the ache, it’s what your body dictates in the throes of a heat cycle.

Cybertronians are forged by Primus Himself, their interfaces exist for recreational pleasure and bonding, but your species is biologically programmed to reproduce, like most of the fauna of your planet. It’s a systemic sacrifice, one rendered obsolete by the sentient status of your species. Drugs have been produced to suppress your heats, or at least lessen the effects. Unfortunately, among a dozen varieties of medication, you are either allergic or completely immune to them, leaving you susceptible to your hormonal whims. He is sorry. You must go through so much pain every few months, but you barely show it, brushing off his concerns with a laugh, saying “it is what it is” and moving on as though your body isn’t on a timer. He admires you for it. In spite of your discomfort, you haven’t given up. Once, you told him: “So what if they don’t work on me? I just gotta roll with the punches and hope for the best, it’s been my M.O. since I got the damn thing.” Meeting them for the first time… was turbulent to say the least, but you’re safe and sound, relocated to Jasper, having adjusted to your new life with the help of Agent Fowler. You’ve told them many times you’re infinitely grateful to be in their lives (barring the near death experience at the servos of an Insecticon). For them it’s a pleasure to ease your burden. You’ve eagerly established your consent, although only Arcee is the right size to properly take care of a human. Digits and glossas can only do so much compared to a spike. He tries not to pry, your privacy is yours to divulge at your leisure, but he cannot ignore the charge building up behind his interface when he sees you with the others. Yes, he is an occasional participant, but he will rather cover shifts and allow them some well-deserved respite in your berth. They deserve it. He dares not imagine Arcee’s spike pumping in and out of you, satiating your aching body, filling you to your limit as you beg for more. 

Your scent lingers in the air, caressing his sensors, a gentle hand tugging him along by the servo, pulling him in your direction. They try to keep it to themselves, but his team is beyond a doubt intoxicated by your presence alone. Thankfully, it has (almost) never impeded their judgment during missions; perhaps it has even served as motivation to make it back to base in one piece. He tries to ignore the gleam in his old friend’s optics after quelling your urges, if only for a night. Or Bumblebee's praises coming to you as a slow stream of beeps while he nuzzles your face. Or Bulkhead cradling you to his chassis like a precious artifact as you discuss what late night movies you should watch. Or catching Arcee kissing you over the mezzanine and pulling back with a smile she hasn’t worn since Cliffjumper’s death. You bring them together in your own special way, even if you blush and sheepishly deny it, claiming you should be thanking them instead  Recent discoveries have yielded an impressive increase in energon and brought forth new opportunities. With unparalleled quantities at their disposal, they can now mass displace. The transformation is no small feat, it exhausts their system and rapidly drains their energon level. But he will not forbid Bumblebee from using it to play with the kids as long as it’s not in excess. Nor to join you during heat cycles. Much like Bulkhead. And Wheeljack. And especially Ratchet. Primus forbid, his old friend has every right to enjoy himself to the fullest after all of his back-breaking work. He’s been meaning to pay you a visit, but he hasn’t found the time until now. In the temporary abode you set up in the base, away from the prying eyes of the kids, you prepare yourself for another heat. Some refurbishing was done to meet your needs (in no small thanks to June Darby and agent Fowler’s financial help); the mattress and the mini fridge was a given, but you’ve added a variety of personal belongings and entertainment; a television, a writing desk, a few “bean bags” here and there, and a pile of old magazines to scrapbook. He wonders if you consider this place your home more than your actual house in Jasper. You greet him while downing a bottle of water, holding up your hand to signal for him to wait. Once emptied, you place it next to the mini fridge, among a wide array of bottled water crates. That would explain the groceries June had brought in with Arcee’s help. As a medical professional she’s especially fretful over your condition, doing her best to prevent the risks of heat cycles, bringing you plenty of calorie dense fuel to combat the massive loss of nutrients. He has not forgotten the fear they experienced when they found you shaking from the deficit, having completely overlooked your hunger in a midst of desperation. In this form, he can appreciate the full extent of your body without fear of hurting you, kneading the supple flesh beneath his digits as you giggle and pull him into you. He does not tower over your reclined form as much as he encases you in a careful hug, hearing the rapid thrum of your human spark directly against his audials; he may sense your pulse rate, but experiencing it is a new wonder of its own. You tell him you missed him and you wish he would let himself go and come out to “obliterate your pussy” more often. He nods and apologizes for his absence even as you shush him and insist he enjoy himself as well. He is… the largest Cybertronian you’ve taken, you remark while adjusting to his size.

