#i really need to sketch these two more often

[fortunxa]

Do you think au powder is comphet or just bi

With me saying that actually it kinda reminds me of something Elena Gilbert says in the vampire diaries? 😭😭😭 which is something like “her basically feeling pressured in way because of their history and their family’s in a way expecting it because boy!!! Girl!!! they are soo gonna be with eachother because of childhood bestfriend trope or wtv.. and also she felt as if she owed it to him because of their history”

But that’s stupid to compare the situations I guess idk I feel stupid

ALSO girl girl childhood best friends to lovers is more unique than boy girl AND boy boy because two girls can kiss in front on someone and people would think their straight also the term “girlfriend” to describe just a friend sometimes for girl.. boy girl is just expected and happens a lot!! And boy boy two boys could hug and people would call them gay

Sorry for the lack of punctuation and grammar (none) in general this needed to get out there

woah i read this when i woke up at the ass crack of dawn and had to reread a few times for it to sink in properly but i think i have an answer now. BIG YAP AHEAD ‼️

Powder’s sexuality will always be open to interpretation, and whether or not she’s comphet is a bit harder to tell. recognizing if someone is experiencing compulsory heterosexuality is tricky because it’s something that often happens subconsciously. since we don’t have access to Powder’s direct thoughts regarding Ekko, i won’t be able to provide a clear-cut answer for that.

but in my opinion (and don’t hate me for this), she didn’t seem comphet (i say this basing myself on proper visuals only). god knows how i feel about main timeline t*meb*mb, but Powder did seem happy with Ekko in the AU episode. we see it in the sketches, the subtle tells throughout her hideout, the way she interacts with him, etc.

yes, the boy/girl childhood friends to lovers trope is starting to feel less like romance and more like a script. it romanticizes familiarity over genuine attraction (“i must love him because i’ve always known him” and attachment ≠ attraction). it offers a convenient, comfortable path to heterosexuality, framing it as the natural next step and thus delaying/erasing queerness. the “best friend becomes boyfriend” pipeline is so good at hiding queerness behind safety. it tells you that if you wait long enough, the ‘right’ kind of love (read: heterosexual) will just click into place. no space left to question, no room to unravel—just comfort mistaken for desire. and for a closeted queer person, that path is tempting, because once you start asking the hard questions, your whole world can shift. it’s easier to fall for the story that’s already been written for you.

[side note for the “i owe it to him” part: boy/girl childhood friends to lovers trope often feels like a transaction. “i’ve invested years into that friendship, now it has to become romance.” or “he’s been good to me, so this must be what love is.” comphet dressed up as loyalty. obligation dressed up as fate. it convinces you that emotional labor = romantic debt.]

so, is the boy/girl childhood friends to lovers trope inherently bad? no, but it is overdone at times and it can be a trap for people navigating comphet. it’s kind of the comphet’s perfect disguise when that trope is considered the default.

that being said (and going back to Powder and Ekko): it doesn’t seem like that was the case here, but with all the subtleties in relation to experiencing comphet, it also wouldn’t be a reach. they grew up side by side, he’s always been there, and they care about each other deeply. will we ever actually know if Powder is comphet, though? no, unless we have full access to her personal thoughts (which i don’t see happening).

bonus regarding the girl/girl childhood friends to lovers trope you mentioned and the contradiction with the boy/boy one:

girlhood is deeply homoerotic by default, but never really allowed to be gay. girls grow up sharing beds, holding hands, kissing each other on dares, calling each other soulmates, and it’s all brushed off as “just friendship.” emotional intimacy and even physical affection between girls is normalized to the point of invisibility. there’s so much plausible deniability. girl/girl closeness is encouraged, even fetishized (i’m looking at you, porn addicts). so when two girls actually fall in love, or one starts questioning? it’s way harder to tell what’s real and what’s been packaged as ‘harmless’ intimacy. comphet lets it thrive by never taking it seriously—the girl/girl childhood friends to lovers trope hits different because it exposes that. it’s about realizing that the thing you were told was ‘just friendship’ was actually everything and no one noticed. not even you.

meanwhile, boy/boy friendships are policed the opposite way. two boys hug and it’s instantly, “haha, that’s gay” (just like you said). there’s no room for softness, no ambiguity. if they fall for each other, it’s a rebellion against hyper-visibility and stigma. boys grow up terrified to express tenderness because even platonic closeness gets sexualized, mocked, or punished (contrasting with girl/girl friendships). there’s no space to explore softness, let alone queerness QUIETLY. when two boys do fall in love, the world already suspects it—but they’ve been taught to fear it. the boy/boy childhood friends to lovers trope never got the luxury of hiding in plain sight like the girl/girl one.

it’s not that one trope is better than the other—it’s that queerness shows up differently depending on how society treats affection, and both suffer under the same system: heteronormativity punishes boys for closeness and disguises queer girlhood as innocent play.

[onesmolbean49]

Toshi having silly thoughts of a certain silly green haired woman… So precious, so soft…

[kalloway]

noticing a habit of doing sketch pages in p much exactly the same way every time

bottom right-hand corner always getting neglected cuz I guess I lose my ambition by then lmfao

two of these I've posted already, but now u can get psychic damage from the other sketches >:)c (also by forcing u to click on it to see anything lmfao sorry...)

(also in case tumblr misreads my own sketch - there is a cat-man and that sticky outy bit is a very badly sketched tail, I promise u)

[jaggedamethyst]

golden boy | jayce x female reader

1.7k words

content: fawk it, jayce making a damn vibrator with hextech…and suspending my disbelief that they even knew what that was and he legit created it idc!! walk with me girl!!!

18+ minors dni, angst, pathetic! jayce, kinda mean but closed off reader, pining (?), some fluff, smut duh, vibrator used on reader…also jayce is kinda a sarcastic mf here

notes: idk what came over me guys, but I feel like this could end up being longer than just a one shot bc the angst made its way in like usual. also jayce is a smartie pants, leave him alone guys.

update: part two is up now!

series masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

He heard you before he saw you, your light saunter approaching him. Jayce had to immediately curse himself, because while he was rather smart, his reflexes were damn slow. He didn’t even think to cover his sketches before you were already close enough to crane your head over his shoulder.

A hand found his back, rubbing it encouragingly. “What ya workin on?”

Jayce was someone who loved to be affirmed. You both knew that. So before even registering the odd shapes you were looking at in his drawings, you wanted to let him know you were there and that any stress that lingered would soon dissipate. You were confused, then, when he rose quickly. He used his broad shoulders and back to block your view.

He smiled, clearly caught off guard. “Just some new stuff…you know…the mind never stops!” His cheeks soon blossomed with a rosy sheen across them. There was a sympathy in your gaze, but an even larger feeling of intrigue.

Jayce was easy to distract. As much as he loved to work on his creations and improving Hextech, he was also extremely needy. This often left him quite impressionable under your touch. Over the course of your relationship—which you would admit wasn’t actually a thing—you used this to your advantage.

You approached him slowly, an arm outstretched toward his face. He instinctively learned towards the palm of your hand. You intended to at least plant a kiss on his cheek, but he was a lost puppy these days. Just that action alone was enough for his body to relax into you. You had an opening. You slipped your hand behind him under the guise of stabilizing yourself on his workbench—grabbing a handful of the loose pages.

With a squeal you backed up, and spun around. “Wooooo what do we have here!”

“Wait-“ he turned between you and his work, “you tricked me?”

Holding the papers up toward the light to inspect them, you quirked a brow. “All in a days work, babe. Although…I don’t exactly know what I’m looking at here.”

Jayce was exasperated, how humiliating for you to have found these—even more that they weren’t even done. He was a scientist, after all. He needed time to finalize and test every possibility. He didn’t want to fight you for the papers—couldn’t really.

“Its just,” he sighed, “some stuff for you- or um, us?” He didn’t mean to sound like it was a question, a chance. It was definitive. He knew numbers and percentiles the same way he knew you. There was a desire there to be something more than just this. But he was entirely too passive to ever tell you. So he worked tirelessly at the only thing he knew you would show up and stay for. He didn’t mean for us to sound like a question, but it was.

You’d turned your back by then, the best angle of the sun shining towards your back and thus highlighting the drawings. Your intense gaze had faltered, your shoulders slumping. Like any other feeling you’d felt for Jayce in the last two years, you pushed it away—relying on humor as a shield. People are too fickle; you liked your independence and didn’t want to get hurt. Not again.

You ignored that feeling in your stomach that said to not be mean to him again, you knew he didn’t deserve it. You just couldn’t help it. Without acknowledging the weight of his statement, you continued, “what do they do?”

He senses your lack of focus, hastily snatching the pages from over your head. They quickly found their way back into a folder and cast aside.

“Well…its for,” his eyes purposely avoided yours. The ceiling was suddenly really amusing.

“Way to leave a girl hanging,” you scoffed, turning towards the door. “I just wanted to check in, but I will come back when I am wanted I guess.”

You didn’t take him seriously. That wasn’t new, but the feeling of wanting to do something about it was definitely a unique occurrence.

Before he could grasp what he wanted to say, the words flew from his lips. “Sit down.”

You stopped in your tracks, intrigued and slightly turned on by the firmness in his tone. “Scuse me?”

“You should sit…sit down. Over there.” He gestured towards a couch he’d made in his workshop. You complimented him on it once, knowing he’d made it just because he could. That was something you liked about him, undoubtedly. He had the capabilities to do so much more than he could even conceptualize and you wanted that for him. But the hopes for his future, rubs on his back, and longing gazes were too much for you.

Despite this, you were never one turn down a man like him finally standing up to you. You shrugged, “Sure, whatever…I’ll sit.”

“Good.”

The man turned quickly to retrieve one of the items he’d drawn in his sketches. This specific one was made with you in mind. It took so much dedication to perfect, but little effort to actually create, really. He’d think of your time together, the praise that would leave your lips each time he’d even breathe near your clit. The way your body would writhe against his. It was intoxicating. He figured something to make that even more special for you was due. But how could he just keep giving to someone who didn’t want to truly have him.

He wasn’t brainless. As much as he loved to hear it, being a good boy felt demeaning sometimes. He was a man, and he wanted you in a way you refused to see.

He’d show you.

“Take off your clothes.”

Jayce explained to you once that the body had red blood cells, that they carry oxygen. It confused you, now, because you were damn sure weren’t bleeding all over his chair and yet every single breath in your body was gone.

“What?”

“Clothes. Off.”

“In a I’m gonna experiment on you kind of way, or we’re gonna fuck kind of way because-“

“Both.”

You didn’t want to seem too eager, but damn you wished you had less pieces of clothing on right now. As you stripped, you were grateful then for the warmth of the forge. The sudden chill on your skin caused you to shiver. Jayce appeared suddenly, something in hand.

“I am actually not sure what to call this,” he showed you the object in the palm of his hand. It wasn’t very large, or maybe his hands made it seem smaller, you weren’t sure.

“Thats okay,” you leaned back on the couch, “show me.”

He was on you immediately, an eagerness on his lips you’d never felt from him before. You were usually the one in charge. So when he pushed you flat on your back, his clothes still on, you felt the difference. He’d swung his leg over you, now straddling you. You were too distracted by the kisses trailing over you to realize he’d reached between you two.

He made his way around your neck and toward your ear. “Let me know how this feels.”

You gasped, a vibration hitting your body unlike anything you’d felt before. Jayce was skilled in many ways but this was—wow. You met eyes with him, words struggling to form in your throat. Your brain seemed to have been empty, too.

He let the feeling pulse before slightly circling you, teasing you.

“So this, is what I have been working on.” He surveyed the way you gasped underneath him, looking into the distance. “Its not quite done yet, but I had to change some things here and there to make it better. Ya know, make it ergonomic, not too loud, stuff like that.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but all you managed was a frustrated groan. He was pissing you off. How could he be making you feel this good and talking like a fucking nerd right now.

“I also thought about sensation…what you like,” he smirked a bit. He was proud of himself. “Sometimes when you’ve had a particularly hard day, slow and deliberate does the trick, right?”

He continued to press into you, urging an answer from you. It was quite interesting how the tables seemed to turn but he didn’t complain. This is what he wanted—you helpless and confused under him while he ruined you for anyone else. He was tired of hearing how you couldn’t be tied down. Jayce Talis was no idiot, you were holding back.

“Isn’t that right sweet girl?” At the same time he questioned you, he’d raised the speed on you. A buck of your hips immediately after. “You don’t have to answer, I know.”

Sweet girl. He’d never said that before. The undertone of him trying to rile you up while simultaneously being his usual endearing self was too much. Your hands had found your face, a sudden embarrassment looming over you. That didn’t stop him.

“But, because I care about you feeling good, I added another feature.”

You felt the continuous sensation increase sporadically and then back down, chocking out a whine.

“Intuitive right?” He used a free hand to brush the hair from your collarbone, latching his lips there. He spoke into your skin, “Essentially, I used the Hextech to not only control the stimulation but to work at the users command with little effort.” He paused, wanting to see you. “So when I do this,” a surprised yelp from you, “or this, you really feel it.”

He’d never been more proud. You were often one to lead him, and he liked it. But now, with you here helpless, he couldn’t help but urge you on. He continued to ramble, speeding up to a pace he knew left you unraveling.

You couldn’t take it. It took everything in you to get the energy to yank his hair and finally speak, “Jayce-“

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Can do,” and with that, he sucked down on your chest. He knew you’d loved that.

The entire ordeal felt like years when in fact, it had only been a few minutes since he started in on you.

“You go ahead and finish, I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t much longer before the heat in you exploded, a series of groans clawing its way from your vocal chords.

He’d continued to coax more from you, he felt he was owed as much.

Eventually sleep overtook you, the man recognizing the familiar lull that creeped up on you.

He spoke, mostly to himself, “we’ll talk later.”

You replied, to his surprise. “Sure thing, golden boy.”

part two

[pomefioredove]

Omg hiii! I saw that your requests were open again! Please take your time and prioritize your rest, and as always your writing is such a delight to read! I always look forward to your posts! 💖💖💖

That being said, can you please write for a Yuu/reader that has a love for painting (but is shy about showcasing their skill) , and was absolutely taken by Vil's beauty even before they met him? Of course they didn't know that he was a famous actor at first. What if Vil one day finds their sketches and paintings of him after months of knowing him? (hmm preferably after the events of book 6..? 👀)

SO CUTE!!! kicking my legs back and forth at this anonnn

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the picture of vil schoenheit

type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

How were you supposed to know?

It's not like Crowley had given you a guide on Night Raven College or its students (though, wouldn't that have been nice?)

I mean, you had to reminded of Trey's last name not two weeks ago. How were you supposed to know who Vil Schoenheit is?

You'd only seem him at a distance. Passed him by in the halls while he scolded some poor first year. He even looked beautiful when he was angry.

He was just made to be painted.

You didn't show your friends the art. You didn't need to give Ace another reason to tease you, and being a stalker would've really been the cherry on top of your weirdness sundae.

Besides, it was just drawing. Practice! Sketches from a distance, doodles done in the margins of your notes, watercolors and paintings from memory...

It felt familiar. This man, this stranger, someone you hadn't even spoken to, made you feel a little closer to home.

.

"Really, you should have some sort of organizational system,"

Vil leafs through pages of alchemy reports and history of magic homework. "Might I suggest a recycling bin?"

You smile. It's not often that your friend- Vil Schoenheit, that is- has a day off. But today is Saturday, and your room is in desperate need of his touch.

"This is... chaotic," he says, brushing a clump of Grim fur off his shoulder. "And you live like this?"

You shrug. "I try,"

"Well, try no more. We'll have this done before dinner,"

His commitment is touching. Millions of screeching fangirls would give anything just to spend five minutes with Vil, and here he is, tidying your room for you.

It's almost cute. He's humming to himself, hair tied back in a ponytail, in one of your shirts (his are too nice to get dirty), sweeping Grim fur out from under your bed.

"Rook and Epel couldn't make it?" you ask, pretending not to care that it's just the two of you.

"I told them not to bother,"

"Oh?"

Vil tsks. "They would get in the way. We're much more efficient on our own- we work well together, after all,"

That's something he'd said before. You'd always wondered what it meant.

"Right,"

You switch places, going to strip your bed of its sheets for washing while Vil tidies your desk.

Off go the pillow cases, the comforter, the blankets. You're wrestling with your mattress when you notice that he hasn't moved in a while.

He's looking through some of the papers from within the bowels of your desk, smiling to himself, a finger held to his perfect lips.

"What?"

