#it’s very angsty and that’s the way i LIKE IT

[kitimeq]

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ better than revenge 🤍 rafayel 祁 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

ೃ࿔pairing: lads rafayel x reader

ೃ࿔summary: rafayel did not come home to me three banners in a row so i gave him a mommy kink and delayed gratification out of pure spite. how about this u shrimp i’m so mad.

ೃ࿔word count: short!!

ೃ࿔tags: 18+, smut, pure smut, let him suffer the consequences of his actions, i wrote it in like 20 minutes don’t take this seriously, p in v (because i’m a good person at the end of the day he should be grateful), delayed gratification, mommy kink, i love my men a little bit pathetic, pure filth i’m sorry, argument, but they love each other of course they do!!! begging, it somehow got angsty??? What the HECK is going on in my head i’m not sure anymore. i freaking hope i will get that god of the tides or else…….

NOT checked for errors, i’m sorry!! It is a crime of passion this time.

!!DON’T you DARE read if you’re not 18+!!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Rafayel was so regretful and you could see that—in the way his brows furrowed, his arms holding your frame tightly, his eyes never leaving yours, tears already glistening on his eyelashes. You could also hear that— in his whimpers and mewls, soft moans and whines that were leaving his lips uncontrollably at this point. And you could definitely feel that—in the way he was desperately kissing at your cheeks, neck and shoulders, leaving wet skin behind; in the desperate rutting of his hips against your closed thighs.

And this one time you allowed yourself to feel satisfaction because of the state you managed to put him in.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, please.” He whined against your skin, his face nuzzling into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. His arms held you tightly, his hips never stopping its erratic movements against your leg, sliding your skirt up in the process, desperate to feel your bare skin against his hard member. “Cutie, please. I already apologized so many times, just—please. Please, cutie? Let me in, yeah?” He looked into your eyes again, his gaze full of pleading and desperation, and you forced yourself to stay indifferent.

“Raf, no.” You answered, even though you wanted him too. But you couldn’t give in yet, not when you wanted to mess with him more for the way he treated you not so long ago. “First you scolded me for not talking to you, even though you knew that I had a rough week at work. And then, when I visited you, you called me, and I quote Rafayel, irritably clingy.” You answered, keeping your face turned away from him.

You still remember how you came into his home today, ecstatic to see him because you missed him the whole time you were away, hugging him and kissing at his mouth and cheeks happily only for him to push you away. The image of him turning his head away from you, his hand slightly pushing you away, a pout on his lips, is still vivid in your mind, making your heart squeeze painfully.

He didn’t care that you were truly busy, your legs aching from a whole week of fighting SSS-class Wanderers, your head begging for some rest. And instead of comforting you, he gave you his attitude, rejected your affection, called you clingy. You knew that most of the time he was not speaking seriously, and that he was prone to exaggeration and dramatics, but this time, you knew that you didn’t deserve such treatment.

You decided to give him a taste of his own medicine: you waited until he calmed down, then proceeded to seduce him, and when he became desperate and ready to get down to business, you were the one who pushed him away this time, refusing to let him in.

And he wasn’t taking it very well, especially after your time apart. Your previous touches ignited a flame within him, filling him with desire so tangible it was practically pouring out of him.

“So, let’s see who the clingy one really is now.” You added, and squeezed your tights even tighter, his hot breath warming your left cheek.

“Nooo, no, no, no. You know that I didn’t mean it, cutie. It was just, just a bad joke. A mistake I really regret. I really do.” His face nuzzled your cheek, hips still moving against your leg. His whimpers never-ending. “I love when you touch me. Kiss me. Hold me. I love it, you know that, you do.”

“Well, sometimes it would be great if you actually showed it to me instead of being mad at me for having a job.”

“I will! I promise, I will. I promise. I’m sorry.” He brought your body closer to himself, his arms going up and down your waist in a comforting gesture. “Let me in, please, you—you riled me up and—and left me, and I can’t, I can’t, I need to be inside you, please.”

“Rafayel…�� You breathed out, your hands going to cup his warm cheeks, his pleading eyes meeting yours. You couldn’t give in that easily. “No.”

He choked out a cry.

And you saw how he snapped, his jaw tightened and eyes closed, one tear slipping away. Then another, and another, until he completely broke down, his face now wet, a pout on his lower lip, his hands touching your whole body erratically.

“Please. I’ll be good. I will.” He whimpered, completely out of control. You knew that until you gave him your consent, he would not force you to do anything. And the way he respected your wishes, although his whole body was trembling while he knew, he felt that you wanted him too despite your negations, was starting to made your resolve wither. “I’ll make you feel s’good. S’good like I always do, just—please. Open up for me?”

You shook your head and his lower lip trembled in response, his head going to rest on your shoulder, his hair wet and cold, making you shiver. He was sweating so bad. His hips were still rutting against your leg, but you knew that it wasn’t nearly enough for him; the friction only made him feel more impatient.

He choked out another broken cry, took your hand in his, kissed your knuckles, and continued kissing up your arm. You didn’t know how long you’ll be able to keep denying him, it was the first time you saw him acting so desperate, so pathetic for you and your need to comfort him was starting to become unbearable.

His glossy eyes met yours and you saw how red his lips were from how much he had been biting them. He leaned down and placed a soft, wet kiss on your lips. One. Two. Three kisses. All of them gentle, all of them apologetic.

“Please.” He whispered into your lips. Another kiss came, as soft and warm as the ones before. “—M—Mommy, please. I’m sorry.” The word that slipped from his lips was new, your eyes widening, your core squeezing on nothing but air.

Oh, god.

“Will you forgive me? Mommy, please, w—will you?” You looked at his face between his soft, gentle kisses and you’ve noticed how red he was, the embarrassment spreading up from the tips of his ears, down to his chest. “L-Let me make you feel good. I’ll be a good boy. The best boy.”

Your head was spinning, your cheeks turning red too. You couldn’t find it in yourself to hide how much you liked when he called you that way. God, what was he doing to you?

“Mommy, let me in. I need you. I need you s’bad I—” He opened his eyes and pressed a kiss to your brow and eyes, his hands shakily caressing your hair. “Don’t be mad anymore, okay? I just—I just can’t live without you that’s why I—That’s why I said these things. I always worry that you’ll forget about me and that’s why I’m gettin’ so defensive and mean. But I know you won’t, because you love me, and I love you and—i’m sorry.” He looked into your eyes and you had a feeling that if he won’t stop talking he was going to make you cry too.

You hugged him to yourself tightly and he reciprocated the hug immediately, his head resting on your chest. He sniffed and started to calm down, his body no longer shaking.

��I do love you, Rafayel.” You said into his hair, and you made him look up again, your hands going to grab his wet cheeks. His eyes glistened with hope, his lips swollen and wet. He looked so adorable that you couldn’t be mad at him anymore. “Next time you’ll miss me, just text me okay? Tell me how you feel, and no matter how busy I will be, I will find time to at least send you a voice message. And I will try to keep you updated when I’m away on missions.” He nodded happily, and you swiped the tears off of his cheeks. “But please, don’t push me away when I miss you just as badly. I get hurt too.”

“Yes. Yes, I won’t, I promise. I do.” He answered and kissed the palm of your hand, nuzzling into it. “I’m really sorry. I will never do that again. I swear.”

“Okay.” You answered quietly and then loosened up your thighs, making a place for him between your legs. His breath came out shakily, his cock immediately landing on top of your panties. Your skirt had been pushed up long ago, the material now resting on your stomach, giving him an easy access to where he wanted to be buried in from the very beginning.“Now come to me, my little fishie.”

He pressed a wet kiss on your mouth once again, and before you knew it he quickly grabbed your panties to the side and slid right into you, making you gasp both in surprise and out of pleasure.

He slipped the tongue between your lips and kissed you without mercy, his hips snapping quickly and erratically, the rhythm uneven, the force of the thrusts relentless.

Suddenly, he cried into your mouth, his whole body shuddering and then going completely still. You felt the reason why a second later.

The warmth spread inside you, overwhelming your senses.

“F—Fuck, sorry, I—I didn’t mean to…So fast…” He managed to utter, his body still shaking in the aftershocks of his sudden orgasm. Your hands went up to his hair, stroking the strands gently, showing him that you didn’t mind, wanting him to calm down and let himself drown in the pleasure.

“Shh, it’s okay. You did so well.” His face was red, his eyes avoiding yours, and you smiled gently at him. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and swiped your hand on his chest affectionately. “My sweet baby boy.”

“Yeah, yours.” His hips started to move again, making you moan in surprise. You wrapped your legs around him and he put one of his arms under your back, lifting you in order to make his thrusts reach deeper. “Always, yours. Only yours.” The pace was getting quicker, your moans mixing with his grunts, your heartbeats although unsteady, seemed to match each other’s tempo.

“M-mommy can I—Can I come inside again? I—I can’t stop.” He almost whispered into your ear, and you shuddered, the pleasure spreading throughout your whole body in the form of goosebumps. His lips were not leaving your body, pressing kisses on any patch of skin he could reach. “I missed you too much. You’re so warm. So safe.”

Rafayel’s beautiful eyes met yours, the purple somehow standing out in the darkness of the night. He send you a gentle smile, his thrusts slowing down, the movements becoming more precise and controlled.

“I don’t want the night to end, cutie.” He said quietly, as if he was sharing a secret. His hands cupped your cheeks and he studied your face, searching for any sign of pleasure. He wanted to know if he was making you feel as good as he promised he would. “Let me make it all better. I will show you how sorry I truly am, my love.”

The night was just getting started. And after several hours of moving rhythmically against each other, loosing yourselves in your passionate embrace, the sunrise was a witness to Rafayel’s vow; your wet bodies and tangled limbs a good enough proof of his fulfilled promise.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

GOD i’m so embarrassed. I wrote it in like half an hour and it SHOWS forgive me. I’ve never in my life written something so short and filthy. If u liked it screenshot it bc i’m not sure i will let it haunt tumblr for long 💀

Better hope i’ll get that god of the tides or else rafayel will not know peace…. I will continue to bully him with my pen i swear to god.

[agentstarkid]

YOU'RE THE ONE (TO MAKE ME LOSE MY MIND) ✦ AZRIEL

✦ SUMMARY: Azriel prided himself on restraint—on silence, shadows, and secrets. But you, with your unshaken confidence and maddening obliviousness, were testing every last thread of his sanity. As chaos ensues, the Shadowsinger realizes one thing: he might be doomed.

✦ WORD COUNT: 1.2K

✦ WARNINGS: crack fic, archeron!sister (briefly mentioned), miscommunication, angsty fluff and humor (maybe??), obliviousness, azriel is stressed and about to have an aneurysm—azriel fanart by harleetattoos

✦ MAY'S RADIO: this was a fun little experiment 😅 azzie boy is a certified swiftie™ 😆 i hope this is somewhere close to what you had in mind, lili bestie! -> based on this post by @lili-of-the-wildfire 🖤

< back to general masterlist

Azriel was losing his damn mind.

He had spent centuries perfecting the art of self-control—of mastering his shadows, his emotions, his very existence. But this? This was unraveling him at the seams.

And he was at his limits.

Not the normal limit, like when Cassian got a little too rowdy or Rhysand smirked a little too much. No. This was a whole new brand of suffering.

Since the moment you were thrown into the Cauldron, he had kept his distance—watching, waiting, giving you space to adjust to your new life, to the Night Court, to him. Knowing how difficult it was for your sisters, knowing that maybe you needed time to grieve what you lost.

But you—you seemed fine.

You smiled, you laughed, you trained with Cassian and traded insults with Rhys, you asked Mor endless questions about the best places to visit in Velaris. You were fine.

Except Azriel knew that wasn’t true.

Because he felt it—the crackling in the air whenever he was near you, the way your emotions bled into his own, even when you weren’t looking at him. The bond—the one you were blissfully ignorant of—was there, thrumming between you.

And it was killing him.

Because you didn’t know.

You were testing him in ways he never thought possible.

Which was why you were currently sitting across from him at the dining table, casually eating a pastry, completely unbothered by the fact that every time you so much as breathed, the bond between you screamed at him.

“I was thinking,” you said, licking a crumb from your finger, completely unaware of the way Azriel’s eyes tracked the movement, “maybe I should go to the Winter Court for a while. Just to clear my head, see more of Prythian, you know?”

Azriel’s fork snapped in half.

You blinked at him. “You okay?”

No. No, he was not okay.

“You can’t,” he said, voice tight.

Your brows knitted together. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

“You can’t just—” He took a breath, ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t just leave. You belong here.”

You scoffed. “I belong nowhere, Azriel. That’s kind of the problem.”

He exhaled sharply. “You belong with me.”

“Excuse me?,” your expression twisted in confusion. “Why are you being so weird about this?”

Azriel exhaled sharply through his nose. He had planned to do this delicately, to ease you into it, to find the right words—

That plan was dead.

“You’re my mate.” he rasped, voice strained.

“…Okay?”

Silence.

Azriel just stared at you. His mind short-circuited so violently that his shadows actually stopped moving.

“…Okay?” he repeated, his voice an octave higher than usual.

You shifted on your seat. “Yeah? You seem really stressed about it, though.”

His eye twitched. His shadows twitched. Everything twitched.

Cauldron boil him, you had no idea what it meant.

He inhaled sharply, his wings flaring slightly. “Do you understand what that means?”

You folded your arms. “Is it, like, a fae kink? I mean, I don’t judg–” You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you look like you’re about to have an aneurysm?”

A FAE K—?

He had seen battle. He had been tortured. He had infiltrated enemy territory and survived things that would make even Cassian cry. But this? This was what was going to kill him.

“I—No,” he choked, rubbing his temples like he could physically press the stress out of his skull. “It’s not a kink. It’s a bond. The mating bond.”.

You hummed, swishing the tea in your cup thoughtfully. “Right. So, like… what does that mean, exactly?”

“You don’t know,” he whispered to himself. “You don’t know. No one told you.” He let out a breath that sounded like a mix between a groan and a whimper. “I’m going to kill Rhys.”

His shadows curled and twisted like they were also on the verge of a complete breakdown. “It means we’re soulmates. Destined. Bound by the Cauldron itself. You’re mine.”

You blinked. “I what?”

“You. Are. My. Mate,” he repeated, slower this time, as if you were a particularly dense trainee.

You tilted your head. “So… like an arranged marriage?”

Azriel made a sound that was somewhere between a snarl and a sob. His hands were shaking.

“No,” he gritted out. “It’s deeper than that.”

You frowned. “Like a super intense best friendship?”

“I—NO.”

You hear someone wheezing, barely holding their laughter in—then, moments later, a crash followed by a yelp.

You turned just in time to see a figure darting away, a blur of wings and siphons.

Cassian.

Azriel’s shadows had found him eavesdropping—and, judging by the way he stumbled, they had made sure he regretted it.

Azriel’s eye twitched. He’d deal with him later.

“Was that…? Is he okay?” you asked, glancing toward the door.

Azriel exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’ll live,” he muttered, clearly deciding that his brother’s suffering was not his current priority.

Instead, he turned back to you, inhaling deeply, speaking very slowly. “The bond ties our souls together. It means you’re meant to be with me. It’s why you feel drawn to me.”

Your face scrunched in thought. “Oh.” A pause. “I do feel really attracted to you.”

Azriel’s heart stopped. His wings tensed.

Finally. Finally, you were understanding—

“I thought it was just, you know… female hysteria.”

Azriel.exe stopped working.

You gestured vaguely. “Like, I figured I just had a stupidly big crush on you. Thought maybe it was the trauma or the near-death experience. But the mating bond? That makes so much sense.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Wow, I really thought I was just—”

Azriel inhaled sharply. Fine. If words weren’t getting through to you, maybe this would.

He reached deep into himself and gave the bond a firm tug.

