#its literally fate that they can even meet and then they fall in love

[halfhappyhooligan]

lord i am thinking of solangelo. gods bless them. against all fucking odds like i cant even wrap my head around it sometimes. its literally fate. nico was in that damn casino for decades. will has survived so long for a demigod that was present for TWO titan wars. same for nico especially bc his powers make him bonkers close to death every time. and will has the power to HEAL HIM. EVERY TIME. he can help and be there for him. he WILL be there for him bc he loves him sm.............what the hell!!!!!!

[mimismenu]

˚ ₊ ‧ ୨୧ 𝓜y seatmate is the best man? ༄ ˖ ° .

꒰ 💒 ꒱ 𝒫ark 𝒮unghoon [성훈] : 𝒪neshot!

𝓰enre. fluffy fluffy fluff! .˚⊹ 𝓹airing. non-idol,,best man sunghoon x maid of honor fem reader. ໒꒱ 𝔀arning(s). prepare to feel some embarrassment and see some sickeningly cute content. 𝔀ord 𝓬t. 1310

𝓼ynopsis .ᐟ you just so happen to sit beside a handsome man on the plane when traveling to your best friend’s wedding destination– only to embarrass yourself by spilling some of your drink on him. however, what happens when you find out he’s the best man at said wedding– can you avoid him through the whole weekend? or does fate hold a different outcome?

꒰ 💬 ꒱ 𝓶i 𝓷ote. this idea came to me so suddenly, i had to get crafting. this is actually one of my favorites– and it of course includes a musical element. (play we are stars by the pierces for the full effect!) to my regulars, you probably think this’ll have more singing– but it’s just a dance scene.

if you enjoyed this fic, please like and reblog! it's always appreciated :)

enjoy, my lovely readers. xoxo, mi. ‹𝟹

also! this one is dedicated to the sweet @pshbites who is so dear to my heart. please check out her smau as well, love on air!

this tale begins with a flight– a journey packed with clumsiness, brooding, and discovery. while this love story falls beneath the cliche archetype, within no means does it reflect the traditional style of romance.

and it all started with marriage, funny enough.

you see, your best friend, mariella, scheduled her wedding over the expanse of a three-day weekend. your flight was expected to land in verona, italy– her destination of choice– by 2pm on friday.

when you arrived at the airport, everything was running rather smoothly; despite the grumpy staff who glared as if you prevented them from enjoying their morning coffee. you’d succeeded in checking your luggage and proceeding through the extensive security, settled at your boarding gate before your flight.

and it seemed anxiety free, because once you’d boarded the plane, you’d found your assigned seat which happened to be an empty row– where you'd be sat beside the window.

it truly couldn’t have gotten any better… right?

oh, how wrong you were. any trip was bound to have a bump in the road– at least that’s what your gut screamed.

an incredibly handsome boy– that you would assume is your age– sat beside you, lost in his own world of headphones and music. through the hours of being in his presence, you’d sneak glances from your romance novel to admire his features.

and even if he did notice, he made no comment, content as the flight continued. however, when the flight approached its landing and everyone was discarding their garbage– your clumsiness appeared at the forefront.

the flight attendant approached your row, holding out a garbage bag with gentle hands, to which you attempted to reach over and dispose of your half-empty water cup. except, you’d lost your grip, the liquid splattering all over your cute seatmate’s hoodie, causing you to release a gasp.

“oh my gosh, i am so incredibly sorry–” you frantically apologize, glancing up at the boy, eyes wide with horror.

the male simply stared at you with crinkled eyes, a playful smile on his face. “it’s alright, no harm done here. it’s only water, it’ll dry.”

from that moment onward, throughout the twenty minutes it took for the plane to land and to exit the aircraft– you’d avoided glancing in his direction, even scooting to the far left of your seat.

and when you’d exited your flight? you immediately rushed to find your best friend who’d agreed to meet you at baggage claim, leaving the embarrassing experience behind you.

but, miraculously, you found yourself at mariella’s wedding rehearsal that same night, meeting the groomsmen for the first time. and to your surprise, the best man just happened to be him.

the same boy from the plane, your seatmate, and the one you’d spilled water all over.

he’d literally be your partner walking down the aisle, the one you lock arms with.

“well, shit.” you muttered under your breath at the sight of his pearly smile, proceeding to shake hands in greeting– to which you’d learned that his name is sunghoon.

even as rehearsal continued, you’d avoided him at all costs, outside of practicing the ceremony. it was dreadful to put simply, that your embarrassment would continue to follow you with every glance in his direction.

thankfully, nobody noticed– not mariella, not the groom, jake– and anybody else in the bride and groom’s respective parties.

it was now saturday, the day of the wedding. you’d completed the process of getting ready, assisting the other girls with their makeup and hair– each of you dolled up in mariella’s chosen color. pictures were taken for each party, the bride and groom, and any others that the couple requested.

the ceremony began early into the day, the process running as expected, effortless after the continual practice from the night before. despite the unease of being beside sunghoon, he kept you grounded, ensuring that no mistakes were made as he guided you down the aisle.

and as the ceremony concluded and led into the festivities of the reception, you chose to be alone. with no plus one, or much connection with the other guests.

despite the few words you’d shared with your best friend, it was her day, and you didn’t want to distract her from the joy of her union with your sulking.

you’d watched with a smile as the newly wedded couple shared their first dance, overjoyed to see mariella have her happy ending.

even throughout your speech, dinner, and the disperse of their cake– you’d lingered at your assigned seat, fiddling with your fingers.

with music playing in the background, guests began to crowd the dance floor, freely congratulating and celebrating with the bride and groom, smiles and laughter throughout the hall.

and as a slow song played, a figure kneeled in front of you– your eyes trailing to meet his.

“hey, pretty girl.” sunghoon greets with the softest voice, extending his hand. “come dance with me.” he invites, waiting for you to place your palm in his.

with a soft sigh, you stare up at him with unease, biting the inside of your cheek.

“okay.” you agree, placing your palm in his– allowing him anchorage to tug you gently from your seat.

“we are stars,” the music hums in the background as he guides you onto the dancefloor, hands finding a secure place on your waist.

“relax, sweetheart.” he mutters, only loud enough for you to hear, urging you to stand beneath the shadow of his towering frame.

“fashioned in the flesh and bone, we are islands,” the music envelopes you and sunghoon, granting a bubble of privacy.

“you’re beautiful.” he praises, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

“thank you.” you whisper, staring up into his dark orbs, captured in a dance of longing and discovery.

“excuses to remain alone, we are moons,” swaying with one another, you avert your gaze for a moment before returning it to him.

“y/n.” he calls, raising a hand to capture your chin between the pad of his thumb and knuckle of his forefinger.

“yes?” you question slowly, entranced by his sharp features and moles littered across his skin. 

“throw ourselves around each other, we are oceans,” he admires you for a brief pause, his expression softening.

“you spilling water on me was an accident.” sunghoon firmly mutters, as if trying to convince you.

“i..” you try to speak, only to be cut off by his next words– in which you release a sigh.

“it doesn’t need to be carried with us.” he finishes, dipping his head to lean closer to you.

“being controlled by the pull of another,”

“and i, just wanna be loved by you,”

“your clumsiness doesn’t harm me, in fact, it only made me want to be closer to you.” sunghoon admits, his lips brushing against your forehead in a quick kiss.

“give me a chance, pretty girl.” he retracts from your skin, causing you to stare up at him.

“yeah i, just wanna be loved by you,”

“okay.” you agree, nodding your head in a visual display of your consent. “i’d like that.” you admit in a gentle voice, hands moving from his chest to wrap around his neck.

“i see nothing worse than to sail this universe without you,” the music fades, your movements not once faltering as sunghoon leans in to press his lips to yours.