"Hm?" he hums, but he doesn't look at you. "Oh, just... admiring your work. You have quite an eye for detail, have I ever told you that?"

He's being weird. You let go of your bundle of bedding and look at what he's holding, but it's just your sketchbook.

Oh. Oh, no. It's your sketchbook.

"OH! Um, wait-" you say, rushing to his side. "Don't- don't look!"

Vil smirks, and he holds the art over your head. "How unfair. The muse should always be the first to see, you know,"

Damn his height and perfect, slender arms!!! Your eyes widen. "It's not what it looks like! I didn't know you when I did those!"

"Yes, I saw the dates. You could make a career out of admiring me, you know~" he chuckles. "I'd pay for these. I'm sure Rook would like a few, as well."

You're practically melting with embarrassment. "Come on- give it back!"

Seeing your pathetic, embarrassed whining, Vil relents, handing you the sketchbook with an eye-roll.

"What are you ashamed of? They're fine pieces,"

"It's not that," you clutch the book to your chest. "It's just- uh- weird, isn't it?"

Vil scoffs. "I'm weird?"

"NO! I meant- I didn't even know you, and I drew you almost every day- that isn't... strange?"

He takes a moment to study you, your body language, the embarrassed look on your face. From head to toe. And then he smiles, warmly.

"I am in a dorm with Rook. There are very, very few things that I find strange now. You admire me- I'm flattered,"

He gingerly takes sketchbook out of your arms and opens it again. "Not to mention, you have an artistic eye that any director would kill for."

You stand there, a little dumbfounded, but mostly very, very grateful that he's your friend, and that you can laugh about this together.

"I'm... well... thank you," you finally say.

Vil smirks, and pinches your cheek. "You're precious. Now, back to work. I want this room over with. These paintings won't frame themselves, will they?"

[moongirlrhea]

azriel and his best friend - a drabble

i sat down at my laptop and this just came out? english is not my first language so if you see any typos, no u didn’t

series masterlist is here

word count: 1.7k

open to feedback, let me know what you think and if you want to see more of these two!

“Az, could you fly me down to the rainbow later? I need to- shit! … run a few errands” he faltered hearing his best friend’s distracted voice. Smiling faintly he crossed the room to her bedroom.

“Love, are you alright?” hand raised to knock, Azriel stood in front of her door.

“Love?”

“Sorry! Yes, yes! Fuck, can you come in here?” He was inside her bedchamber before her sentence was finished. An amused smile started to form over his face as he watched his sweet girl standing in front of her vanity mirror, struggling with the bow tied up in her hair.

“I fucked up, I think,” their eyes met in the mirror, her face a mix of exasperation and amusement

“Could you help?” she asked sheepishly. Azriel got on it with no words said, frowning.

“You wear this hairstyle everyday, how did you even do this…” he muttered, meeting her eyes in the reflection again

“Leave me alone”

Amusement swam in the shadowsinger’s hazel eyes at the groaned response. He looked around the room, at the clothes thrown haphazardly on the bed, an empty tea cup from last night and half finished sketch of her new project on the floor. He was almost done fixing her hair. “Hairbrush?” she handed it to him, and he brushed her golden-brown locks.

“Where am I taking you again?”

“Oh! I need to get some new fabric for that new dress I’m making. Can you believe it? I’m completely out of red after all the gowns I made for Mor…” she trailed off, and Azriel hummed.

“Who’s this one for?”

“Cass asked me to make a dress for Nesta. He is taking her somewhere for their anniversary I think?”

“Thank the gods, we’ll get a few days of peace around here” even years after their mating, the pair was still impossible to be around in the same house at night. Many evenings ended with the shadowsinger and his best friend hiding away in his room, while his shadows sound-proofed the chamber. Azriel did really hate having to run from Cassian and Nesta and their activities in his own home, but after his best friend started joining him more and more often, those nights became his favorite. He missed the peace of their late-night talks, an often occurrence decades before, later lost to Amarantha and the war.

Her snort stopped his trail of thought just as he finished tying the blue bow containing half of her hair.

“Alright, done. Ready to go?”

Later that day, they walked along the sidra, raspberry pastry in one of his hands, bag of newly bought fabrics in his other.

“My family wants me to come home for starfall this year” Azriel’s head whipped in the direction of her voice, though her head was down, staring at the cobblestones. Home is Velaris, Azriel thought. And you’re family.

“Is that why you haven’t been annoying me with how you don’t know what you want to wear this year?” he felt stupid before he even finished making the joke. He knew how her relationship with her blood-relatives looked. Azriel stared at the side of her head, hoping she would face him. Knowing she would not.

“Sweetheart…”

“I don’t know, Az. I don’t wanna go. Does that make me a bad daughter?”

“You know it doesn’t.”

“I need to be reminded sometimes, I think.”

The wind whipped around them, making the waves of the sidra sing. People walked past the pair, rushing to get home amidst the late-november starfall preparations.

“You will stay here, if you don’t want to go. They can talk to me first if they have an issue with that” he heard her sigh, but she didn’t say anything more, only laid her head upon his shoulder. He brought her closer with his wing, shielding her from the winter wind.

“Bite” he brought the pastry he was holding down to her lips.

“Mm! This one is my favorite, I think.” she said, tongue darting out to clean up some raspberry jam that got on her cheek.

“It’s a bit sour, no? I prefer chocolate.” she chuckled, head lifting for green eyes to meet hazel ones. He swore the freckles on her cheeks, rosy from the cold, formed constellations.

“That’s because you have a massive sweet tooth. Why did you get this one then?”

“It’s your favorite”

“Az, I didn’t even know it was my favorite until like, three minutes ago.” Her eyebrow lifted, wide eyes staring at him.

“Well, I know lots of things. Spymaster, remember?” Azriel was looking down at her mischief dancing in his eyes. Walking at a relaxed pace, air fresh and good around him. Or maybe it was just that she was next to him.

“Oh, right then, excuse me” his best friend was chuckling, her head resuming its past position on his shoulder. The sun was beginning to set around Velaris, the temperature getting colder, but that did not seem to bother the pair who kept walking huddled against one another. It was an uncommon thing to see the shadowsinger so relaxed and at peace, except for when he was with her. Life was good then, and the air smelled of something sweet, and Azriel could not comprehend how something could be bad, so long as she stayed at his side.

Shadows danced around them as they took a turn after walking past one of the pastel buildings, the sidra beginning to disappear behind them, the mountain now in sight. She hummed, and then said:

“I’d rather be here anyway”

“Hm?”

“With you. I’d choose you over them anytime, you know? You’re my family” and something so right snapped in place in Azriel’s chest. He hummed, leaning down to lay a kiss upon her temple.

“Yeah,” he mumbled “I know. You’re mine too.”

Azriel knew she would be coming before he heard her knock upon his door and his shadows rushed to welcome her in. Two steaming mugs of tea were already sitting on his bedside table, the cobalt covers pulled down to make space for her.

“Look, I have these two shades of blue. I can’t decide. Maybe I should incorporate them both?” she rushed into his room like a storm, throwing the fabric samples at him, claiming her space on his bed as he caught them. Azriel blinked at her.

“For the starfall dress, Az” she was blowing at the tea, trying to cool it down, smiling at him. Azriel, absentmindedly, smiled back.

“Oh,” he fiddled with the fabric. “The darker one is nicer” he looked at her as he sat down on the bed, across from her.

“You think? Look, here are the designs I made "

"They’re beautiful,” she passed him his tea, “Very… Hm. Sireny” she kicked her legs up into his lap

“That is what I was going for! I miss summer terribly-"

"I wouldn’t know how often you complain about it” he looked at her with mischief in his eyes, a smirk threatening to break across his face, quickly washed off by the pillow she threw at him. He let her. Well deserved, he thought. “Hey! Leave me alone. I literally don’t even talk about it that much” she huffed, sipping her tea, and he found himself smiling again.

“I can take you, you know.”

“Where?” a tendril of shadow twirled around a strand of her hair, then around the shell of her curved ear. She did not even notice.

“Summer court. Or some other warm place. Wherever you’d like "

"You’d take a weekend off of work?” she was smiling faintly, hope already blossoming in her wide eyes.

“A whole week, perhaps” she gasped at that, sitting up, the tea sloshing around the rim of the cup, a shadow darting up to stabilize her hands.

“I wonder what Rhys would say. He needs to leave you alone” she threw her head back

“Which you’ve made perfectly clear to him last week, hm?”

“I stood up for you! He’s making you overwork yourself and you don’t even say anything-” she was still talking, but all Azriel could do was stare at her, clad in a nightgown and laying amongst his sheets, like she owned them, like she was his, his wife, his-

“Azriel? Are you even listening to me?” he breathed. The moonshine made her look ethereal.

“So, a trip to Summer next month after starfall?”

“Cassian will be so mad”

“Cassian can suck it” she laughed again, bathed in moonlight, throwing her head back like a little kid.

“Yeah,” she beamed at him “Yeah, he can”

Later, after they were done with the tea, and his best friend unconsciously started drifting closer to him, Azriel moved up the bed. Cleaned up the fabric and pages of dress projects scattered around the bed, stacking them neatly next to his bed.

She yawned as he sat down and pulled the covers around them both.

Azriel hummed, a stupid smile breaking across his face, as always anyway when he watched her unapologetically make herself comfortable, drifting closer to his side and finally burying her head in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He hummed as his arms and wings came around her, and as he felt her breathing even out in the quiet of the night. He smoothed a hand down her hair. His sweet girl. He was so lucky to hold her that, even if her family truly were not so bad, he would never relate to them for letting her go so easily. For not cherishing her and caring for her, as she should be cared for - with the utmost attention the world could offer. Maybe that was just it - he was the only one able to offer her the care she deserved. She was meant to end up in his arms, after all. Yes, that must be it. His shadows must have agreed as well, with how they wove around her. And even if her best friend was all he could call himself, Azriel would take it. Greedily.

[demonic0angel]

Liminality Headcanons (click for clarity)

I saw a video that was talking about how uncomfortable and creepy really attractive people with no imperfections were on the internet and described them as “uncanny”, and I had the reaction of an alpha werewolf during the full moon 😀

That is EXACTLY how I want Jazz to look like!! Like she’s beautiful, gorgeous, whatever you want to call her, but she’s also so creepy like a realistic painting or a horror movie demon has possessed a pretty girl. I want her so beautiful that she gives you a bad feeling when you stare at her for too long.

So all of these sketches was drawn around Jazz lmao.

More notes on my ideas on liminality bc otherwise, I’ll just write about Jazz for several hundred words lmao:

+ I have mentioned it before, but I like it when the DP and DC world are separated (bc it lets me worldbuild two worlds! :D) so as such, liminals from both worlds are slightly different, but they can have overlapping abilities and similarities. DC liminals are more likely to have volatile tempers, better physical senses, quicker healing capabilities, and more sensitive/fragile mental states. DP liminals are more likely to have ‘meta’ abilities/powers, are more likely to become ghosts, often have ‘cartoony logic’ levels of physical abilities (more springy joints, can jump farther/higher, punch harder, but this is only at random intervals and cannot be guaranteed), and are also usually more well-adjusted bc the DP world is heavily saturated with ectoplasm so they are used to its effects.

+ I hc that ghosts feed on fear and negative emotions. Liminals are also similar, but they feed unconsciously, so they adapt accordingly by growing stronger, taller, bigger, longer, with more features to spread subtle fear amongst the people around them and feed themselves.

+ Jazz has longer limbs than a normal person would have :3 rather than being just tall, she is simply long.

+ Danny is unexpectedly the most ‘normal’ looking of all halfas, but I like to imagine that bc he’s so powerful, he subconsciously hides himself and as such, looks unassuming. He doesn’t need to be fearsome bc he doesn’t need to feed himself much when he’s so strong. Bc of this, he looks like two different people when transformed, since his ghost side is far more liminal and uncanny looking than when he’s human.

+ I hc that liminals are pack creatures. Alone, they’re creepy and uncanny as a defense mechanism, but when together, they look more ‘human’ when they relax. I feel like this can work in both DP and DC worlds. (Jason is a creepy shit when he’s Red Hood alone, while Danny hides himself amongst Tucker and Sam.)

+ There are many ways to become a liminal, but all involve ectoplasm in varying amounts.

+ Due to being predators that prey on humans, liminals and ghosts can often behave in animalistic ways. Specifically, they act somewhat like cats at times. An example is the tapetum lucidum, which is an extra layer of film that can be found over a cat’s eyes that let them see in low lighting. This also makes their eyes glow when light shines on it, and I also want liminals to have that :3

+ Idk if you guys noticed that I draw the Dannies' tongues purplish, but yeah, it's on purpose.

[sunflowerhae]

Late to Love you

Haechan x f!reader, hogwarts!au

Warnings: strangers to ??, angst, fluff, she fell first he fell harder (yes that’s a warning), language, hogwarts theme so spells are mentioned, a made up graduation and college sorry yall, weird y/n, lowkey asshole haechan (stupid)

Notes: hiii this is sooo late i was supposed to upload this on Haechan’s bday but uhm..whoops!! Lmk if yall want part 2 and also HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHANNIE 🤍

1/2, Next, Masterlist

Y/N sat cross-legged in her usual seat near the back of the Astronomy Tower, a scuffed leather-bound notebook resting in her lap. Around her, the quiet scratch of quills echoed like rainfall. She had already finished charting Jupiter’s moon cycle twenty minutes ago, but she liked to double-check things. Triple-check, if no one was watching.

Renjun sat beside her — one seat over, of course. He always did. Their desks were angled just far enough apart that she could pretend she was alone if she wanted to, but close enough to trade parchment or steal glances when she didn’t.

He was hunched forward, face shadowed by the edge of his sleeve as he drew. She’d peeked once — it wasn’t notes. It was a sketch of the stars, sprawling and inky, a mess of emotion more than astronomy.

“I like your moons,” she offered quietly, still staring at her own parchment.

Renjun made a quiet sound in the back of his throat — not quite acknowledgment, not quite dismissal.

They were like that. Comfortable, sort of. Silent. Two people who knew how to fill space without talking too much. He was the closest thing she had to a friend, though she wasn’t sure he’d call her the same.

A breeze ghosted through the cracked window beside her, stirring the fringe of her cloak. Y/N tugged her scarf tighter. The Astronomy Tower was always cold, even in early autumn — like it hoarded winter for itself, unwilling to let go

“So…” Renjun began, dragging out the syllable as if the thought was heavy. “Quidditch tonight.”

She looked up from her notes. “Hmm?”

“Slytherin versus Ravenclaw.”

A pause.

“Will you be there?”

Before she could answer, he shook his head, still not meeting her eyes. “What am I saying — of course you will be.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just watched him add a silver starburst to his sketch.

“…Yeah,” she finally murmured, returning to her own chart. “I’ll be there.”

Another pause. This one longer. Renjun didn’t say anything else; he didn’t need to. That was how their conversations went — half-sentences, unfinished thoughts, and space for interpretation.

Y/N liked it that way.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, distractedly tapping her quill against the edge of the desk. She didn’t love Quidditch, not the way most students did. She liked the atmosphere more than the sport — the lights, the energy, the flash of house colors weaving through the sky like stitched thread. She liked how people shouted with abandon, faces flushed and paint smeared across cheeks.

It was chaos. Beautiful chaos. Something she never fit into, but always admired from afar.

She supposed there were other reasons she went, too.

But she didn’t think about those.

Instead, she focused on the moon phases again, her parchment now dusted with graphite fingerprints and little doodles along the edges — an owl, a jar of stars, a cat in a wizard hat.

Her drawings always took over when she wasn’t paying attention.

Professor Sinistra called for the class to prepare their scrolls, and Renjun exhaled, folding his sketch with careful fingers.

Y/N didn’t move right away. She glanced out the window — far off, the Quidditch pitch was being charmed into readiness, blue and green banners starting to flutter along the stands.

Somewhere out there, someone she tried not to think about too often was probably already practicing. She ignored that thought.

Y/N liked being quiet.

She didn’t mean in the “shy girl in the corner” kind of way — not really. It wasn’t that she was afraid to speak. She just didn’t feel the need to. And at Hogwarts, not needing attention was practically an art form. Students clawed over each other to be seen — louder spells, brighter robes, drama in every hallway. But Y/N? She preferred the sidelines. The shadows. The fourth row, third desk from the right. The one that didn’t creak. It wasn’t sadness; Not quite. It was just stillness.