“Except maybe Wheeljack,” you add cheekily, already bucking into him. Your composure evaporates as he works you up, not to say that he is much better. He steadies himself over you, charge trickling down his interface as your walls clench around him in a vice-grip. You beg him for more, plead that he frag you until you can’t take it anymore, but he has grown used to your requests and knows when your body has reached its limit. You whimper and claw at his back plates, flush against his frame yet dragging him closer as though to merge your human spark to his.

If only he could.

Slow and steady, he frags you through your overloads, each one adding a new surge of spark down his frame until he comes to his end. You are small and shaking, but in this form he can properly hold you against his chassis and comfort you through the afterglow, bringing you another bottle of water and a Clif bar (chosen for the human scaling a mountain with “If you eat this you can kill God” in big bold letters).

You stir and sit up on shaky knees to accept his offerings. Halfway through your meal, you eye him up and down.

“Are you going to stay some more?” you ask with hopefulness, still chewing on the “ultimate nuts and banana power” concoction advertised on the packaging.

“I’m afraid not, Ratchet has been hard at work deciphering Decepticon encryptions, I will be taking on his duties for the night,” he tries to break it gently, expecting crushed expectations, not your bemused expression looking up at him.

“So you’re sending him my way?” You give a chuckle. “Wish we could have spent more time together, but work is work. Just…” you crawl into his lap and hug him as tight as you can, head resting against his chassis. “Please come back tomorrow. Or after tomorrow. I miss seeing you this way. I won’t get between you and… whatever you have going on, but please visit me more often. You have no idea how nice it feels to be around you.” His gaze softens, glowing faintly against your hair. “So I’ve been told,” he says, a smile on his lips. “As long as it lightens your burden.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

I LOVED your Caracalla marriage headcanons!!! 🤩 could you please please please do marriage headcanons for Geta?

Being with Geta has you learning patience for you wouldn’t be getting much time with your new husband, who happened to be emperor of Rome, as he had his hands full with ruling and his brother’s illness.

So needless to say you would have to find some solace in this, for you’ll only get to see him late into the night before you slept as he clung to you, wistfully thinking that finally he had remembered to gift you with affection and such; or early in the morning but only briefly as he had to do his duties for Rome.

You knew Geta deeply cared and loved his brother and would do anything to protect him from people suspecting something was wrong within their other emperor, so if you’re married to Geta you -as other people have written- might as well have married Caracalla simultaneously with how often you had to be prepared to aid your husband in helping his brother.

However you could see how drained and tried he was from everything, ruling Rome and listening to senate’s council, his brother’s illness and his marriage with you; you could see that everything was getting to him little by little as he had started making expressions that made him appear older then he actually was.

You didn’t care that your needs weren’t met, you just wanted to be within his presence and run your fingers across the lines that deepened across his face in hopes of easing them, take the laurels from his head as you run your hands through his strawberry hair as he audibly groans under your touch; closing his eyes in pleasure as he allows himself to kneel before you as his hands clings to your waist like you were the only thing that grounded him in that moment.

Geta knew that being married to him wasn’t as romantic or sexual or anything that you might’ve thought up beforehand. It was tiring, exhausting and having to make sacrifices for the relationship to work…if you could call what you had anything at all with how little you saw of the other.

However it was moments like theses that have you both hating the positions you were in, yet that didn’t stop you from treasuring this moment and the many more you’d both have in the privacy of your chambers, silently holding each other with tightening grips and foreheads pressed against one another while you breathed the other in. Reminding yourselves that in the eyes of the public you and Geta were one unit, one person and sometimes you have to remind yourselves of that fact also.

‘I apologise-‘ Geta starts

‘Do not apologise dear husband,’ you hushed him, ‘you are emperor and I knew that your attention wouldn’t always be mine to have.’ You smile at him as you rub your hands up and down his back and or arms, depending on where you decided to let them linger. ‘I’ve made peace with that, despite the odd moment now and then, but I’m just happy that I get to see you at the end of each day.’ You kiss his cheeks softly as the lines that aged his face fade away to one of relief and peace.