“we’ll change our seats for the next flight. i can’t have you sit beside another man and spill water on him.” he teases, his lips brushing against yours in a playful dance.

“oh, definitely. there’s nobody else i’d rather spill water on anyway.” you respond in taunt, your laughter meshing into one as you share a sweet kiss, comfortable in each other’s arms.

and with that, your embarrassment was left behind– your clumsiness leading your boyfriend straight to your heart.

ⓘ all content posted to mimismenu is not to be plagiarized, translated or reposted.

꒰ 📎 ꒱ 𝓽aglist. @greentulip @nshmuras @wonsdoll @pnghoon @pshbites

[belovedivies]

Hi its my first time I request

Can you do Raphael from killer Peter manhwa

Like when he get jealous or how did he fell in love

Im sorry if my english was bad

raphael relationship headcanons

cw: minor spoiler, yandere content

LOVE?

Raphael doesn’t “fall in love”. If he takes a liking to someone, they are automatically his property. No questions asked.

With you, however, who neither end up as another dead body in line for cremation nor a slave to his ever-expanding collection… it almost seems like Raphael goes easy on you.

That being said, he’s far from an ideal guy to be around. Your ears will most likely blast from hearing him shout at his underlings every few minutes of the day.

Your presence does help to ease the tension a bit though, and it won’t take as long for Raphael to direct his attention towards you and just forget about his useless lower-ranks.

Royalty treatment to the max, but only when you behave. This man has the most influential organization on Earth in the palm of his hand—you won’t want for anything else when he’s around.

Between the constant chase for Peter’s head and the killers' recruitment to rebuild Glory Club from the ground up, Raphael burns his money on you. Want that special edition of your favorite book but it’s unfortunately sold out? He’ll get it printed as many times as you want, all with your name on the leather cover in goldwork embroidery.

Just thank him after. Give him a bright smile and a kiss on the cheek; Raphael prefers his toy sweet and obedient.

JEALOUS?

Raphael gets jealous, that’s for sure. It’s just something that comes naturally for a love-deprived child.

His servants know better than to stare; longer than five seconds and it’s an instant death. This man will whisper sweet nothings into your ear while his subordinate lies there on the floor, dying in the pool of their own blood.

He likes to think that his possessiveness isn’t that bad. Can you really blame Raphael for going barbaric when one of the Apostles flirts with you during a meeting, right in front of his face?

And the motherfucker even has the audacity to look so smug about it.

With a territorial growl, Raphael pulls you into his lap right after; his hands around your hips feeling like the grip of an anaconda.

“Last warning, Philip.” Before he eventually joins the pile of unnamed bodies down the pit, that is.

Rumors soon go in cycle within Glory about the nature of your relationship with this unpredictable man.

For a plaything, Raphael does favor you a lot. No one can actually tell how long this will go on, or what tragedy shall befall your pitiful existence once the fun is up and he stabs you in the back, literally.

But for now, you’re still untouchable because you’re his. And men or God shall lay a hand on you unless they wish to suffer a fate worse than death.

♡dividers credit: @xurengu0♡ ♡masterlist♡ a/n: lmao this was a really unexpected ask (no complaints tho) (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖) fyi im not taking any requests yet, but i cooked this one up fast for u. hope u enjoy reading, my lovely yuri ◕‿↼

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A chance encounter

Words: 1,732 [also on AO3]

Rated: E

Tags: No UD AU; Future fic; Record label owner Eddie; Waiter Steve; Eddie Munson has a crush on Steve Harrington; Blood and violence; Sex work (implied); Attempted non-con; Homophobic language; Steve Harrington whump; Eddie Munson whump; Protective Eddie Munson; Protective Steve Harrington

Notes: Happy birthday, @house-of-the-moving-image! I hope you have the most wonderful of days. I'm so happy to have found you as a friend and partner in crime. Hope you enjoy your extra long chunk of Upside Diner, even though it turned out quite gritty for a birthday fic. 😅💕🛼

Eddie grumbles under his breath as he locks the office door and steps out into the dark street. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves his job. Hellfire Records is his baby. Making music, working with all sorts of different artists and bands, helping them make a name for themselves - it’s everything he ever wanted and never thought he could have growing up in the smalltown hell of Hawkins, Indiana. 

What he doesn’t love is the meetings and the paperwork and the phone calls, especially on days like this, when it all drags on until well into the night. 

The echoes of his boots bounce off the empty streets as he makes his way towards the little diner at the corner. Checking his wristwatch, he swears again. Fuck, it’s even later than he thought. What if Steve’s shift is already over? The thought makes his stomach clench with an unpleasant feeling that distinctly feels like disappointment. The realization makes him pause and furrow his brow. 

Maybe it’s a little bit pathetic, how quickly his visits to the diner have become the highlight of his day. Maybe it’s a little bit weird that he hasn’t had dinner anywhere else in literal weeks. Maybe it’s a little bit creepy, this obsession with a boy he knew fleetingly in highschool. An obsession that makes him come by every single day after work, without fail, just to chew on soggy fries and greasy burgers and watch said boy waiting tables, gliding around like an angel in chunky roller skates and stupidly short shorts. 

Maybe he has a problem. 

And maybe he doesn’t care. 

Because for all his initial reluctance and bite, Steve has actually started coming around. Has been accepting Eddie’s money and attempts at conversation with barely a complaint. Has even stopped asking why Eddie keeps ordering way too much food for one person alone, taking the leftovers behind his counter to munch on. Hell, last week when Eddie came in, he even looked up from the order he was taking and flashed him a wave and smile. Eddie rode that high all night and well into the next day. 

It’s the memory of that smile that makes him pick up his steps. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll catch Steve at the tail end of his shift and convince him to stay around for a little longer. 

The diner is empty, except for a lone person in uniform wiping down tables behind the neon-lit window pane. It isn’t Steve. Eddie spares one glance at the bored-looking girl and turns away with an annoyed groan. That’s it, he thinks, pulling his headphones from his pocket and slamming them on with a little more force than strictly necessary. Tonight officially sucks. Time to go home and fix himself some SpaghettiOs, turn on a late night show and fall asleep in front of the- 

For the rest of his life, he’ll thank fate for making him fumble with his discman. Because if he’d hit the play button a second earlier, he would never have heard the voices. But this way, he does, and this way, he halts his steps, peering into the narrow side alley with a wrinkled brow. The light of the streetlamps only reaches so far, and everything he can see are the dumpsters and old cardboard boxes at its entrance. Beyond them, everything is dark. 

“Dude, get your hands off me, I said no.” 

Steve.

Eddie is halfway around the dumpsters before he even knows it, heart beating in his ribcage like a jackhammer. The alley reeks of piss and rotting garbage. At its far end, almost hidden behind another dumpster, are two figures. Eddie can’t make out their faces, but he also doesn’t need to. The colorful uniform is unmistakable, even in the murky half-light, even though it’s paired with a pair of sneakers rather than roller skates. And besides, he’d know that ridiculously floofy hairdo anywhere. 

He doesn’t know the other man. Only knows that the guy's hands are grabbing Steve’s arms and shoulders hard enough to leave marks as he attempts to wrestle him to his knees. 

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” the man hisses just as Eddie rounds the dumpster. “I’ll make it quick.” 

“Are you deaf or stupid?” Steve sneers, trying to struggle out of his hold. “I said get your fucking hands off me.” 

The man slaps him across the face. Steve makes a pained noise and loses his balance, going down on his knees on the dirty ground. 

The man laughs, curt and mean.