Her mum always said she was born that way — with eyes too big for her face and a quiet sort of soul that made animals trust her before people did. “You’ve always seen too much,” her mum would hum, brushing tangles from her hair, “you look right into people. It unnerves them.”

Her father, a Muggle musician who had stumbled heart-first into the magical world by falling for a witch with poetry in her blood, had only ever encouraged her weirdness. He taught her how to play the guitar with fingers too small for chords, how to make mixtapes from the radio, how to paint feelings instead of landscapes.

She never quite knew where she fit — not in his world, not in her mum’s either. But maybe that was the point. Maybe she was meant to drift between them like a ghost with a sketchbook.

At school, she didn’t try to be invisible. She just was. It was easier that way.

Most people didn’t notice her, and those who did — well, they rarely remembered her name. Not that she blamed them. There wasn’t anything remarkable about Y/N. She had plain hair and a plain wand and robes that hung a little too big. She wasn’t charming like the Hufflepuffs or wild like the Gryffindors or even intellectually intimidating like the other Ravenclaws. She was just… odd. Gentle. Too sensitive for her own good, her mum always said with a kiss to her forehead. She kept her heart on her sleeve and her sleeve wrapped in protective charms.

Her best conversations were with the Fat Lady (who often invited her for tea), Nearly Headless Nick (who once offered to teach her ballroom dancing), and the owls in the Owlery (who didn’t need words to understand). She liked her life on the edges. It gave her time to see what others missed — the way the paintings whispered to each other between classes, how Peeves always avoided the Arithmancy corridor during lunch, how certain professors only smiled when they thought no one was looking. Y/n liked seeing what others didn’t. Her only issue? It lead her drifting eyes and wondering mind to places she really wished it didn’t - to the one person who y/n really wished had less of her attention.

—-

By the time night fell and the Quidditch pitch was roaring with color and chants, Y/N was already tucked into her usual spot — top row, far end, sandwiched between two older professors who smelled faintly of peppermint and ink. The crowd was electric. Ravenclaws in bronze and blue shimmered like stars, while Slytherins waved green fire in the air like victory was a foregone conclusion. Y/N watched it all unfold like a painting in motion. She liked the colors most of all — the way the scarves fluttered, the banners danced, the way house pride turned even the quietest students into living, breathing fireworks.

Y/n watched with bated breath, not because she really cared who won; Because there was always a moment — always — when he first appeared.

A flash of green.

Broom in hand.

Goggles pushed into his curls.

Smile sharp and effortless.

Lee Haechan, Slytherin’s golden boy.

He had that energy about him — the kind that didn’t just draw attention, it demanded it. When he walked onto the pitch, even the professors leaned in. He laughed with his teammates, bumped fists with Chenle, and casually winked at a girl in the first row who immediately screamed.

Y/N didn’t scream, She didn’t even move. She just… watched. From this far away, he looked like a storybook character. Fictional. Unreal. A flash of color and charm, untouchable as the stars they studied in Astronomy. And like always, she wondered — just for a moment — what it might feel like to be seen by someone like that.

But only for a moment.

Then the whistle blew, the game began, and the world exploded into skyward chaos.

And Y/N, quiet as a breath, watched from the background. Right where she liked it.

—-

The Owlery was empty at this hour — except for the rustling of feathers and the occasional coo of a drowsy barn owl shifting in its nest. The scent of parchment, hay, and old stone mixed with the sharp crisp of night air that always managed to sneak in through the arched windows, no matter how many warming charms she muttered.

Y/N moved quietly between the perches, whispering her hellos. Luna, her snowy owl, blinked at her sleepily, ruffling her feathers with that usual air of mild disapproval. Y/N smiled faintly and reached up to gently clean the edge of her perch with a rag.

No one asked her to come here every night. No one even noticed. But she liked it — the silence, the routine, the way the owls seemed to trust her in the way people rarely did. She liked feeling useful, like someone in this big school would miss her if she left.

Usually, y/n danced through the owlery with a determination that rivaled the athletes on the field. She insisted on being good at this, being good with her animal and all the other ones that needed attention while she was here (as if it even came hard to her). Usually she was careful and attentive, but tonight, her hands moved on their own while her mind ran miles behind.

It wasn’t the game. It wasn’t even the win — though she was sure Slytherin was still celebrating in that loud, dramatic way they always did.

No. It was him again. She couldn’t seem to get him out of her head even if she wanted to, and she hated him for that.

She remembered the first time she saw Lee Haechan.

They were eleven. Small and confused and jittery with nerves. She remembered the chill of the Great Hall floor under her shoes, the way the Sorting Hat loomed like something out of a Grimm fairy tale. And then—

“Donghyuck, Lee.”

He had walked up like he didn’t have a single worry in the world. She remembered his eyes — curious, bright, mischievous — and the way he grinned at something one of the other students whispered to him as he passed. He sat on the stool. The Sorting Hat barely touched his head before it shouted—

“Slytherin!”

The table erupted in cheers, and he jumped off the stool like he’d been expecting it all along. He didn’t look back. Didn’t notice her.

When her name was called — quiet, hesitant — he was already talking, already making friends, already becoming Haechan.

And yet, something in her shifted. She felt it — the tug in her chest. Like a string tying itself to someone who didn’t even know she existed.

Years passed. He became himself more and more. Loud, effortless, magnetic. And y/n? She stayed her strange little self, tucked away in libraries and forgotten corners of towers.

And of course their paths had crossed — a few fleeting times. After all, the two were in the same year, and how could she forget the most memorable time: fourth year tutoring.

She was top of their year in Herbology, naturally. To y/n, school and studying came easy. It wasn’t like she even really tried, even though that would probably annoy her classmates if she were to say it out loud. The truth is, y/n loved being a witch. Maybe it’s because she saw a different side of it, what with her muggle father. And while she was always raised around magic, she never took it for granted. Not like Haechan - who was raised in a pureblood family - did. And the grades showed it; He was failing it miserably.

She never offered to help. He never asked. But Professor Longbottom paired them together out of what he claimed was “academic balance” - y/n saw it as being held hostage, though she never outwardly complained.

It was two weeks. Just four sessions.

He was frustratingly charming, fidgety, always trying to distract her. He doodled on his notes and spent more time making jokes than listening, but — once or twice — he really listened. Asked thoughtful questions. Caught her off guard. And once, she even thought he looked at her a second too long - But she knew it was nothing. She was delusional, but not that delusional.

By the end of the two weeks, he was passing.

And they never spoke again.

Now, seven years in, she was still fighting it; Still angry with herself for feeling this way. He didn’t know her. Not really. He knew her name, maybe. Her face in passing. But he didn’t know her favorite stars or how she talked to ghosts or how she cried the night her father sent her a Muggle mixtape because the songs reminded him of her.

He didn’t know her.

So why — why — did she still look for him?

Why did she still feel like this? Like something inside her was breaking apart every time she caught his laugh echoing down the hall? Like a stupid fairytale still clinging to its ending?

She finished scrubbing the last perch, whispering another goodnight to Luna before turning toward the winding stairs. Her boots scuffed against the stone, loud in the hush of the night. That’s when it hit her — the weight in her chest, like a bruise blooming under skin.

“I’m so stupid,” she muttered aloud, voice bitter.

She was angry. At him. At herself. At this stupid, lingering, fragile hope she hadn’t realized she was still carrying. She was angry that she wasn’t the kind of girl someone like Haechan would notice — loud, flirty, spellbinding. Angry that she even wanted to be. Angry that she let her perfect little detachment crack open like a jar she couldn’t seal again.

Most of all, she was angry that her version of him — the one in her head, gentle and curious and kind — wasn’t real. Or at least, not real to her.

He wasn’t hers.

He never had been.

And she was finally, finally ready to stop pretending.

—-

The music from the Great Hall echoed faintly down the corridor, muffled by stone and the weight of celebration. Laughter spilled through the cracks, bright and careless. Inside, everyone was golden — dipped in glittering enchantments and glowing candlelight. Y/N, however, sat just outside it all, tucked on the edge of the wide marble staircase where shadows stretched long and the world felt quieter.

Her dress shimmered like the surface of a still lake in spring — seafoam green with delicate embroidery that caught the low torchlight with every breath she took. Her hair had been done up loosely, soft curls falling to frame her face in gentle waves, and her skin seemed to glow with the faint sheen of carefully applied highlighter and nerves.

She looked like a painting. Plush. Dreamy. As if youth and longing and softness had taken physical form and settled onto her shoulders. To be frank, y/n felt beautiful, and it made her laugh - after all, she hadn’t even meant to come.

It was her roommates, really — all wide-eyed and buzzing with Yule Ball fever — who had practically dragged her from bed and spun her around until she barely recognized herself in the mirror. And for once, she didn’t hate it. For once, she didn’t feel like a shadow.

When they’d entered the ball, though, it had taken all of fifteen minutes before they vanished — swept away by the arms of dates and friends, or the thrill of the crowd. And, of course, Y/N hadn’t minded. It’s not like they were all friends - just forced acquaintances with nothing in common but last names, gender, and a magical wand.

Besides, like always, she liked sitting in the in-between. Where she could observe and imagine. Where she didn’t have to pretend to be someone bolder than she was.

She watched the doors of the ballroom now, half-lidded and peaceful, letting the sounds melt around her — until the heavy doors slammed open with a crash that startled the silence right out of her.

Two figures stumbled through, giggling, flushed, and tangled in each other’s arms.

Yunjin. And him.

Haechan.

Of course it was Haechan.

He was laughing into the crook of her neck, his hands resting low on her waist, and for a moment — one horrible, disorienting moment — the rest of the world blurred at the edges. Her lungs caught.

He hadn’t seen her. Neither had Yunjin. Not as they stumbled to a halt halfway past the now closed doors, lips finding each other’s in a feverish, hungry kiss that made Y/N shrink instinctively against the wall.

Her throat went dry. She tried to shrink further into the shadows, silently begging the stone to make her invisible.

But the universe had other plans.

Her foot slipped — just slightly — but enough to send her bag tumbling from her lap. It hit the stairs with a loud thud-thump-thud, items spilling like fallen leaves.

Yunjin flinched back with a yelp, whipping around. Haechan blinked rapidly, disoriented, before his gaze finally landed on Y/N.

The air stood still.

No one spoke. Not for a long, aching beat. Y/n couldn’t even bring herself to look up, instead freezing like a turtle who knows a predator is nearby. The three stood like that for a good second, Yunjin and Haechan staring at the small frame of some random girl from their year, who very clearly would rather be anywhere else but here.

And then Haechan moved.

Before his brain even caught up, his body was already reaching — stooping down the steps, collecting her scattered belongings with quick, nimble fingers. He held the bag out to her, eyes wide, lips parted as if he might say something but thought better of it. His cheeks were flushed — not from the cold or kissing, she thought dimly, but from embarrassment.

She could barely meet his eyes. Her fingers trembled as they closed over the strap. “Thanks,” she whispered, voice small and paper-thin.

He offered a single, casual “No problem,” like it hadn’t meant anything, like it hadn’t shattered something fragile and private between them.

Then he turned. One arm wrapped back around Yunjin’s shoulders. No apology - just quiet footsteps fading into the corridor.

But just before they disappeared — just before the shadows fully swallowed them — he glanced back. Quick. Brief. Like he didn’t mean to. Like it was a reflex.

And it wrecked her.

She sat frozen, blinking too hard. Her cheeks still burned, but this time it wasn’t from the dress or the attention. It was humiliation — sharp and painful. The sour sting of reality slipped into the seams of her daydream as she tried, but failed, to keep the hot bite of tears that clouded her eyes at bay.

Because for a moment — just a single moment — she had felt beautiful.

And it hadn’t mattered.

—-

Graduation day at Hogwarts glimmered like something out of a fairy tale.

Above the courtyard, charmed ribbons of house colors danced lazily in the air, shimmering like silk in a breeze that didn’t exist. Floating candles dotted the sky, mimicking stars, while soft orchestral music drifted through the open castle doors. The air smelled of summer grass, old stone, and a touch of magic that clung to your clothes like dew.

Y/N stood quietly near the edge of it all, her parents on either side. Her father looked up at the towers with a dazed sort of awe — the look of a Muggle man who had fallen in love with a witch years ago and was still wrapping his head around how his daughter had grown up inside a castle. Her mother, in contrast, looked wistful, her eyes glossy with memory. She’d been a Gryffindor once — class of the famous Harry Potter — and always said Hogwarts had a funny way of leaving little roots in your heart, no matter how far you went.

Y/N shifted her weight onto her heels, adjusting the tassel of her cap absentmindedly. She loved them, her parents. But something inside her was buzzing, unsettled. Maybe it was the thought of saying goodbye to seven years of walking through talking paintings and dodging Peeves. Maybe it was because the world beyond the castle gates still felt too big and loud and unfamiliar.

“Be right back,” she said softly, brushing a speck of glitter from her sleeve. “Professor Lillith wanted to see me”. She turned, wandering toward the castle one last time, her boots making faint clicks on the stone floor. The halls were quieter than usual, sun pouring in from the stained glass windows in candy-colored rays. She hummed to herself — something off-key and half-invented — the way she always did when no one was listening. And then—

Thunk.

“Ow.”

Her forehead bounced off someone’s shoulder. She blinked, took a step back.

“Oh. Hello, Renjun.”

Renjun looked at her with his usual expression: somewhere between annoyed and amused. “You walk like someone who’s never had a body before,” he said.

“And you stand like someone who’s lost in a dream they don’t like.”

He blinked. “What?”

Y/N smiled, a little lopsided and unreadable. “Nothing. Just something I saw in a book once. Or maybe a puddle.”

Renjun snorted despite himself. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Mm,” she hummed, gently plucking a piece of lint off his robes. “And yet, here we are. Destiny’s favorite joke.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was no bite to it. “You heading out?”

“Soon,” she said. “Just tying up loose ends. What about you?”

“Waiting on Jaemin. He lost his wand or his sanity or both, not sure.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Tell him to check his left shoe. Sometimes magic hides there when it’s bored.”

Renjun opened his mouth, paused, and then slowly turned to glance behind him.

Y/N followed his gaze—and promptly froze.

Standing by the archway, in various degrees of lazy slouching, were the rest of his friends. Jeno, hands in pockets, shirt collar slightly wrinkled. Chenle, already halfway through a chocolate frog. Mark and Jisung, laughing at something only Gryffindors would find funny. Jaemin, of course, waving cheerfully like she hadn’t just caught them all staring. And finally, Haechan.

His eyes were already on her.

Not in a mean way. Not even in a curious one. More like he’d been staring before his brain caught up with the fact that someone might notice. The moment she glanced his way, he flinched — like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in a cookie jar — and quickly looked away, feigning interest in whatever Jaemin was saying.

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, but she kept her face neutral. Serene. Unbothered.

Renjun leaned a little closer, smirking. “You’ve got an audience.”

“Oh, I know,” she murmured, still smiling faintly. “I always do. Ghosts, mostly.”

He gave her a look. “You are so weird.”

“It’s my brand,” she sighed out exasperating, making renjun chuckle. “Well. I’ll see you in the next life, Renjun.”

“Unless I die first.”

“Do send a postcard.”

She turned and walked away.

But curiosity, that fickle little thing, tugged at her. Just as she was about to slip around the next corridor, she paused. Let herself listen.

“…wait, how do you know her?”

“She’s in Ravenclaw, right? Since when do you talk to her?”

“That was—kinda cute, though?”

“She’s… odd.”

And then came the one voice she wasn’t prepared for. Softly spoken, casual in a way that screamed ‘I could care less’.

“…what’s her name again?”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She didn’t know what she expected — not him remembering her, of course. That would’ve been foolish. She had worn her best dress to a ball and still faded into the background. Why would this be any different?

And still, she felt the smile slide off her face like melting wax. Whatever flicker of something she’d seen in Haechan’s eyes — whatever momentary softness or regret or curiosity — it didn’t matter. He didn’t know her name. Had never cared to learn it. She’d been a footnote, even in the chapters where she was bleeding over him.

She walked faster and didn’t look back.

She left the hallway, the castle, and, quietly — without ceremony — she left her crush on Lee Haechan behind her too.

The Eldhollow University library was quieter than usual that evening. The kind of quiet that came not from silence, but from deep magic, ancient and breathing softly between the stone walls. The lamps flickered with a steady, golden glow, and every now and then, the soft rustle of turning pages echoed through the long halls.

Y/N had found her usual spot near the back—a crooked table beneath an arched window, half-covered in ivy and glowing faintly from the full moon outside. She liked studying here. It was tucked away from the louder corners of the library, where students whispered and snacked and pretended to revise. Here, she could hear her thoughts. Or ignore them, if she preferred.