You gasped. A shiver shot down your spine, warmth curling in your chest like liquid sunlight. Your breath hitched, and—Cauldron damn him—you gasped, eyes going huge and then giggled.

Azriel felt his soul crack in half.

You blinked at him, eyes wide with wonder. “Wait, what was that?!” Then, catching the look on his face—his pinched expression and the slight tension in his shoulders—, you gasped again, pointing at him accusingly. “Was that you?!”

Before he could respond, you beamed, wiggling excitedly in your seat. “Oh my gods—do that again. That tickled.”

Azriel was going to pass out. Or throw himself off a balcony. Maybe both.

“I—” He pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it nearly bruised. “You��You don’t just have a crush on me. That feeling? That’s the bond. The Cauldron literally forged us for each other.”

Your smile faltered and you squinted at him. “Are you sure?”

Azriel’s grip on reality was slipping.

“Yes.”

“…Huh.” You sipped your tea. “Neat.”

Azriel’s vision blurred. He was on the verge of blacking out.

Cassian’s laughter echoed from the hallway.

Azriel snarled. “Go away, Cassian.”

More laughter. Then a whispered, “I cannot wait to tell Rhys.”

Azriel inhaled so sharply his chest ached. He turned back to you, shadows writhing. “You do understand what this means, right?”

You smiled. “Of course I do.”

Azriel exhaled in relief.

Then—

“Anyway, as I was saying—I think I’d still like to visit the Winter Court and maybe then the beaches in Summer.” You smiled dreamily. “I could get a nice tan. A little vitamin D never hurt anyone, right?”

Azriel dropped his head onto the table so hard he thought he might develop a second brain injury to match the first one you’d unknowingly given him.

< back to general masterlist

[fireinmoonshot]

love that lasts | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: When Thanos snapped his fingers and erased half of all life from the universe, he also took you from Joaquín. Five years later, he is still trying to learn how to live without you – until the Avengers can save the world. Warnings: Google Translate is my best friend – apologies if the Spanish is used incorrectly in this fic, I do not speak it but I tried my best to make sure I used words properly. Mentions of bad mental health, nightmares. It's very angsty at the start, has a bit of fluff, but mostly full of angst. Word Count: 4.2k A/N: I rewatched Infinity War and Endgame last week and came up with this idea. Since we know that Joaquín survived the snap, I decided I wanted to write something angsty about where you didn't survive and this was born. This was the most challenging fic for Joaquín I've written so far but also the most rewarding, I think. I know everyone's really moved on from the whole Infinity War/Endgame thing regarding fics, but I really wanted to write this so I hope people will enjoy it. The title of the fic comes from 'Still' by Noah Kahan – I had his album on repeat almost the entire time I was writing this.

Joaquin Torres always knew that the Avengers were going to save the world. From the moment that half of all life on Earth had disappeared, he knew that whatever had happened, the Avengers would somehow find a way to fix things. 

He just didn’t count on it being five years later.

There had been one good thing that had come out of him not being blipped, though – the fact that his mom hadn’t been either. If he’d had to live without her, he’s sure he would have gone insane. Because it was hard enough to live without you.

He’d spent days wishing that he’d been taken too. The first few days had been the worst. He’d been unable to leave the house, having to learn to grieve you when he wasn’t even sure if you were dead or just gone. 

He remembered every moment of that first day like it was yesterday. How he’d just arrived home from going to pick up some takeout for the two of you and he’d seen his neighbour turn to dust in his front yard while he’d been outside gardening, making the most of the evening light. He thought he must have just been seeing things.

He’d walked through the front door of your home and called out your name, heading into the kitchen to put the take out down before he went to find you, feeling more than confused. Then you’d appeared in the doorway to the kitchen and Joaquin had been flooded with relief.

“I’m home, angel, I have the takeout in the kitchen, come get yours” Joaquin called, starting to get the take out from the bags. “Hey, have you seen anything weird on TV today?”

“Joaquin…”

He’d looked up at you, then, just soon enough to see you say his name as you slowly started to turn to dust in front of his eyes. The blanket that had been wrapped around your shoulders fell to a pile on the floor as Joaquin stared at where you had been standing only seconds earlier. 

“Angel?” Joaquin’s voice was small, hesitant. He put the container down that he’d been holding and walked towards the doorway, half expecting you to be hiding behind the wall, ready to jump out and scare him. It’d been a trick of the light, something like that. But all that was left of you was the blanket on the floor and your phone which had fallen on top of it.

He’d fallen to the floor, grabbing the blanket in his hands and holding it to his chest for what felt like hours as the feeling of numbness overtook him. The blanket still smelled like you and he never wanted to let it go.

Whatever was happening, whatever had happened to your neighbour and to you… there was nothing Joaquin could do about it. He wasn’t an Avenger, he wasn’t anyone special. He knew in that moment that he was going to have to live with it. That fact alone could have killed him.

His knees went numb after kneeling on the floor for so long but he couldn’t find it in himself to pull himself up from the floor. Not even when the sun finally set and the house was blanketed in darkness. The food on the counter had long gone cold. It was only when your phone, sitting in his lap, buzzed, that he’d been pulled out of his stupor. His mother was trying to ring you. She’d thought Joaquin had been taken when she couldn’t get a hold of him, but the second he answered your phone, she knew that you were gone.

Joaquin had stayed with his mother for a while after that, not being able to bring himself to be in the house without you there. There were memories of you in that house everywhere he looked. The sheets still smelled of you, all of your things were still in the cupboards, every time he opened up Netflix, your profile was there. Everything was there except for you. 

“You could always sell the house and move back home with me properly, mijo,” his mother had said. “It’s not smart to be paying your mortgage on that house when no one is living in it.”

He shook his head. “I know it’s not smart, mamá, but I just can’t. We bought that house together. We were making a life there. I can’t even bring myself to move her things, how could I sell the place and clear everything out?” 

His mother reached across the table and placed her hand over Joaquin’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Then you’ll stay here until you’re ready to go home.”

“I don’t know if it will ever really be home without her, mamá,” Joaquin said honestly, meeting her eyes. His were full of tears, as they were most days since you’d gone.

There was no hesitation as his mother stood up from the table and walked around to him, wrapping her arms around him to pull him into a hug. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “She was the love of your life. Just like your father was the love of mine. You don’t have to move on like she never existed, mijo. Time will continue to pass and she will continue to be with you, even when you cannot see her.”

Joaquin sniffed, holding his mother close as he cried. “I really love her, mamá,” he murmured, not really expecting her to hear him since his voice was so muffled.

She did, though. Gently rubbing his back, she closed her eyes and let out a long, shaky sigh. “I know you do. I loved her too, mijo. Just like she was my own,” she hummed. “Don’t lose hope. She will return to you one day, I believe that. Your soulmate will find you wherever you are, in any life.”

As the years went on, Joaquin started to believe that this was the way it was always going to be. The Avengers had not saved the world like he thought they would. And he was going to have to learn to live the rest of his life with only memories of you. Like his mother had said, time continued to pass, no matter how much he wished it wouldn’t.

The world changed. He changed. Things became darker and he became darker with them, though he desperately tried to keep the spark alive in his chest – if only because he knew that was what you’d want him to do. You would want him to still be the same Joaquin that you’d loved, but how could he be that person without you?

He threw himself into his job, working day and night to try and keep himself afloat. It seemed strange to be doing such mundane things in a world that was so different. To have to keep earning money to pay the mortgage of your house. To have to get out of bed every morning and shave. To have to make food for himself to eat during the day. To have to go to the grocery store to get milk for breakfasts and coffees.

Five years had passed slowly. Joaquin had made it through them relatively unscathed, with a few mental scars here and there. Every day he was grateful that he still had his mom. That she was there to comfort him when the days were hard and that he was still alive to be there for her as well. If she’d been alone through all of this, it would have broken Joaquin’s heart even more.

When he eventually moved back into your home, every time he cooked dinner it was like you were in the room with him. He could feel your hand on his back as he cooked, your arms around his waist as he washed the dishes. It was like you were still there with him, but then he’d blink and the memories were gone, washed down the sink with the water he drained.

He still cooked enough food for two people before realising it was only him. For a while, he could never bring himself to eat the second serving, until times got harder and he couldn’t afford to waste anything. 

He would be laying in bed at night and he could swear he could feel your arm draped across his side. He could feel the ghost of your kisses on his lips. Your side of the bed was empty every night and yet, he could never bring himself to wash the pillowcase you’d once slept on for fear of the way you smelt disappearing entirely, forcing him to lose another part of you. He couldn’t lose anymore of you.

His friends who had survived the blip had suggested that he put himself back out there. Go on a date, find someone new. There were plenty of stories of people who had gone to support groups after losing loved ones and had found new love there. The likelihood of everyone who had been blipped coming back was slim to none, so why not? But Joaquin could never bring himself to let you go. Even just thinking about going on a date with someone else filled him with guilt. People had tried to set him up on dates but he had never gone through with actually going on any of them. 

His mom was the only one who understood. Even if it meant that her baby would never be able to give her the grandchildren she’d wanted for so long, it didn’t matter to her. She had loved you like you were her own child. All she wanted was for Joaquin to be happy and for some miracle to bring you back to him so that he could be. But even she had lost hope after the past five years that anything could bring you back to him. 

And then… the Avengers saved the world.

~~~

That morning, Joaquin is sitting in a coffee shop – one that had been your favourite before you were gone. He’s missing you a little more than normal this morning and had decided that a good way to feel like he was with you would be to come out and spend time at a place you loved. He’s taking a sip of his coffee when someone suddenly appears in the chair opposite him.

Joaquin almost chokes on his drink, coughing a little as he looks at the man in front of him. He hadn’t walked in from anywhere, he hadn’t been in the coffee shop before. He’d just… appeared. What the hell was going on?

“What the…” the man says, looking around the coffee shop with a confused and haunted look in his eyes. “You’re not my wife… I was just sitting here with her… Where is Sylvia?”

Joaquin’s eyes widen. For a moment he wonders if the man is just confused, maybe there’s something wrong with him mentally and this is his way of asking Joaquin for help… but then, on the table in front of him, his phone lights up and starts to ring.

The contact photo is of you and the name on the screen is yours.

He drops his coffee, spilling a little on the table as he reaches for his phone. His hands are already starting to shake. A part of him thinks this must all be a cruel joke. Someone has broken into your house and stolen your phone, or there’s some kind of technological glitch. But another part of him, the part that is still hoping after all these years, truly believes that when he answers the phone, your voice will be the one he hears on the other end of the line. 

“Angel?” Joaquin’s voice is hopeful as he holds his phone up to his ear and presses the answer button. “Is that you?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line and Joaquin’s stomach drops. But then he hears it. “Joaquin… where are you? What’s going on?” Your voice – your voice on the other end of the line. It’s real. By some miracle, you’re home. “You were just unpacking the takeout and then…”

“Angel, just stay there, okay? I’m coming home,” Joaquin says to you, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair as he stands up. “I’m so sorry, sir. You should call your wife,” he mutters to the man still sitting on the chair opposite him, looking confused.

He takes off at a run, almost running straight into a few people walking through the door of the cafe. He doesn’t hang up the phone the entire time he’s running home, just grateful that your favourite coffee shop is within walking distance of your house. He’s grateful that he wasn’t driving – he doubts he’d be able to focus on the road properly, knowing that you’re home and waiting for him.

Joaquin runs faster than he’s ever run in his entire life. His throat hurts from his heavy breathing and the air rushing in and there’s a stitch forming on his side. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead, owing to the sweater he’d put on this morning and the pace at which he’s running. But he’s not going to stop or slow down for even a second until he gets to you.

Once he reaches your street, he pushes himself to run even faster. He can see your house in the distance and he hopes he’s not dreaming as he runs towards it. He doesn’t think he can deal with the pain of walking inside the house and not seeing you inside again. 

He’s breathing heavily as he reaches the front door, fumbling in his pocket for the key. He doesn’t even notice his neighbour in the front yard, the one he’d seen disappear five years ago, standing right where he’d disappeared, holding his wife close.

Joaquin doesn’t manage to get the key in the front door before it’s pulled open, his hands shaking too much with adrenaline. His head snaps up and his eyes fall on you, your hand on the door handle and your cheeks tear-streaked as you look at him.

“Oh, dios mío,” Joaquin mutters, instantly stepping inside the door and wrapping his arms around you. He holds you tightly to his chest, worried that you’re going to disappear from his arms for good this time. “Are you real? Are you actually here? I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming. This can’t be real.”

Your hands fist the fabric of his sweater as he holds you close. Whatever happened, you don’t really know yet, but what you do know is that Joaquin is acting like he hasn’t seen you for years. The house looks the same, you’d noticed, as you’d walked around before Joaquin came home and you heard the sound of his keys at the door. But something is off.

“I’m real, Joaquin,” you murmur into his ear. “You’re not dreaming. But I don’t know what’s going on… where did you go? You were unpacking takeout and then you were gone.”

Joaquin pulls away from the hug but still keeps his arms firmly wrapped around your waist. He can’t bring himself to let go and he fears it’s going to be that way forever now. “Angel, it’s… it’s been five years since I last saw you. Thanos… he wiped out half of all life in the universe… you were– you were gone.” Tears start to fall down Joaquin’s cheeks and he doesn’t realise until your hand moves to gently swipe them away. He leans into your palm, finding comfort in the feeling of your warm hand on his cheek. “But the Avengers… whatever they did brought you back to me. It was them, I know it must’ve been.”

He internally curses himself for ever doubting them.

“Five years?” You frown, eyebrows knotting together as you try and piece things together in your mind. For you, it had just been like you’d blinked and things had changed but for Joaquin… it had been five years. Five years without you, and yet when you’d called… he had literally come running. “I was gone for five years?”

Joaquin nods, reaching one hand up to wipe the tears from your own face. He can’t imagine how terrifying it must have been for you to come back and not find him anywhere, for you to be alone in the house. He’s more grateful than ever now that he never tried to sell the house. If you’d come back and an entire new family had been living in your house…

“They were the hardest five years of my life, angel,” he says softly. “I thought that you were gone forever.”

You look at him for a moment, a little confused. “But you still live here… you still kept my number in your phone… you– Joaquin, you came running to me when I called… what have you been doing for the last five years?”

Joaquin’s heart cracks a little in his chest. “Angel, I’ve been waiting for you.” 

With that, he can’t bring himself to maintain his self control any longer. The hand that had wiped the tears off your cheeks gently holds the back of your neck as he presses his lips to yours. You reciprocate immediately. Five years of wanting, five years of waiting for something he was sure was never going to come… a kiss five years in the making. Joaquin is surprised he was able to hold off for so long. He’s never going to take advantage of kissing you ever again. 

~~~

A little later, you and Joaquin sit on the couch in the living room. Your hands are entwined, legs tangled under a blanket in front of you. It had taken a while to pull yourselves from the doorway. You were both in a little bit of shock – Joaquin in shock that you were finally back here after five years, you in shock that you had been gone that long.

“You really never dated anyone at all in the last five years?” You ask, resting your head on his shoulder as one of his fingers draws patterns on your palm that slightly tickles. 

Joaquin looks down at you and sighs. “Believe me, my friends tried to make me. They even set up a couple of dates for me to go on, but I never went on any of them. I just couldn’t bring myself to get out the front door.”

Frowning, you look up at him. “Why not?”

“Because none of them were you, angel.”

He gives your hand a squeeze and you snuggle closer into his side. You’d been insecure in your relationship at times – five years ago – but you knew you could never be insecure about it anymore. How many other people could say their partner had waited five years for them on a sliver of hope that they’d come back after disappearing from the universe? 

In his pocket, Joaquin’s phone starts to buzz. He pulls it out of his pocket and smiles as he sees his mothers contact on the screen. “I’ve got a phone call for you, mi amor.” He hands the phone to you and his heart warms as he sees your smile upon seeing who’s calling. “I think she almost missed you more than I missed you.”