“There you go,” he coos. One of his hands grabs a fist full of chestnut hair while the other reaches for the half-undone fly of his pants. “Now be a good little slut and-” 

The force of the impact sends the discman tumbling from Eddie’s pocket. It shatters on the ground somewhere, parts flying in all directions, but he doesn’t have eyes for it. Instead, he grabs the asshole by the lapels of his cheap suit and hauls him against the nearest wall. The back of the asshole’s head hits the bricks, and Eddie thinks he hears something crack. Good. 

“Eddie?” 

While the man sags against the wall, groaning and cradling his head, Eddie whirls on Steve. Steve, who's just swaying to his feet, eyes wide and shocked. His cheek is flushed and starting to bruise. 

“Shit,” Eddie swears. “Are you-” 

Pain explodes inside his skull, sudden and all consuming. He stumbles, trying to keep his footing and cracks his head on the hard metal edge of the dumpster in the process. He manages to blink the stars from his vision just in time to see the man's fist flying at him. The blow makes his ears ring and copper flood his mouth, and when he regains his senses, he's on the ground with two hands closing around his throat. 

“Thought you'd play the hero, huh?” The man's grin is a manic grimace. A glob of spit hits Eddie’s cheek. “Well, how'd that work out for you, you stupid little-” 

“Hey, shitface!” 

The man snarls and turns. Eddie doesn’t see what happens, just knows that something goes crunch and suddenly the hands pressing down on his windpipe are gone. The man's voice turns into a high-pitched wail of pain. 

Eddie rolls around, coughing and gasping for air, and props himself up on his elbows. The man has shrunk against the next wall, clutching at his face. Crimson blood is bubbling out from between his fingers, hitting the alley floor in a steady pattern of drips. 

“Fuck off,” Steve says and lowers the hand holding the roller skate. His voice is deadly calm, his face steely. “Remember to put away your dick first.” 

The guy stares at him. Steve raises the roller skate again, just a little. The asshole whimpers and scrambles upright, mumbling something to himself. Eddie thinks he catches something about fucking lunatic fags, but he can't be sure, what with the way his voice comes out all wet and garbled. And then he's gone, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away.

Steve drops the roller skate. 

“Fuck,” be whispers, crouching down next to Eddie and brushing hesitant fingers over his split lip. Ten minutes ago, Eddie would’ve given anything to feel those hands on his face, but now he winces and recoils at the sting of pain. 

Steve retracts his hand, flopping down on the ground with a heavy sigh. The shorts ride up with the movement, exposing strong, muscled thighs. His knees are scraped from hitting the asphalt, little droplets of blood beading on the torn skin. 

“What’d you go and do that for?” Steve asks, scrubbing a hand down his face. All of the steel is gone from his voice. He sounds tired instead, infinitely tired. “I had it under control.” 

Eddie can’t help it, he barks a laugh. “Oh, did you, big boy? When was that, exactly? When he backhanded you? Or when he had you by the hair and was about to shove his cock down your-”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one who got punched and choked half to death!” Steve snaps. 

Eddie opens his mouth to argue, then shuts it again. The boy has a point, sort of. He doesn’t need a mirror to tell which one of them is looking the worse for wear right now, not with the white-hot pain still throbbing through his face with every heartbeat. 

“He didn’t choke me half to death,” he mutters lamely. Steve huffs a humorless laugh. 

“Thanks, anyway,” he then says. It comes out so quietly that Eddie nearly misses it, and when he looks up, Steve has averted his eyes. Eddie has an acute flashback to their first meeting at the diner, when Steve reluctantly accepted his tip money. “Could’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t shown up.” 

Eddie feels his mouth tug into a grin, even though his lip stings like an entire beehive. 

“Anytime, Stevie. Now c’mon, let’s get outtaaaaah, shit.” 

Trying to stand is a bad idea. The moment he’s upright, another firework of pain goes off behind his temples and the ground tilts out from under him. The only thing that saves him from going right down again is Steve jumping to his feet and looping one of Eddie’s arms around his shoulders. 

“Shit, he got you good,” he mutters. Eddie can only hum in agreement, too preoccupied with keeping the meager contents of his stomach down. “We should probably get you somewhere with a first aid kit at least.” 

“‘s okay,” Eddie slurs, inadvertently leaning closer into Steve’s warmth. He smells of shampoo and frying fat and blood. “I’ll be fine, I live nearby.” 

Steve’s eyes flit over his face, then off to the side, then back to his face again. He licks his lips and even in his dazed state, Eddie can clearly see how he wars with himself. Finally, he gulps and straightens his spine. 

“Okay,” he says, adjusting Eddie’s weight on his shoulders. “Let’s go then.” 

It’s weird, Eddie thinks as they start to hobble their way down the dark street. He must’ve fantasized a thousand times about taking Steve Harrington home, but never once did he think it’d play out like this. Then again, things in his life rarely go as he imagines, so he supposes he’s just gonna roll with it.

@steddhie @formosusiniquis @steddiehasmywholeheart @ellaelsinore @rozzieroos

Part 4

Tag list: @grtwdsmwhr @p0lybl4nkk @fairytalesreality @colidamae @dissociatingdemon

[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 3: Entangled Ambitions - A Pact Sealed in Royal Halls

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: reader's death, language

Genre: Isekai, Romance, Fantasy

Synopsis: Your life takes a tragic turn as you perish in a car crash, only to awaken in a whimsical world of fantasy with none other than Jujustu Kaisen characters as its main protagonists. But as if that wasn't enough, you're about to marry the prince version of Gojo Satoru. How will you navigate through this world of history and fantasy? Does your life take the same sudden twist of fate as that of your favorite characters?

<- Previous Chapter l Next Chapter ->

Satoru’s heart stops beating for a moment, eyes widen at the harsh words you just spit at him. How would someone like you know about his powers? He was always keen to hide them, never used his abilities in the presence of someone apart from Suguru and his family. He doesn’t even know you that well. You, the daughter of Naobito Zenin. How on earth did you find out?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You clear your throat, nerves threatening to fail you. This is the only chance you have left. If Gojo Satoru doesn’t rethink his decision…No, there is no way you’ll die again.

“I am talking about your ability to manipulate the area around you freely, the fact that you can distort space. You are also able to create barriers and voids that nullify any incoming attacks, which makes you almost invincible in battle and is responsible for your great reputation as a fighter. But if your followers get to know about the real reason behind your skills…You know how great the fear of people with special powers is in this country, that all of them get executed. Not even Your Majesty will be spared from this.”

You are walking on thin ice. He is the prince, after all. So much higher in his rank that it would be easy for him to get you executed due to false accusations. But this might be the only card you have left, your last spark of hope. If Gojo Satoru won’t marry you, your father will let you get killed. And apart from that, this might be the only chance you’ll get to meet your favourite characters. What about Geto and Nanami? If Naoya and Gojo exist, they are definitely somewhere in this world as well. You are literally living the dream of every anmie and manga fan.

Well, except for the stinging fact that you call Naobito your father and Naoya your stinky brother.

“That are some heavy accusations you’re throwing at me, Lady (y/n). You know as well as I do that I could get you executed right on the sport for your unwise words despite the fact that you are a daughter of the Zenin family”, he replies.

The way he crosses his legs while smiling down at you arrogantly makes the urge to fall onto your knees and beg him for forgiveness grow louder and louder. But no, this is exactly what he wants. At the moment, all Prince Satoru does is playing and testing you. You can’t allow yourself to be messed with. After all, he has absolutely zero clue about what he is in your old world, that you actually died and reincarnated here. He definitely does know that your life depends on his mercy, though. And that your proposal benefits both of you.

“Why did you decide on marrying me in the first place? Was it because you fell in love with my portrait or rather because your family forced you to choose a wife and you thought I wouldn’t cause trouble because I’m a Zenin, because you considered I would urge to get away from my possessing family as soon as possible?”