It had been a good couple months into her first semester, and for the first time in years, she felt like herself. Really herself. She was at the top of her class—again, but this time it didn’t feel so lonely. She had friends now. Real ones. There was Xiaojun, who studied experimental potion theory and talked a mile a minute, wild and witty and weirdly protective of her. He once hexed a guy’s robes inside out for looking at her the wrong way. Yangyang, who was studying magical law enforcement for the Ministry, was a little unhinged but never boring, and always brought her the oddest sweets from the market. Then there were her roommates—Karina, who dreamed of being a reporter and worked for the school’s underground paper, and Giselle, whose magical fashion degree was so specific and bold it made everyone else feel boring by comparison. The four of them had taken Y/N in without hesitation, quirks and all. She laughed more now. She wore what she liked, spoke her mind freely, and hardly thought about the past. Hardly.

There was even a boy who’d been circling lately—handsome, too polite, and clearly enchanted by her. He brought her little things: enchanted perfumes, floral hair clips, bracelets that changed color with her mood. Pretty gifts meant for someone a little softer, maybe, but she didn’t mind. No one had ever tried to impress her before. It was… nice.

Tonight, though, she’d come alone. She had research to do and a lingering curiosity she couldn’t shake. She was halfway through her notes on spell displacement theory when she heard it—footsteps.

Not the light, hurried steps of a student late to return a book. These were slower. Hesitant. Like someone who didn’t know where they were going, or why they were even there.

She paused, fingers stilling over her quill.

And then she heard a voice.

“Where the hell is the bloody index in this thing?”

Her heart stopped.

She looked up, just as a figure came into view at the far end of the aisle. He hadn’t seen her yet. He was tall, built broader than she remembered, with dark curls that flopped over his forehead and an oversized jumper layered over his shirt. He had a book turned sideways in his hands like it personally offended him. There was something familiar about the tilt of his head, the slightly narrowed eyes, the way he chewed the inside of his cheek when frustrated.

It was Haechan.

And for a second, all the air left her body.

She hadn’t seen him once since arriving. Eldhollow wasn’t exactly small, but it wasn’t massive either. And she’d told herself if he were here, she would have known. She’d have spotted him immediately—he’d always had a way of standing out, even when he wasn’t trying. But somehow, they’d gone all this time without crossing paths. Until now.

She could’ve stayed hidden. Could’ve ducked back behind the shelf and slipped out of the library and let the moment pass, let the memory stay dead and buried where it belonged. She knew that’s what high school her would have done - and she could easily do the same. Except - she wasn’t highschool y/n anymore, right?

So she didn’t.

Instead she stepped forward, slowly, and spoke before she could stop herself.

“You’re in the wrong section.”

Haechan startled, nearly dropping the book. He spun to face her, brows raised, eyes scanning her face like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

She raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Unless you’re researching magical fertility charms, I’d recommend the aisle two rows down.”

He blinked. “What?”

She pointed to the book he was holding. “That’s for reproductive theory. And you’re holding it upside down.”

A beat passed. His lips parted, like he was about to reply, but nothing came out. Then he looked down at the book and gave a short, disbelieving laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well,” he said slowly, “this is going well.”

She didn’t smile. But something flickered across her face, amused and distant. “I’d say you’ve improved. Last time we spoke in a library, you walked into a wall.”

She giggled, reminiscing on her time tutoring haechan, when he would do stupid things to distract her from actually teaching him; a time so far away, it appeared hazy like a dream. That seemed to click something into place. His eyes sharpened slightly, focus narrowing.

“Wait…” he said. “What’s your name—”

She tilted her head. “You’ve asked that before too.”

And just like that, she turned on her heel, books floating after her in a neat, silent trail. She didn’t look back.

Haechan stood frozen for a second, then slowly exhaled. His heart was racing. He wasn’t sure why.

She was familiar. But not in the obvious way. Something about her voice had struck a nerve—soft but certain, like a whisper cutting through fog. And her face… he didn’t know how to explain it, but it felt like something he should have remembered. Something he wished he had.

He whispered to himself, almost defensively, “Who the hell was that?”

Haechan didn’t mean to obsess over her.

But of course he did.

He told himself it was nothing. A fluke. Just one of those strange encounters that linger for a few hours, maybe a day or two, before fading into the background noise of memory. He wasn’t the type to dwell. He liked things light, easy, untethered.

Still, that night, lying in the bottom bunk of his shared dorm with his curtains drawn tight and the rain tapping soft against the enchanted windowpane, he couldn’t stop seeing her face.

It wasn’t even just her beauty—though, Merlin, she was beautiful in a way that was hard to describe. Not flashy, not loud. Quiet, eerie almost. Soft in a sharp way - Like moonlight cutting through mist. He could still hear her voice, the lilt of it, how her words felt dipped in irony and honey, like she was perpetually a beat ahead of him and enjoying the chase.

But more than that, it was the knowing that rattled him. The familiarity in her eyes. She had looked at him like he was supposed to remember her.

And he didn’t. Not really.

He had turned it over in his head for three days now, trying to pinpoint where that face had come from. Old friend? Hogwarts? A dream? Some former life he’d obliviated to forget? But each time he got close, the thought slipped like water through his fingers.

Eventually, he decided the only winning move was to fold. Plead the fifth. Deny everything and distract himself with Quidditch drills, classwork, and Mark’s truly unhinged musical taste. He didn’t even tell Renjun. That felt like inviting the chaos to stay. Haechan had worked too hard on becoming his best self—had the planner to prove it. He was not about to spiral over a girl who didn’t even give her name.

By the start of the following week, the encounter had settled into a corner of his mind like a strange dream: disorienting, hard to shake, but mostly harmless; until Tuesday.

That day began like any other. He and Renjun skipped the main library in favor of a new café across from the Owl Post, which had been getting buzz around campus for its cozy study corners and butterbeer lattes. Eldhollow, the magical college town surrounding the university, had a habit of reinventing itself overnight—shops appeared where there weren’t any the day before, buildings rearranged their interiors, and streetlamps whispered gossip if you listened closely. It was whimsical, modern, magical—and just the sort of place that Haechan had quickly grown to love.

The café itself was tucked between a talking tailor shop and a hex-removal studio, marked by a crooked wooden sign that read: Witch’s Brew & Co.. It smelled like cinnamon and roasted coffee beans and something faintly floral. Haechan approved immediately.

They were barely through the door when Renjun suddenly stopped mid-step, his face lighting up in a way Haechan rarely saw. His whole body shifted with recognition.

“Y/N?” Renjun called, grinning. “What are you doing here?”

And then Haechan saw her.

Or rather, she appeared—because of course she would materialize right when he’d finally begun to erase her from memory. There she was, standing just to the left of the café counter, the sun catching in her hair through the glass, head tilted up in surprise before her expression broke into a warm smile.

“Renjun!” she said, her voice as familiar as it was foreign. Then, without hesitation, she crossed the room and hugged Renjun.

Hugged him.

The air left Haechan’s lungs in a single, confused huff.

They looked like old friends. No—close friends. Renjun had his arm draped easily over her shoulder, like it wasn’t anything unusual, like he’d done it a thousand times before. And she—she was laughing. He’d never heard her laugh before. It was strange and soft and pretty. It sounded like something private.

Haechan’s stomach twisted.

And then it hit him. Like a weight he should’ve noticed a long time ago.

Her. Her.

Hogwarts. Not in a loud, neon-light memory kind of way—but something subtler. A hallway. A library. A girl who wore her robes slightly crooked, who never spoke unless she had something worth saying. Ravenclaw, he was sure. Always off reading in corners. The girl who never seemed to be part of the noise—but was somehow always watching.

He stared at her now like he was seeing her with new eyes. How had he missed it? She looked so different here—confident, a little brighter. Still odd, but in a way that suited her. Her hair was down, tucked behind one ear with a copper pin shaped like a moth. Her outfit was layered and witchy, rings on every finger. She looked like she belonged here. Like she owned the place.

And Haechan—who hadn’t remembered her name, who had dismissed her as a momentary glitch in the matrix—stood there frozen, the guilt crawling up the back of his neck.

She noticed him. Of course she did. Her eyes flicked to him over Renjun’s shoulder. They paused, unreadable. She didn’t say a word.

Haechan, ever the professional, raised a hand in awkward greeting. “Hey.”

Y/N blinked once. “Oh. Hi.”

Then she turned back to Renjun like he hadn’t been the one to haunt her sleep three nights in a row.

Renjun, oblivious to the tension, gestured toward the empty seats by the window. “We were just gonna study. You wanna join?”

Y/N hesitated. Just a beat. Then she smiled politely. “Raincheck, Jun. I’ve got an essay due in an hour. But I’ll come by later.”

And then, just like that—she was gone. Out the door, the little bell above it chiming faintly in her wake.

Renjun slid into the booth across from Haechan, humming as he pulled out his notes. “She’s great, right? Y/N was in my house back at Hogwarts. Bit odd, but brilliant. Top marks. Can’t believe she ended up here.”

Haechan said nothing. He could still smell her perfume—lavender and something darker.

Renjun glanced up. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Haechan said slowly, eyes still fixed on the door. “I just… I think I know where I remember her from now.”

—-

From then on, fate took over. It was like one minute Haechan didn’t even know this girl existed, the next she pops up everywhere, like a new word you just learned that you suddenly start seeing on every page of your favorite book. He doesn’t think he could avoid her, even if he tried. First, there was the potions store:

Y/N was crouched near a low shelf, carefully examining a small vial of Moonshade Elixir—a rare ingredient she needed for her upcoming potion assignment. The shop was warm, cluttered with jars and bottles softly glowing in the dim light. Just as she reached out to grab the vial, another hand brushed hers.

“Ah, sorry,” Haechan said quietly, stepping back with a sheepish smile. “I was just about to grab that.”

Y/N blinked, heart thudding in an oddly hopeful way. “Oh. It’s… okay.” Her voice was softer than usual, surprised to see him here.

He studied her for a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching in that familiar, easy way he did when caught off guard. “You always come here for potions stuff?”

“Yeah,” she said, tugging the sleeve of her sweater nervously. “It’s kind of my sanctuary. You?”

“Mostly snacks and weird magical gadgets,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to the curious collection of enchanted candy behind the counter.

Neither moved for a moment, both feeling the awkward weight of unspoken words. Y/N finally managed a small smile. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around then.”

“Yeah,” Haechan said, watching her walk away with a new kind of curiosity blooming in his chest. “Maybe.”

And maybe was an understatement, because just two days later, there was the lecture hall incident:

The lecture hall buzzed with students settling into their seats. Y/N scanned the room, hoping to find a spot that wouldn’t put her in the spotlight.

The only empty seat was… right next to Haechan. Y/n sighed in disbelief - had he always been in this class?!

He caught her eye and gave a small, encouraging nod. “Guess it’s fate,” he said with a wink.

Y/N smiled shyly, feeling a strange mix of nerves and excitement. She slid into the seat beside him, quietly getting her notes out and keeping her head down as much as she could.

At first, they said nothing.

The only sound was the professor setting up at the front and the shuffling of parchment and books around them. Y/N sat stiffly, her eyes on the front, quill in hand, pretending to copy down the lecture title already written on the board.

Haechan, beside her, tapped his own quill against the desk in slow, deliberate boredom.

Then—

“Hey,” he whispered, leaning slightly toward her. “You got any ink?”

Y/N blinked. “Didn’t you bring your own?”

“I did. It’s dry,” he replied, frowning like this was a personal tragedy. “I think my bottle was cursed. Or I just forgot to screw the lid on. Either way, I’m a victim.”

She sighed, already reaching into her bag. “Here.”

Instead of just taking the bottle, Haechan peered into her bag with dramatic curiosity. “What else you got in here? Anti-anxiety tea? Spare socks? A live owl?”

Y/N stifled a laugh, clutching the ink tightly. “Do you want the ink or not?”

“I do,” he said solemnly, “but I’m also deeply invested in the psychological study of what you carry around.”

She shook her head, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible.”

He took the ink but kept talking, voice a little too loud for a lecture hall. “I bet you were the kind of student who color-coded everything at Hogwarts. Am I wrong? Let me guess: blue for Charms, green for Herbology, red for anything involving possible death—like Potions or Divination.”

“Divination doesn’t involve death,” she muttered under her breath.

“Tell that to the time my crystal ball showed me drowning in marmalade.”

She bit her lip to stop from laughing, shoulders shaking slightly.

“You’re laughing,” he whispered triumphantly.

“No, I’m not,” she whispered back, eyes wide and innocent.

“You are. This is a win for me.”

And just like that—somehow, she was laughing. Quietly. Barely audible, but real. Her hand covered her mouth and her eyes crinkled at the corners, and Haechan was watching her like he’d never seen her properly smile before.

And then everything slowed.

The laughter ebbed. Their eyes met.

Neither of them spoke. For one suspended moment, the air between them buzzed—not loud, but intense, humming with something unsaid. His smile faded into something gentler. Her gaze didn’t drop right away.

When it finally did, she turned her face forward again, cheeks burning. Haechan rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but her.

Then, trying to salvage the moment, Haechan asked, “So… did you always like magical theory? Or were you just unnaturally good at it back in school?”

She hesitated. “I… yeah. I guess I did.”

“You were kind of… famous, actually,” he said. “I remember that. Always top marks. Everyone used to say you were scary smart.”

Y/N smiled faintly, somewhat surprised to hear this. “I didn’t even have friends. I wasn’t famous….not like some people.”

He turned his head toward her, curious. “What’s that mean?”

Her eyes darted to the front, pretending to listen to the professor. “Nothing. Just—never thought you’d talk to me, is all.”

There was a pause. Haechan’s brows furrowed. “Why not?”

She opened her mouth.

Paused.

And then—

DING.

The class dismissal bell echoed like salvation.

Y/N stood up fast, clutching her notes. “Thanks for the ink,” she said quickly, moving so fast she didn’t even realize her mistake. She didn’t wait for a reply, instead quickly slipping out of the room and into the hallway.

Haechan remained seated, staring after her. He had no idea what had just happened - just that he wanted it to happen again.

And finally - the library. Haechan saw y/n there quite a bit after that first meeting, so he knew to look there first.

The library’s third floor was quiet enough to hear the scratch of quills and the occasional creak of ancient wooden shelves. Dust hung in beams of golden afternoon light, and the entire space felt wrapped in velvet silence.

Haechan found her exactly where he thought she’d be.

Slouched low in one of the deep window alcoves, Y/N was hunched over her parchment, quill gliding furiously across the page. She didn’t even flinch when he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, not even a flicker of recognition. Her brows were drawn tight in concentration, the tip of her tongue barely poking out the side of her mouth. It was… kind of unfair, how cute she looked when she was this focused.

He cleared his throat gently.

Nothing.

He tried again. “Y/N?”

Her whole body jolted. The quill snapped off the parchment. Eyes wide, startled like a deer in wandlight, she gasped—and in her flinch, Haechan instinctively reached forward and placed his hand over hers, steadying her.

They froze.

Her skin was warm. Slightly ink-stained. Delicate in a way that made his own breath hitch.

Y/N looked down at their hands. Then up at him.

He snatched his hand back like he’d been burned.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “You just—you jumped, and I—yeah. Sorry.”

She blinked at him, still catching her breath. “You scared the life out of me.”

“I noticed,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, ears turning pink. “Didn’t mean to. I actually… I was looking for you.”

Y/N raised a brow. “You were?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft now. “Don’t make it a big deal or anything, but I figured I’d use fate to my advantage. Been running into you a lot lately. Figured it was a sign.”

“A sign?”

“To ask you for help,” he said. “With studying. Just—just one night, that’s all I’m asking.”

Her eyes narrowed in playful suspicion. “You hate studying.”

“I hate failing more,” he replied dramatically. “And I’ve got a Magical Applications final coming up that might actually kill me.”

She tilted her head. “Why me?”

He leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. “You don’t remember? Fourth year. My herbology scores were tanking. You used to help me after dinner in the library. Little study lessons. You even color-coded my notes.”

Y/N stared at him, stunned.

“I thought you forgot about that,” she said quietly.

He smiled, a little crooked. “I didn’t.”

That surprised her. It surprised him, too—how vividly he could remember it now. Her voice in his ear, softly quizzing him. The way she always smelled faintly like mint and incense. The way she’d smile when he finally got something right.

Y/N blinked, then nodded. “Okay. Just one night.”