You take the phone off of Joaquin and instantly hit answer, holding the phone up to your ear. “Suegrita,” is all you say and even though Joaquin isn’t holding the phone, he can already hear his mothers cries on the other side of the line. 

He motions for you to put the call on speaker. 

“Mamá, you told me not to lose hope,” he says, taking advantage of a moment of silence from the other end of the line while his mother isn’t sobbing. He’s already planning to go and see her as soon as possible – especially when she’s like this.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of his mothers sobs on the other end of the line, and then she speaks. “You bring her home to see me soon, mijo!” She exclaims to Joaquin. “Mi querida niña, you do not understand how happy I am that you are home with your love.” Her words are directed at you now.

There are already tears streaming down your cheeks at her words. “You must have taken really good care of him these past five years for me, suegrita,” you sniff. “Thank you for looking after him when I couldn’t.”

Joaquins arm wraps around your shoulders and squeezes tightly. 

“I knew you would come home to him one day, querida,” his mom says. “Soulmates will find each other in life no matter what comes between them. I told him that years ago.”

His mother only hangs up after Joaquin promises that he’ll bring you around to see her tomorrow. You know you’re going to need to prepare yourself for plenty of hugs and kisses from her, and even though for you it’s only been a matter of weeks since you’ve seen her, it’s been five years since she saw you. It’s going to take a while to get used to that fact. 

“Mamá took good care of me, angel,” Joaquin says, rubbing his hand up and down your arm. “I don’t know what I would have done without her here. I cried in her arms more than I can count over the past five years.” 

You frown, moving until you’re straddling Joaquin’s lap and you can hug him properly. You bury your head in his neck and one of your hands moves to rest in his hair. His arms wrap around your back. “You don’t have to cry anymore, baby.”

Joaquin chuckles a little. “I think I’m probably still going to do a lot of that. I can’t make any promises, angel,” he rubs your back. “A part of me still thinks I’m dreaming. That I’m going to wake up any second and you’re going to be gone.” 

You pull away just enough so you can look him in the eyes. “I’m real, Joaquin. I’m not going anywhere. Not unless there’s some other alien out there that’s going to get rid of half all life in the universe again.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Don’t joke about that. Too soon.” 