Threatening him any further has no use. After all, Gojo is aware of the fact that you know about his hidden talent. Instead, you should focus on things you can actually prove, things that are obvious.

“You are a very loudmouthed young lady. I expected you to be more sublime. As a member of the famous Zenin family, you sure got taught etiquette and obedience from a young age, didn’t you?”

He can’t help himself. Just one look into your glimmering lavender eyes makes him provocative you even further. Of course, every little thing you said is true. Yes, your words are a serious threat on his way to the throne. Yes, his family does in fact urge him every single day to decide on a wife. Your proposal is the best solution for both of you, allows him to carry on with his unbothered life without the responsibility to satisfy his finance’s needs. But still…

“I couldn’t care less about my ancestry, Prince Satoru. All I care about is my own freedom”, you clarify, determination dripping from each and every pore of your face.

“And if you don’t decide on helping me, I have to find another gentleman who suits my requirements better.”

“Another gentleman? You are aware of the fact that I’m the prince, right?”

Out of all the arguments you brought up in this conversation, this one is the one that bugs him the most. Out of some strange reason, the sheer thought of you getting promised to another man doesn’t sit right with Satoru.

“As a prince, you are far above my status anyway. If it weren’t for politics and the reliability when it comes to the advanced weapon technology of my family, I wouldn’t even be considered as your fiancé”, you argue in all seriousness.

“What if I don’t allow you to marry another man?”

“Then I will find my ways to do so.”

“Fine, I will propose to you at the ball this weekend.”

Wait…what? After all the arguments, the discussions and the stinging fact that he stares at you with narrowed eyes, he actually agreed on it? Just when you’re about to thank him and leave, he gets up and opens his full mouth.

“But I want to re-arrange the conditions to suit my needs as well.”

Your pounding heart almost stops inside of your chest. For a moment, you just sit there and stare at him plainly like an idiot. Gojo Satoru, having conditions? This definitely doesn’t sound appealing at all. But do you really have another chance? It might be true that you are able to find another gentleman, the anger of your father will carry on, though. And who knows if he wouldn’t kill you even if you marry another wealthy man. No, this engagement is your best and eventually only option.

“What conditions are we talking about, precisely?”

“Once a week, I am allowed to present you as my fiancée in a way I will decide on my own. As the prince and future ruler of this country, I need to reflect a strong relationship with my future queen to the outside. It has to be credible. Everyone must think that we are deeply in love with each other, Lady (y/n).”

Shivers run down your spine before you’re able to stop them. Just one look into his blue thirsty eyes…This man won’t touch you even in your sleep. Doesn’t he have multiple young women just waiting for a chance to hit on him? Playing his wife for an additional day of the week. How wasteful, considering that you’ll never be more than his fiancée, that this engagement will get cancelled the minute it doesn’t benefit both of you anymore.

“I will fulfil my role over the span our engagement last and accept your addition, Prince Satoru.”

“Great! Now that this is out of the way, let me tell you one last thing.”

Before you’re even able to react any further, he grabs your arm and pulls you close. For a moment, you forget how to breathe, your nose tingling by the exquisite scent that radiates from him. You actually never wondered about the way he smells. But now that he is so close you would be able to touch him, so close that you can feel his breath brushing over the bare skin of your face, heat begins to crawl up your spine. Suddenly you feel like fainting, the immense presence of him standing this closely to you simply taking your breath away.

“If you decide on betraying me by telling anyone about my secret, I will execute you. There are no real feelings between us, I won’t even bat an eyelash.”

“First, make sure you keep your end of the bargain, Prince”, you bite back out of instinct, holding his gaze without any mercy.

Does he really think you’re scared of him? He might be Gojo Satoru, the honoured one, the strongest, the prince of this country. You might have been surprised by the way he grabbed you out of thin air. You are still (y/n), still you.

Instead of backing up, you take another step towards him and grab the collar of his elegant jacket. But you know all of his dirty little secrets, parts of his past and future. You are definitely no one to be messed with as well.

“And make sure you don’t disappoint me.”

You let go of him as sudden as you grabbed him, creating a safe distance between both of you by crossing the room and coming to a stand in front of the exit.

“Send me an invitation to the ball along with a pricy bouquet of lavender flowers. It was an honour to visit you, Your Majesty. I am looking forward to our next meeting.”

One last polite curtsy, one last elegant smile. But just when you’re about to call the waiter in order to open the door for you, it swings open by itself.

And your cheek clashes into something particularly hard.

“Oh no, I am beyond sorry My Lady! I wasn’t aware of your presence!”

That voice…You get greeted by a pair of the manliest hands you’ve ever seen, hands gliding up his definitely toned arms. He lifts you off the ground as fast as you stumbled onto his, arms holding you into place tightly.

“You must be Lady (y/n), what a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Sir Geto Suguru, the steward of Your Majesty.”

“S-Suguru?”

Your widen eyes focus on his face in an instant, heart almost beating out of your chest. All those times you admired his drawing, the way he acted so elegantly. The countless fanfictions you’ve read with this exact first meeting.

Only to end up with him in bed later on.

“That is my name”, the man in front of you replies along with a small laughter.

That smile. That oh so charismatic smile. And that manly smell, a mix of mint and leather. You force yourself to gift him with a smile and create a safe distance between both of you. So this is him, the best friend of Gojo Satoru. Even in this world, you can tell how close they are to each other.

Will it stay like this, though?

“I’m sorry, I must have hit my head a little too heart”, you comment, finally ripping your eyes away from his brown ones.

“Do you know each other?”, the firm voice of Prince Satoru interrupts.

A look into his face tells you that he isn’t amused by this sudden meeting at all.

“I’ve never seen Lady (y/n) apart from the portrait that was sent to you, Prince Satoru. But may I say, you look even more mesmerising in person.”

“Weren’t you about to leave when Sir Geto arrived, Lady (y/n)?”

Gojo smiles at you without his eyes, a cold glare decorating his face that is definitely supposed to intimidate you.

But instead of backing up, you take a risky step towards Geto Suguru and bow oh so sweetly.

“Oh Sir Geto, I don’t deserve your kind words. After all, it is you who is a feast for my eyes. No excuse me gentlemen, I still have lessons to attend. I hope we’ll meet each other again this weekend, Sir Geto. Have a nice week, Prince Satoru.”

Without gifting him another single look, you turn on your heel and walk out the door.

You did it. You convinced him to propose to you. But…is this really what you want? Is Gojo Satoru really what you want? Just the way he stared at you with arrogance dripping from each and every poor. Urgh, you fucking hate him. There’s no way to deny that he’s driving you over the edge. Why on earth does it have to be him? Why not Geto, what about Nanami?

Why does it have to be Gojo Satoru?

“She seems like a really nice young lady”, Suguru comments visibly amused while sitting in your former place.

“What your tongue, Suguru. She will me my fiancé after this week is over.”

Tags: @m0k0k0 @lees-chaotic-brain @sanicsmut @risuola @fire-loving-siren

@sunshine7queen @gatitam @kentocalls @hellkaiserinphoenix @skylarlyn823

@livmarauder @nothisispatrick300 @haileycannotcometothephonern @xstom @byakuya61085

[yandere-kokeshi]

Simon, König, and Soap with a gn darling who’s taller

Warnings: yandere behavior, and slight nsfw mention

A/N: This is day one of posting head canons every day :). Enjoy <3!

Simon “Ghost” Riley: 

Doesn’t really bother him — gives 0 fucks, because height is height. Though, he’s a bit relieved he doesn’t have to worry about neck and back pain whilst trying to kiss you if you were shorter. 

Will laugh straight-up if you knock your forehead on the door frame or accidentally hit yourself with the shower head; but, he’s nice enough to fix it, making sure it actually doesn’t hurt you for future uses. 