“Deal,” Haechan said quickly, before she could change her mind.

They set up shop right there, books spread between them, notes scribbled, diagrams drawn. For the first hour, it was actually productive. Y/N explained everything with patient clarity, pointing out keywords and breaking down logic with that Ravenclaw precision. Haechan asked questions, nodded along, even took notes.

But then…

Then he noticed the shirt.

It wasn’t intentional. He just happened to glance up, and there it was—one side of her shirt slipped slightly off her shoulder, exposing a long stretch of skin kissed by golden light.

His brain stalled.

Her collarbone was defined, delicate, the kind of shape painters used to worship in oil. The sunlight from the window pooled there like liquid gold, turning her skin warm and soft and impossibly radiant. There was a faint freckle near the dip of her neck. He stared too long, caught between awe and confusion at how something so simple could feel like a revelation.

He tried to focus again. Failed.

She said something about core wand movements. He nodded.

She asked if he was following. He said, “Absolutely,” without knowing what he was agreeing to.

God, she smelled like lavender again. And ink. And something sweet he couldn’t name.

He nearly knocked over his ink bottle when she leaned closer to point something out in his textbook, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking once more—shoulder, collarbone, the elegant slope of her neck.

It was maddening. Gentle. Completely intoxicating.

By the time the sun dipped behind the towers and long shadows stretched across the library floor, they had stopped pretending to study. Their books were open, but their attention wandered. Y/N was mid-sentence when she caught him looking again.

“Is there ink on me?” she asked.

He blinked. “What?”

“You keep staring,” she said, amused.

“Just… lost in thought,” he mumbled.

She tilted her head, unconvinced.

Before she could press further, Haechan slapped his notebook shut and stood. “Dinner.”

Y/N frowned. “What?”

“You helped me study. Now I owe you food.”

“That’s not necessary—”

“It is,” he interrupted, already slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Non-negotiable. It’s the noble thing to do.”

She hesitated.

“C’mon,” he added, giving her a small grin. “You’ve earned it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but stood anyway, gathering her things.

And as they walked out together—books in hand, shoulders brushing just slightly—Haechan tried not to think too hard about how easy this all felt.

Tried, and failed.

—-

Haechan had never seen Y/N so happy to be sweating.

The tiny Asian restaurant at the corner of town was loud with the sounds of Chris Isaak singing Wicked Game, the blades from the shrill ceiling fans spinning furiously but managing only to circulate the heat. The walls were crammed with mismatched decor—paper lanterns, faded posters, chopsticks glued in artful shapes—and the scent of sesame oil and chili paste clung to the air like a second skin.

They slid into a booth near the window. It was barely sunset, but already the heat was relentless, making the table sticky and their glasses of water sweat harder than they did.

Y/N immediately peeled off her outer top, revealing a fitted white tank top beneath, ribbed and snug to her figure. Her long hair clung to her neck in strands, a few pieces fluttering in the cross-breeze of the old fans. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she laughed as she fanned herself with a menu.

“It’s like being in a greenhouse,” she joked, cheeks flushed from the walk and the heat. “But honestly? Kinda makes it feel more authentic.”

Haechan was silent (a first for him) as he focused his energy into trying not to stare.

He failed miserably.

There was something about her like this—unguarded, glowing with that sun-warmed sweat, eyes bright, talking with her hands. Her collarbones gleamed. Her tank top stuck to her in places that tested the limits of his self-control. He could barely keep his brain functioning, let alone think about what to order.

She went with sushi. “Reminds me of growing up near Muggles,” she said, grinning around a bite of salmon roll. “I used to sneak off with my cousins to this little shop in London. We didn’t even know how to use chopsticks yet—we’d just stab the pieces and laugh until we cried.”

“You grew up in London?” he asked, eyes on her but also vaguely on the rice stuck to her lip.

“For a while,” she nodded. “Moved around a lot. My mum’s a witch, dad’s a muggle. Neither side really… understood the other. And I guess I never really felt like I fit on either end.”

Haechan leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, gaze drifting to the window where the sky was turning sherbet pink. “Too magic for the Muggles. Too Muggle for the magic. Even at Hogwarts, I’ve always felt a little…” She shrugged. “Separate.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he stared at her. Not in the way he usually did - distracted by beauty, struck dumb by how good she looked in a sunbeam - but like he was memorizing her.

“I get that,” he finally said. “Not in the same way, but I get it.”

She looked up, brows lifted.

“My family’s pureblood. Super traditional,” he explained. “Dad works at the Ministry. Wanted me to do the same since I could hold a wand. Mum’s got four of us to handle— me and three younger ones — so she barely had time to sleep, let alone give us all attention. But still… I was loved. Just not always seen. I felt like I had to be this version of me they pictured. Which… isn’t really me at all.”

Y/N’s expression softened. “So what is the real you?”

Haechan gave a lopsided smile. “Still figuring that out.”

They fell into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full of meaning, heavy with things unsaid. The air between them crackled like fire on damp wood—slow, smoldering, impossible to ignore.

“I don’t think you’re alone,” he added, softer now. “You’re not weird. Or separate. Not anymore.”

Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes were wide and searching.

“You mean that?” she asked.

“Every word,” he said.

And then… the world disappeared.

The clatter of chopsticks. The whir of ceiling fans. The laughter from the kitchen. All of it faded into a warm blur as they looked at each other like they had never really seen before. Neither one blinked. Neither looked away. Something had cracked wide open—between them, within them—and neither was quite sure how to close it again.

He wanted to tell her how good she looked in this light. How he’d never met someone who made him feel like this. How her laugh stuck to his ribs and her voice echoed in his head at night.

But he didn’t.

Because for now, the way they were looking at each other said enough.

—-

The windows were cracked open in Haechan’s flat, letting in a warm breeze that fluttered the corner of an old Quidditch banner tacked lazily to the wall. Four half-full Butterbeers sat sweating on the chipped coffee table, and the place smelled like leftover takeaway and citrus cleaning charms.

“Mate, I forgot how decent your place is,” Jeno said, sprawled across the floor with a pillow under his head and his wand lazily twirling between his fingers.

“That’s because he lets it go to shit until the night before we visit,” Renjun said dryly, flipping through the evening’s game schedule on the small floating screen above the couch. “Guarantee he Febrezed his laundry again instead of actually washing it.”

“I Febrezed and did a Refreshio, thank you very much,” Haechan replied with mock offense, flicking a rolled-up napkin at him. “Besides, I knew you three gremlins were coming. Needed the place to smell like less death.”

Mark chuckled from where he was sitting cross-legged near the window, a Butterbeer balanced on one knee. “Honestly, I missed this.”

They all nodded. It had been a while—too long since they’d had a night like this, no obligations, no loud parties or crowded clubs. Just them.

Renjun was the one who broke the quiet moment first.

“Hey—Hyuck, remember that coffee shop we went to last week? That little place near the botanical greenhouses?”

Haechan glanced over, nodding carefully.

Renjun turned to Jeno and Mark. “You’ll never guess who we saw.”

Mark blinked. “Uh… your ex?”

Renjun snorted. “Worse. Better. Depends who you ask.” Then, dramatically, “Y/N.”

There was a beat of confused silence.

“Who?” Jeno asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Y/N,” Renjun repeated, giving Haechan a knowing look before turning back to the others. “You wouldn’t know her super well. Ravenclaw, same year as us. She was kind of… quiet. Eccentric. But smart as hell.”

Mark squinted, trying to recall. “Oh wait—wasn’t she the one who used to sit on the floor of the common library tower with, like, three books open and a flask of tea?”

“That’s the one,” Renjun said, smirking. “She’s in college with us now. We saw her at the café. Hyuck almost choked when we saw her.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did. You froze up like someone hexed you.”

Jeno leaned up on one elbow, grinning. “Wait—this is the girl? The one you’ve been blowing us off for?”

“Shut up,” Haechan mumbled into his Butterbeer.

Renjun leaned back, arms behind his head, victorious. “Knew it.”

Mark eyed Haechan, amused. “Usually you’re the first one to brag. Last year you told us in detail how you got that girl from the Duelling Club to snog you behind the owlery.”

“This isn’t like that,” Haechan said without thinking—and then froze.

All three of them looked at him. Even the air seemed to pause.

“Oh?” Jeno said quietly.

Mark looked surprised, but not mocking. “So… what’s it like then?”

Haechan rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It’s just different. She’s not someone you talk about like that.”

Renjun nodded slowly, looking more curious now than smug. “I kind of got that vibe. She made you nervous, man. I haven’t seen you fumble that hard since second year when Changmin hexed your broom mid-air.”

That pulled a laugh out of Jeno.

“But seriously,” Renjun continued, “she was cool. And honestly? She seemed really comfortable with you.”

“She was being nice,” Haechan said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Mark leaned forward. “Do you like her?”

Haechan didn’t answer.

He stared at the bottle in his hands instead, his thumb running around the rim in slow, aimless circles.

That was enough of an answer.

“She’s pretty,” Renjun offered, tone softer now. “And smart. Funny, too. You should talk to her again.”

“I don’t want to weird her out,” Haechan said. “She’s… not like the other girls. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Jeno and Mark exchanged a look—this time serious.

Renjun nodded. “Well, we’re doing that chill thing here Friday night. I know it’s just us and a few friends, but if you wanted to ask her, i’d be cool with it. Just sayin’.”

Haechan hesitated.

The thought of seeing her again sparked something low in his chest, that strange, warm something he hadn’t been able to shake since she laughed at his jokes in the library, since she let her shoulder peek out in the sunlight and made time stand still, since she told him about her lonely childhood with such honesty it almost hurt.

“Yeah,” he murmured after a moment, more to himself than them. “I’ll think about it.”

They didn’t press.

But later, when the boys were gone and the apartment was quiet again, Haechan sat at his desk, trying to distract himself from your smile with his homework. He wasn’t sure if he’d invite you next time he saw you, but knowing him - he probably wouldn’t have a choice.

—-

The hallway outside one of Eldhollow’s lecture rooms smelled faintly of ink, old oak polish, and roasted coffee beans from the café across the quad. The afternoon light stretched through the long windows in gold ribbons, pooling on the floor and dancing lazily along the scuffed stone walls.

Y/N walked slowly, a half-laugh caught between her teeth as she tilted her head toward Xiaojun, who was passionately describing the exact moment a mismeasured Shrinking Solution had turned an entire class rat into a mouse-sized, fire-breathing menace.

“It sneezed flames,” he was saying, wide-eyed, “like a dragon with seasonal allergies.”

Y/N chuckled under her breath, the sound airy and content, her arms folded lightly across her stomach, one shoulder brushing against his now and then as they walked. Talking with Xiaojun made y/n feel so much better. She didn’t need to worry about school, money, her future, romance - just her and her best friend (yeah, you heard her - BEST FRIEND. The thought makes her giggle) on a casual day where she had no expectations and no commitments, no ghosts to be her only friends, and no boys to pine over while they barely recognize your face, five months after they last saw it. Y/n smiled to herself, enjoying the moment as she walked along the hallway, watching the doors come and go, her eyes moving on to the next one after one leaves; she repeats this three times before the classroom door just ahead opens.

Mark Lee stepped out first, his voice already mid-sentence as he turned to whoever was behind him. “—just ask Johnny, he’ll know where to—” He stopped abruptly, eyes locking on Y/N and Xiaojun. “Oh.”

Haechan followed a beat later, tugging his hoodie sleeves down to his wrists, his hair a little messier than usual and a golden-tan scarf slung loosely around his neck. His laugh caught in his throat the second his gaze landed on her.

They stopped at the exact same time.

And the hallway, for all its lively magic and afternoon clatter, went quiet in both of their heads.

Y/N blinked. Her breath caught, subtle but noticeable—just enough that Xiaojun’s head tilted in curiosity beside her. She didn’t look away, though. Not this time.

Haechan’s thoughts fumbled immediately. It’s her again. The girl with the voice like starlight and the smile that looked like it was always on the edge of disappearing—unless you caught it fast enough. He hadn’t seen her in days, not since dinner, and yet she’d taken up permanent residence in his brain. And now she’s here—just like that—again.

He took her in. Noticed the way her skirt brushed softly around her boots. The faint shimmer of flower pins tucked along her hairline. The way her hand hovered so close to Xiaojun’s arm. Too close.

Y/N gave him the gentlest smile. Reserved. Polite. Like she hadn’t spent all week wondering if she’d imagined the look in his eyes that day at the café. Like her pulse wasn’t thrumming now just from standing this close to him again.

Mark gave a short, awkward nod to Xiaojun, who returned it just as silently.

Haechan, on the other hand, was spiraling. Why is she here with him? Do they always walk together like that? Why do I even care? Get it together, get it—

And then he heard himself say it, words spilling out like a charm gone rogue:

“Hey. Um. I’m having a small thing this Friday—just a few people, nothing serious, mostly food and studying and… music. You should come.”

He hadn’t planned it. Not even a little. And yet the second it was out there, floating in the open air between them, it felt completely irreversible.

Y/N blinked at him, stunned. Her fingers twitched at her side, then quickly curled around the strap of her bag. “Oh,” she said softly. “That’s… nice of you.”

Her voice was quieter now, just for him. It always felt that way. He’d thought she was some figment before—something unplaceable and strange—but the way she was looking at him now? Shy, yes. But there was a glint of mischief there too. Something warm and hidden just behind her eyes.

Something that made him forget what he’d said.

“I mean,” he added quickly, trying to ignore the butterflies suddenly wreaking havoc in his chest by pulling out a piece of parchment paper and the only pen he owned, scribbling down his address and handing it to her before she had time to reject him, “you don’t have to. Just thought I’d ask.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, pocketing the piece of paper quickly like it burned her. And though she tried to sound neutral, tried to sound indifferent, Haechan caught the tiny lift of her lips when she turned back toward Xiaojun and they started walking again.

He watched her go, her scent lingering—a light, floral note he couldn’t name, but would know anywhere.

Mark smacked his arm lightly. “You good, man?”

Haechan didn’t answer right away. His eyes were still on her back as she moved further down the hallway, sunlight catching the curve of her jaw.

“Wha-what? Uh…Yeah,” he said finally, voice dazed. “Yeah. I’m good.”

But he wasn’t. Not really.

Because whatever this was, whatever she was—it wasn’t going away.

And now he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.

—-

Friday evening crept up quietly, hidden beneath a day of cloud cover and soft wind. Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, her blanket twisted around her legs like a safety net she couldn’t quite convince herself to leave. The fairy lights strung along her wall flickered gently, and her teacup — untouched — had gone cold.

She stared at the small piece of parchment on her nightstand - his handwriting was slanted, casual, like he hadn’t thought twice before writing it down. She, on the other hand, had thought about it constantly.

“Are you seriously still in pajamas?” Karina called from the doorway, leaning against the frame with a knowing look. “It starts in less than an hour.”

Y/N blinked down at her old sweater and worn socks. “Technically, I haven’t committed to going.”

“Technically, you’ve been staring at that paper for forty-five minutes and whispering things under your breath like you’re about to hex it.”

Behind Karina, Giselle peeked in. “She’s spiraling, isn’t she?”

“Spiraling,” Karina confirmed.

Y/N groaned, flopping back onto her pillows with a dramatic sigh. “What if it’s not even about me? What if he just invited me because of Renjun? They’re friends. Maybe he thinks Renjun and I should get together or something and he’s just—facilitating it.”

“Facilitating it?” Giselle echoed, amused. “Y/N. You’re not a school project.”

“I’m serious!”

“And we are seriously not letting you stay here and mope when the most beautiful boy in Eldhollow invited you to his place.”

Y/N sat up, hugging a pillow to her chest. “You don’t understand. I’ve known of Haechan for a long time, he’s always been the most beautiful boy around me. For years, I used to—” She stopped herself, cheeks flushing.

But her roommates had known her long enough to read the rest between the lines.

“You used to hope he’d notice you,” Karina finished gently, sitting beside her on the bed. “And now he has. So what are you going to do? Pretend it’s not what you always wanted?”

Y/N bit her lip. Her heart felt like it was being wrung out, slowly and carefully. For so long, Haechan had been the boy in the distance. The untouchable. Loud and golden and surrounded by people. He had existed in a world of bright lights and crowds, while she’d lived in the quiet corners, safe in the soft folds of her books and thoughts. And now here he was — really here — handing her an invitation like it was no big deal.

And maybe to him it wasn’t - but to her, it had been everything.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “What if I go and regret it?”

Giselle plopped a dress onto the bed — simple, soft blue with fluttery sleeves. “Or what if you go and don’t?”