Smiling, you lean in and touch the tip of your nose against his gently. Joaquin takes advantage of the closeness of your face to lean up and capture your lips with his. He can feel you smiling into the kiss. Maybe if he does this enough, he can make his brain realise that this is real. That you’re here in his arms, your lips on his. That against all odds, you’re home.

~~~

He knows the nightmares aren’t going to go away any time soon. They’ve been plaguing him for years at this point. He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s woken up from a dream that you were alive, or a nightmare where he had you back only to lose you again. It’s why, when he wakes up later that night, his heart racing and sweat drenching his body, that it’s not a surprise to him.

What does surprise him is that he forgets you’re here now. It’s not until he hears your soft, sleep filled voice speak his name and feels the mattress move underneath him that he spins around from where he’d moved to sit on the edge of the bed to see you. 

“Baby, are you okay?” You ask quietly.

Joaquin takes you by surprise by pretty much launching himself at you. He places a hand on your cheek, another one on your thigh. You’re sitting up, legs crossed, staring at him full of worry. 

“Baby?” You try again.

“You’re real,” Joaquin mutters. “I’m not dreaming. It’s not a nightmare.” 

You reach up a hand to rest on the one on your cheek. “It’s not a nightmare. I’m real.”

Tears fill Joaquin’s eyes again. He’s still haunted by the nightmare, one where he’d lost you again, and his brain is just sleepy enough to make him think that this is all a dream, even after trying to convince himself that it isn’t. Even after hearing your words confirm that it isn’t. 

“Please don’t leave me,” he murmurs.

You shuffle closer to him until you’re face to face, until you can feel his unsteady breaths on your face and your noses are almost touching. “I’m not going anywhere, Joaquin.”

He brushes his lips against yours softly, barely even a kiss. “Don’t leave me.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut and kiss him properly in an attempt to wake him up a little. It’s almost like he’s still in the midst of the nightmare, that he can’t manage to pull himself out of it completely. The fact that he’s had to deal with all of this alone for the past five years makes your heart hurt. 

“I’m home now, baby,” you mutter against his lips after you pull away. “I’m not leaving you. I’m home.”

Joaquin’s arms move to pull you closer to him until you’re almost sitting in his lap. “You’re home,” he says softly. 

“I’m home,” you repeat.

He takes a moment to just breathe, then. Focusing on the feeling of your hands on him, the feeling of his hands on you, trying to ground himself. You’re home. You are really home. And for the first time in five years… Joaquin finally feels like he is home too. 

[belovedenzo]

the kings of hogwarts // slytherin boys headcanons

various headcanons; appearance/style, social stance/relationships , pet peeves, favorite things, fun facts.

characters; Theodore Nott, Mattheo Riddle, Lorenzo Berkshire, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zambini, Tom Riddle

words; 3.7k

warnings; cussing, sfw other than that? I think? suggestive maybe

notes; these are all my opinions so if they aren't accurate to you that's okay! If you want more various headcanons, comment some ideas and i'll make it happen :). please enjoy! reposts, likes and comments keep me motivated to make more. thank you guys for all the love on my other stories so far!

taglist; just tagging people I like! If u don’t want to be tagged please lmk! @shyamanuensis @riddlesbunny @redeemingvillains @nottsamor @nottsbaby @nottsluvv @nottsangel @riddleswhcre @enzosbabyangel @enzoberkshiresonly-deactivated2 @nottslove @nemesyaaa @obsessedwithceleste @prythiansprincess @anawritez-posts @riddlesrizzler

Theodore Nott

appearance/style;

6ft1

broad with decent muscle tone 

light chartreuse eyes

Few scattered freckles. Iconic freckle below left eye 

Light brown hair with body

A natural kubrick stare with a twist of gentleness

Sharp incisors

innocent smiles and shy grins (it’s a stick up)

doesn’t wear a lot of jewelry- occasionally a ring on his left hand

Outside of his uniform he sticks to simple colors for his clothes- beige, black, white, tan, navy, dark brown, etc.

Definitely gold over silver 

Always wearing the nicest shoes- shoes are his favorite accessory

Watch on the right arm when it’s a fancy event because he’s left handed

Wears a lot of sweaters in the winter 

social stance/relationships;

Silent but deadly. He may not cause a fight for the thrill of it like Mattheo will, but he will support and instigate his best friends angsty behavior. His naturally sweet looking face can quickly become mincing- his main tactic of intimidating his enemies and naysayers. 

Most people think he’s meaner than he is. He actually stays mostly in his own lane if it isn’t to back up the rest of the boys or join in on chaos one of them already caused. 

They are all players, sure- but Theo is kinda mean about it. Rather heartless with his hookups and doesn’t ever keep the same one for long. Romantic feelings are something he doesn’t really feel or act on. 

May be on the more cold side with girls but keeps their personal info to himself. Even to his friends he doesn’t brag or talk about it that often. 

People who do get the opportunity of being Theo’s friend say that he is very funny and has a dark sense of humor

Comes off as a lone wolf to the rest of the school- but can also very often be seen with his best friend Mattheo

Will actually stand up for the little guy- especially if on his own. If he thinks something is unfair he will call them out

Thinks that Lorenzo is the funniest in their group but tells Mattheo it’s him to make him feel better

Let’s the boys think he isn’t totally in charge of most of their affairs

Mattheo is his best friend- he thinks he’s the coolest and gets along with him the most out of any of the boys 

Him and Enzo butt heads a lot but he does love him very much

Goes to Blaise and Tom when he needs good advice or just to vent to smart people

Finds himself feeling jealous of Draco and his ability to not give a fuck (little does he know…)

pet peeves;

While he does engage in bullying with the rest of the boys he thinks Draco goes way too far sometimes. It gets on his nerves and sometimes does say something

Love and romance in any way. If he feels like any girl is catching feelings he gets the ick and leaves sooner than he would have anyways 

Hates it when Mattheo blows cigarette smoke to close to his face even though he smokes too

Thinks Enzo brags too much about himself but has never said anything 

Also thinks Enzo can talk too much in general sometimes…

If a girl he likes seems more interested in any of his friends he gets jealous. This happens with Mattheo the most and can cause them to fight

favourite things;

Alone time- as much as he loves his friends he actually does love chill time alone sometimes

He likes parties just as much as the rest of them but for him it’s because he can get super fucked up- he’s there for the muggle weed and alcohol

Potions. Out of all his classes he actually finds making potions kind of fun- his favorite classmate to make potions with is Pansy because she’s actually good at it

More into smoking than drinking- loves muggle weed. He’s always in charge of bringing it to the their smaller get togethers

Crystal Castles- if that band existed he would love it

Spicy food

Painting- even though he thinks he’s terrible at it

Hanging out with Mattheo

Early morning hours 

Skirts on girls

fun facts;

Actually speaks Italian and some Spanish 

He can out-smoke any of the boys (yes even Mattheo)

Pansy has a huge crush on him 

He never remembers his dreams 

Has dyslexia

Mattheo Riddle

appearance/style;

5ft10

Lean but prominent muscle tone

Chocolate brown eyes 

Long eyelashes

dark brown hair- lightly curly

Dough eyes

Very charming grin- but mischievous 

Wears various bracelets and a pinky ring on his left hand constantly

Mostly dark colors. Loves jackets even when not in uniform

Mostly silver, but likes gold

There’s a few rings and bracelets that he wears the most- almost every day. They are subtle but iconic

Watch on his left arm because he’s right handed

Too scared to pierce his ears

Actually likes fashion and thinks about it when he gets ready

social stance/relationships;

Terrible reputation. Known for his rude words and tendency to get into physical fights. This has a lot of people on his enemy list

He and Draco are the worst about how they treat other people in and outside of their house. He has no respect for people that feel less than him

One of the worst players- but has a select roster he mainly goes to. They are wrapped around his pinky

Can and has felt romantic feelings but never acts on it. Hides his desire to actually love someone. Thinks that would make him too vulnerable

While Draco is egotistical- Mattheo is rude for other reasons. He’s pessimistic and does it to get attention

Secretly wants validation but continues to worsen his reputation by acting out 

Thinks Theo is the funniest and the coolest. He loves his dark sense of humor. They bounce off of eachother well 

Let’s Theo think he’s in charge but it’s so obviously him- right? (right-)

While his best friend is Theo- he is also very close with Enzo

Him and his brother Tom butt heads a lotttt, they get into a lot of disagreements. He secretly loves him a lot 

Also quite close to Draco. They can relate in some ways even if they won’t admit it

Goes to Blaise when he needs advice or even when logic needs to be talked into him

All of his friends know that he is secretly super sweet and caring but outsiders don’t and he likes it that way

pet peeves;

Tom’s lack of empathy. And his lack of interest towards getting with girls- he thinks that is odd

When Tom won’t hang out with them because of an academic reason- also thinks that is odd

When a girl stops showing interest in him in any way- or if they’ve replaced him. If it’s one of his friends he’d freak

He hates all of his friends music taste. They don’t listen to good music. He thinks very highly however of his own music taste

Tests of any kind

If any of his friends take Tom’s side during one of their fights he gets super mad and it secretly hurts him a lot

favorite things;

The smiths- he would listen to the smiths a lot and I will die on that hill

The specific brand of cigarettes he smokes daily

Quidditch- Lorenzo is his favorite team mate because he’s quick

Confrontation 

Music

Attention, positive or negative 

A total night person, especially as it gets colder

Sour candy 

Reading tragic romance stories 

Horror movies

Hanging out with Theo

fun facts;

Thinks he can out-smoke Theo (he can not)

Has really crazy dreams and a hard time sleeping 

Gets seasonal depression really bad

Hates the smell of coffee but still drinks it

Has had multiple secret real gf’s that only Theo knows about

Lorenzo Berkshire

appearance/style;

6ft4 (the tallest)

Long limbs- lean. But shockingly strong, sleeper build

Amber brown eyes

Sharp jawline

A natural Kubrick stare- mean case of resting bitch face

Dark brown hair- kept on the longer side

Shows his emotions on his face through his expressions

Likes necklaces, long ones underneath his clothes. Likes rings and earrings which he wears most of the time

Mostly gold but likes silver as well

Outside of his uniform he wears a lot of pastel colors, purple and green being his favorite. Also really likes dark purple and green. Gem tones

Watch on both arms, mixed with chunky bracelets (for fancy events)

Everyone says he had really beautiful hair and he secretly always makes sure it is (he loves his hair)

Social stance and relationships;

Known as the schools biggest whore. But in a good way?

Even though he can actually be the worst- he has a good reputation. His ability to charm and seem innocent has helped him get away with a lot of things 

Generally one of the most liked out of the boys around the whole school. People fear him least and actually really want to be friends with him

Either that or they have a huge crush on him

He comes off as much more sweet than he… can be

He uses girls very disposibley. He really makes them feel like he really likes them though. He’s great at pretending to get what he wants

All of his friends know one of the worst thing about him is his habit of lying 

Over the years girls have gotten the gist of what kind of guy he truly is but it still stays rumor around school because of how well liked he is 

Treats everyone in the group like they are his best friends- but it’s probably actually Mattheo

He knows that Theo can find him annoying but thinks that’s funny. Even does it on purpose sometimes for entertainment 

Draco is his cousin and another close friend of his but secretly envy’s him because he thinks the boys like Draco more than him

Becomes the most mischievous when with Mattheo. They can act like major dicks together

Likes to hit on girls with Blaise

Goes to Tom about school stuff he struggles with. He’s not that great with academics

While he can be cold in some ways to others- with his friends he can be quite emotional 

pet peeves;

He hates that he feels the need to be perfect all the time but never can be 

It irks him that everyone thinks Mattheo is some hooligan when he’s really not 

While he likes smoking cigarettes- he thinks they all smoke too much

He has a lower tolerance and hates that he’s always the first to be super drunk 

Waking up in the morning. Always wakes up in a terrible mood until he wakes up 

Out of any of the boys he has the most patience overall

favorite things;

Getting drunk and partying. He gets invited to everything 

Having people fawn all over him. He likes that so many people like him

Flirting with other guy’s girlfriends to piss them off

Quidditch- loves playing with Mattheo and Draco

Muggle weed. Also has the lowest tolerance with that 

Hugging Draco 

Fruit. Blueberries are his favorite 

Deftones. He’d feel so cool while listening to them 

Luna Lovegood. He thinks she’s freaky in a good way

fun facts;

Has the deepest voice out of all the boys

Can run faster than anyone else at Hogwarts

Has really bad OCD 

Out of any of the boys he is most susceptible to substance abuse. Terrible addictive personality 

He hates his family and only talks about growing up with Draco 

Draco Malfoy

appearance/style;

6ft even

White blond hair 

Striking, light blue eyes

Long and lanky. The skinniest out of them

Sharp angular features

Also has resting bitch face but on purpose 

Loves jewelry- but classy jewelry and not all the time. Mostly necklaces 

Silver and silver only

Wears a lot of dark clothing- also likes gem tones. But mostly black white and grey’s

Mostly gets comments on how blonde his hair is and how bright his eyes are. Has soul staring blue eyes

Black is his most iconically worn color fs

Watch on his left because he’s right handed. Actually wears it every day

social stance/relationships;

A total asshole. Just less physically than Mattheo. He may not pick a physical fight but he does bully a lot of people- he’s rude and intitled. Says hurtful things

Known for his high ego and over privileged personality

People don’t understand how him and Lorenzo are even related 

Does pull girls but isn’t as good as the others are at it- is filled with too much hate (lol… no actually)

Everyone wonders how he gets good grades because he never pays attention. It’s because he’s actually super smart

Him and Tom get along really well. They actually have a lot in common and hang out a lot

Blaise and Lorenzo are the ones that know more of his vulnerable and emotional side, being there since the beginning

Mattheo and him really feed off one another and are a very feared couple when together (no one is safe). They fuel each others egos 

Actually really loves Theo. Has always had an extra soft spot for him and has wished he could be him

He envy’s how cold Tom actually is. Draco hides a lot of his pain in a fake persona

He actually had real gf��s. A few long term ones even

Out of all the boys he trusted Blaise first. Lorenzo introduced them

pet peeves;

Everything? No literally- he has a very short fuse

Speaking of short fuse- his friends like to use that against him and rile him up for fun. He hates that

Being disrespected. He will actually become a Karen if he has to- no body is rude to Draco.. except his friends are rude to him all the time 

How much everyone loves his cousin Enzo but hates him. He is jealous of the attention he gets

Any time one of the guys are bragging about girls because he secretly wishes he had that many girls 

Mattheo’s fucking cigarette smoke

The fact that Tom’s grades are just a little better than his 

The fact that Mattheo and Enzo are better at quidditch than him 

Gryffindor. Just the whole houses existence

“Fucking nerds’, as he’d call them 

favourite things;

Cussing 

Writing (keeps it to himself mostly)

Mattheo’s music taste

Enzo hugs (he will die before Enzo knows this)

The Greengrass sisters (has dated both of them… wants one of them back)

The color black

Getting extremely drunk. Feeling numb and unbothered. That’s when he gets deep and real 

Cold weather- hates the heat

Pastries, especially jelly filled ones 

fun facts;

Speaks French 

Is super rich and will make sure everyone knows that

Has a weakness for cute animals 

Got mad when Tom lost his virginity before him

Is secretly bisexual

Probably bpd

Blaise Zambini

appearance/style;

6ft2 (the second tallest)

Broad and muscular but still on the lean side

Deep brown eyes

Full lips, model like features 

Great cheekbones 

Known as one of the prettiest out of the boys

Likes gold and silver 

Never wears his watch- always forgets it and loses it

Does wear earrings like all the time though

Secretly wants a nose piercing 

Wears a lot of grey and navy outside of his uniform. Looks really good in it though

Striking eyes but gentle, sweet resting face

social stance/relationships;

A good reputation like Enzo- but a bit more intimidating 

A lot of girls want him but he’s actually quite picky and doesn’t give a lot of them a chance

Gets emotional about girls more so than his friends- still doesn’t date them. Like Mattheo- has the ones he goes to the most 

Not really mean at all unless he’s joining in on his friends being dicks. Him and Enzo like to tease people together 

Sees Draco as his best friend 

Knew Enzo first

Wishes he could be as smart as Tom and goes to him a lot for school questions. Is secretly super smart though and could probably get better grades than Tom if he applied himself more

Likes to smoke with Theo the most. They get along well when they smoke together

Thinks Mattheo is the funniest 

pet peeves;

How mean Draco and Mattheo can be. He finds it pointless and rude when they go too far

When he gets lumped into some of the boys bad behavior

When Enzo and Draco get too drunk at parties. He tends to drink less because he knows they will go over board and he’ll have to take care of them 

How little the boys think about Tom sometimes and leave him behind (Tom would have said no anyways)

How much he can see through Draco’s shit sometimes 

Does a lot of damage control for his friends and that can get old

Being late to things

Losing things (loses things all the time)

Watching a friend lower their standards for a girl or guy

favorite things;

Going to quidditch games to see his friends play- always sits with Theo

Colder weather

A comfy sweater

A nicely rolled joint. Thinks Theo roles the best ones

When things are nice and calm. No body is arguing or being stupid and he doesn’t have to be mom

When his grades are good and he doesn’t have to stress about it

Watching Draco get put in his place 

Alone time with Draco and Enzo, just like their first year

Rock music. Like classic rock music- listens to it with Tom and Mattheo

Girls that wear nice perfume 

fun facts;

He wishes he could play quidditch when he watches his friends play

Can understand a small amount of Draco’s French 

Has really bad anxiety but keeps it to himself

Seems like the most put together in the group but really isn’t at all. More insecure than he lets on

Tom Riddle

appearance/style;

5ft11 (One inch that he holds over Mattheo’s head)

Major sleeper build

Green eyes. Odd shade of green that you can’t forget

Hair similar to his brothers just a little less curly 

NIce jawline

Evil and mischievous looking grin- it’s just that way naturally 

Resting plotting against you face 

Tries to have a kubrick stare but has dough eyes like Mattheo 

Would wear jewelry but nothing too flashy. A necklace maybe- one ring even

Gold and silver- mostly gold

Wears his watch on his right hand because he’s left handed. Wears it all the time 

Isn’t seen in much other than his uniform. But when he is it’s black and green anyways 

Doesn’t care for fashion. Thinks piercings and tattoos of any kind are too much

Never goes into public not dressed nice 

social stance/relationships;

Social outcast. Not the most social at all really

Extremely focused on his grades and personal writings

Is either feared or ignored by most people around him 

Does however have friends and goes out with them sometimes… when they bug him enough 

He is known for being very smart though and lots of students want his help on projects 

Quite intimidating even though he doesn’t care enough to bully anyone 

Isn’t very interested in girls… has had his fun with a few but romance and feelings don’t exist in his world- he has no time or energy for that

Has had a few crushes but would never tell anyone 

Doesn’t talk about his feelings with any of his friends 

Actually likes his brother Mattheo the most out of any of them but won’t admit that

Is also a huge fan of Theo- he thinks he’s the funniest 

Likes being around Blaise a lot too- thinks he is actually super smart

Draco and him hang out often- they have a lot in common and Draco makes the most sense to him out of all the boys 

He finds Enzo slightly annoying… he’s just gotten used to him really 

All of the boys admire Tom in an odd way and he does know that 

pet peeves;