Will throw some shitty or cliché jokes, but often reminds you to duck or watch out for ceiling fans. 

Loves to be a small spoon, or simply put his head into the place where your neck and shoulder meet. Feels more secure, especially since your arms are likely longer and bigger. Although, don’t think you can tease him, cause if you do, hickeys and rough hands will soon appear on your skin. 

By chance, you’re wearing a collar shirt or any loose clothing, Simon will yank it down, making you come to his level and kiss you very intensely — clearly craving more than a sly kiss. 

If you try to pick him up, it’ll likely end with him using his commanding voice, moving on getting out of your arms but quickly accepts his fate; his lower body hanging around like a Maine Coon being picked up by a literal child. 

König:

It’s perfect, really. Most people are naturally shorter than him, and he likes to use his height to intimidate people. And the fact you’re taller, the power you hold, is unholy.

Though, he slightly does get a bit flushed. You practically tower over him, and he’s often the one to do so. The height difference messes with his head, mentally and physically. With this said, his eyes, and pupils, are shaped hearts whenever he looks at you. 

Bear hugs to its max. Wherever you are, he’s behind you, rubbing his face into your clothes as he asks about your day – not letting you go until you ask him ‘nicely’. 

Really enjoy sitting on your lap, regardless of your gender. Working at a desk for work? He’s asking very nicely. In the living room, watching TV while you eat? He’s doing the same thing but only on your lap. 

Definitely asks you to get things out of reach for him (that he specifically put up because he wants your attention), and hugs you from behind. König, effectively, is trying to hide the obvious tent he has. But, you won’t ignore him, right? Of course, you won’t. 

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish:

Digs that you’re taller than he. Much like Simon, height is something that’s natural, and he doesn’t care. But you, being taller than him, does things with his head. 

Really tries his hardest to get piggyback rides or be picked up in any way. Sometimes, usually when he comes home from missions, jumps on your back, resulting in both of you falling to the floor.

Soap really enjoys being the small spoon, especially when he’s on top of you, laying on your chest and rubbing his face in your neck. Sometimes, Johnny likes to be the big spoon (or try too). He lays behind you like a koala holding on their parents for dear life. 

Shitty pick-up lines all the time: “I’m surprised you didn’t find me on a stepladder,” – “Aye, the air up there must suck, yeah? Why not come down and catch your breath on my lap?” 

Will share his clothes with you and vice versa — your closet is now his. Hoodies, jackets, even baggy pants are now sharing with him. However, Johnny does love seeing you wear his own; the tightness curving your body. 

—

Masterlist || Please consider reblogging and commenting instead of liking, it helps me as a creator!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[recycledraccoon]

May I offer some cheese 🧀 for some Inkblade headcannons? 🥺

Alright. Alright ok.

I've tormented @omamorens with this MULTIPLE TIMES and now I'm inflicting it on a wider audience.

Oisin and Adaine's romance is violent. Anybody unfamiliar with dragonborn courting look in on this and thing it's the MOST toxic thing in the world. Adaine probably recognizes this on some level as SHES not even super familiar with dragonborn culture and courting.

But to Oisin? He is LITERALLY living a childhood fairytale.

And that fairy tale is the story of the Dragon, Princess, and Knight, as told to him as a hatchling, like it was told to his sibling and mother and grandparents and so many others of a dragons bloodline.

Think about it.

Why do Dragons kidnap Princesses? They already live on a mountain of gold and jewels, the few scraps of jewels they could get from a princess pales in comparison and it such a risk to bring that much direct attention from an entire kingdom on yourself, even as an incredibly powerful dragon. What are they going to do with her? Eat her? Let her waste away? A princesses lifespan, elven maidens not included, are a blink of an eye in the face of the lifespan of a Dragon.

There is truly no meaningful reason why a Dragon would kidnap a Princess. It's just not worth the cost and effort for no meaningful reward.

There is only one thing a Dragon can guarantee by kidnapping a princess. And that's summoning knights to come try to take her back.

Dragon courting comes in two major stages.

Combat.

Sharing of hoard.

Dragons are apex predators. They highly valued strength and power. It must be so novel, so intimate to them, to experience the singular intensity that comes with being hunted down. The Dragon becomes the center of the Knights world, their focus. Its all centered on killing them.

Others hunt dragons down all the time to get their hoards, it's what the dragon madness manifests to avenge against. But I don't think it would, because the kidnapping of the princess is an invitation and offer, it is not being stolen.

So they come, they battle, and the truly worthy kill the dragon and take the Princess home. But they always get the dragons hoard too. Sometimes they end up with armor fashioned from the scales of their fallen foe. They go on the rest of their lives known as a Dragonslayer.

To the races of man, this is a story of triumph over evil. Of worthy knights proving themselves and the romance of saving the trapped maiden and being a hero.

To dragons this is a beautifully tragic romance for the ages. The Knight comes and proves themselves as having all the strength and power of a dragon, they are worthy. They take the gold left behind, all the treasures, all the things the Dragon values most, haunted by Dragon Madness they may never even feel the effects of because this was not stolen from the dragon after their demise, this was a gift to a lover. The Knight wears their scales as protection forever after, they are known as Dragonslayer like taking a lovers name after marriage. Their fates and histories are tied together for as long as either of them will be remembered. You can not forget one without forgetting the other.

This is the intimate intertwining of fates forever. Dragons swoon over these tales, when parents of humanoid races tell a fairytale of a romance between the knight and princesses and their mutual foe, the dragons tell their children of the romance eternal of the Knight and their dragon, and the princess who was gracious enough to officiate for them.

And sometimes, Dragons meet their Knights and it ends not in the blood upon steel they crave, but in a tumble of bodies for an even more dangerous fight, breathless and euphoric. And that's how you get Dragonborns.

So Oisin sees Adaine hating him, feels their magic clash and the intensity of her hatred and determination to kick his ass, and he feels closer to his ancestors than ever before, falling into the same trap as all of them on falling in love with the one whose violence you crave. He see's his own blood dripping from Adaine Abernant's sword and the pounding in his heart is enough to shake the world with the intensity of his feelings.

Oh one day there will be softness too, it will not be like this forever, but this is always how it starts for them, and it will never quite leave.

Anyway one day the Rat Grinders and Bad Kids are gonna end up chatting and fairy tales will come up and Oisin will sigh wistfully about the most romantic fairy tales he was told as a hatchling and despite everything those were such formative memories that he holds tenderly in his heart.

"what fairy tales??"

"the romances between the dragons and the knights who kill them?? You know, with the princesses?"

And EVERYBODY is like WTF.

Except Mary Ann.

Mary Ann, also of some type of dragonic heritage, ALSO grew up with these stories and fully agrees with him. Its all very romantic. Gorgug's absolute HATRED of her during Junior year was very attractive.

ALSO the Princess in Adaine and Oisin's story is Boggy.

Boggy is the princess and whenever the frog decides to go hang out with Oisin and Adaine assumes Oisin stole her summon it's playing RIGHT into this fantasy. At some point Oisin thinks he needs to get Boggy a little tiara.

[lowkeychenle]

Within the Piano Keys [ZCL] (M)

Description: For as long as you could remember, Chenle has been your neighbor and childhood best friend. That is, until one day he disappears without a word...or so you thought, since your mother hid all the letters he sent you.

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Smut triple threat ygm

Content Warnings: This fic contains letters from Chenle (purely fictional duh) but does mention things about the graduation system/the Dreamies going through a rough time just FYI! Just a brief mention. And also, smut. this has smut, but it's soft and cute smut because why not.......so literally that's it I think? Who I am these are some light content warnings

Word Count: 7,707

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader (feat (briefly) Jeno & Jaemin, mentions of Mark and Jisung)

Juliet's Masterlist | Requests

Author's Note: This gif actually kills me someone send 911 emergency services sos zhong chenle is killing me AGAIN

The ghost of the past will always find you.