‘The gods have truly blessed me with you.’ Geta muttered as he nuzzles his nose against yours. ‘They truly have sent me a soul as sweet as freshly picked berries and honey, a soul that’s more then enough to keep me steady, keep me humble should I overstep and a soul who’s words could make the poets weep.’ He finished as his grip tightened on your waist, keeping you close as though you were to slip through his hands and that wasn’t an idea he wanted to tempt anytime soon.

Geta was done doing everything on his own, keeping everything to himself and everyday he thanked for gods for you as no matter what was said in these moments, you would keep them locked and close to your heart and act none the wiser to procure the secret. Your loyalty to him was unfathomable as he couldn’t remember the time where he had done the same for you, but you didn’t care for the concubines that you’d often see crowd Geta and Caracalla, for you knew Geta belonged to you for his eyes never could depart from your being.

‘And I live to hope that I can still withdraw those feelings from you about me, to comfort you and to be a safe haven from your duties that weigh heavily upon your shoulders.’ You whispered as you kissed his forehead before scattering the rest of your kisses across his face. ‘You’re still my Geta, even if I have to wait for the night to come to have you all to myself.’

Geta couldn’t help but smile softly as a warmth flooded throughout his chest, something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time, and now with you in his arms he couldn’t help but crave the feeling for the rest of his life. He’d gladly chase after it as long as you were the one giving him that feeling of peace, of warmth, of a sweetness that he thought he was never ment to reclaim the moment he and Caracalla ascended the throne.

‘If I could, I would spend my mornings in your arms for the senate can wait for you are what I should be focusing on for the rest of my life.’ He tells you and you felt a smile spread across your face as you continue to indulge in feeling the other’s skin beneath your fingertips.

‘You do in ways I cannot describe, I love you my emperor.’ You confess as you stole a kiss from his lips.

Geta hums as he reciprocated the kiss with passion and almost desperation to show you just how much he did care, all the while biding his time to savour the taste of your lips on his. ‘And I adore you my beloved, and I promise to the gods that I shall show this to you every night, satisfy you in multiple ways like a good husband should.’

[a-hazbin-reader]

Hiii! Your headcanons and memes are absolutely funny, I think this request fits you.

So instead of dog or cat (Husker) Wife reader saw her Husband walking around with the egg boys, and she pulls out the '🥺can we keep one?' and would like ABSOLUTELY not take no for an answer, she even pulls out a new dress for the egg boi to differentiate him from the other eggs.

I loved those goofy eggs so much 😭

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being a jealous husband, Alastor being possessive of wife!reader's attention

Description: ☝️⬆️

Okay, so it's bad enough that Alastor is stuck dealing with the eggs and he's not even allowed to crack a few of them

And he's totally not annoyed with the way your eyes lit up, and you immediately started cooing over them the moment you saw them

Of course the clumsy little things just ate it up, flexing and showing off for you, even going so far as to climb into your outstretched arms

So now they're stealing his wife from him? Those eggs have crossed a line

He skipped breakfast for this?

Alastor knows he needs to keep them away from you to keep you from getting more attached than you already are

So at the sacrifice of his own needs for your attention, Alastor makes sure to keep the eggs far away from you by keeping them close to him

Even at the cost of his sanity

Alastor hadn't even realized he left one of them behind until he came back to the hotel to find you holding one like a baby

And the little imbecile is just soaking up the attention too, blissfully unaware of the error he just made

Not even Sir Pentious can get the egg to willingly leave your embrace, the little thing stubbornly clinging to you

"No! You can't sssstay with her! You're my little egg! My minion!"

It takes much coaxing from you to get the egg to leave your side but that's far from the end of it

Every morning afterwards the egg is bursting into the bedroom and crawling into bed with the two of you

Instead of waking up to your sleepy affection, Alastor is waking up to that stupid egg babbling off to you about everything and anything

Not him shoving the egg boy off the bed and tugging you against him

Alastor eats nothing but eggs for breakfasts for the next week, there's something therapeutic about cracking them that he just can't quite put his finger on

Oh wait-yes he can

He hopes that you'll get sick of the egg boy eventually, but then you start dressing the egg up, differentiating it from the others

"Alastor look! Doesn't he look darling? He's a mini you~!"