Like Draco- Tom finds everything lame and annoying to be honest. He however is more quiet about his distaste for things unless he really hates it

Enzo’s constant talking about girls. He thinks that guy talks too much in general 

Mattheo’s temper. He thinks Mattheo needs to get it together and drop the ego

How little his friends pay attention in school… how stupid some of them can be 

Mattheo’s fucking cigarette smoke 

How much the school cares about quidditch and how Mattheo is praised about it more than he is with his academic success 

Getting super fucked up is dumb to him. Just like the flirting and hooking up- he has better things to do. He will however smoke muggle weed a little bit and does lie cigarettes

Being touched (Enzo trying to hug him)

Athletics of any kind 

favorite things; 

Writing and reading, he absolutely loves it 

Draco’s creative cussing 

Getting the best grades out of all his friends 

Watching Mattheo get angry at him and squirmy 

Chocolate, major bitter sweet tooth

Black coffee

Charms; he is really good at it 

Dueling; he is also really good at it and beats all the boys

Classical music 

Alone time and his own space 

fun facts;

He can play the piano really well. Plays mostly for Mattheo 

Practically raised Mattheo even though he’s just a year older

He doesn’t like to sleep too much

He is always the first to wake up and start his day 

He is also the first to always leave the table in the great hall

He speaks parseltongue but no body knows

Secretly overthinks a lot 

love, spell

[bull-shit-suji]

not that this is a particularly profound take but imo i think the dadbastian trope IS pretty applicable in canon if you just like. Look at it from a slightly skewed angle.

it's not that i'm coming at this in a "sebastian is gradually changing for the better and learning to empathize with and/or regard o!ciel as someone he genuinely cares for" way because, as much as that narrative is fun and angsty and Just So Happens to make sebastian a little easier to relate to, it clashes with how calculated he canonically is.

that being said! he absolutely is changing. his character arc revolves around a realization that the tactics he's comfortable using aren't good enough, and this goes wayyy beyond undertaker being two steps ahead of his "punch first, ask questions later" instinct. everything sebastian does is catalyzed by a belief that, no matter how treacherous the situation becomes, he'll be able to figure it out with little to no effort given his superiority as a supernatural entity.

ciel and sebastian's dynamic prior to emerald witch relies on this ethos. ciel has a goal and views sebastian as the sole avenue through which he can accomplish it because he's a demon. ciel feels unsafe and views sebastian as his only source of protection because he's a demon. all sebastian has to do to maintain this dynamic is be scary and generally infallible which, surprise! are natural dispositions for him.

enter BOC, in which this dynamic is challenged during ciel's initial asthma attack. this is the first time sebastian is relatively helpless to keep ciel alive - he has to defer to a human doctor because there's literally. Nothing he can do. which is then paralleled by ciel's second flair up.

there's a reason ciel's asthma is referenced again in this scene. there's a reason sebastian looks so skip-happy while carrying out ciel's order of burning that bitch to the ground. he doesn't have to question his abilities! he doesn't have to alter the dynamic! he can keep flexing his demon powers anytime shit hits the fan and ciel will always come crawling back to him.

sebastian's fatal flaw isn't just that he's muscle-brained - he's also stubbornly, willfully ignorant of his own weaknesses. sure, he was completely useless in preventing ciel's asthma back at the circus, but that's fine, who cares! he gets to fall back on his strengths and ignore how powerless he actually was.

welcome to BOA! for context, prior to this arc, sebastian rarely, if ever let ciel see him expending any kind of effort, i.e. he's in a constant battle with the servants to keep the manor from descending into chaos and purposefully tries to hide it. this isn't just a butler aesthetics thing, it's also an "I'm a demon and everything is easy for me" thing, to the extent that sebastian continues attempting to uphold his unflappable demeanor when he's quite literally on the verge of collapsing.

sebastian's tactics aren't all that's challenged in BOA - his entire persona gets irreparably damaged. ciel sees him be outsmarted. ciel sees him injured and genuinely struggling to keep the former safe. this should be very bad news for their dynamic;

except, it isn't.

ciel responds so positively that it makes sebastian Yapper Of The Century michaelis momentarily speechless! he then immediately tells ciel to cut that shit out, thus deferring once again to a dynamic that's rapidly crumbling before his eyes and ignoring how effective his accidental appeal to pathos was in retaining and even strengthening ciel's attachment to him.

which leads me to emerald witch, aka the cataclysm for sebastian's change. on top of undertaker being a constant, underlying threat to his food, sebastian ONCE AGAIN has to deal with said food's delicate mortality.

obviously, sebastian is all out of sorts, but his expressions / the way he's framed when he's alone (or not being perceived) absolutely floor me. he looks genuinely distressed after speaking to the other servants. he's drawn in these bird's-eye and wide-shot views while in the forest, creating an isolated, pensive atmosphere and illustrating him (a big, bad demon) as nothing short of small.

he's conflicted. which is weird, right? this isn't the first time his food has gotten sick. moreover, ciel isn't in any active danger - he's having a PTSD response. sebastian is not stupid, he knows this, and should be either confidently reminding ciel of the power he wields or threatening to eat him right then and there; and yet! he waits multiple days before reverting to these (historically effective!!) responses.

it's not just that he's a picky eater - this is sebastian, for the first time in the series, recognizing how fragile ciel's attachment to him is. he's doubting himself. his food no longer views him as its only source of safety, has rejected him, and it's entirely due to sebastian's own negligence.

he's been ignoring his weaknesses. he's been reliant on ciel looking past multiple instances of helplessness in light of how terrified the kid is and how powerful sebastian makes him feel. it's not a coincidence that ciel's near-death experience was exacerbated by sebastian disregarding the former's symptoms to go beat up a werewolf (leaving him ALONE in a foreign, SUPPOSEDLY CURSED castle) until those symptoms, literally, hit him in the face.

it doesn't matter how incapacitated ciel is - sebastian's presence should be enough to calm him, and it isn't, and it's his fault.

this is where sebastian really starts to change. (mind you, the chapter following ciel's initial rejection is titled "That Butler, Change", so do with that what you will.) though we aren't told this explicitly, i think he looks to instances wherein something other than fear drove ciel's attachment (BOA), as well as to the only person ciel would let near him while panicked (finnian, who ciel appears to be closest with amongst the servants and was projecting onto out of grief for his twin). he dials back on the demon vibes. he slowly begins altering his rhetoric.

enter blue cult!

remember what i said about sebastian not wanting ciel to see him struggle? to be cognizant of his weaknesses? as much as the situation was largely out of his control, it's interesting that sebastian allowed his expression to convey upset given that he views emotion of any kind as a weakness.

this isn't to say his sulking isn't genuine - i like to think his clinical narcissist brain was about to pop at the mere thought of not being praised; but! when put in context with his nature, his façade, how every single thing he does is calculated, especially around ciel, this Wildly out-of-character expression gains a new meaning.

another example after ciel returns from getting his blood thieved:

two things: one, sebastian is learning! he almost verbatim references his mistake in emerald witch, meaning he had to have acknowledged it between then and now. two, he does this verbally, explicitly, thereby allowing ciel to witness his panic AND be made aware that sebastian is capable of failure. he could have marched back into the music hall and wrangled the s4. he could have said "ah shit, that's not good, let's go find a doctor". instead, he rambles on about how this is all his fault to a degree that's so excessive it's kind of comical.

and you know what! i don't believe a goddamn word of it. it is so significant that he immediately switches gears after his instinctual big-scary-demon reaction. the sebastian we knew at the beginning of the manga would NEVER let ciel think he was genuinely upset or flawed to the extent of endangering his charge, as that would directly contradict ciel's perception of him as perfect, strong, and safe.

sebastian is thus playing on the dynamic shift that occurred in BOA: he is encouraging ciel to view him as a (rarely!) imperfect being who is struggling to maintain a façade. as someone willing to go to the ends of the earth for him, to care for him, to defy his nature for him, because there are now far too many factors beyond his control to rely on fear alone.

honestly? it's a masterful execution. sebastian's tweaks to his persona are subtle: he gets a little sillier, he offers more praise (under the guise of banter), he tries to make ciel feel bad for "leashing" him.

(i wasn't going to include these panels but. dude. the way he backtracks after the initial comparison between himself and elizabeth only to start pontificating about what the "heart" wants. that is such a purposefully dual-ended rhetoric and insane to hear from mr. evil personified.)

he even displays an artfully-skewed version of grief upon finding angi's body (again, that emotion might have been somewhat genuine, but it feels intentional that he chose to express it with ciel in the room) to foster belief that he is capable of like. Caring for people?

circling back to forces beyond sebastian's control, here are two examples of sebastian's reaction to r!ciel's return:

oh BABY. "neither you nor my love are real"?

on-the-nose dialogue aside, sebastian's expression between these panels had me stumped for years. it would make sense for him to convey sympathy to convince ciel of said "love", HOWEVER it's odd that he would continue to do this despite not actively being perceived while in the carriage. something about this feels a little too genuine - especially considering how he's visibly tweaking throughout all of r!ciel's reveal chapters. as much as looking distressed/concerned is likely a conscious decision, i don't think he's fabricating the emotion entirely.

which leads me to: why does sebastian feel the need to alter the dynamic? sure, it was precarious at best and ran the risk of ciel not liking his pet demon all that much, but there's no imminent danger in that. ciel needs sebastian to achieve his revenge and sebastian has made himself out to be the only dependable, constant person amidst ciel's friends/family inevitably leaving him, AND has a trump card of total autonomy over ciel's soul.

... unless, of course, one of the family members he'd lost miraculously came back from the dead, the exact family member sebastian had eaten right in front of him, and was attached at the hip to a creature familiar with sebastian's flaws far before the demon was ever aware of them, that has proved itself more than capable of killing him.

oh he's concerned alright; there is a very real chance that ciel might back out of the contract. he's forgone his revenge before while in a similar trauma-induced headspace; only, this time, sebastian would be powerless to stop him. in truth, at any point since BOA, his meal could have run off to undertaker and there would have been shit all he could do about it. sebastian was slow to acknowledge this, granted, but up until EW there had been virtually no reason for ciel to do something like that.

now there are reasons. and girl, not only is sebastian concerned, i think he's a little scared.

he's functionally lost all ground in keeping ciel dependent on him. it's no longer enough for ciel to regard sebastian as a maliciously convenient product of circumstance - he has to form some other connection.

so, sebastian blurs the line between servant and guardian. he plays on associations he'd established in the past: nagging over ciel's health, taking over his studies, complimenting him, disciplining him, crafting his own form to look remarkably similar to vincent (and no, i don't consider this an instance of same-face-syndrome, look at their bangs. tell me that's not intentional). choices once made out of cruelty, out of a desire to worsen ciel's emotional turmoil, now repurposed to convince him of a devoted, endearingly-demonic parental figure and hoping this will be enough should there come a time wherein ciel is given a choice between two blasphemous falsifications of his family.

sebastian pivots hard. he avoids relying on his supernatural abilities unless absolutely necessary, despite countless opportunities to do so, to the extent where you almost forget he's not human. he does not leave ciel's side. he lets himself appear dirty and exhausted. he allows ciel to see how uncertain he feels, how helpless he is, knowing the true reason will be lost in translation because ciel is a child, and no matter how conscious that child is of sebastian's nature, he will instinctively revert to seeking out a parent.

the whole "butler aesthetics" shtick flies right out the window at the end of 147. i cannot physically articulate how improper it would be for a servant to grab his master's face and scold him. in front of company. you know who does that? a parent. this is straight up panic on sebastian's part. he is willing to run the risk of acting uncouth in order to brand those fatherly associations right onto ciel's underdeveloped frontal lobe.

and. and this might just be speculation. but.

it's working.

i cannot think of a single goddamn reason for ciel to do this. you wanna know something? his excuse is complete horseshit. sebastian is dressed as a butler, something passengers in a first class train compartment would recognize instantly. even his undercover persona of a valet wouldn't warrant tea with an aristocrat. as much as i'd like to believe ciel is in on the charade, i can't find any evidence nor does it seem realistic that he, a child, would fully grasp that level of manipulation, regardless of how mature he acts.

oh, hey, sebastian's being a little cryptic with that snowfall line. i bet it's completely random and he's never made weather-themed references in any of the prior arcs!

this is. One page. after ciel tells him to take a day off in BOA. he is directly referencing the first time he was made aware of how effective a disingenuous father-son relationship could be.

in BOA, he appears slightly ruffled by the dynamic shift, as this endangered the status quo. in the train car, he's absolutely ecstatic. look at him! that's his "I Just Manipulated This Preteen Sooo Good" face. he looks like an animal. he looks like he's about to turn into a werewolf and jump for joy.

tl;dr: dadbastian is actually so insanely viable, but not in the way you'd think. sebastian in undoubtedly changing, but this isn't an accident or a product of him learning to love or care in any capacity. he is perpetrating the illusion of change, of personal growth in a creature that cannot posses a real identity, thereby humanizing himself in ciel's eyes to keep his food from slipping out of his grasp and it's working so unbelievably well that he's managed to fool a good number of kuro's readers too.

[casscainmainly]

Do you think Cass believes in Steph? When Bruce was being all “stop hanging out with Steph, she’ll never be like us”, Cass listened to him but she was clearly conflicted.

This is an interesting question! It kind of depends on what you mean by 'believe in'. If you mean whether Cass believes in Steph's fighting abilities, the answer depends on what era we're talking about. Modern era, particularly Batgirls '22 onwards, I'd say Cass definitely believes in Steph:

Batgirls (2022) #4

Modern Steph-Cass is defined by a deep implicit trust in each other, and Cass acknowledges that Steph is strong. They're also sharing the Batgirl mantle, and Cass associates Batgirl with strength of all kinds, moral and physical. So safe to say Cass believes in Steph now.

Handing Steph the Batgirl mantle in Batgirl (2009) can be seen as a sign of belief too (and Steph herself takes it that way). The BIG caveat, of course, is that Bruce ordered Cass to give Steph the mantle. Bruce, as usual, complicates things - though I think part of Cass believed Steph would do well, it's tangled up in her grief and loyalty to Bruce. I'd classify this era as 'Cass does believe in Stephanie, but not wholeheartedly and if they had let Cass and Steph interact properly it would've been angsty'.

Then we get to the era you're talking about, which is Steph-Cass at its messiest. The issue you're referring to, Batgirl (2000) #38, does feature Cass going against Bruce's orders to hang out with Stephanie. They play rooftop tag, and when Steph misses a jump, Cass demonstrates for her and encourages her to try again:

And Steph makes the jump without Cass' help! Cass believes in Steph's tenacity and ability to overcome obstacles, otherwise she wouldn't have made Stephanie try again.

But it's important to note that, while Cass believes in Steph's strengths, that doesn't necessarily mean she believes in Steph's vigilante/fighting abilities. Cass forces Steph to stay on the roof while she fights some gangs, and when Steph enters the fight she knocks her out and drags her away. Then we get this moment:

Cass bluntly and unhesitatingly sides with Bruce here. She values Steph, and knows that Steph has strengths she does not possess, but she does not believe Steph will ever be on her and Bruce's level. This moment of betrayal will haunt the rest of their interactions until Steph's death.

I honestly think Cass' conflict at the beginning of the issue is less to do with her disagreeing that Steph's "not like [Cass]," and more to do with her enjoying Steph's company. In fact, Cass only agrees to hang out with Steph when she frames it as "play[ing]." Cass does not seriously try to refute Bruce's dismissal of Steph at all.

It leads to this really heartbreaking scene in Batgirl (2000) #55. Just look at Steph's expression :((((. Cass genuinely loves and cares for Stephanie, but she also contributed to the generally hostile atmosphere Steph faced at the time. I think here Cass just wants to keep Steph safe, but that doesn't negate how Steph is receiving this, nor the fact that Cass straight up told her before that she believes in Bruce's perception of her.

This thread is not really picked up on after Stephanie's death, and Steph in Cass' death hallucinations tends to be very idealised. Long story short, I think at the beginning Cass didn't believe in Steph fully, but after her death this changes and now she believes in Stephanie with all her heart. But because of Steph's death/the lack of a Steph-Cass reunion, there's a lot of gaps in this process. I think Brombal might (hopefully) pick up on all this though if Steph appears again in Batgirl (2024)!!

[theseinfernalangels]

Need You Now - Brennan Sorrengail

Synopsis: The thing about surviving near-death experiences is that you’ll always remember them vividly. For you and Brennan, unfortunately, that’s just about every other night.

(WARNING for night terror-esque flashbacks and something akin to a panic attack from both characters. Take care of yourselves, lovelies.)

A/N: Finally something for our Lieutenant Colonel! Sorry it had to be kinda angsty, but I made a list of ideas for myself and this is just something that I feel like writing right now. I am a Brennan girl 4 lyfe.

Running. Running is all you can do. All you can afford. In this place, with these people, the only way to keep yourself alive is to run.

Blood roars in your ears, runs down your arms, but moves what feels so sluggishly through your veins. It’s not natural. You’re running faster than the wind can blow, but your heart ceases to beat. That shouldn’t be possible. None of this should be possible. You glance down before pausing in your steps entirely.

You cannot feel the blood rushing through your veins, you realize, because all of it is gushing from a gaping, gorey wound in your stomach, the red essence seeping into your flight leathers like a rising tide and drowning your senses.

Your mouth doesn’t move, but you hear a high-pitched shriek ring through your ears followed by a feral roar that echoes throughout your mind.

“Saintly One!”

Falling. All you feel is yourself falling, falling, falling into a pit of inky darkness as your senses are choked and wrung with a coppery, metallic scent.

There’s blood. So much blood. All you can see, smell, taste is –

Your thoughts are cut off by another ear-splitting roar.

“Wake up, Saintly One!”

It’s dark. It is so very dark, but it is not black. It’s wine-red, the color of –

“He needs you now! Awaken!”

He needs you now —

He needs you now —

He needs you now.

 ⋆｡°✩

You jerk awake with a sharp gasp, your lungs heaving and gulping down the air they so desperately need. Sweat drips down your brow, and your trembling hands flit around for something to grab hold of – someone to grab hold of.

Brennan. You need Brennan.

You flip yourself over, searching frantically for the familiar head of russet curls that graces the pillow next to yours every night. Of course, he is right next to you, but he too is twitching restlessly in his sleep.

He needs you now, too.

You watch as Brennan lets out a small whimper of pain and fear – so much unlike the man you’re now used to. That sound can only mean one thing, though: He’s reliving the Battle of Aretia for the thousandth time, up to the moment where he’d gone completely limp and pale as death in your arms.