⸻

Twenty minutes later, Y/N stood in front of the mirror while Karina curled a loose piece of hair behind her ear and Giselle fixed the clasp on her necklace. They didn’t try to transform her — they knew better than that — but they helped her feel just enough like magic to remember she had always been made of it.

“Okay,” Karina started quietly, smoothing her skirt before stepping back, “You look like yourself. Just… the version of you who knows she deserves this.”

“Still time to turn around,” Y/N teased nervously, already half-turned toward the door.

Giselle grabbed her coat and handed it over. “And miss the slow-burn of the century? No chance.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, trying her best to ignore their jokes. As she stepped out into the twilight air, the breeze caught the hem of her coat, lifting it slightly as if nudging her forward. The street lamps glowed golden, leading her down the cobbled paths of Eldhollow like something out of a fairytale. She kept her eyes forward, even though her stomach was doing cartwheels and her brain was running every worst-case scenario.

But underneath it all — buried deep where no one else could see — was the tiniest thrill. That maybe, just maybe, something was beginning.

Not a dream this time.

Something real.

—-

Haechan answered the door himself.

Y/N hadn’t known what to expect — maybe a roommate, or someone she didn’t recognize — but not him. Not Haechan, framed by warm apartment light, wearing a soft honey-colored sweater and casual joggers, hair still damp like he’d only just showered. He smelled like sugar and clean linen and something deeper, almost like warm vanilla dusted with cedarwood. He blinked when he saw her.

Then grinned, just barely. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replied, a little too quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her fingers were cold.

“You want anything? Food or, uh—drink?”

Y/N glanced over his shoulder and took in the floating charmed candles, the long table lined with snacks and cups, the handful of people already milling about. “It looks like I can help myself,” she said with a polite smile.

He laughed awkwardly. “Right. Yeah. Of course. Come in.”

She stepped past him into the warmth, taking off her jacket and clutching it awkwardly to her chest. The buzz of chatter and light clinking filled the air, cozy and intimate — but not in a way that made her feel at home. In a way that made her feel like an outsider peeking in through the window.

Renjun was the first to greet her, looking genuinely surprised but glad to see her. “Y/N! I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Neither did I, honestly,” she admitted. “But… Haechan invited me, so.” She shrugged, trying to keep it casual.

Renjun smiled. “Glad you did. Everyone, this is Y/N — from Hogwarts.”

Introductions flowed. She already recognized Mark and Jeno. The two unfamiliar faces were Johnny — all warmth and charm — and Doyoung, quieter but no less kind. Mina, Johnny’s girlfriend, greeted her with the gentle enthusiasm of someone who always remembered birthdays, and Yuna — well, Yuna barely looked her way.

She gave Y/N a glance and a small smile, then immediately leaned toward Haechan to ask him something. Whatever it was, it made him laugh. Really laugh.

Y/N tried not to watch them.

She mingled. She smiled. She stood beside the drinks table with Renjun and Mark, talking about classes. And slowly, something began to shift inside her. That same gnawing feeling she’d buried all through her school years — that sense of being just a step off, like she’d come to a party dressed for the wrong theme — began to creep in.

She tried to ignore it.

Until it happened.

Renjun asked about her studies, and Y/N — desperate to sound casual, clever, normal — launched into an explanation about a theory she’d been writing. “It’s about the shared impulse between ghosts and transfigured objects,” she said brightly, “like — like how you can’t use a ghost as a magical power source, but if you transfigure an object to have soul-like qualities, there’s a chance it might try to haunt you—”

She trailed off when she saw Renjun blink, then laugh.

“Wow,” he said, not unkindly. “Y/N, nothing’s changed about you at all.”

She froze.

For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she forced a laugh. “Yeah. Still me.”

She could tell he meant it lightly — like a fond observation. But the words wrapped around her ribs like vines, tugging tight.

Nothing’s changed.

But she had changed. Hadn’t she?

She had spent so many of her Hogwarts years in the shadows. Her only real companions had been ghosts, paintings, her owl, and the teachers who didn’t mind her asking a hundred questions. She was odd, yes — painfully shy, always scribbling notes, talking to herself under her breath. But she had tried, since graduation, to grow into someone brighter. Someone who didn’t get flustered at the smallest social interaction. Someone who didn’t feel like she was on the outside of every room.

But tonight… tonight she just felt like that lonely girl again.

And Haechan — who she thought wanted to talk to her, who had looked at her like she was fascinating — was now barely glancing her way.

“I’m gonna get some ice,” she murmured, setting down her drink before anyone could stop her.

⸻

The kitchen was quiet. She let the door close behind her and pressed both hands to the counter. Her chest was tight as her fingers trembled against the woodgrain; She hated how fast this was spiraling.

Why had he invited her?

Why had he looked at her like that in the hallway? Why say anything if he was just going to ignore her now?

The door creaked open behind her - She turned slowly.

Haechan lingered in the doorway, hesitant. “Hey. I… I saw you leave. You okay?”

Y/N blinked. Her throat was dry. “Why are you being so weird?”

Haechan looked caught off guard. “What?”

“You invited me,” she said, softly but firmly. “You — you literally asked me to come. And I thought— I thought we’d talk. I thought maybe you wanted to get to know me. But we haven’t even really spoken.”

“I did want to talk to you,” he said quickly. “I do.”

“Then why haven’t you?” She shook her head, cheeks hot. “You’ve been paying more attention to that girl—Yuna—than you have to me.”

Haechan blinked, stunned silent for a moment.

Then: “I’m nervous, okay?” He looked almost… embarrassed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I didn’t even know who you were at school. And now—” he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, “—now you’re all I can think about.”

Y/N stared at him.

“I don’t get it,” he said, voice quieter. “I never really… liked someone before. Not really. I mean, I’ve messed around, sure, but it’s never felt like this. And with you, I—I get nervous. I say stupid stuff. I avoid you even though I invited you, because the second you walked in I felt like I couldn’t think straight.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, very quietly, “I used to wish you knew who I was.

“I had no one in school. Just books and ghosts and paintings and—my owl. And I used to wish you’d just look at me. Just once. And now you are. And it’s like—like I’m too late.”

He looked pained. “It’s not too late.”

She gave him a soft, sad smile. “It feels like it is.”

He took a step forward. “Y/N—”

“I think I need some space,” she said gently. “I’m sorry. And thank you, for inviting me. It… meant a lot.”

Then she turned and walked past him, back into the hallway where she could slip out quietly, her chest full of static and her heart both breaking and blooming all at once.

Part. 2

[kimberly-spirits13]

Damian Wayne Dating an Artist HC

Artist Credit: according to Pinterest, this is from heuksae

Warnings: not edited 🤭, None

Note: Thinking about writing a one-shot where Damian and kind of implied artist!reader meet at a gala for the Gotham Museum of Art- also trying to think about some general Damian things to write like SFW alphabet and some off handed oneshots but idk right now 😀- thinking about finding a notebook to write all of my ideas down and then just get through them one by one but I have MANY THOUGHTS LOTS OF TIME

Damian was drawn to you the moment that he met you

What really kicked it off was after you went on an entire speil about your favorite artist and why they are the cornerstone of your inspiration and ambitions, he saw the inside of your sketchbook and knew that you weren't just some amateur with a high opinion of themselves

The two of you sat for an entire hour talking about what you like to create, favorite mediums, favorite colors, the hues that you like to see, the artists that you like, what you're working on next, etc.

It started a bidaily routine of somehow meeting up somewhere and sketching together or picking each other's brains about some sort of artistic matter

He's never really had anyone that is able to give him constructive feedback when he's stuck on something, so he always turns to you when he needs another pair of eyes inspecting his work

The first time you ask him to help you fix something that you weren't sure about, his heart flipped out of his chest

He came to you because he saw you as an equal (sometimes as a superior), and he respected every thought that you so generously shared to the world from your mind

The two of you started dating after some time and hanging out more than what should be possible

one of his favorite dates is having some sort of hot drink like tea paired with Alfred's various pastries, sitting in the Manor's gardens with you, and creating (!doesn't have to just be drawing/ painting because there are many forms of art!)

He prefers the standard oil paint, watercolor, graphite, and sometimes charcol, but he's never forced himself to be married to just those mediums

He leans into realism with some obvious influence of John Singer Sargent, baroque, and hints of greater Impressionism

The two of you are often found wandering around hole in the wall art shops and carrying around a beat up sketchbook full of ideas

Damian LOVES going to the art store with you

he's not a shopaholic in any other scenario, but good weaponry and nice art supplies are his Achilles' heel

The two of you walk around the aisles of art supplies in a store like Dick Blick and spend hours talking about the things you've done with each medium, what you recommend using, what's your least favorite item, swatching whatever you can, and throwing everything into the basket

he insits on paying btw 🤚 even if it was your idea to run and grab a few things you needed to restock, he's whipping out that black card and will not hear a word about it

being endowed with the Wayne fortune, however, does not mean that he does not get excited when there's a sale running

He's the type to text you at 4am saying that he found out a certain store is running a sale that day and to be ready for him to pick you up so the two of you can go

Oil paint is expensive y'all- rich or not, that stuff makes me clutch my pearls seeing the price tag sometimes

Damian has dabbled in making his own paint with things like Gum Arabic and has a small collection of items he found walking around Gotham with an exact label of what it is and where he got it, that he uses to grind up as pigments

kind of starts to look like an old alchemist or something but that's okay

You're the only one that he'd EVER let use these pigments

Once he's perfected the formula and tested things like like fastness, he's making a custom palette for you and presenting it to you at either the most random time in the middle of the night, or as a special occasion present

Loves going to art museums with you and walking around aimlessly all day, studying how a work was done and discussing with one another what you like and dislike about something

He's def taken you to Italy or Paris on a random occasion just to go walk around the great museums there

One day Damian calls you and asks if you're free for the weekend because he wants to fly across the world to go see some museums with you- also the jet is leaving in three hours

like duh you're free

He has a seperate sketchbook that he rarely ever lets you see that is filled to the brim with sketches of you

Damian is kind of mortified when you find out but tries to play it cool

you tell him that it's extremely endearing but don't push it on him further since you can tell he's trying to sink into the void and disappear when talking about it

The two of you have totally left art supplies at each other's houses and at this point. things like brushes and pencils become a communal item

Damian would never use your things without explicit permission though

His paints are some of his most joyous and treasured possessions so he maintains that level of reverence with your collection

If you tell him you're fine with him using whatever, his stomach and heart switch places for a second and he starts to feel a faint blush spreading on his cheeks

To him, it shows how much you trust him that you're willing to lend him something so valuable to your being

Not really an art thing but more of an aesthetic preference, Damian likes tangible items over digital

He has a record player with his favorite records and a vintage film camera where he has a collection of photos displaying the various dates the two of you have been on and places that you have seen together

He keeps them in a leather envelope inside his desk drawer and reaches for them whenever he's missing you

Damian keeps one in his wallet from a time that you two were walking around the gardens one hazy spring morning when no one was at the manor. You have one of his sweatshirts on and a soft smile as you're peering off into the expanse of the gardens holding a sleeping Alfred the cat in your arms

Damian intensly listens to everything that you have to say and finds himself more and more curious about the inner workings of your mind the longer you're together

[on1knee4marksmen]

Gregory House with a teenage daughter (platonic!!)

------------✙------------

General Hcs :) (more like rambles)

🩻House & teenage daughter that looks juuust a bit too much like him? Buddy don't get me started-

🩻I feel like he'd really get along with a teen daughter (he's just a teenage girl too, I fear)

🩻Like he's one of those cool dads that you can share anything with without getting scolded/grounded or anything like that. Don't get me wrong, you're getting raised with manners, but you're also getting raised to be a menace when it comes to standing your ground.

🩻I mean c'mon, it's Greg House we're talking about, he's pretty goddamn stubborn.

🩻You guys also have a bunch of inside jokes. One of which being referring to eachother with the most exaggerated, old-fashioned, formal forms ever known to the English language, when in reality you're just telling him to buy toilet paper on the way home because there's none left

"Father, I regret to inform you that I require hydration, however am far too away from the only water source in our fortress and am far too lazy to raise myself upon my feet."

"My dearest, dearest daughter.

No fucking way, get your lazy ass up and pour a glass yourself." "But dad-"

🩻Btw swearing is 100% something natural for your household. House would probably squeeze in a remark or two if you overdo it, but overall he has no problem with hearing swears from you (because he also swears every now and then)

🩻(Off topic, but you'd regularly make puns about the apartment being a 'House-hold' and he'd pretend to hate every single one of them, but deep down he'd actually find them amusing)

🩻Apartment is a mess. All the time. Almost everywhere.

🩻But I don't mean filthy mess. I mean just untidy, but you guys know what's where and find a way around it

🩻Unspoken rule that you tell eachother whenever you move something, just in case the one that did the moving forgets

🩻Despite him being a pretty good cook himself, he wouldn't be surprised if you didn't know how to do stuff properly when it comes to cooking. He always helps you and you sometimes pout about it (but you're grateful deep down)

🩻You convinced him to let you cook dinner by yourself once. Almost burned the kitchen down. You apologised a thousand times, but you guys did have a laugh about it later, so it's all good

🩻Most times you guys order takeaway, cuz House doesn't really have motivation to cook often

🩻And if you surprise him with your first home-cooked meal (this time without burning the kitchen down)? He wouldn't tell you face-to-face, but you can see the flicker of pride in his eyes and the hint of an almost fond grin tugging at his lips (even if it needs a bit of seasoning)

🩻He might not feel like cooking dinner, but making breakfast definitely comes easier to him. Expect scrambled eggs and sausage/whatever ham he could find in the fridge greeting you when you wake up. He might even make pancakes on weekends/rare dayoffs

🩻Aaah he loves that you share a music taste with him if you do!!

🩻If you don't, he won't stop you from listening to it ofc, he'd just complain about it whenever it wasn't on headphones (🙄)

🩻But if you did share a music taste? ... Getting noise complaints from the neighbours about classic rock getting blasted past 10 pm wouldn't be the most uncommon

🩻Would support you in any hobbies you have, 100%. Both financially and by psyching you up.

🩻You draw? He has a sketch/artwork of yours framed somewhere in his office. Crochet? He still keeps the mini crochet doll of himself on his keys. Knit? He wears the scarf you made him every winter. Read? He's buying you at least one new book every month or two. You'd have to help with installing new bookshelves though, he'd do nothing but lay on the couch for the most part and blame it on the leg™. Play any instrument? You have the whole ass setup for it in your room at home. If the instrument is suitable for piano duets, he's so down to do one with you

🩻Would so be down to playing any type of video game with you. You guys probably have a gamecube/nintendo 360/xbox/whatever the hell there was in his time I have no idea

🩻Lets you mess around on his Gameboy if you ever come to work with him and get bored

🩻Greg might be kind of an asshole to people and he might claim not to care, but he definitely cares, especially about you.

🩻If you're happy, he genuinely feels at ease too. But if he senses any shift in your normal behaviour, anything that he might find alarming? He wouldn't push it more than an "Anything wrong? Or are you this frowny all the time?" or a "Wanna talk about it?". But he'd do his best to subtly show you he's here for you and you can talk to him. About anything that might be troubling you, anything

🩻House isn't used to saying 'I love you', but he does his best to show it to you.

🩻Until one day you come home crying and he realises - he has no idea what to do. So he does what feels most unnatural to him, but knows that you need. He offers a hug. If you accept it, he gladly wraps his arms around you and tucks your head under his chin. Rubs your shoulders and back a little. Offers to hear you out if you need to talk. Then proceeds to trashtalk whoever/whatever made you cry with you. He's a number 1 gossip buddy, makes you feel so much better by doing it too. He'd then order your fav food and offer to do whatever you wanted, really. Ends the night by sending you off to bed with an awkward shoulder rub, but a look of soft longing in his glossy eyes (he wants to kiss your forehead and tuck you in like he did back when you had nightmares, but he's scared of being vulnerable with you cuz you're older now)

🩻Overall, House is pretty emotionally constipated at times and doesn't like being vulnerable or showing affection. But he'd be a cool, loving father and I die on this hill.

[sanjisleggy]

trafalgar law with a winged!reader partner

summary: you have beautiful feathered wings on your back and your beloved, Trafalgar Law, is enamoured by them

a/n: based on a super cute request by an anon after they read this Shanks fic i wrote about him with a winged!reader :D also i didn’t know what to title this since there’s not really a storyline so imma just call it as it is

contents: fluff!!, soft!Law, very mild mention of seggsy times

wc. ~700

wanna be on my taglist?