There’s no outrunning destiny. Who and what you were made to be. And you sure as hell love to try—pushing yourself to change as much as possible to keep Fate on her toes. Sometimes, it’s inevitable. Sometimes, people are placed on the Earth with a specific purpose, and you were sure yours was him. At a mere seven years old, your life changed forever—in a way you never saw coming. When you think about it, you don’t think Fate saw it, either.

Because you met him then.

You remember the day in vivid detail. The soft, sweet melody of the piano drifting through the house, up the stairs, and beneath your bedroom door where you stand, looking for your butterfly hair clip you adore oh so much.

When your frustration reaches its peak and you sit down with a huff on the edge of your bed, you hear it. Your heart seems to beat along with the music, every key pressed making you wonder just who is playing downstairs.

It’s from Phantom of the Opera, a song titled “All I Ask of You.” The melody is full, transcending your body into peace the moment you realize what it is.

After taking a deep breath, you hesitantly make your way down the winding, spiral staircase, fingers tracing along the railings as if they’re too delicate to actually hold on to. Your steps echo downward, but as the young boy comes into view, you stop.

Not even your noisy intrusion breaks him from his music-induced trance. His entire body moves along with the sound, his eyes closed as he presses each note with perfection. His black hair is a bit longer than it probably should be, with a middle part to expose his forehead. His defined brows are furrowed, and even at his age, you’ve never seen someone look wiser than this boy does right at this moment.

You feel the song in your bones, deep within your soul in such an existential way, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever feel anything like it again. A silly, juvenile thought. You don’t know it right now, but you’d feel like that every time you were around him.

As the song comes to a close, he holds out the last note, inhaling deeply as if he hasn’t been breathing the entire time.

His eyes flutter open, warm brown irises immediately meeting yours. You hadn’t expected such depth, but you’d learn eventually never to expect anything with him—in the end, you would only build yourself up to fall…over and over and over again.

Here you stand, locked in a metaphorical embrace with a kid who can’t be any older than you, yet he seems…different. Like he’s seen enough in his lifetime to age him beyond physicality.

That was the day you started to believe in fate. The day he left was when you stopped.

Hours turned into weeks, and before you know it, the boy next door became your friend. Most times, you’d sit on the bench while he plays piano and watch incredulously. His musical talent always astounds you—he can sing, play instruments, write songs and compose them.

Sometimes, he’d ask you to sing the songs he played, and even though you felt nowhere near as talented as him, you did what he wanted. He’d join in with you occasionally, your voices blending together seemingly effortlessly.

Those weeks turned into years—two kids learning more and more about each other. He’d become more than a friend. You were twelve years old when you realized the connection you had with Chenle. When everything pieced together, and you understood that some hearts, some souls, are much older than you could ever fathom. Your heart, you were sure, stretched beyond your years, and your soul was kindred with Chenle’s in a way that could only mean you’d known each other in a past life. Slowly, slowly, slowly…he was everything, all at once.

“You’ve almost got it,” he whispered to you, adjusting your ring finger on the keys. “Just gotta move over a little bit more.”

You pouted. “My hands aren’t big enough, Lele.”

“Stop that.” He chuckled, shaking his head and nudging your shoulder. “That mindset is gonna keep you from learning.”

“Well, if my mindset doesn’t do it, the arthritis at a young age will,” you snipped.

His eyes sparkled with humor, crinkling at the edges as his smile widened. “You’ll get it eventually. Keep trying.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll tell you that you suck and you should never play again.”

You snorted. “Promise?”

He held up his pinky. “I’d never lie to you.”

You looped yours with his.

“You’ll get it.”

Chenle never gave up on you. He kept pushing you to be the best you could be, and you gladly followed his direction. You never quite got as good as he was with the piano, but you’d gotten decent at least. The two of you would hang out every day, spending every waking, free moment together until your mom told him it was time to go home.

You’d never thought about love and what it meant. For you, loving Chenle was as natural as breathing, and as time went on, it only got easier.

You turned fourteen before Chenle. If you had known this was the beginning of your last year with him, you would’ve appreciated it more. You would’ve told him all of the things lingering on your mind—how you loved him, so purely and genuinely.

Just days before your life blew up in your face, you almost told him.

He sat next to you on your bed, arm wrapped around you as you rested your head on his shoulder. The soft golden light of the lamp illuminated him gently, and the movie playing in the background edges you closer and closer to sleep.

“Do you ever think about…life?” he asked.

“Hm?” You scrunched your nose, your half-asleep state not registering what he meant.

“Like…what your plans are. What you want to do and who you want to be with.” His thumb brushed your skin soothingly. “We have to figure it out soon, don’t we? We’re almost adults.”

“You’re not tired?” You sat up and rubbed your forehead.

“Nope.”

“Well.” You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. “The only thing I’m certain about when it comes to the future is that you’ll be there. So, it doesn’t matter what else happens.”

He smiled softly, the slightest shade of red tinting his cheeks. “Even if the world ended?”

“Even if the world ended.” You confirmed.

A few months later, the world did end. At least, yours did.

He was gone.

His mom left shortly after him, but she told you what he was doing—how he was going to pursue his music career in South Korea. He was going to be an idol, and he was leaving you behind to do it.

Your world ended, but his got to go on without you.

At twenty-one years old, you’re still not sure where you went wrong. Chenle left, but his memory plagues the very walls you live within. You keep up with him, with his group and all of the things they’re doing. Even though you’re not with him, you watch him grow and grow into a more confident version of the young boy you knew.

Seven years without him should have been impossible, yet here you are: alive, well, and watching any and all Chenle related content. You haven’t heard from him, not once. Assumingly, he’s incredibly busy. Even then, you wonder occasionally if you ever cross his mind, if he ever thinks of the love he left behind.

Ever since, you’ve been sensitive over the summer months. A part of you is missing, and until you see him again, you’re unsure if you’ll ever find it. Has he changed? Is he still the boy you loved?

On days where thoughts of him overwhelms you, you like to walk the trail behind your house. It takes you through a wooded area, and the other end brings you to the end of your street. On your walk back, you see an unfamiliar car outside of Chenle’s family’s home. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you stand there to watch.

The door slides open, and you hear an unfamiliar laugh. Frowning, you cross your arms over your chest. Who the hell would be at Chenle’s house?

When the first person gets out of the car, your heart stops in your chest. You’re about eighty percent sure that’s Lee Jeno, light hair reflecting the bright sunlight above. If that’s Jeno, then—

You feel a sudden urge to run into your house, slam the door, and lock it behind you. Several other people are in that car, and if they’re here…one of them is Chenle. Your Chenle, who isn’t really yours. Not anymore.

Jaemin gets out next. His roots are dark, nearly overshadowing the pink hue on top of his head. He swats at someone behind him, laughing, and as that person comes into view, your heart stops. It shreds itself to pieces.

Jeno notices you first, a slight frown gracing his face before Chenle’s gaze follows his line of sight. When he sees you, you instantly see the recognition on his face.

Seven years is a long time. Hell, even though you’ve seen all of Dream’s content, you’re still shocked to see how different he looks. His face is more defined. He’s grown a bit taller, too.

He sees you. He’s looking at you for the first time in years, and all you want to do is forget all this time of no contact, all the ways the two of you hadn’t reached out to each other. A lump forms in your throat, and before you do something stupid, you let out a shaky breath, turn away from him, and make your way into your house.

You shut the door behind you, your back thudding against it. Glancing over to your right, the grand piano—old and loved—is blurred by your tears, and for the briefest of moments, you swear you see your younger self sitting there, endlessly playing the songs Chenle taught you before he left.