Your heart races, and you feel tears burning at your waterline, but you’re used to this routine now after so many nights of mutual terror. You suck in a breath, hold it for a moment or two, and then exhale shakily.

“Bren,” you whisper faintly. “Brennan. Wake up.”

The trembling man does not stir, but his quiet whimpers increase to hushed murmurs of nonsense. Your heart twists at the sight. During his waking hours, Brennan is the strongest man you’ve ever seen, both in body and in spirit. He’s an absolute powerhouse, but when he’s at the mercy of his own memory…You feel like you’re watching a child hiding from a thunderstorm.

“Brennan,” you try again, a little louder. You reach a still-shaky hand over to his panicked form; you hesitate for a moment, your hand paused mid-motion above his body. You don’t want to scare him further, but you know after years of this that a simple call of his name most likely won’t work.

You suck in another breath, hold it, exhale, and lightly trace a finger over one of his biceps. “Brennan.”

Immediately, he jolts upright with a sound that sounds like a choked scream and whips towards you, hackles raised and eyes narrowed as if he’s staring in the face of an enemy. You slowly withdraw your hand and keep your gaze level with his stern look, fear clouding the edges of his irises.

“It’s just me,” you whisper, your voice still quivering from the sheer intensity of your own nightmare. “Just another stupid dream again.”

You both stare at each other for a few more moments, your chests heaving in an uncanny rhythm that has almost been perfected with the amount of times this very situation has happened. Brennan blinks a few times, his eyes slightly glazed and unfocused.

“It’s just me,” you coax him, slowly opening your arms to show him that you’re unarmed and safe. “Just me, love. You’re safe, Bren. You’re alive.”

A few more beats pass before his form deflates and he sighs softly, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looks back down at you, still sprawled on the bed, before slowly lowering himself into your arms. His head comes to rest silently right next to yours. You tuck yourself into him and run your thumb up and down his forearm.

“Easy,” you murmur. “Breathe. In four, hold four, out four, remember? You wanna do that with me?”

His eyes struggle to find yours for a second, but he eventually succeeds and nods once. His fingers clumsily clasp yours, and the next ten minutes consist of the two of you tangled in each other, finding your lost breath and grounding the both of you back into reality.

Some time passes before he finally speaks, his voice hoarse from disuse. “C’mere, angel.” He lightly grasps your waist and hoists your body on top of his, wrapping his strong arms around you and tucking your face into his chest. Your ear rests right on top of his heart, which still pounds furiously, but not enough to frighten you. His calloused fingers dip into your hair, running through the strands absentmindedly. It grounds the both of you at once; your weight presses into him, and his fingers rub against your scalp in a way that seems unnecessarily gentle.

It doesn’t take any words between the two of you to know that both of you had the same recurring dreams as usual. Brennan takes a few more seconds to breathe before he speaks again.

“How long were you awake before I woke up?”

Your eyes feel heavy, so you shut them without protest. You focus on his slowed breathing for a second before you respond.

“Maybe a minute or two. Couldn’t tell.”

He swears softly under his breath before you feel yourself moving again, your body sliding against his until your head is by his shoulder. His lips, slightly dry from dehydration, brush against your temple lightly.

“”M sorry, angel,” he soothes you, rubbing little figure-eights into your back. “You alright? No pain?”

When the nightmares first started, you’d sworn to him that you could feel the phantom pain of a knife in your gut where the original wound had been, even though it was Mended not long after you’d received it. Brennan, the sweetheart, would always press his hand to your stomach to show you that there was no wound to heal – no wound at all, save for a jagged scar on your abs.

You make a small sound of disapproval. “No, I…” You falter when you taste something warm and metallic in your mouth, a faint sting throbbing at your mouth. You freeze, eyes snapping wide open. 

Blood. All you can see, smell, taste is –

Your panicked thoughts are cut off once more when Brennan’s hand sweeps under your chin, his fingers brushing against your skin as he lifts you out of the crook of his neck. His amber eyes meet yours again, and then soften once he glances at your mouth.

“Oh, angel,” he sighs, swiping his thumb against your lips. You feel a warm sensation flow through you before the sting ceases. You’d bitten your lip open, you realize; probably sometime during your nightmare, trying to muffle your terrified noises out of pure habit. And your boyfriend, like the good man he was, Mended it for you.

You dab at your mouth lightly, your arm now smeared with a dark, coppery stain. “...Thanks.”

You lay back down; you barely pay any mind to the blood in your mouth as Brennan resumes his previous ministrations to calm your racing heart. The two of you go quiet again. For such a terrifying night, this has honestly been one of the more okay scenarios. You wince as you remember the night a few months ago where Brennan had coaxed you awake, and you responded by punching him in the face.

“It is better to remember the humorous times over the scariest ones,” you hear your dragon, Sciath, rumble softly. “I apologize for rousing you so abruptly, Saintly One.”

You make a little noise in return. “No,” you reply, “I’m glad you did. I’d rather have one of us awake to get the other out, you know?”

You pause. “I’m sorry if I woke you up, Sciath.”

The dragon makes a little motherly tutting noise. “Come now,” she chides. “We’ve gone over this. It is not your fault any more than it is the Restored One’s. I was awake, anyway.”

Brennan’s fingers graze your waist. “Sciath?”

You hum in confirmation. “Yep. Marbh?”

He shakes his head. “Bastard is still asleep. I think he’s used to me by now.”

You laugh softly, grateful for a less-than-frightened moment among all this chaos. “That makes two of us.”

A beat. Four beats. Eight.

Brennan hums and smooths your hair over with a practiced palm. “No talking about it?”         You sigh, dipping your head further into his neck. “Nope.”

You can almost hear him smile. “Got it.”

There’s no use in talking about what went on in both of your minds. The two of you had woken up like this so many times that it became easier to guess what you both were dreaming about, what you relived constantly in your memory.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to fall back asleep,” you mumble. You feel absolutely exhausted, and you feel sluggish, but there’s no way for you to fall back asleep so easily when all you can see when you close your eyes is red, red, red.

“Me either,” he murmurs, his breath hitting your temple. “You just wanna lay here for a bit, angel? See what’s going on outside later?”

You nod. “I’d like that.”

You’d trade a lot to never have to live like this; to wake up screaming, drenched in sweat, writhing in pain that doesn’t even exist while your boyfriend does the same right next to you.

You would not, however, trade anything for the way he holds you – strong and tight against his chest, heartbeat now strong and steady, his fingers sinking into your hair like it’s second nature – not for the world, and then some.

[endofthelinegang]

OMG CAN U PLEASE MAKE A MEGA ANGSTY FINAL BOSS BUCKY BARNES FICTION? One that’ll leave me digging my own grave wanting to rip out my sore and red eyes.

SO BASICALLY, Bucky and reader had a misunderstanding, and there’s this random ass woman who’s feeding more into Bucky’s brain which makes reader look like the bad person and they have these arguments and stuff like that and its TOTALLY UP TO U how u wanna finish it

(im rlly sry if this doesnt make any sense english isnt my first language so😭😭)

this is a marvel blog so i guess we all cry in the club

The first time Bucky raises his voice at you, it feels like the earth cracking open beneath your feet.

"You lied to me."

The accusation slices through the air, sharp as a blade. Your breath stutters and the world tilts slightly. "Bucky, I didn’t—"

"Don’t." His voice is raw, frayed at the edges, and it hurts—because it’s him, because there was a time when that voice never held anything but warmth for you. He paces the dimly lit apartment, his fingers raking through his hair, his shoulders coiled so tight you think he might snap in two. "Victoria told me everything."

Victoria.

You feel sick. Your stomach churns violently, nausea clawing up your throat. Of course, her. The woman who has been poisoning him against you, one drop at a time, until doubt seeped into his very bones. You had felt the shift, subtle at first—small hesitations, a slight pullback when he used to press closer. The way he started questioning your words, looking at you just a little too long, like he was searching for something he never used to doubt.

"And you believe her?" you ask, quiet but firm, though your voice trembles at the edges.

Bucky scoffs a humorless, broken sound. "She has no reason to lie."

A sharp, bitter laugh forces its way out of you. "Are you serious? She has every reason to lie. She wants—"

"You." His voice is lower this time, almost a whisper, but it crashes over you like a thunderclap. "She says you’re the one lying. That you’ve been working against me this entire time. That you were seen—"

He hesitates like the words physically pain him.

"That you were seen meeting with people who want me dead. That you’ve been feeding them information."

You stare at him, stunned into silence. The sheer absurdity of it makes your head spin.

"Bucky, listen to yourself!" you plead, stepping forward, but he takes a step back as if your touch might burn him. "That’s insane. You know I would never—"

"I don’t know," he cuts you off, voice splintering under the weight of it all. "Because she had proof."

The words knock the air from your lungs. "What proof?"

He swallows hard. "Pictures. Of you. In places, you shouldn't have been. With people who should be our enemies."

A cold, sinking realization slams into you. Altered. Doctored. Staged.

"You think I would betray you? Me?" Your voice cracks, because it isn’t just about his doubt—it’s about the fact that it took so little for him to believe it.

His silence is louder than any response he could have given.

Tears sting your eyes, blurring his face, but you refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him.

"You don’t trust me," you whisper, and it’s not a question. It’s the truth, ugly and brutal.

Bucky exhales sharply, his lips parting like he wants to say something, anything, but no words come. His silence is your answer.

And it destroys you.

Because what do you have, if not trust? Bucky was never the man with a safety net, never the man who had a home to return to. He had you. You were the one who sat with him through the worst nights when the ghosts of his past curled around his throat like a noose. You were the one who washed the blood from his hands, who touched him like he was more than just a weapon. You were the one who reminded him he was human.

And now, he looks at you like you’re just another ghost haunting him.

You think back to the first time you saw Victoria lingering too close, the way she smiled just a little too sweetly, the way her hand would linger on Bucky’s arm for a second too long. You had tried to push down the unease and told yourself that Bucky wouldn’t be so easily swayed. That he knew you.

But now, standing here in the wreckage of what was once unshakable, you realize how foolish you had been.

"You don’t even realize what she’s doing to you," you murmur, voice hoarse. "She’s manipulating you, Bucky. This isn’t you talking. This is—"

"Don’t." His voice is sharp, cutting through your plea like a blade. "Just stop."

"You don’t even see it, do you?" Your frustration boils over, spilling out in raw, desperate words. "I was the one who stayed. I was the one who picked up your pieces every time you fell apart. I stood by you when you couldn’t even stand by yourself, and the second someone whispers in your ear that I might not be perfect, you throw me away?"

Bucky's jaw clenches, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "It’s not that simple."

"Yes, it is!" you cry. "You were supposed to know me. You were supposed to believe in me! If you ever really loved me, even for a second, you’d know—"

"Don’t." His voice breaks, and for a moment, you see it—the war inside him, the battle between the man he wants to be and the fear that’s consuming him whole. "Don’t say that."

But it’s too late.

The words are already there between you, heavy and suffocating.

"I don’t know what she told you," you say, voice shaking despite your best efforts, "but if you can’t see me—really see me—after everything, then I don’t know what else to say."

Bucky looks like he wants to reach for you. Like he wants to take it all back. But he doesn’t. And that’s worse than if he had just let you walk away without a second glance.

The space between you stretches impossibly wide, an ocean of unspoken words and shattered trust. It’s drowning you both, but only one of you is trying to swim.

Finally, he exhales, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me the truth."

You lift your chin, forcing yourself to meet his gaze even though it hurts. "I already did. But you don’t believe me."

And then, before he can say anything else—before he can break you more—you turn and walk away.

And this time, you don’t look back.

Because if you do, you won’t survive it.

[steviewashere]

What if Max is brought to the hospital and Steve is carrying her. But immediately after she gets treatment, Steve is taken in as a suspect for her condition because people in town know he's athletic and could possibly have the strength to do something like this.

Just hear me out.

They know that he's been in fights with Billy Hargrove before. They've seen Steve around town with Max before, in Family Video, at Scoops Ahoy, just in his car.

And though they want to keep the blame on Eddie (y'know whole Satanic Panic thing), it's also really easy to blame Steve because of how off-putting, athletic, and constantly beat up/getting himself into trouble he is.

His parents may have given money to certain campaigns or projects around town before, but that doesn't mean he's completely dissolved of suspicion. His dad won't pay for a good lawyer, even when they finally get a hold of him, because this is a lesson for Steve, too. That if he gets himself in messes like this, then he deserves nothing from his parents, he has to figure out how to fend for himself. That he's [Steve's] "no longer a son of mine". Because unfortunately, Steve's dad knows his track record, too. All the constant fights. The medical bills. Even found the nail bat one day.

Anyway. Just a really angsty AU where Steve is blamed for the murders instead.

Oh...and what if instead of Chrissy meeting up with Eddie that night, Chrissy is found dead at the high school instead? It wouldn't immediately get the suspicion off of Eddie—y'know with Hellfire, but also maybe Chrissy had a note on her person from Eddie about when to meet him. However, Steve was seen at the basketball game that night. He was seen going to the bathroom at one point a little bit after the game. Wrong place wrong time.

Eddie still finds her (maybe Chrissy went to the wrong bathroom before she left campus) and he freaks out and flees, but somebody else comes across her minutes later.

I don't know, this is very off the beaten path of the show, just major continuity errors left and right. But listen, it's a fun idea.

Oooo or maybe they think Eddie and Steve are working together?

Anyway.

Eventually, Eddie is somehow able to prove his innocence. But Steve gets the spotlight instead. So now he has to come up with a way—to build a story that paints Steve away from the crime. Even if that means taking the blame instead. Even if that means admitting to a crime he did not commit. Because he's all like, "Steve's too good for this town to rot here. He's meant to make it somewhere. My family's been in the gutter for years, they already tried to figure me. It'd just make sense. It just has to make sense."

Cue the angst of Steve finding out the sacrifice Eddie's taking this time. Of him fighting Eddie on it. That he can't just throw away his life for somebody like Steve, who in his own words says, "I'm some washed-up asshole. Let them think it's me. Get out of here."

Them butting heads until they get Hopper involved and somehow, eventually, the blame is put on Jason instead. Because his connections make sense, too. Also his whole religious freakout connects him—some sort of mental break.

I'm not convincing anybody that this would make sense as a story. But it makes sense...to me.

[newlondohollow]

Sooooo i finally gathered enough energy to post, and guess what will good ol me post about? NATURALLYYYY an obscure ass character i got hyperfixated on. because that's what normal people do. of course. Only this time it's not dark souls, so that's new!!

Enormous yapping sesh below this world-healing fanart by xemnas178!

I LOVE JOACHIM ARMSTER FROM CASTLEVANIA LAMENT OF INNOCENCE SO MUCH IM GONNA SOB I LOVE HIM IMEIUEIFJWUSYYWGD.

He's an example of how ergodic or semi ergodic literature (which i adore) can AND WILL make you briefly look at a character and go "aight cool" only to then gently nudge you into having the most shocking, boom vine sfx requiring, life altering, soul shattering series of realizations.

So, we learn from the official art book that Joachim was Walter's lieutenant, and that he was quote "lured" by him with the promise of eternal life. Joachim then tried to usurp Walter, which backfired awfully, and he now lies imprisoned in the Palace of Dark Waterfalls. Eventually Leon Belmont gets to him and Joachim acts all cool and cocky only to miserably die (as a bossfight i found him way easier than most of the other orb bosses).

That's pretty bland at first glance isn't it? Just your average foolish, prideful, comedic relief prick right? No, not at all. Here we go analyzing:

Joachim's model has a very young-looking face, looking even younger than Leon himself, and he also acts quite angsty teen like in his dialogues, which already adds something more to him.

The real kicker is that the devs left in the game a window to access the sounds (someone here on Tumblr made a post about it!) and they all have their little comments below them; Joachim's OST's comment reads:

"Melancholy Joachim

It's dangerous to be holding a knife, Joachim. Perhaps he is still just mentally young"

That post I mentioned commented perfectly on the "Melancholy Joachim" bit so I won't repeat what they said, I will instead focus on the two sentences that follow.

The first sentence sounds condescending, sarcastic, or alternatively it sounds like something you would tell a child. Perhaps it allegorically references Joachim's attempt at usurping Walter, and this sentence would be something Walter himself would tell him mockingly.

Meanwhile the second sentence seems like a repetition of "Joachim acts like a child" but the presence of the word "still" has us know that he doesn't just act like a teenager, he is one.

Or better said, he was one when Walter turned him, as we can presume by looking at his official art here (more yapping below it) that he's been in that cell for a WHILE.

However, his mental development was stunted by such egregious traumatic experiences, and thus he has the mind (and sort of looks) of a teenager.

All this certainly makes his character a lot more tragic, and now we can't even fault him for having been tempted by eternal life because, as old as he was, he probably didn't even understand the scale of the situation he was in, and what he was being offered.

We also know that Joachim, this goddam fucking teenager, was Walter's lieutenant. That fuckass ginger cunt had a teenager lead armies. ARMIES. ARMIES OF DEMONIC CREATURES BY THE WAY. Children being used in war is nothing alien to history of course, but obviously it still is undeniably very wrong and cruel both here and irl.

Nevertheless, could it be that Joachim, a child soldier burdened with leadership of an army of demons, wished to usurp Walter not for mere power lust, but to put an end to his tyranny over the land (and over Joachim himself)?

The man's character design doesn't strike me as overly evil either, in fact he has white-silver hair and a blue tunic, both white and blue are colors associated with purity, innocence (lament of innocence mention) and a noble spirit, it is no coincidence Soma and Hector follow the same color scheme.

It is also very worth noting that Walter had an entire smithing area, way more fit to hold a jail, but still chose to lock Joachim in a cave surrounded by water.

Friendly reminder that water is acidic to vampires, so Walter had this poor soul taken here with the specific intention of reminding him that if he were to somehow escape the cave itself, the water all over the place wouldn't let him get much further, also the cave is dark as all fuck, so that's fun.

In the art up there Joachim is clutching a knight's skull, almost as if he's lamenting the knight's death, even tho he is more than likely the one who killed him.

He's also seen letting the knight's blood drop to his hand, which reminds us that the only food he had available were the people coming to try to murder him. The very same cocky knights that perhaps, the first times they showed up, he excitedly hoped to befriend and help, but was always shocked, let down and hurt when they would attempt to kill him for the mere crime of being a vampire.

And about that, one can very much imagine that he heavily regretted having become one, and, to cope, his teenage brain gradually made him feel superior to humans because he was a vampire, so that he wouldnt feel hurt anymore when inevitably every human that came his way showed him no compassion.