Law absolutely adores your wings. it’s actually the feature that intrigued him enough to invite you to join his crew–after he’d done his due diligence as a captain, of course, and deemed your character and skill more than satisfactory. you’re a friendly and respectful enough person who’s extremely capable at airborne combat so it was easy enough to mask his invitation as one purely based on your abilities and not because he just really wanted to study your wings 

this fact is one of the things revealed to you long after you enter a romantic relationship with him and you still tease him about it to this day. you’d coo and pinch his cheeks while saying how cute it is he had a crush on you from the very start. the fact that he just takes it and doesn’t rebut is more than enough proof that you hit the nail on the head. if anyone else tries to tease him about it, though, he’ll threaten to shambles them into the ocean

needless to say, you’ve been together long enough that Law has become very familiar with your wings. he’s taken countless photos and drawn numerous diagrams of your bone and muscle structure from all angles. he even has a sketchbook or two just filled with doodles and finer sketches of you and your wings in various poses. he never thought himself to be the artistic type, not until he found someone worth making art of 

Law can tell how you feel from the way your wings behave. from every twitch to any spasm, he’s documented everything he’s observed over the years and committed the details to memory. it was never even intentional, he just realised one day that he could read you like a book without even seeing your face

when you found out about it, you began poking fun at him about that, too. your captain would be flustered at having been caught–a little annoyed, even–but then he’ll see the way your wings shiver and sway as you giggle and tease him and any negative feelings wash away. he’ll remind himself that you’ve been so gracious as to let him do whatever he wants with your wings, the least he can do as your boyfriend is let you have your fun

Law keeps track of your moulting weeks better than you do. if anything, you don’t even have to keep track of it yourself because you know it’s coming when he starts behaving more restlessly, and you catch him staring at your wings a lot more than usual

you know he really enjoys helping you moult but he never initiates it. you think it’s out of shyness and you’re partially correct but his greater concern is accidentally crossing a boundary. you’re the only person he knows with wings, after all, and no amount of research feels enough to avoid hurting you or making you uncomfortable in any way. you often reassure him that you love it when he helps you moult and that you trust him the most to touch your wings but still, he prefers to only assist you when you explicitly ask for his help

every time you tell him you need his help removing your feathers, he smiles a certain way and begins to blush, looking more flustered than when you have actual sex. you’ll legitimately never understand why but it’s still very cute to see

Law always takes his time when he helps out because he not only wants to make sure you don’t feel any discomfort at all but also because he just really likes hearing your little happy noises when he does a good job at relieving the itchiness that comes with moulting

he also loves running his fingers through your soft feathers and tracing the flow of the muscles that connect your wings to your back. he finds the sensation extremely calming and stress-relieving. he even does it in his sleep, completely unaware of it when he wakes up

every moulting session with Law usually ends with him rubbing and soothing your sensitive skin and combing your feathers until they’re nice and neat. afterwards he’ll give you some kisses as thanks before running off to his study to make more notes about your wings 

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch @somatchajade @kitsunechan707 @thesmolestsage @lunaizhere @saint-atlas @goldenpanda16 @jordan03400 @rebeccawinters @glorywielder101 @slytherinambitious @the0twst0shrimp0mc

[waffleswithdragons]

The Wooden Dragon

When Hiccup returns home after being held hostage by Alvin on Outcast Island, you pay him a visit where some unspoken feelings come to light.

(Takes place after the events of the season finale of Riders of Berk.)

Pairing: Hiccup Haddock x Reader

Warnings: None (Fluff, Awkwardness and first kisses)

The walls of the loft seemed to be closing in on Hiccup, inching closer and closer to where he lay on top of his bed furs.

It had been two days since Hiccup and Toothless had returned from their unwilling venture to Outcast Island; and while Hiccup felt completely fine Gothi had instructed him to rest for a few days, meaning he had been unofficially housebound.

He had tried to tame his ever growing boredom in a myriad of ways. From freshening up some sketches of Toothless’ wingspan, to thumbing through the Book of Dragons and most recently, attempting to count the number of wood panels lining the roof.

He was only into the seventies when he heard his father bellow out from down below, “Hiccup; you’ve a visitor! I’m heading out to do the rounds.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes, turning towards the stairs as he heard boot prints begin to ascend them, “Gothi, honestly, I’m fine. I really don’t think I need any more dirt mixed with yak milk-“

His eyes stopped short as instead of landing on the village elder, they instead made eye contact with your’s as you stood at the top of the stairs, a light blush on your face as you held your arms behind your back.

“Sorry, not Gothi.” You gave a small smile and rocked a bit on your feet.

Hiccup quickly jumped up from where he had been laying on his bed, his prosthetic catching on the edge of the bed sending him stumbling forward. Instinctively, you took a few steps towards him and reached out, your hands grabbing onto his waist as he grabbed onto your shoulders in an attempt to steady himself.

“You okay?” You breathed out after a moment of stillness, you and Hiccup still holding onto one another as he caught his footing.

Hiccup nodded, his eyes widening when he realized he was still holding onto you and quickly drew his hands back, awkwardly holding them against his chest, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Totally-totally fine.”

He gave you an awkward grin, one you returned as the two of you stood in silence for another moment.

“Did, did you wanna sit down?” Hiccup offered, hoping he didn’t sound as flustered as he felt.

You nodded, moving to sit on the edge of the bed as Hiccup took a seat next to you, an inch or less between your two bodies against the bedspread; so close your leg knocked against his good one.

“So, any reason you stopped-“

“How, are you-“

Both you and Hiccup started at the same time, pausing to look at one another and each let out a chuckle. The boy nodded towards you to go first.

You turned your body a bit to face him better, “Well, I haven’t seen you since we got back to Berk. I guess, I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing.”

Hiccup nodded, trying not to let it show that he had found himself thinking about you an awful lot in the past few days he had been in the house; definitely more than he had been thinking about the other dragon riders.

“I’m great ya know, totally fine.” Hiccup rambled, “Ya know me, Hiccup the Fine the say. Well, actually no, obviously no one is saying that but ya know what I mean.”

You smiled at that, a soft smile that fell behind your hair; one that was often reserved only for your times with Hiccup.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, alternating looks at one another when the other wasn’t paying attention.

“So,” You started, looking towards the boy who attempted to seem like he hadn’t been gazing at you, “Where is Toothless?” You gestured towards the rock the Night Fury often inhabited on the other side of the room.

Hiccup shrugged, “Out and about. Probably with Stormfly and the others running around.”

You hummed at that. The silence falling for a few minutes before you spoke up again.

“I’m really glad you’re okay. I was really worried about you when you were gone.”

Hiccup perked up at this, “You were?”

You frowned, looking at the boy across from you who you noticed was now sitting a hair closer, “Yeah, Hiccup of course I was. You were gone for days, and when we learned Alvin had you; I was worried I would never see you again.”

A dark look crossed your face, filled with sadness and anxiety that caused Hiccup’s heart to break a fraction.

Instinctively he reached over, taking one of your hands in his own, “Hey,” You glanced down at your intertwined hands and then back up to Hiccup, “I’m okay. I promise.”

You two stared at each other, his green eyes meeting your own. You always thought that his eyes were your favorite part about them, they held such kindness and curiosity.

You cleared your throat, gently pulling your hand away as the boy retracted his own, “I um, I made something for you.” You busied your hands, reaching down to the leather pouch attached to your belt, “It’s nothing special, but I just, well, I hoped it would make you feel a bit better.”

Hiccup watched as you pulled a small wooden item from your bag, nervously holding it in your hands as you presented it to him. He gently took the item from you, your pinkies running against each other before he pulled away to better examine the object.

It was a wooden carving, a good one at that. It was a dragon, you could tell from the wings, but as he peered closer he realized it was one he was familiar with. It was a Night Fury. It was a carving of his own dragon.

“It’s not the best obviously.” There was a nervous tilt to your voice as you watched the boy turn the carving over and over in his hands, eyes wandering over every nook, “But I figured you could kinda tell it was Toothless, though I messed up the snout a bit and I thought-“

“I love it.” Hiccup cut you off, his hand once again landing on your own and his eyes locked in on your’s, “It’s perfect. I love it. The best gift I’ve ever gotten I swear. Thank you.”

A familiar flush fell across your face and you nodded, trying to distract from the heat in your checks, “No problem. I’m glad you like it.”

A moment passed, your eyes still on his before he spoke again, raising the carving in his free hand, “Ya know, you really got his likeness in-“

In a flash you surged forward, closing the last few millimeters of space between the two of you as you pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was quick but sweet, it held for a moment as Hiccup stared wide eyed, his hands frozen in the air. The boy quickly regained his composure, allowing his eyes to flutter shut and moving to place a hand on your waist just as you pulled away, springing off the bed.

“Well, I should, uh, should really get going.” A large blush was spread across your cheeks, one that mirrored Hiccup’s as he watched you quickly make your way towards the steps, “But uh, rest up and see you tomorrow!” By the time your sentence finished you were already down the stairs, the front door swinging shut behind you.

Hiccup stared at the spot where you had just stood, his face warm as his mind flashed back to the seconds your lips had been on his; playing over and over in his mind.

He let his back fall against the bed furs as his mind focused only on you. He raised his hand above his head, the eyes studying the carving you left him as he whispered out loud to himself, a smile on his face,

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

[felassan]

David Gaider on Dorian, under a cut for length:

"Now this is a fun one. It's no big secret I have a lot of feelings about Dorian, not least of which because he was my first (and only) gay male companion. There's a lot more to him than that, of course (as there should be), and it was quite a trip. So let's go! Now, DAI is a story all its own, but I'm sticking to the characters. In this case, back at the beginning, the writers were going to try something new: we were going to let the artists take a more active role in the companion creation process. Why? Because not doing so had caused a lot of problems. See, here's the thing: writers and artists speak two different languages. When talking about characters, we talk about their story. Who they are. What they want. We'd write up these briefs, huge and full of information... but it was never the information the artists needed. They wanted visual cues. I don't mean describing their appearance. Sure, we'd usually provide that, especially if there was a story case to be made, but often the artists vetoed us on appearance stuff anyhow so meh. No, I mean they looked for visual language while we tended to only talk about who the characters *were*. What would happen is they'd hone in on something visual in our write-up not intended to be a focus. The first write-up for Anders in DA2, for instance, mentioned he was "haggard" after his journey... and the first concept we got was this pale, shriveled man. "What... is this?" "YOU SAID HAGGARD!" 😅"

"That was the other trick: sometimes when we DID try to be more descriptive, we had to be extra cautious because the words could be interpreted very differently. You encounter this recording VO, too. A VO note says "hysterical" and you *meant* "really upset" but the actor read "scream like a banshee" Thus this caused problems, like I said. The artists would struggle, sometimes conjuring details just to give the character *something* but which would change the character... and, to us, the character was created. Done. We were already invested, probably already writing them. Something had to give. So this time we wrote a bunch of character briefs - but short. One paragraph. We stuck to vibes and the *emotions* we wanted the concepts to evoke. And we didn't name them. They got titles like "Slick Con Man" or "Ice Queen", so we wouldn't get too attached. Then we handed these off to the artists. And it worked nicely. The ones that just weren't inspiring we'd discard, no problem. The others had juice... and the artists felt free to play and offer lots of variations because we weren't set on anything yet. A lot of times, what they produced ended up inspiring US. It was a neat back-and-forth."

"This is what led to Dorian, in fact. He came from a short write-up entitled "Rock Star Mage" and it really boiled down to "I'm cool and I know I'm cool, so take that you cretins". And just like that, the first sketches (by Casper Konefal, I think? I bet I'm wrong) were all amazing. Instant fire. Me: "He looks kind of like... Freddie Mercury?" Him: "Is that bad?" Me: "NO ARE YOU KIDDING THIS IS AMAZING" Plus there was a monkey. Sadly, we had to lose the monkey. There were iterations to come, but this was really where Dorian was born: Tevinter mage, noble, savant, and too cool for school."

"When did he become gay? Not right away. Like I said elsewhere, we didn't talk romance and sexuality until after the concepts were more in place. But as we were brainstorming about why this hot shot mage left Tevinter, the idea DID come up that maybe it was because he was gay. Not directly, however. Homophobia isn't really a thing in Thedas, after all, so at first blush I didn't think that could work. "Rich kid gets kicked out of the house for being gay" wasn't a trope I wanted to explore. But, then again, magister families in Tevinter are *obsessed* with the appearance of perfection, so...? Any deviation from the "norm" is considered scandal-worthy. It said weakness. It said you couldn't control your house. Now... THAT had real promise. The writing pit discussed it a lot. So I think it's fair to say that the gay fairy was already circling Dorian even before we got to the romance talk. I think it's also fair to say that the rest of the team realized I low-key wanted to write him, because when everyone started calling dibs, who was left standing for me? (I pick last, remember.) I gleefully snatched him up and got to work... ...about six months later. I was very busy at the time. 😅 That late start meant I had to design and write VERY quickly. And I did. Somehow, though, this one... it came easily. "Catty gay man" isn't digging very deep, no surprise to anyone who knows me, and it had an extra layer of being so fun because Dorian was confident. He sparred verbally. I loved it."

"There was more to it, however. The conflict between Dorian and his father... ugh, how do I say this? Let's be clear: Dorian's story is not MY story, but it's also not far off. I wrote the entire confrontation scene in one go. After I was done, I probably cried harder than I ever have in my life. 🫠 I was unsure whether it was any good, however. I just didn't feel objective. I passed it over to Cori May - my friend but also Dorian's editor - and asked her to please tell me and be honest. She read it. She walked into my office after, tears streaming down her face, and just nodded. "It's good." Here's the thing. Not everyone is going to agree with this, but: I don't think a writer NEEDS to be a minority in order to write a minority. Sometimes those characters should simply exist, and we want them to. But if that character's story is ABOUT their experience as a minority? That's different. Dorian's story didn't need to revolve around his sexuality - and, honestly, it only did so as a tangent to his family issue, but they're so bound together it's probably irrelevant to split them - but my writing him meant it could be. It allowed me to SAY something. That felt good. It felt right. Ramon Tikaram came on board after a lengthy casting process (so many British Indian accents, oh god). I sat in on a few recording sessions... the confrontation scene, though? Ramon: *says line* Me: (curled up on a nearby sofa in fetal position) *shaky thumbs up* Caroline: "Yep. Great work, Ramon!""

"Dorian's sexuality isn't all he's about, but that's certainly how some viewed it. When the character was announced in 2014, his being gay was mentioned as the last of a number of points, and the instant response from some gamers was to act as if we'd called a press conference just to say THAT. 🙄 It was annoying. Still is. Overall, however, the reaction to Dorian was very positive. The number of straight men who said they romanced him still pleases me. The number of fans who privately contacted me who'd been through conversion therapy, some who said Dorian helped them survive? Well. Gosh. 😭 I did write him for Trespasser - though I hear that a late scope cut meant every conversation had been chopped by 1/3rd or more, and that meant a lot of nuance lost. Which is sad, if true, because it sounds like the result of that left some Dorian romancers a bit cold. Such is how game dev rolls. 😔 If you need more proof of how it was hard for me to let go of him, a short story I wrote after Trespasser came out where Dorian has a bit of closure with his dead father: medium.com/@davidgaider... So yeah. He'll always be my boi. And I'll always be thankful Bio gave me this opportunity. ❤️"

[source thread]

User: "I'm not going to lie, it's hard to take my mind off Dorian almost having a monkey." David Gaider: "If by “almost” you mean there was a picture of a monkey that the concept artist put there as a whim, and which would almost certainly have taken more cinematics and modeling time to put in than we could ever afford… then yes. 😉" [source]

[kamabokobun]

Abandoned wip Cassie & Roxy figures. From ~2023

They’re about to go into storage, so I took some photos. And I figured I might as well post them since they’re never getting finished. So yeah

More photos & notes below the cut :)

Cassie! Her design is sooo cute. I enjoyed translating her into my style + into 3d. I was (& still am) really happy with how I sculpted her face and hair. Up until this point I rarely sculpted human faces, so I was surprised how well it turned out (then again it’s very stylized so. Whatever). And her hair came out almost exactly like my reference drawing! Which doesn’t happen as often as I would like it to. The paint job came out nicely as well, I’m especially proud of the sneakers and the tiny stars & flowers on her cardigan. Anyway, She was looking really good overall! That is until she fell off my shelf and broke her neck. Unfortunately, that was the breaking point (lol) for me, as I was already having problems with Roxy, and I didn’t want to go through the trouble of repairing her tiny little neck after she was almost fully painted, so I scrapped the project entirely.