You don't notice your husband's eye twitching

You baby that egg more than you've ever babied him and he's definitely getting jealous

He just about snaps when he hears you and Sir Pentious talking about you keeping the little egg

"Aren't you a little old for those 'egg baby' projects, my dear? You're not in school anymore."

"Oh, please, Alastor! Can't we keep him? He's already so attached to me and I just adore him! I've already named him!"

"Um...Y/N...they already have namesssss..."

"I do?"

Somehow, he manages to convince you that you don't need to keep the egg but it's by the skin of his teeth

And it doesn't stop you from spending every waking moment spoiling the egg

That should be him being spoiled by you

He starts trying to intimidate the egg whenever you aren't around but the little thing is too dense to understand it

"I wouldn't follow Y/N so closely up those stairs, one wrong step and it would be quite the nasty fall for someone as fragile as you."

"Thanks Boss!"

Not Alastor trying to crack him whenever you look away

Purposefully opening doors a little too hard in hopes that your egg is on the other side

Using his staff to nudge him out an open window...

Finding extremely dangerous tasks for the egg to do only to be disappointed when he comes back unharmed

Developing a sudden interest in baking extremely large cakes

Alastor, honey, come on...that last one wasn't even subtle

Bottom line, if you care about the egg boy then you better give him back to Sir Pentious because he won't be safe around your husband

It's an emotional goodbye but Alastor's happiness at having your attention again is worth it

It's not like you won't still see each other around the hotel, chill

He's a terribly needy man when it comes to your attention but it's just part of his charm

I LOVE THESE LITTLE GUYS

[whiskeyskin]

Love and Longing

Premise: When Elminster delivers Mystra's blessing to reprieve Gale from the Orb's volitile nature, there's a certain something he's been denying himself for over a year and he's finally alone in his tent 👀🍆💦

• Gale x gn!tav • 18+ • E/M Rating

Gale's POV, reader referred as "you", no mention of specific pronouns or genitals, porn without plot, male masturbation, fantasising, oral both recieving, penetration, jealousy, love, longing, horny!gale, fluff, lemons, Astarion x gn!tav referenced, marking if you squint

1.9k words

Gods bless you @wizardblood for this gifset we gladly receive 🥵✨

Part 2 here, if you like that sort of thing?

A/N: Y'all are making me UGLY CRYY WITH JOY AT THESE LOVELY COMMENTS 😭😭😚😚 Thank you for over 800 notes!! You beautiful, thirsty creatures 😏💜

A/N: 1k NOTES?! 🥹🥹 I love each and every SINGLE one of you 😚✨

_____________________________

Gale looked down at the solid protrusion currently causing his bedroll to tent, attempting to keep his breathing even.

It had been what felt like an age since he'd allowed himself to indulge in arousal.

He lay under the blankets, naked as a babe, anticipation crackling in the air around him.

After removing the charm on his underwear to suppress such feelings, it had all come flooding back.

Especially with you around.

His attraction to you was undeniable, however much he thought it impossible; especially after his heartbreak with Mystra. Nevertheless, his feelings for you grew with each step you took, every kind word and all the good you sought to accomplish.

You'd spoken in his defense passionately when Elminster had delivered Mystra's word; the fire in your heart had rivalled that of Karlach.

You'd vowed that there was another way to be found. That you wouldn't allow him to sacrifice himself.

And he loved you for it.

Gods dammit, he did.

He'd fallen hard for you.

He tried to deny it, of course.

It wouldn't lead anywhere.

He had to die.

It was his destiny to end the Absolute, whatever the cost.

No matter stolen glances across the campfire. Ignoring the heated moment of magic between you, where you'd shown him how you felt for him.

Besides, you'd taken Astarion to bed multiple times since the Tiefling party. He couldn't compete with the sultry advances of the Pale Elf.

His paultry offerings of affection wouldn't stand a chance.

But still, a part of him envisioned what life could be like if it was spent by your side.

Hearth crackling, the day's sun swooping low in the sky across the water, two arm chairs and a bottle of wine.. candle light and the smell of strawberries, sweat and arousal. The sound of your voice against his ear, the feeling of your wet, ribbed warmth welcoming him home after a long and stressful day.

Gale licked his bottom lip, his breathing heavy. He reached a hand under the sheets, in the privacy of his tent, to indulge in thoughts of you.

Gods, he wanted to use his mouth on you, he wanted to drown in your heady scent. He would press kisses against your inner thighs, teasing and tormenting, languishing tongue and teeth.