Joachim clearly reached a point of complete distrust and spite for any human that arrives, which is why he is so dismissive and aggressive to Leon, whom at first showed no ill intent. He's also clearly gone insane, and still wishes to have revenge on Walter (which he gets to do if you play the game as him, which is something at least).

As a finisher I'd like to add that Walter and Joachim are an older, darker version of Dracula and Hector (if that manga about them is canon).

Yeah ok good lord above i yapped a lot.

I will now go eep, thanks to everyone who read all the way to here!

[witherby]

Something about the a/b/o au for punchline make it stick in my brain SO MUCH like every time you post something relating to it I am SAT

Well pop a squat babey, here's some more abo!punchline thoughts!

⚠️ it's very angsty! Mentions of child abuse, human experimentation, and attempted suicide ⚠️

Punchline doesn't have a problem with anything done to her unless someone tries to take the collar off. Then her eyes get real wide, her pupils shrink to pinpricks, and her smiling mouth flattens into a straight line. Not a frown, but the closest possible thing to it. Anybody touching the collar or actively attempting to remove it gets treated to ear-piercing screams as she bunches into a ball. Her hands shield it and she hunches her shoulders as tight as possible while she does this, and she doesn't stop until you leave the vicinity. The Batfamily quickly understands that any lessons they try to teach fly out the window if any of them make a move towards it.

Because Punchline was forcibly experimented on until she presented Omega way too early in life (done so that Joker didn't have to contend with an Alpha in need of an attitude adjustment), she experiences irregular heats. They can last anywhere from a couple hours to a week. She's practically catatonic as she becomes delirious and lost to fever.

She mistakes Jason for another Alpha at first. His stature is so big and his scent is so bitter that Punchline doesn't pick up on his caste. So when he grouches off-handedly to Tim that she's "probably so fucked up in the dome that she'd be better off dead," she only hesitates for a few seconds before obediently asking, "what method of suicide should this omega use, Alpha?"

Jason, thinking she's just being mouthy, snaps at her to get creative. That turns out to be a Very Bad Move when she finds the giant penny in the cave and decides that getting squished by it is a pretty creative way to go.

Jason is subsequently banned from being near her for a while as everybody else does damage control. The minute he's allowed to help supervise again, the very first thing he does is apologize.

Damian teaches her how to identify certain things through scent. Emotions being pushed through, how to tell when someone is in heat or rut, the most effective way to scent things, etc. Because of this, she learns to trust him just a tad more than the others, especially because they're both Omegas.

The next time Bruce gets mad or frustrated, Punchline then positions herself in front of Damian to take whatever punishment she thought he might get instead. It's both incredibly sweet and heartbreaking.

[prettyboykatsuki]

finding out that this Caleb guy is actually an asshole outside of his sister is so fucking funny because I always see him being written as such a loverboy!! I don’t play lads but I assumed he was sweet and maybe a little edgy in an angsty way but no, he just sucks lol

WELL IT WASNT ALWAYS LIKE THAT IN HIS DEFENSE SKJDFSJ?

and i think in most settings he is like. okay to be around. but at least in our current canon he is known as a very cold, ruthless fleet officer and generally does not have a good reputation with peers. additionally he failed a psych eval and is pretty much affirmed to be hanging on by a thread. i would argue that he's very good at being fake pleasant and amiable but he's always had a sort of darkness to it - even before the Incident that made him the way he is now.

but tbh even before its true that he really has no interest in anyone except mc. he's not as outwardly idgaf when they're younger - and i think hes a lot warmer then but he's mostly doing all of that for mcs sake so he can maintain his good reputaiton. in the end though i think caleb at all points is like. basically all about her

[youhideastar]

hello!!! First I love love love your stories. I have read pretty much all of them and my faves like 10x. I’m currently obsessed with Concord, which I’ve read at least 20-30x times in the last few months. I really, really love the angst in Concord—the pain is so deep and real and felt, but they aren’t trying to be cruel to each other. I wonder if you have any recs for fics that feel the same way to you? Or fics that inspired you? I love good angst and would love any recs from you. No pressure and if you can’t think of anything but come up with something in six months, it’s an always open ask :) thank you again for sharing your writing with us. HNY!

Thank you so, so much for the kind words, and for the ask! I love the opportunity to rec some of my angsty favorites. 😄 (I'm keeping this to just The Untamed/MDZS but lmk if you want other fandoms as well.)

The Right to Care by @travelingneuritis: you cannot go wrong with any of travelingneuritis's work (shoutout also to when the sun goes out and In Imitation of Life), but this fic in particular has those Concord-esque "the relationship is the plot" and "everyone is trying and everything still hurts" aspects. It's a modern AU where, as the summary has it, "Rising young musician Lan Zhan and underpaid babysitter Wei Ying fall for each other hard." Also check out pentimento by orange_crushed - very similar vibes.

Discomfort, Revisited by @existentially-yibo: another great angsty modern AU, with a super cool flashback structure (and, bonus, great Chicago sense of place) and a Wei Ying who believes his whole life should be about other people.

keraunography by spookykingdomstarlight: a Pacific Rim fusion, also with a cool flashback structure, really brutally angsty with Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian each blaming himself for the horrible thing that tore them apart.

half agony, half hope by @queenklu: a Persuasion AU, with all the smothered yearning and long-nursed emotional wounds that a Persuasion AU should rightfully have. "Five years after their broken engagement, now widowed with a child, Wei Wuxian must navigate the re-entry of Captain Lan Wangji into his life." Sticks the landing, too, after more than 100,000 words, which is NOT easy to do.

the lantern by the door by Lirelyn: modern AU zhanchengxian, which, you know, if you want really juicy angst, that is a ship that's hard to beat. Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng figure out how to make their rough edges fit together after Wei Ying dies--and then each assume, when he turns out to be alive, that the other person will choose him over them. Outstanding. (shoutout also to this author's say it's here where our pieces fall into place, a wangxian kidfic modern AU that hurts sooooo good)

These Things Stay the Same by notevenyou: Modern AU where WWX is in a train crash after switching seats with Mo Xuanyu - WWX survives in a coma but everyone, including Lan Wangji, thinks he's dead. After he wakes up, he tries to figure out if his loved ones' lives still have a place for him. (They do, but it's a painful process.)

Enjoy!!

[mischievous-piltovan]

The Undying Oath (NSFW)

Chapter 5: In Dim Carcosa (SFW)

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader navigates troubled waters. The Herald is no longer Viktor, he’s merely wearing her late lover’s visage. Yet, she can’t leave him - the guilt of her past betrayal and her duty to the denizens of Zaun keep her bound to the Emberlift Alley Workshop. But not all is lost.

A/N: I had the outline for a way longer chapter, but the more I worked on top of it, the longer it became. So I decided to chop it off in two chapters. Bad news: this might be a harder read, a bit morose with no immediate pay-off. The good news: the next chapter is gonna come much quicker since I not only already have an outline, I also have it fairly written. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this one. 

Warnings: Major Character Death. Loss of a loved one. He came back wrong. Angsty. War.

Word Count: 5.2K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 (In Progress)

Also on AO3

Somewhere far away, embedded deep into the veil of the Cosmos, the stars were cackling. At least, they must have been. Because whatever the celestials had planned for her was undoubtedly a joke. And a bad one at that.

After the fiasco that was their moment of intimacy, Viktor explained the origin of his lack of feelings. The procedure Dr. Raveck performed - a mixture of open-chest surgery and chemical infusion -, although resulting in his successful recovery, came with a side-effect: the complete removal of his capacity to feel.

“And what about all this metal?” She asked, motioning at his artificial limbs. “Was this the Doctor too?”

“No, these are my doing,” Viktor responded calmly. “I got rid of the hexcorized tissues in favor of parts I had control over.” 

Yet, the cosmic punchline was in the bittersweetness of it all.

There was no doubt in her mind that she was glad Viktor was alive. A part of her was thrilled to be by his side again, to be able to watch him use his intellectual prowess to aid those in need. Like he always dreamed of. After all those months beside him, watching him decay bit by bit every day. After mourning his loss for weeks, engulfed in guilt imagining his last days all alone. This opportunity to be with him again felt like a blessing.

But something wasn't right, he wasn't right. He miraculously came back from the dead. But he came back wrong. 

Viktor was not the man she loved anymore, just an echo of who he once was. An uncanny simulacrum, not completely different, but an ill-imitation of the original.

Like a song she knew by heart, but every now and then he changed the lyrics, sang off-key, outpaced the tempo. In every exchange, every act, no matter how mundane, something was always frustratingly wrong.

It was in the way he walked, still impaired and aided by a cane, but it lacked the grace of before, being replaced by an almost robotic stride. It was in the way he was built, still thin with long and lanky limbs, but he was now rigid, standing artificially straight. It was in the way he spoke, with his still low and accented voice, but with a new dull lint of his speech, tempered and softened, lacking the once alluring sharp edges 

And all of it seemed to mock her. 

In this new form, Viktor was both her persecutor and warden - his very presence tormented her, made her acutely aware of her love for his old self and the fact he was forever gone. But it also kept her in place, for she couldn't leave him. She had no right to.

Not when she had done it once already. Not when he needed her help again. She just had to endure, to bear the cross of her own mistakes in spite of her feelings. And so she did.

—--

Luckily, he kept his mask on throughout the day, blocking out the world from his remaining humanity, and unknowingly shielding her from excess torment, albeit a little. In his full herald garb, the girl could pretend he was someone else entirely, his accented voice was the only hint of his old self, and even that was attenuated by the modulation of the mask.

She started to use his metallic veneer as a tool to help her envision him as someone else entirely. While masked, he wasn't her once fianceé Viktor, but the transhumanist scientist known as the Herald. By clinging to the difference on these labels, she was able to keep some semblance of sanity.

The schedule around the Emberlift Alley Workshop was divided in three blocks. The mornings were  designated for new patients, people whose issues were yet to be assessed and properly diagnosed. It was also when Viktor took their measurements in order to build them their prosthesis. Around noon came those whose synthetic limbs were already built and just had to be attached, as well as those in need of maintenance. The evenings were devoted to building the prosthesis based on the measurements taken in the morning. She only needed to be present for the afternoon appointments, when her healing was necessary.

And she'd take every opportunity available to not be present in the same room as him. To avoid unnecessary feelings and ruminations from clouding her mind. To keep her focus on her work.

Instead of remaining idle, she started to organize the rest of the house bit by bit during her free time, trying to bring back some of the home aspect to the place. The busy work kept her from dwelling on the stalemate, preventing her from spiraling into dark thoughts. The people of Zaun needed her in topnotch condition, there wasn't room to come undone. Viktor didn't comment on it, but noticed the effort - the organized space brought him further clarity of mind.

One evening as she was sweeping the floor in the living-room, a familiar voice called her name from behind her. It belonged to Ralph.

“Long time no see, Ralph!” She greeted him, turning around. “Are you here for mainte- what's all that?”

Ralph grinned as he approached her, a small wooden crate in his arms filled to the brim with… Junk?

“It's material for the prostheses!”

“No offense, but,” her hand delicately plucked a corroded rusty screw from the crate, rolling it between her index finger and her thumb. “I don't think these can be used.”

Before Ralph could respond, an accented modular voice rang from behind them.

“They can,” its sound alone sent a shiver down her spine, inching her dangerously close to the precipice of her own mind. “Ralph brought these for me at my request.”

That day she learned just how Viktor was able to keep providing people with prosthetic limbs even under the shortage of resources the conflict between the two cities was causing.

Stricken by curiosity, she followed him as he took the crate down to the workshop below. He placed it on the desk next to the HexCore, its pulsating cold light casting ghastly flickering shadows over the stone walls of the basement. She watched as the Herald pressed various keys on the machinery the HexCore sat atop before the runic matrix reacted, spinning faster than before. Her breathing hitched when an energy beam erupted from the core, elevating the material from the crate and amalgamating its contents together - sorting it by material, no less. In the next moment, all the contents inside the crate were gone, and sheets of different types of material rested on the desk next to it.

An almost inaudible ‘amazing’ escaped from her lips. She swore the Herald chuckled before continuing.

“Those I've helped come bearing whatever form of scraps they find as a show of gratitude,” he explains. “Although the sentiment is unnecessary, the gesture allows me to help more people in the long run.”

Ralph is one of those who often visits with scraps, and in the days that follow is the one person tethering her to some semblance of lucidity. Whenever he comes, he makes sure to stay a while, a warm smile always on his face.

“Your situation is so unique, I'm not sure I have the words necessary to help you,” Ralph relented during one of his visits. They both sat across from each other at the recently uncluttered dinner table. “But I need to encourage you to cut yourself some slack.”

A chuckle escaped her lips.

“I cut myself some slack when I betrayed his trust, didnt I?,” she murmured with a long exhale. “I don't think I should be allowed to do so ever again.”

Ralph rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly in mock annoyance.

“You know what, you actually shouldn't. You are the worst person to ever step foot in Runeterra, and your sins could never be forgiven,” he conceded, looking away from her. “For instance, leaving your gilded life in Piltover to come to the Fissures just because you refused to build weapons to be used against us. What a crime.”

She arched an eyebrow in a knowing look. “Ralph…”

“Not to mention all the years in the Academy, fighting to bring positive change to the Undercity!” He turned back to her, crossing his arms. “And spending all her energy healing our sick after getting her shiny new arm? What a monster!”

His words held good intentions, but failed to truly reach her. Every moment interacted with Viktor was a dire reminder of her mistakes, a memento of her subsequent loss, and an omen of her guilt.

She woke up one day in the middle of the night in full alert. Sitting up on the bed and quickly scanning her surroundings proved there was nothing to worry about, it was just another rough night for a troubled mind. On instinct, her eyes landed on the bed on the other side of the room, and she was graced with Viktor's sleeping form.

It was a rare sight, one she subconsciously tried avoiding by opting to always go to bed before him. The Herald had a habit to stay up late tinkering away at the workshop downstairs, which gave her ample time to get ready for bed and be fast asleep before he was even in the room. The last thing she needed was being further damaged by the sight of him stripped down from his Herald form to something more akin to the man she once knew.

And that was the right call, because seeing him now with his face bare, lips slightly parted, and a peaceful look on his face was… Blissfully painful. 

And dangerously magnetic.

Her limbs moved on their own as she slowly rose from her bed, tiptoeing her way to his side, eyes locked on him, committing this Viktor to mind as much as possible. She sat on the floor next to his bed, resting her head over one arm atop the mattress. 

She watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The same sharp jaw, now framed by metal, the thin cracked lips, moles dotting the area above his upper lip, just under his eye, and the twins at the side of his neck.

This was not the Herald. This was Viktor. 

Her eyes landed on his hand closest to her and she dared to snake her marbled hand towards it, stopping right before touching it. One marbled pinky curled around his and something akin to elation blossomed inside her chest. 

Her eyes fluttered close. In the dark behind her eyelids, she could almost pretend they were back at their shared bedroom in Piltover. His scent and the ongoing soft sounds of his breathing lulled her into a false sense of security, and before she could do anything, sleep claimed her.

When next she woke, the clarity of the day lit up the room from the window. Lifting her head up from her arms, she winced as the stiffness of her neck made itself known. Massaging the region, her eyes searched for Viktor but found an unsurprisingly empty bed.

With a groan, she rose to her feet while mentally chastising herself for falling asleep on the floor. Not to mention having Viktor waking up to her sleeping creepily at his side like an obsessed lunatic. She dreaded what he'll have to say about it.

A glance at her own bed proved she wouldn't have to wait to find out. On top of the mattress rested a vial - filled with a clear liquid she recognized as the calming concoction Viktor offered upon their first meeting - and a note. She picked it up and read it ‘Drink it whenever you feel restless’.

Apart from that, he never mentioned that night again. And she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

—--

The day she dreaded came earlier than anticipated. After nudging a frame on the wall to the side and back, rotating it ever so slightly clockwise and counterclockwise for the ninth time, she exhaled in resignation - the frame was fine as it was the first time, she was merely stalling. Stalling from recognizing her work was done, the whole house had been thoroughly organized. 

Which meant her only excuse to be absent from the workshop outside of the afternoon hours was no more. 

She exhaled once more, trying to weigh her options. On one hand, she could keep on being present only when the prosthesis were being attached, she'd just have to find other things to do around the workshop in the meantime - sitting idly with her thoughts was an easy way to slip into spiraling. There was the option of going out and finding purpose somewhere else, maybe going back to the Firelights Hideout to be a part-time inhouse healer. But then again, there was a conflict happening out there, and exposing herself to being caught by enforcers or in the crossfire of a shooting just because she didn't want to spend more time with the Herald than necessary was… Stupid. On the other hand, being present during assessment could prove useful - getting to know the patients and their woes beforehand could give her more insights and perhaps make her work better. She could even heal them beforehand in case they had wounds still open, or even aid them with stuff completely unrelated to the prosthesis whatsoever.

She glanced at the wall clock and felt a chill run down her spine - it was still mid-morning. She could do this, couldn't she? They say consistent exposure to a trigger tends to dull its effects on a person. She already spends a lot of time in his presence daily, a little more couldn't make such a big difference. Let's not think about the different circumstances each part of the day schedule entailed, with the afternoon time being more busy work and her being able to ignore Viktor's presence entirely, while the morning period would consist of observing and learning on her part. Just. Don't. Think. About. It.

With a resolute exhale, before resolve could escape her, she patted the remainders of dust off of her clothes and made her way down to the basement.

Viktor was sitting at the HexCore desk, noting something down on a parchment paper. She fought the icicle in the pit of her stomach signaling her to run.

“Greetings, sit on the table. I'll be there in a moment” he spoke without facing her, the orange glow of his mask kept firmly at the paper before him.

“No, uhm… it's actually me” She greeted shyly. He turned to her upon hearing her response.

“Oh,” he interjected. “There's still a couple hours before the afternoon appointments start.”

“I know, it's just… “ She could feel her resolve faltering, but pressed on nonetheless. “I was thinking about being present during the morning assessments as well, to learn of your methods and perhaps lending a helping hand where I could.”