Only a few Roxy photos since she wasn’t painted. I had made her before cassie, (I was originally going to only make Roxy) but never managed to get to the painting step for mainly one reason: Her neck kept breaking. (I have bad luck when it comes to necks, it seems. Probably because I like chibi proportions.) I had to repair her neck, like, 5 times, before finally deciding to use apoxie sculpt instead of my regular polymer clays. (Which I probably should’ve done sooner) But then the apoxie dried in the wrong position, so she couldn’t stand on her own anymore (she needed to be in a very specific pose to stand. her hair is heavy!!). Thinking back on it, I’m really sad I never got to paint her, because I think her form ended up looking really nice. If you’re wondering why neither Cassie nor Roxy have eyelashes, that’s because I was planning on doming both of their eyes with resin, then sculpting eyelashes on top. But I never got to that step. Fun Fact!: Roxy’s eyes are glow in the dark :) so is Cassie’s flashlight

And lastly, here is the art I made for me to reference. Left is the original sketches, and right is the revised poses/designs + traced off of the figures I had already started making. Fun fact: halfway through sculpting (after baking in the pose) I realized that, in-game, cassie holds her flashlight in her left hand and not her right, so I had to completely remove & remake her hands.

I really want to try remaking these two someday, not only because I think I can make them better than I did before, but because Cassie & Roxy are probably my favorite SB characters and I still want to have cute figures of them to display on my desk lol.

Alright that’s all bye bye

[rabbityan]

Yan! Fake husband x reader

Inspired by Coraline

English isn't my first language, and this is also my first published writing and I am entirely new to this. So feel free to leave any criticism!

Part 1

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick.

You sighed as you lazily lay on the couch. You've finished your work, done almost all the chores, and the book on your hand has lost its interest. Such a big house, and yet all you have found is boredom. Sighing again, you turned to your side and gazed longingly at your lone figure on the TV screen reflection. The new house is nice and all, but ever since you've moved in, your husband has gotten a lot more distant than he ever was. He was still distant before, but this time, he refused to even go to bed with you. You wonder if he slept in his office instead.

You feel more alone than ever, now that you live on the countryside. You don't know anyone who lives in the area, your closest neighbour is probably a kilometer away, and your husband barely spends time with you. Sometimes you wish you didn't work from home just so you can have a work buddy to spend time with. 'Better than talking to that tree outside,' you thought as you finally got up to check on your dear husband. As you exited the living room, you went to climb up the stairs and as you finally reached the first floor, you headed to the very end of the hallway where his office stood right next to yours. Even with the door close, you can still hear a faint scribbling on the paper.

Ever so gently, you knocked on the door to avoid rattling him from his focus. "Helen?" You entered the room and saw his hunch back in front of a wide desk that sits in front of the window where sunlight seeps, giving his figure a warm glow. 'Must be working on his comic then,' you thought as you glanced at his unfinished canvas that sat on the right side of the room. Droplets of paints were spotted on the ground, but only a few since he's careful not to waste any. "What is it?" He finally answered after a few short seconds. You take a few steps towards him to peek on his hard work, "whatchu working on?". He tenses before abruptly hiding his drawings with all his might, "... Nothing- nothing you need to know. Why are you here?", you stifled a laugh. He has always been sensitive about his comic sketches, you often wondered why, but you never bothered to ask. "To check up on you silly, you've been working on it all morning."

"I'm doing just fine. Why don't you explore around the house? I mean, it's pretty big for such a cheap price, haha," he's not wrong. The only reason we moved here was because we couldn't afford rent anymore. It's not too far from the city, but it's far enough to feel isolated. "Yes, but I was planning to do it with you, though. Don't really want to be all alone, you know?" Hearing this, he only sighed and rubbed his head in annoyance. "It's not like there's gonna be any ghosts. Just keep yourself busy. I don't have time to entertain you. " And just like that, he's back to being engrossed in his comic again as you murmured an ' okay' before solemnly leaving the room.

It had only been two years since your official marriage but the spark feels like it had already been long gone. Ever since he started his project it was like you never existed, sometimes he would spend time with you but that was only because you asked and even then it would only be a few minutes before he goes back to his work. You wonder what went wrong.

"Achoo!"

You sniffled as you rubbed your nose, "man, it's so dusty in here". Exploring the building, you happened to stumbled upon a storage room that was right under the stairs. Once the light switch was on you gasped when you saw a door sitting in the middle of the rather cramped room. "But it's... Half my size?" You mumbled as you crouched down to open the door. Thankfully, for whatever reason you happen to have a flashlight on you.

Turning on the flashlight, you went to open the small door and looked around the small room as you let another big sneeze. "Ugh, well there doesn't seem to be anything in here", you sniffled as you looked at what looks like the size of a vent that leads into the darkness. Not wanting to venture into the unknown, especially into a rather tight space you got up and exited the storage room. You decided to go outside and walk around the area instead, maybe even gaze into the lake that was situated in front of the house, it's your best friend at this point.

You let out another sneeze, "you know what, I should just do some deep cleaning."

After a long day of cleaning you finally went to bed after taking a relaxing warm shower, your muscles aching from all the work. As you got on your side of the bed you gazed at where Helen would have usually been sleeping. During your early marriage, he would always be eager to sleep with you. Sexually or not he was simply happy to finally be in your presence after a long day. 'Did you stop loving me?', you thought as you grazed your finger against the sheet where he should've been.

You tried everything you could to bring back what once was. It started when you were both having a meal, you would always eat together. You two would always take turns on cooking, sometimes both of you would do it together but nevertheless, cooking time is always the best time to be together because it doesn't matter who cooks for you and he would always be in the same room to help. But one day he didn't join, claiming he was too busy, then he doesn't kiss you for cooking his favourite meal like he usually would and slowly he doesn't join you for the meal. And that's where everything else began.

No more movie nights, no more dates, no more proper conversations, no cuddling. You were always alone, on the dining table, on the bed, on the couch. He feels more like your roommate rather than your husband now. 'Maybe I should divorce him, but-' , you quickly shook your head before closing your eyes.

You woke up, your mouth parched from thirst. The bed beside you is still empty. You got up, slipped into your slippers, and headed to the kitchen.

Once you drank your water, you started to head upstairs to your bedroom, but as you got up, you noticed the light emanating from underneath his office door. Curious, you trudged towards his office and peeked into the room. He was sleeping on his makeshift newspaper bed with a blanket on top of his figure. Your heart clenched seeing this. You thought about waking him up to get him to bed but decided against this. Closing the door, you headed to your bedroom but paused your step as you heard a faint lullaby playing softly in the distance. As you listened closely, you realized it was coming from downstairs. Alarmed, you cautiously trudged downstairs, being careful not to make any noise.

Taking the last step of stairs, you hear the music playing right behind. 'The storage room,' you thought as you went to open the said door quietly. The music was still quite muffled. Right in front of the small door laid a peculiar key. It looked like it came from the 1900s, but you don't know for sure. Picking it up, you saw an orange glow coming from the cracks of the door as if inviting you to enter.

And you did. The long hallway seemed wider now, and right in the middle, there stood the same small door you never noticed before inviting with a warm glow. 'That's where the music is coming from,' you thought as you crawled towards the door. Upon realizing the door was locked, you twisted the key inside the keyhole and finally opened the door. As you stood up, you realized it was the same storage room you were in, with the door open as you had left it. You went out and expected to see the same dark place blanketed by nighttime, but instead, it was daylight as though you had flipped a switch.

Now you can clearly hear the music, you softly gasped, "it's the song we would always play during cooking time." Taking careful steps to the kitchen, the music got louder and you can hear the clanking utensils.

The kitchen was filled with a tasty aroma as you peeked into the room. Your eyes inspected the kitchen interior that was kissed by seeping sunlight through the window, 'it looks.... Homey', you thought to yourself before landing your eyes on a familiar figure, humming along with the tune. As though sensing your presence he, lowered the fire and turned to look at you, smiling. But what creeped you out were the buttons where his eyes were supposed to be. "Good morning, my love. You're just in time for brunch." You can only stand there staring at him with your mouth agape in shock, "uhhh."

'Helen' walked towards you and, to your surprise, embraced you in a hug as he nuzzled into you, "you were asleep all morning, love. I've missed you." Still frozen in shock, you took the time to take it all in. He smelled oddly like a doll, the kind of doll that was untouched and had been collecting dust for a long time. You didn't sneeze. But as you cautiously placed your hands on his back, awkwardly returning the gesture, he felt solid, like human, he was warm like one too. He released the hug and lovingly cradled your face in his hands, "you must've had a lot of work hm?". Holding his hand, you stared into his 'eyes' and finally, you asked,

"Who are you?"

[ldydeath]

I'm Yours | Choi Seung-hyun (T.O.P)

Summary: You and Seunghyun can’t stand each other. What’ll happen when you two get stuck in an elevator? Warnings: None Author’s Note: I had a lot of fun with this one, I hope you like it!

“Oh shut up, Seunghyun.” You rolled your eyes, throwing a piece of popcorn at your friend as he continued on about whatever he and Jiyong were talking about.

His eyes widened and he crossed his arms as he turned to look at you, halting his words mid sentence. Jiyong let out a small laugh, shaking his head before he walked to the other side of the room. You and Seunghyun’s arguments could get ugly and slightly annoying, Jiyong wanted no part of that.

“Why do I have to shut up and he doesn’t?” Seunghyun pointed a finger in Jiyong’s direction and you shrugged.

“Because I like Jiyong and I can’t stand you.” 

“I hate you.” Seunghyun pouted, a glare on his face as he made his way back to his friends. 

You shrugged a satisfied smirk on your face as you watched Seunghyun walk away. You didn’t know why you liked annoying him so much, but you didn’t think you’d ever stop. Ever since you’d started working with BIGBANG you’d had this relationship with Seunghyun. You figured your relationship with the other guys was pretty normal but there was something about the way you’d bicker with Seunghyun that you just really enjoyed. 

Your eyes wandered around the room before stopping on Seunghyun again, he was tall and incredibly handsome, sure, but there was this soft side underneath his hard exterior and it was beautiful to see a man so confident in himself to let that show often. He shifted and you looked down, pulling out your sketch pad. There was no reality in which you’d live it down if you got caught staring at him. 

You had been working on a costume design for Deasung when you noticed a shadow on your book and looked up with a raised brow. You’d expected it to be Jiyong peeking at your work to give you some ideas and were genuinely surprised to see Seunghyun standing over you. He never really took interest in costume designs, just wearing whatever was picked out for him. But yet here he was, looking over the outfits with a look of interest. Almost like he had something to add.

“What?”

“Nothing.” 

You let out a sigh, slamming the book down and catching a glimpse of your watch in the process. You groaned, standing up and packing up your items. Seunghyun watched you with an amused look on his face and you glared at him.

“Were you just going to stand there all day or actually tell me we needed to go? We’re going to be late now.” Seunghyun shrugged at your words. Of course he didn’t care if he was late.

“More fun this way, isn’t it?” He smirked.

“I hate you.” You grabbed his arm, yanking him out of the room. 

“Okay, okay, you can let go!” Seunghyun cried as he ran after you. 

You let go of his arm, shooting him a glare as he adjusted his jacket. The two of you stood awkwardly next to each other as you waited for the elevator to come. He had an outfit fitting and if he was late then everyone would be late and you’d never hear the end of it - or go home at a decent time. Clearly feeling bad for messing with you, Seunghyun ushered you to get on the elevator first and you leaned against the wall as the doors closed.

You quickly typed a text in your phone alerting your team you were on your way when the elevator came to a halt. You looked over at Seunghyun who gulped, and you sucked in a breath. The elevator was stuck. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You tried to hide the panic in your voice. 

Seunghyun turned to look at you, remembering that you had a fear of tight spaces, specifically elevators and his face softened. As much as he loved to give you shit, now wasn’t the time. Besides, he was kind of crazy about you and if he needed to hold your hand through this, who was he to complain. 

“Hey, it’s fine. Look, I'll press the call button and we’ll be out of here in no time.” He pressed the button, waiting a second only for the button to do nothing. 

“Oh, great.” 

“It probably just takes a minute.” He shrugged walking over to you, he hesitated a second before grabbing your arm, turning you to face him fully. “We’re going to get out of here, I promise.” 

You nodded your head, reaching into your pocket for our phone, trying to stay unaware of just how close Seunghyun was to you. Your heart raced and you hoped that if he could hear it he’d assume it was the fear of being stuck in an elevator and not the affect he had on you for being so close. You clicked on your texts, sending a mass one out to alert everyone that Seunghyun - and yourself were stuck in the elevator. Security would have you out quicker if they knew he was in here with you. 

“There. Everyone knows now.” 

“I would’ve thought of something like that eventually “ Seunghyun pointed to your phone with a small smile on his lips and you let out a laugh. 

“Sure.” You took a small reluctant step away from him and chewed on your bottom lip.

This was not gooey for many reasons. You couldn’t be alone in a large room with Seunghyun, let alone an elevator. It was too obvious that you had feelings for him when you were alone with him. You were going to have to play it cool so that he wouldn’t find out about your feelings. You placed a hand on your chest, taking a few deep breaths to calm your heart rate. 

Seunghyun watched you with amused curiosity. One of the many reasons he loved to tease you so much was how cute you were when you flustered. Even if this wasn’t the best of circumstances, he was glad to be alone with you. 

“Want a distraction?” Your eyes widened, confused as to why he was being so nice and nodded your head at him. “I have feelings for you.” 

Your eyes snapped to his, surely you hadn’t heard him right. Maybe he was joking. The way he was looking at you though? It didn’t seem like a joke. 

“Very funny, Seunghyun.” You rolled your eyes. 

Seunghyun closed the distance you’d been working so hard to keep and gently cupped your face. His eyes stayed locked on yours before darting to your mouth and then back to your eyes, as if silently asking for permission to kiss you. Your heart sped up and you nodded your head. His lips were on yours in an instant. 

Your arms ran up his chest, gripping his shirt and pulled him in closer, you kissed him back with such passion, all your feelings for him pouring into the kiss. You’d waited for this for so long and you could hardly believe he felt the same way. Seunghyun pulled away slowly, his eyes meeting yours. 

“I wouldn’t joke about this. Not with you.” You nodded your head, your eyes closing as you caught your breath. 

“I have feelings for you too.” The words were barely out of your mouth before his lips were back on yours. 

His arms wrapped around you tightly pulling you closer as your arms moved from his chest to his shoulders. You pushed his jacket down off and he shrugged his arms out of the sleeves, his mouth breaking the kiss to trail open mouth kisses down your neck. God, this was perfect.  Just as his lips met your collarbone, the elevator began moving again. 

“Fuck.” Seunghyun cursed pulling away from you and reaching down for his jacket. As he shrugged it back on you fixed your top and let out a sigh. 

“You guys ok?” Jiyong appeared as the elevator doors opened and you nodded your head at him. 

“Yeah, yeah. We’re good.” Seunghyun nodded. 

Jiyong raised a brow, looking between the two of you a knowing smile on his lips. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened in that elevator, it was just unfortunate that the guy who knew Seunghyun the best was the one who’d met you there. 

“I knew it!”

“Shut up Jiyong.” You folded your arms as you made your way off the elevator. 

“Yeah, shut up, Jiyong.” Seunghyun winked, rushing to catch up to you. “You got a minute?”  You nodded your head.

Seunghyun took your hand, laced your fingers together and led you down the hall. Popping his head into the first doorway he came across to check if it was empty and let you inside, shutting the door behind you. You turned to face him, startled by how close he was still standing next to you. You figured his confession had just been the elevator talking. 

“I meant what I said in there. I think I’ve had feelings for you for quite some time now.” He hesitated for a second before bringing his hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing soothing circles across your skin. 

Your heart rate picked back up at the closeness of him and you wondered if he’d always have this affect on you. You didn’t mind it though, and you leaned into his touch. This was much softer than the rush of emotions that had overcome you on the elevator. Almost as if all the confidence you’d both had early was gone. 

“I meant it too.” 

Seunghyun let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Hearing that you felt the same way about him was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. He leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your lips before resting his forehead against yours. 

“Let me take you out later? We can make this official, figure out how and when we want to tell the guys? For now, we play it cool and get you to that appointment.” 

You nodded and he let you go, following you out of the room. He had the rest of the night to show you just how much you meant to him.

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