Your unfettered arousal evident before him as he would glide his mouth up your sex, tasting your sweetness and salt. You'd moan his name and wind a fist into his hair, sending sparks through his scalp.

He took the tip of himself in his first fingers, pre-cum had already gathered between the slit and dripped onto his stomach.

Taking a deep breath, he began to gently pulse the head. He hissed as blinding pleasure seared across his vision and sunk low in his belly.

"Ahhh.." he exhaled, with a widening, sinful grin.

Finally, he could touch himself after all these months.

He gritted his teeth against another groan that tried to escape. The sensation of oanism foreign to him but welcome, thoughts of you flooding his mind, as he fell into an old, familiar rhythm.

Oh, you would moan so sweetly underneath him, as he filled you to the brim with his cock. You'd envelop him to the root, sensually clenching your walls around his girth.

Gale replicated the feeling by adding a second hand to squeeze, imagining you enveloping him.

He moved slow and deliberate, like you were taking him for the first time. Every rib of his fingers torture against his sensitive flesh. He pumped his hands in unison, along the thick, veined length of himself, building up the pressure constricting his erection, increasing the speed and fantasizing that he was entangled in your loving embrace.

He'd hold your legs aloft, parted just for him. You'd bray like a wild animal in heat, with the need for his throbbing length to ride you to climax.

One hand clumsily slid to cup his testicles, to massage them and drive him closer to the edge. His hips gyrated at nothing, rutting against the thought of you.

You'd climb to take control and ride him like a stallion through the night. He would hear the salacious slapping of your cheeks against his hips, as he'd watch you bounce yourself in wanton bliss.

He'd hold on to your waist, fingertips digging in hard enough to cause contusions.

He wanted to bruise you, claim you as his own. He wanted to sucker his ownership right over Astarion's bite marks.

He had no right to this ugly and repulsive feeling of jealousy, he knew this.. but he couldn't help himself.

They both vied for your attention and he couldn't stand that Astarion had tasted you when he hadn't.

He wanted to hear your cries as he fucked up into you, slamming your hips down on him harder. Gods, he wanted his name on your lips.

Gale licked the sweat gathering on his top lip; he imagined it was you tasting him.

He fantasied about you using your beautiful mouth on him. You'd cover his body in long, wet, trailing kisses before you'd take him in your mouth. You'd gorge on his cock until he couldn't breathe. Your skillful tongue needy to please him. Your hands wielding a very different kind of weapon, sheathing it entirely down your spectacular throat.

You'd look up at him through lidded gaze, his hard length completely engulfed. The contact would be searing, it would burn him to the spot, it would ignite his soul and turn him to willingly to ash.

There would be love and devotion in your eyes, blissful happiness in your heart.

Gale swallowed and shook his head from side to side.

He wanted to see you.

Wanted you to see him.

See him like this for you.

Helpless and desperate for just a moment of you.

He wanted you to look at him with adoring eyes that turn lustful, when you see him abusing himself, with your name on his lips.

Gale uttered the illusion cantrip and you appeared on your knees beside him. He gasped and smiled brightly at you. He knew it wasn't real but gods he wanted it to be.

You smiled back at him, infatuation shining in your eyes.

"Gale.." softly came the only word he'd been able to summon you to utter. It was warped but it was still your voice. It was still you.

He threw back the covers so you could see him. See all of him. Naked. So you could drink in the sight of him stroking his thick, alert and wanting cock to the thought of you.

"It's for you. Only for you. Going to come for you-just for you." He managed, his voice husky from lust.

"Gale.." You whispered, licking your lower lip and gliding your hands up your strong thighs. You cup yourself through your camp garb and palm yourself in circles, "Gale.." you moan, throwing your head back slightly as you ground against your hand.

His hips twitched unconsciously at seeing your image pleasuring yourself for his enjoyment. That you felt this joy together.

A rumble started to build behind his cock, it tightened around his belly and coiled itself around his legs. It rose through his chest, painfully electrifying his nipples to stiff points, as it wound it's way to the base of his skull. There it gripped him, held him, allowed him to go no further.

He whined in frustration. Gods he wanted to come, it had been so long, so very long.

"Gale..?" Came your voice, he looked at you and his stomach flipped uncomfortably in desire.