A pause befall the two and suddenly the air was thicker. Her eyes kept away from him, fixated in the glow of the rune matrix beside him. The icicle in the pit of her stomach evolved into a dagger and was risking becoming a sword each second that passed between them. 

She started deliberating being torn asunder from the inside or just bolting out of the door, not to set foot in the workshop again, when Viktor spoke. “I believe your contributions could be valuable. You may stay.”

Before she could respond, the creaking of the wooden stairs behind them announced the arrival of a patient. She turned around and was greeted with a familiar face.

“Hey, Miss Architect! Long time no see!” A middle-aged man with an athletic build and thinning gray hair stood leaning on a crutch, his left leg missing from the knee down.

“Yo-you're Wenn, right? The courier?” Memories of the countless times she visited the Undercity for data gathering flooded her mind, his face a constant presence. But once the words left her mouth, her eyes did a double take at his missing limb. “Oh… “

“Yeah, I know… “ Wenn jested coily. “But Mister Herald here is gonna make me all good, isn't he?”

“Correct,” Viktor agreed curtly. “Please sit on the table so I can get your measurements.”

Wenn did as commanded while Viktor prepared the tools. The girl stood by the HexCore desk, crossing her arms. “So, what happened to you?”

“Same as everyone else, Enforcers,” Wenn answered nonchalantly. “Was doing my rounds in a permitted area and was still met with a landmine. I was darn lucky it only got my leg.”

“Please, hold still.” Viktor’s robotic voice cut through. 

“I wish I could say a mine buried in a permitted area surprised me, but I'd be lying…“ she commented dryly. Enforcers brutality against Zaunites was already a well-known reality often overlooked by the Piltovan state, but ever since the conflict broke out, it felt like it had been cranked up to eleven. The Enforcers filled Zaun with barricades and checkpoints, stipulating permitted areas for passage. Unfortunately, it looked like they didn't keep the bombs solemnly in prohibited territory.

“Tell me about it… “ Wenn sighed. “This whole situation was bad enough before, my radius of operation had shrunk significantly because of it, losing my leg was the cherry on top of this shitcake.”

“We'll solve that part at least.” She assured him.

Viktor turned around and was about to rise from his chair when she stopped him. “I can note down his measurements for you.”

“That would be helpful, I appreciate it.” Viktor acknowledged it, turning back to Wenn after informing her the number. 

The girl diligently grabbed a pen on the desk and started writing down what Viktor was telling her when something grabbed her attention - the schematics she was scribbling on. Something was off, the schematics was for a standard prosthesis, something that he usually builds for the common folk. A courier like Wenn, who spends his whole day on foot, walking around the uneven stone pathways of Zaun needed something more sturdy, with more padding. Viktor certainly had something like that designed, didn't he?

“Is this the right schematic?” She prodded. 

“It's the leg one, correct?” He retorted.

“it is.”

“Then it is correct.”

Did Viktor really only have one-size-fits all for each single prosthesis? 

She shook her head slightly, brows knitted as the gears turned inside her head. She could see where Viktor was coming from, by working with standard models he could attend to a larger number of people in less time. Tailoring each design individually was simply not time-efficient, despite the boost in quality for each piece. Not to mention, to most people the standard design would suffice. 

But how about these edge cases such as Wenn's? If they give him the standard module, he'd be back in two weeks or less for maintenance, or replacement altogether. Sure, they'd be making his life better, but only slightly. Wouldn't this be considered inefficient?

Her eyes traveled back to Viktor, and something clicked. Viktor and Jayce were brilliant scientists whose sharp minds worked meticulously to solve complex problems. But she noticed early on in their partnership that they more often than not lacked the ability to perceive what the problems were in the first place. 

“We were analyzing some of your data and we came across the fact that the average commute time for those who come topside to work varies from two to three hours during rush,” Jayce began, running his index over the papers in front of him. It had been a couple of months since the partnership between the Undercity Development Section and the HexTech Research Division began, the Ventilation System project was already underway. The pair of scientists had pulled the architect aside as soon as she arrived at the lab that morning, seemingly eager to show her how serious they were. At least that's the vibe she was getting from Jayce. “And we were brainstorming some ideas for a faster and more robust Public Transportation System using HexTech.”

Jayce rolled out a parchment paper in front of them with a map of the Undercity. On top of it, he placed a translucent sheet of butter paper. Then, he grabbed a marker and started sketching on top of it. The girl leaned in closer.

“We noticed that the existing lift's engine is rather old, and demanded that the ascension was done as horizontally as possible,” Viktor chimed in as his partner sketched. Her eyes met his golden ones for a brief second before  returning to the paper before them in a fluster. She was still digesting why the leaner scientist had such an effect on her. “This resulted in a longer route between the Undercity Terminal and the Topside Terminal. And that in itself already largely adds to the commute time. So we moved the whole system to a location in which the distance between the terminals is the shortest, since building the new lift vertically is not a problem anymore.”

She studied Jayce's croquis on the translucent paper for a second, before calmly bringing her index finger to it and tapping on a location on the map. “This district right here has historically been formed by people who go to work Topside. It grew organically around the terminal,” she spoke calmly. “These are the people we'd be affecting by tackling this problem. If we move the system to the other side, even if technologically and logistically seems more efficient, we're failing to address the practical effect of such a change.”

She took a marker from Jayce and began scribbling on the paper as she spoke.

“Nowadays, the people start gathering at the Terminal around 4 am. They leave their houses and are promptly met with a line to get to the lift,” she wrote down ‘4 am’ and ‘house -> terminal’. “If we move the system here, all these people would have to find a way to go from their houses to the terminal, adding time and fatigue to the commute. Especially to those carrying wares, goods and tools with them. We'd need to address that.”

She finished writing down all points on the paper, before setting the pen aside. Then, she leaned back where she sat, meeting the scientist's gaze. “Your plan might be the most efficient time-wise, but it wouldn't be solving the problem. I'd suggest building the new system near that district, even if that means sacrificing some of its efficiency. The problem was not simply shortening travel time between Topside and the Undercity, but rather bringing more quality to the existing commute.”

She sighed at the memory, a little twinge of longing constricting her chest. She quickly shook it off, this wasn't the time for sentimentality. Her gaze lingered on the schematics a bit, before turning to the Herald with newfound resolution. If the goal was to aid the people of Zaun, then the magic in her marbled arm was not the only tool at her disposal. She needed to address his methods as an academic peer.

When Wenn left the Workshop, she pounced without hesitation.

“He's gonna be back here in need of maintenance in a couple of days,” she spat, looking down at the schematics.

The Herald stopped in his tracks. She felt the glow of his eyes on her, but didn’t turn to him. “How would you know that?”

“Didn't you hear? He's a courier,” she retorted. “The exertion of his line of work is bound to damage the structure of the prosthesis. Rather quickly even, I'd wager.”

The Herald didn't respond right away. Instead, he slowly made his way to her side. His focus on the schematics in front of her.

“In the assessments, are you taking into consideration the lives of who you help?”

“I don't pry much outside of the measurements,” he stated calmly, almost in a whisper. “I see what you are suggesting, but working with a template is far more efficient than tailoring each piece individually.”

“I don't disagree with that on a theoretical level, but do we have data on returning patients? Those with need for maintenance or replacement altogether?”

The Herald paused. “No.”

She finally turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Then we don't know at what rate we're helping new people compared to returning ones,” she concluded. “Nor do we have data regarding what caused certain types of damage in returning patient's prosthesis, I presume?”

Another beat. “Correct.”

The silence lingered between them. She kept her eyes on him expectantly. With the mask, it was impossible to read him. 

“I was focused solemnly in helping the largest number of people in the most efficient way possible,” he stated finally. “I failed to acknowledge those points.”

Although spoken in a dull, flattened manner, his words spoke of regret. She could almost hear Viktor instead of the Herald. Her hand reached for the metal on his shoulder on instinct.

“You were doing what you thought best,” her words were soft. “Besides, it doesn't matter how big that brain of yours is. You're still a single person who tasked himself with this gargantuar endeavor of helping the people of Zaun. Something was bound to slip past you.”

He finally faced her and she thanked the gods for his mask. She'd unravel where she stood if she was to meet his face bare at this proximity. She quickly cleared her throat.

“I was thinking we could pinpoint the most prominent use cases and expand our line of templates,” she proposed. “That way we avoid having to tailor each prosthesis we make from scratch while also addressing the issue at hand. It's not perfect, but I believe it's a good improvement. I might not have the documents here, but I have some information of the average Zaunite jobs and occupation as well as geological differences from when I worked at the UDS.”

“Perhaps I've… forgotten the benefits of intellectual collaboration,” the Herald contemplated. “That is a truly elegant solution.”

“Glad I could help, I'll jot down the information I can recall and I'll get you the notes later,” she responded, taking a step back. “I'll go get some water before the afternoon patients start rolling in.”

In truth, she needed some breather from the whole interaction. The Herald was dangerously close to becoming Viktor and she couldn't allow herself to spiral. She was at the foot of the staircase when the Herald spoke again.

“I was hoping you would join me later tonight so we can design the new templates,” he proposed. “Work together, as we once did.”

She froze in place, her back turned to him. Her marbled arm pulsated with warmth with the rhythm of her heartbeat. The interval between them getting shorter as his words registered. She was already pushing her limits by taking the morning assessments with him, - doubling the amount of time she spent in his presence - and that alone was already taking its toll. Working with him at night would triple it. She couldn't possibly do it.

“Yeah, I think that's reasonable.”

Her words betrayed her. 

—--

If she was asked to describe at least one of the patients that passed through the workshop that afternoon, she wouldn't be able to do it. She went through the motions absentmindedly, completely engulfed inside her own mind, dreading the last third of the day. 

Why would she agree to his proposal? Was it another facet of the guilt she felt at his betrayal? Was it the sense of duty to the Zaunites in need? Was a product of the self-loathing she harbored throughout all the months she believed he was dead? Was it a combination of all of that?

Or better yet, was it a foolish hope of rekindling something between them through intellectually collaborating on a project, like it happened the first time? Even though he is not capable of feeling anymore?

Whatever the reason behind it was, her fate was sealed. 

Despite that, she still took all means necessary to stall her return to the basement. As soon as the last afternoon patient was gone, she excused herself to freshen up. After splashing water on her face more times than necessary, she made a quick detour to the kitchen to brew some coffee. Only then, holding a mug in each hand, did she finally make her way back down.

She found the Herald where she left him - sitting in front of his desk, bathed in the purplish glow of the HexCore. With a long exhale, she made her way towards him.

“Here, unbearably sweet,” she said, placing one of the coffee mugs in front of him. “Just the way you like it.’

The Herald turned to her and her heart sank when golden pupils swimming in dark scleras met her gaze. She had failed to notice his metal mask sitting next to the core on the desk. 

“Thank you, although I’d rather have it black,” Viktor spoke in his own accented voice. “Sugar adds nothing but empty calories.”

This was still the Herald. He was just wearing Viktor's skin. 

She stood rigidly beside him, putting as much distance from him as possible at the current setting. She kept her eyes low, opting to focus on the schematics in front of him instead of his face. But the space between them felt heavy, his very presence pulled her in and pushed her away simultaneously. It made the coffee she sipped go down like sandpaper. This was not going to work.

“You spoke earlier of information on the average jobs and occupations of the denizens of Zaun,” the Herald spoke without looking at her.

“Ah,” She gasped, snapping out of her thoughts. “That's right.” 

Her eyes quickly scanned the desk, spotting a blank piece of paper and dragging it to the space between them. Next, she grabbed a pen, uncapped it, and leaned the tip onto the paper. “Okay, so this is what I remember.”

She started narrating everything she could recollect, annotating it as she went. She scrambled her brain for information, and for each piece recalled, the neural path to the next one unfolded. In her head she could picture the Zaun of another time, when it still was simply known as Piltover's Undercity. The hum of the machinery and pipework vastly drowned out by the cacophony of everyday life. The thick air laced with the smells of the fishery, combined with the fumes of the factories and the sickly-sweet aroma of chemicals. The brief amounts of sunlight hitting the underground at noon when the sun was at its zenith, passing through like an eclipse. The neon artificial lights flooding the streets for the remainder of the day. 

Each new canvas her mind painted brought forth a description of how the citizens lived, how each human was a product of their environment. And how they molded it and were molded by it. 

It was chaos. Flawed. In dire need of quality for its resident’s life. But oh, so beautiful.

“I have forgotten how elucidative you could be when explaining your craft,” the Herald's voice brought her back to reality. The dim light of the Workshop felt more oppressive as her surroundings came back into focus. 

“I uh- Thank you,” she responded sheepishly. 

“I am serious. My mind is already brimming with a handful of design solutions from your explanation alone,” he continued. “Although I believe it is rather late and I’d like to let those ideas simmer down as I sleep.”

“Late?” She glanced at the wall clock and silently gasped. No less than three hours had passed since she began her lecture. Any semblance of the worries from before, gone. 

Maybe this could work after all.

-----

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 (In Progress)

Also on AO3

[supercritters]

Matthew Murdock - Daredevil

Second part of a requested character :)

Daredevil gives me "grim bird" energy, he's always lurking around church windows and on rooftops looking angsty

I decided on a vulture because they have very heavy associations with death and also vigilance, in the way that Daredevil is a constant protector of Hell's Kitchen

Also, lawyers are often disparagingly called vultures!

I picked the red-headed vulture specifically because it has a cool appearance, and I liked the play on words with Daredevil's red costume

The pose I drew ended up a little goofy, but this blog is mostly a way for me to practice anatomy while having some fun so I don't mind. It kind of makes him look like he's threat displaying

The fact that I made Daredevil a bird in my wings-and-no-arms style, but he also uses a pair of billyclubs to fight, conjures a beatiful image to me of him having to constantly be in the air holding them with his feet. Maybe he just grabs people in his talons and death spirals them

[ssentimentals]

Hiii!! I hope you're having a wonderful day when you read this~

Idk if you're still doing requests, but can I request 42. True Love's Kiss with Seungkwan? Even better if reader & seungkwan are in denial about loving each other but they kiss to break a curse and so it's like angsty and passionate bdjdjdkdkdk (like, the type where you lean your forehead against them after the kiss and dive in again sjskskks)

Please and thank you 🫶🏻

hiii, anon! thank you, so sweet! i'm having a wonderful day and i hope you are too, thank you for requesting :')

prompt: 'true love's kiss/breaking a curse'

'it says only true love's kiss can break the barrier,' you read out loud, sighing. 'well, shit.'

only you and seungkwan could be this lucky to stumble into that stupid trap. part of you wants to blame him for being so distracting, but you should've been on alert too; anyways, trying to figure out who's to blame here won't help the issue. and the issue at hand is huge - the barrier looks thin enough from the outside, but it glows in green, indicating that it's fully spell bound. while you were trying to translate everything what's written on the walls of the cave, seungkwan tried pretty much every single spell imaginable and nothing worked.

'i tried everything,' seungkwan mutters, confirming your thoughts. 'it's so weird it is to create a barrier like that.'

'we've seen weirder,' you say, shrugging.

seungkwan nods. you and him saw so much weirder stuff from all the time you went on missions together that this is hardly tops it all. however, this one is definitely the most uncomfortable one. seungkwan glances at you, trying to gauge your reaction. what are you thinking about it? true love's kiss thing? do you even believe in true love? seungkwan himself is not sure; he tries to think of a time when he's been in love and he can't really think of something. when he tries to think of love he sees... seungkwan swallows. he sees you smiling at him, when he did something good. he sees you laughing at one of his jokes. he sees you sleeping soundly on his shoulder, murmuring something in your sleep. he sees you dancing with no care in the world, radiating happiness and joy. is it strange than he sees you, when he thinks of love? seungkwan shakes his head. it can't be what he thinks it is. or... can it?

'i can't think of any counter spell,' you say, frowning. 'what else can we try to ruin this barrier?'

'the spell itself.'

'hm?' you turn to him questioningly. 'what do you mean?'

'i mean we can try the spell,' seungkwans explains patiently, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. 'the true love's kiss.'

you tilt your head to the side, confused. 'it's only us here, seungkwan.'

seungkwan is aware. he is very aware of it, too aware probably. but what if- 'we don't have much choice, right?' seungkwan tries to play it off. 'we can just try and see. what if it works out?'

you look at him like he's crazy. seungkwan thinks he might be crazy if he sees you when he thinks of love, but what if? this what if itches inside his skin like nothing else. slowly to not spook you, he inches closer to you. 'cause like, it's just a kiss, right?'

'just a kiss,' you repeat, frozen at your place. your eyes never leave his and something in them makes seungkwan step even closer. 'seungkwan...'

'yes?' he breathes out, standing so close that your barely there flowery perfume fills his nostrils. he gently cradles your face in his hands, noticing how you swallow hard. it's good to know that he's not the only one who's nervous. 'if it doesn't work out then it's just a kiss.'

'and if it does?'

seungkwan answers with a kiss. it's tentative at first, just a press of lips against each other. and then you open your mouth and seungkwan is not strong enough to not dig in. he can't help it - kissing you is a whole another experience on its own. the sounds you make, the way you taste, the way you respond - seungkwan kisses you with everything he has and you kiss back the same. he pulls back to breathe, resting his forehead against yours.

'seungk-' you start but he kisses you again. it's too good to stop but then you pull away, pushing at his chest with your hands. 'seungkwan, wait-' you look at somewhere behind his back. 'the barrier...is gone.'

seungkwan turns around, not entirely shocked to see that barrier is indeed gone. which means- 'you are it,' he whispers, turning back to you. 'true love's kiss. true love. mine.'

he wants to say so much more. he wants to let you know that you are on his mind always, all the time, constantly- but then you both feel strong magic flow, which can be coming only from monsters. without saying anything he reaches out and you readily give him your hand.

'together?' he asks, smiling.

you nod, blushing. 'together.'

you two can talk later. talks about love can wait and they definitely will come as long as you two stay together.

a/n: this was soooo fun to write omg! spells are so interesting, hope you liked it, let me know! <3 - nini

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here