A knock sounds, and each one echoes throughout your house, feeling like a hole-puncher on your heart. You’re barely able to breathe as you prepare yourself to be face-to-face with Chenle for the first time in almost a decade—for the first time since he up and disappeared on you without a word.

“(Y/N)?” His voice. So familiar but so distant, all the same as it was.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

“I’m coming in, okay?”

You brace yourself against the solid wood of the piano, doing your best to calm yourself. The last thing you need is to make a fool of yourself in front of him.

A hesitant creak fills your ears, and the tap of his shoes on the hardwood flooring has your eyes clenching shut.

“Why’d you run off like that?” he asks, voice so soft that it’s barely audible.

“I didn’t.”

“You still sound the same,” he says it quietly, as if he’s the only one meant to hear it. He raises his voice so you can hear him. “It’s been a long time.”

You scoff, whipping around to face him. “It’s been a long time? That’s all you have to say to me?” Anger bubbles in your gut, quickly replacing the hurt lingering.

You have to stop yourself from admiring him at a time like this. His oversized T-shirt somehow compliments him in the best ways, his hair is a tinted shade of purple, and when his fingers run through it, you have to look away. Sure, you should’ve expected to see him again at some point, but you never imagined you’d feel the same. It’s a bit different now that you’re older. You’re able to see him in a different light.

His eyes widen and he recoils. “I…I’m sorry, I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say. It’s not like there’s a textbook on how to do this.”

“What are you doing here? Why now?” You cross your arms over your chest, doing your best to avoid his eyes.

“We’re here on a schedule.” He slides his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I told them about you, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh, right.” You let out a sarcastic laugh. “I suppose that makes it all okay, right? You tell your friends I exist and that’s supposed to change how you up and left me without a word?”

He frowns. “Without a word?”

“Yeah, Chenle. Without a single fucking word.”

“That’s not true.” His tone sharpens to match yours. “I wrote to you. A lot. And if you didn’t want to read them, that’s on you. That doesn’t mean I left without a word. There were a lot of words, actually.”

“Why didn’t I get them?” Your voice drops into a whisper, moving one of your hands to touch your forehead.

“I…I don’t know. I didn’t know your address so I sent them to my mom, and she told me every time she gave one to your mom—”

A jolt of electricity rages up your spine, and you immediately turn away from him and run up the staircase. Your mother’s out of town for the week. If she’s been hiding letters from you, they’d be in her room somewhere—and you’d tear that place apart if it meant you had all those words.

“Where are you—hey!”

You’re already in your mom’s closet when Chenle follows you in.

“You shouldn’t be in here—”

“Says you,” you interrupt him, mindlessly shuffling through anything that looks like it could hold letters. “How many?”

“What?”

“How many did you send, Chenle?”

“Um.” He pauses, shifting on his feet. “I don’t know. A few? I stopped after a while because I didn’t hear anything. Figured you didn’t want anything else.”

“My God,” you mutter, blinking rapidly to fight off the tears. “And you swear your mom gave them to mine?”

“I—yeah, she didn’t have a reason not to.”

“And my mom had a reason not to give them to—shit. When did you send the first one?”

“(Y/N), it was seven years ago.”

“Was it right when you left or afterward?” You haphazardly dig through the closet, searching high and low.

“I left it here. I told my mom about it after a week or so. What the hell is going on?” Chenle runs his fingers through his hair again, gulping. “We really shouldn’t be in here.”

Your heart sinks. There’s nothing in here. You’ll never find Chenle’s letters, and the mystery will always be just that.

“I…I’m so sorry.” You drop your head into your hands. “I’m acting like an idiot right now.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m just confused. This whole time, I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me…that’s why I haven’t been back in a while.” Chenle takes a step closer to you, reaching out to touch your arm. “I would never leave you.”

You finally look at him. Really look at him. The worried furrow to his brow, the slight downturn of his lips, concern clouding those beautiful irises of his. Standing in front of you is the reason you are who you are today.

“You just…Okay, I need a while to figure all of this out.” You glance up to the ceiling, closing your eyes and taking a shuddering breath. “Can you go? I don’t really want to see you right now.”

Hurt plays out on his face, but after he blinks a few times, he nods slowly. “Yeah. Sure. Um, I’ll see you later. If it helps any, I probably could’ve tried to call or something.”

“We were kids.” You sigh. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

You say that, but it would have. The entire trajectory of your life may have changed if Chenle was still in it back then. As much as you want to be pissed at your mother for hiding things from you, maybe she was right.

Chenle takes his bottom lip between his teeth, looking you over one more time as he nods. “Right. I…I’ll see you around.”

Before you respond, he’s turning away from you and disappearing down the hall. You feel a lot of things—overwhelmed, confused, sad. But you also almost feel naive for listening to him—for believing that your mother hid things from you. Your brain stops being logical when Chenle’s around, and you know it’s a mistake to bring him back into your life. The hurt has passed, but that doesn’t mean it won’t rear its ugly head if you’re in such close proximity to him.

You go back downstairs to grab your phone, and the first thing you do is dial your mom’s number. She picks up after the first ring.

“Hi, honey! I was about to text you. New York is fascinating! You’d love it—”

“Did Chenle write me letters?”

“Oh.” She clears her throat. “Where is this coming from?”

“He’s here,” you mutter. “He told me he sent me letters, mom.”

“(Y/N), you have to understand where I was coming from.”

“Where are they?” You slap your hand to your forehead. “Where?”

“He still left, you know. I understand he’s important to you, but he still chose a career over you. And you would’ve thrown everything away for him without a second thought.” Your mom takes a deep breath. “You needed to live your life for you.”

“Where are they?” you repeat. “If you threw them away, I will never forgive you.”

“Of course, I didn’t throw them away. They’re in my closet in a little gold box on the floor. When you read those…don’t get any ideas. He lives far away and he’s even less available for you now than he was before.”

You hang up without saying another word and run back up the stairs. It takes you only a few seconds to find the box she told you about. When you open it, your breath shudders at the stack of letters in there. Some are aged and crinkly, but the ones toward the top are newer. Your hands shake as you grab them, mouth dry as you see the dates listed across the front of the envelope.

You start with the one on the bottom, the oldest, and ever so carefully opening it. Blinking back tears, you take in the painfully familiar handwriting that belonged to your Chenle.

(Y/N)

This is probably the worst way to do this, I know. I’m leaving to follow my dreams, and while I wish I could take you with me, it doesn’t make sense. Your mom would never agree to let you come. Thinking of going through all of this without you scares me more than I care to admit.

I don’t have a phone yet, but as soon as I get one, I’ll send you a letter with the number! It’ll be nice to hear your voice again. I’m writing this early, so I actually spoke with you earlier today, but it’s funny how quickly I miss you.

You’re probably going to be really mad at me, and that’s okay. I deserve it. The reason I didn’t tell you isn’t very simple, but I hope you understand it. Saying goodbye to you would feel so permanent. Goodbye itself is too permanent for my liking, so I’ve never liked them.

If I looked into your eyes and told you I was leaving, I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to go. Or that I’d sneak you with me in my carry-on. I didn’t want to hurt you. You mean so much to me, (Y/N). I don’t ever want to make you upset, and I know you’ll eventually understand why I had to do it this way.

Just know I’ll be thinking about you every day. You’re the reason I’ll have the strength to get through this training period.

Talk to you soon,

Your Chenle

You trace your finger along the bottom of the page. Face wet, you clear your throat as you delicately set it aside to grab the next one. According to the date on the envelope, it’s from a few months after the first one.

(Y/N),

These past few months have been so hectic. I think I almost died a couple times, but here I am. I debuted last week! I’m in a group called NCT, but I debuted in the sub-unit NCT DREAM. It seems surreal, and it happened so much faster than I thought.