You looked spectacular; hair mussed, eyes glassy and wide, lips pink and swollen from lust. Still touching yourself through your clothes, rocking vigorously against the friction.

You placed a hand on your heart and threw your head back in ecstasy. His body began to violently tremble in anticipation.

Oh gods, you looked resplendent on the precipice of orgasm.

"Gale!" You whimpered, sweat glistening on your skin, "Gale.. Gale.. Gale.." you moaned between breaths, your image replicating the noises he'd overheard when you'd snuck into the forest, and committed to memory. The reckless abandon of your heady moans of pleasure. Your face tightened and released, your mouth falling open to gasp.

The desire at the back of his head suddenly pulled taut, every muscle strained, pressure swelling behind his erection. His eyes rolled back in his head, before he came undone.

He jerked and thrashed on his bedroll, trying and failing to keep his ministrations to himself. Thick spurts of cum shot over his stomach, chest and neck, as he came hard for you.

"For you-all for you-only for you." He whimpered, his jaw tense, teeth bared.

He pumped raggedly, squeezing every single drop of his seed from himself. It was almost to the point of pain but the pleasure balanced it perfectly to make the suffering delicious. His muscles seized and toes curled to their fullest extent, as he huffed out a breath and lay feeling weightless on the carpeted interior of his tent.

Gale lay there breathing heavily, sweat damp on his brow. His softening cock still pulsating with after effects, within his loose grasp, as his brain buzzed with static.

His heart felt twice it's size and his entire being was in total elated relaxation, with a doltish smile plastered across his face.

He could quite happily lay like this forever.

It had been so long.

He couldn't remember release being like this.

It was.. dizzying.. violent.. euphoric.. transcendent.. monumentous..

sticky..

cold..

uncomfortable..

"Oh no." Gale groaned, as he looked down on his masterpiece.

Your image had disappeared; there was no way he couldn't have concentrated through that kind of orgasm, even if his life depended on it.. and Mystra's eyelids, the mess he'd made of himself.

His cum lay heavy on his stomach and chest, spattered up to his neck and jaw. Hells, it was even on the floor!

He internally grumbled to himself.

This was the not so fun part of masturbation.

The sharp thud back to reality and the clean up.

He sighed. Well, that was short lived.

Lucky for a Wizard, clearing away the stains of his growing shame, was painless.

Gale waved his hand and the evidence of his debauchery disappeared.

He suddenly felt empty and hollow. The euphoria of release gone all too soon. Slumping back on to his bedroll and bringing the covers up against the chill, he frowned to himself, a cavernous feeling in his chest.

Gale waved his hand, using his last spell slot to conjure your image again.

You appeared laid down with him, tucked closely, your stunning eyes soft and content.

His heart ached; he wanted this.

It didn't matter how much he denied it, he knew what love felt like in the beginning and this was it.

This wasn't because of a covetous, lustful haze from the urgency of ejaculation.

It was comfort.

It was safety.

It was love.

And it terrified him.

More than the thought of ending as a small blip in the farest reaches of the realm. More than dying alone in excruciating agony.

Falling in love with you scared him because it meant that now, he had something to live for.

You smiled sleepily at him and readjusted yourself to get comfortable beside him.

"Night." You whispered, blowing him a slow kiss, closed your eyes and curled in nearer to him.

He stared longingly at your resting form; you looked so peaceful. Wet stinging burned his eyes and he sniffed dryly.

He needed to get to sleep.

He really should..

You'd only last a minute.

He couldn't bare the thought of opening his eyes again without you there, laying beside him..

Tears fell from his eyes and dripped to his pillow, as he shut them tight, "Goodnight, my love."

•°•°•

Part 2

Or.. I've got a Masterlist.. yuh know.. if you like this sort of stuff 👀😏

[ruegarding]

so. percy's arc in boo (learning to step back, allowing leo to sacrifice himself despite his loyalty/fatal flaw) sucks. for many reasons.

for one, percy yielding is such an integral part of pjo. all of pjo. but even if u somehow missed it in the first four books, tlo explicitly spells it out. "sometimes the hardest power to master is the power of yielding" hestia says to percy. "i yield when necessary. can you do this?" and then this is the climax of the story. "you are not the hero...it will affect what you do." percy has spent the last five books being told that he's the super powerful chosen one able to save or destroy the world, and he still chooses to yield to someone that has done nothing but betray him. "the line from the great prophecy echoed in my head...my whole world tipped upside down, and i gave the knife to luke." hoo acting like this is a lesson percy needs to learn is an affront to reading comprehension. percy lives bc he yields. and then he does it (yielding) again when he surrenders godhood, and power, to choose other demigods instead. this is not subtle writing.

for two, percy has rejected power, and his title, for the entirety of his story. percy doesn't even fully recognize how powerful he is until the volcano in botl. and he had to be told directly that it wasn't a fluke. then in son, percy immediately rejects the power and status offered to him. repeatedly. reyna offers him praetorship, he turns it down. frank is abt to let percy climb the wall first in the war games, percy says it was frank's claim. percy doesn't even want to go on the son quest but relents bc frank asked him. in moa, percy never demands that he lead. instead, he includes frank where he probably wasn't necessary, supports hazel, encourages annabeth, follows leo and piper's lead, and strategizes w jason. he isn't acting as a leader, but rather as part of a team. percy didn't need to "step back," the writing for the other characters needed to step up.

for three, percy had to be kidnapped and manipulated to be on this entire quest. he's not there bc he has a hero complex. acting like he has to learn to step back when he was quite literally shoved into place is wild.

for four, an integral part of percy's character is freedom, autonomy, and he extends this to the ppl he's loyal to. this is pretty explicitly established in tlt: "you're enough like me to understand," sally says. "if my life is going to mean anything, i have to live it myself." percy respects ppl's decisions. this is one of the first lessons he learns when he becomes a hero and an integral part of pjo: percy has to let sally save herself. percy has to let tyson go to the boiler. percy has to let bianca defeat talos. percy has to let nico walk away. percy has to let annabeth fight. if he loves them, he's going to let their lives mean something. even in hoo, percy still lets annabeth go on her quest alone, despite hating it, despite disagreeing w it, bc it's not his place to tell her what she can and can't do. this is her life. she has to live it. so this plotline doesn't even work it we ignore all of pjo and focus solely on hoo.

this theme of autonomy is especially important bc pjo is abt disability. one of the first things ppl try to take away from u when ur disabled is ur autonomy. the fact that percy vehemently defends it not just for himself but for others is essential to the narrative. percy advocates for other demigods, other disabled kids, and tyson, and he does so while maintaining their autonomy. it's why he's the leader, it's why he's the protagonist, it's why there is a callback to it in every pjo book. trying to act like he wouldn't respect someone's autonomy is a bastardization of this entire theme. which is actually fitting for hoo considering it bastardizes the rest of pjo anyway.

[twinsarekeepers]

“This isn’t the Arch, seaweed brain. You’re not pushing me into the stairwell again.”

First of all, LINE DELIVERY?? Leah Sava Jeffries is an ACTRESS because ‘seaweed brain’ is actually so corny and it would simply feel like fan-service if they included it earlier or in another context but this was so natural and I was so swept up by all the other amazing things happening that I was excited about it but also keyed into the rest of the scene.

But the way this perfectly displays her fatal flaw. She will not let this boy trick her again (spoiler: he does). She was caught off guard at the Arch because she wasn’t familiar with his game but now she’s ready. She WILL die for him and that is final.

“Yes, I am.”

This was CRAZY?? Percy Jackson #1 mentally unstable man because how is he determined to win every ‘sacrifice myself’ off with her? And he says it to her face too. He does not care for the games anymore, he’s fully telling her that he needs her to live.

“I’m not going to let you this time. It doesn’t work that way!”

This made me so incredibly sad. Annabeth is still thinking in transactions. She’s thinking about how he made a sacrifice in the Arch so it’s her turn now. This is how relationships work. This is how every relationship she’s had works. She literally can’t comprehend how he doesn’t see it that way. How he could be selfless enough to sacrifice himself for her TWICE. How he could care about her enough to believe she deserves it even after she was the reason they were in the Arch in the first place (my baby my baby say it with me now you’re my baby).

“It’s why you’re here!”

“Excuse me?”

This was so soft like I just *screaming crying gif*. The last time she said ‘excuse me’ to him she was pissed off about him bringing up Athena but now she’s just confused and sad. Like, she trying to figure out what he means by this. Does he think she’s so heartless and robotic that she’d just let him die for her own gain?

I also love how they don’t have her say ‘what?’ because it just adds this extra layer of how Annabeth has trained herself to be more mature in everything she does, even her language, because she believes that if she’s not perfect, she’s not worthy of love and affection and maybe even existing (literally sobbing wtf).

“When I was choosing my team, I told Chiron I needed someone who wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice me if the quest required it. He agreed. That was you.”

I was confused at first about this because I thought Annabeth knew Percy thought this about her until I went back and watched the choosing ceremony again. He’s definitely keeping his voice lower as he speaks to Chiron and both Chiron and him are raising their voice as they address the other campers so makes sense that she wouldn’t have heard him.

But also, this just adds so much to literally everything. Because, in the beginning, Percy didn’t think him and Annabeth would become friends. He genuinely did think that she would sacrifice him if she had to and he thought he’d be able to curb it. He thought he’d be able to fight Annabeth if it came to it because she might choose the quest over his mom and he couldn’t allow that.

But now here he is, after getting to know her, and seeing her vulnerability and bravery and strength and courage and wisdom and passion and everything that makes her so beautiful and wonderful and amazing and his friend. She’s his friend and she’d never betray him. She’d never sacrifice him. She’d rather sacrifice herself before she ever did anything to harm him.

And he’s apologizing to her. Listen to the way Walker says the last line (again, THE ACTING). It’s literally a confession because he feels so bad that he ever believed that about her. And now he’s making her do it. He’s making her do this thing that he once thought she’d have done without hesitation. He’s thinking about the Fates cutting that string and he’s thinking about his own words to Chiron and how Chiron agreed and he’s thinking about how Annabeth said that prophecies aren’t always clear and he fully believes that he’s figured it out. This is fate. Annabeth would sacrifice him and complete the prophecy. She’ll be the friend that betrays him but not because she wanted to and he will fail to save what matters most, his own life.

This entire exchange was very insane. It’s my Roman Empire. I can’t stop thinking about it because it shows their motivations and their viewpoints and their internal struggles so so so well like I can’t even … I’m having a malfunction.

[bloddysnow]

Love me more

By Sylus

"Tell me... tell me that you love me more than them"- his voice trembled as he held your hands tightly as if afraid that you might disappear, peering into your eyes. His look was tense, full of expectation and anxiety. You felt his heart beating, his every breath echo in you.

Sylus knew that he was not the only one in your heart, and this knowledge did not give him peace.

He knew you spend more time with Rafayel. This fact burned him from the inside, because he understood that you love him for the mercy and naivety that made him so special for you. He was tormented by the realization that you find solace in Xavier's arms. Thoughts about how Xavier embraces you, how you seek comfort in his hands, did not give him peace. But most of all he was tormented by the knowledge that you love Zayne.

He knew that Zayne had a special place in your heart. You loved Zayne not just for his qualities, you trusted him.

They give you their love through gifts, walks under the moon, romantic dinners and confessions. Their feelings were sincere and strong, and you appreciate every moment spent with them. They created for you a world full of beauty and happiness, a world in which you felt loved and desired.

But he believed that his love surpassed all this. He didn't need loud gestures and magnificent expressions of feelings. His love was quiet but deep, it permeated every cell of his creature. He was ready to endure pain and suffering for you, he was ready to sacrifice his happiness for your well-being. He wants to know that you see his efforts, that you notice his presence. He will become anyone for you.

Do you like a submissive partner? He's ready to be like that for you. He will kneel in front of you with a collar around his neck. He will beg you if you order him to do it. His hands will reach out to you, but he won't touch you if you don't allow it.

"Tell me, - his voice was quiet, but persistent, - that I'm more for you than they are. That you feel for me what you don't feel for them. That I'm really important to you. That I belong to you… Please."

He’s waiting, his eyes did not break away from yours, hope and fear were read in them. Sylus wants to hear that every time he touches you, you feel the same as him - deep affection and desire to be close no matter what. He wants your heart to burn with the same passion, that your soul would strive for him as much as his soul wants you. He wants you to know that he would always be there to support you, hug you and say that everything would be fine. He wants you to feel this devotion, so that you would know that nothing is more important to him and dearer than you.

You've seen him struggling with his doubts, trying to find answers in your eyes. His soul was naked in front of you, and he was waiting for your words that could dispel his fears.