I think you’d like the other guys. They’re nice and loud and friendly. Honestly, they seem like they’ve been working together for a little bit of time already, so I’m the newest one here. I heard someone say they’d been training for a while…

Anyway, I said in the last letter that I’d give you my phone number. I realized after I left that you didn’t have one either, so…I’m not sure how that’ll work. And I wasn’t expecting a response to these at all, but if you want to write back, it’d give me something to look forward to after all this hecticness.

But yeah…honestly, I was a bit worried about moving here and being in a group. I’ve been learning a lot of Korean though, and another member named Jisung has been helping me a lot. He’s a few months younger than me, can you believe it? Everyone treats him like a baby, but I think he likes it. I told them about you, and they all kept teasing me.

Maybe they just don’t understand. You’re my favorite person, of course, I’m going to talk about you and tell them stories about all the fun we had.

Sorry this one is a bit long. I hope you’re not too mad at me. And I also hope that you’re keeping up on me. I think you’d like Chewing Gum…

I’ll talk to you soon! I’ll write my number down at the bottom of the page.

Your Chenle

You have to take a break. You rest your head back against the wall, closing your eyes and imagining how hurt poor, young Chenle must have been when you never responded to his heartfelt letters. You don’t know much about Jisung—besides the obvious, public information—but you’re happy someone was good and helpful to him.

After that, you wonder what it would’ve been like to be there for him through all of that. Based on what you know about his group, he’s been through a lot of ups and downs over the years. You wonder if he wrote about some of the harder things, too.

You read another one that’s about their promotions, how he’s getting closer with the other members. Then one about how he performed with twenty-two others. The next one you grab is dated from 2019. You open it.

(Y/N),

I didn’t think this year would be as hard as it has been. We all expected it, you know? We knew it was going to happen, but it doesn’t change how scary it’s been. I’m sorry it’s been a while since I’ve written. Maybe you just throw them away at this point, which is fine, but I wish I could hear from you. Especially at a time like this.

Dream has a graduation system, and Mark’s been gone for months now. Things have been continuing ‘as normal,’ but without Mark, we don’t really feel complete as a group. We see him as often as we can, but performing without him is…it feels wrong.

I wish I could see you. You’d make everything better in an instant, just like you always did. Sometimes, I feel terrible because the others get sad about the situation, and I can’t figure out any good words to say. You’ve always been so good at comforting others, I wish you were here to help me.

It’s been two years since I’ve seen you. That’s so weird to think about, because I swear I still hear your voice in my head. Your encouraging words, how you always believed in me. I need that now more than ever.

I’m not sure if you know much about Mark, but he’s our rock. We kind of fail to function without him. But in the spirit of missing both you and Mark, I’ll tell you a little story about what happened when I asked Mark for advice.

I asked him about you—about what I could possibly do to make all of this up to you since you deserve it. And not hearing back from you makes me think you might hate me.

Anyway, his question in response was interesting. He wanted to know what you were to me. How I felt about you. At first, I thought he was crazy. I mean, it was obvious—you’re my best friend. I can’t live and function without my best friend.

He asked if that was all.

I vividly remember scrunching up my face and pushing his shoulder. Not too hard, by the way.

But the more he told me about what it felt like to be in love, everything clicked into place. I’m in love with you, (Y/N). I have been for so long that it started feeling like second nature instead of a conscious idea.

I guess it doesn’t matter now. Maybe I’ve failed you too much for it to mean anything to you.

Loss sucks. Losing Mark in Dream has sucked, losing you before I even realized the extent of my feelings sucked, but at the end of the day, I have to keep pushing forward. I’m sorry for any hurt I may have caused, because this situation with Mark also made me realize how much it must have hurt you for me to up and disappear the way I did.

I’m so, so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.

Your Chenle

You wipe angrily at your tears, unsure if you should be mad at yourself or at your mother. She stole this from you. Chenle figured out his feelings for you long before you figured out yours for him, but it feels like a new revelation—to know he felt the same way, even after years without you.

You remember this time where Mark had ‘graduated’ from NCT Dream. And because you knew Chenle well, you could tell he was struggling, even when he put on a happy facade. He needed you, and you weren’t there for him.

No matter how much it hurts, you can’t stop. You grab the next one. His writing became less frequent after that. He wrote to tell you when NCT Dream became a fixed unit, and how happy he was to be reunited as seven. The next was from their first full album. You find the last one, surprised to find how recent it was. There was a large gap between this one and the one before it.

The letter was addressed from a few months ago. The one before had been from two years ago.

(Y/N),

I’m sorry it’s been a while. Honestly, we’ve been so busy, I’ve barely even had the time to sleep. I got news today that we’ll be going to China for an event. I’m coming home, but I figured I should tell you in advance. Give you some time in case you really don’t want to see me.

I still think of you every day. All I want is to hear your voice again, but I won’t ask you to do something you don’t want to. If you have no intention of seeing me, that’s fine. I know I messed this up, but I figured it wouldn’t be right to give up when I’ll be so close.

We’ll be arriving in the next few weeks. I wish I could give you more detailed information, but I won’t even know it until the day of.

If this is it for us, thank you for the time I had with you. I love you, (Y/N). No matter what, that’ll be true, but this will be the last thing I send. I hope you understand.

Love,

Your Chenle

At this point, you’re bawling your eyes out. You aggressively wipe away the tears, cursing yourself for not knowing about these damn letters. All the pain you could’ve helped him through, all the hurt it could’ve saved you from.

You sniffle, grab your phone, and dial the number at the bottom of the second letter. It’s been years since he gave it to you, so there’s a good chance it’s different now. But you don’t exactly feel like going over to his house while his friends are there and making a fool of yourself.

“Hello?” That’s definitely his voice.

“Chenle,” you breathe out, closing your eyes. “My Chenle.”

“Yeah.” His tone softens. “Yeah, yours. Always yours.”

Running your fingers through your hair, you sigh. “I found them. All of them. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “It’s not like you even knew about them. Give me one second, I’m gonna go upstairs. Jeno and Jaemin are still here.”

You nod even though he can’t see you, and you hear him say something to the other guys. They reply, and then you hear the tell-tale sound of the stairs creaking beneath Chenle’s feet. Once he makes it up to his bedroom, he closes the door behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “That’s a lot to read all at once.”

“I don’t know. I’m so mad, Lele. How could she hide those from me? If I’d known you didn’t just leave me, it would’ve hurt so much less. And seeing all this pain you went through all by yourself…I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” he tells you. “We know the truth now. I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” you whisper, burying your head in your palm. “Not even if I tried.”

There’s a brief silence, only filled with the sounds of you sniffling and Chenle breathing. He’s right next door, but the idea of being with him is too real. You need time to process all of this, and bringing him around while you do isn’t the best idea.

“You said you loved me.”

“Love,” he corrects you. “Present tense. I never stopped.”

“I kept up with you.” You play with the seam of your jeans. “With everything you did with Dream and all the accomplishments you’ve had so far. I’ve been so proud of you with no way to say it.”

“I almost stopped writing letters. Mark convinced me not to give up, but after seven years I was pretty sure you wouldn’t change your mind,” he admits.

“If I’d been receiving them I would’ve called you the second you gave me your number.”

“That’s what I’d been hoping for.” Chenle takes a deep breath. “We have to go soon for a schedule, but can I come see you later?”

Later wasn’t really definitive. The thought of him in your house and in your space is scary, terrifying even, but this is Chenle. The boy who used to play piano with you and sing to his heart’s content. From what you’ve seen, this version of him doesn’t seem too different than that boy.

“Please,” you whisper. “Will you be hungry? I can make you something.”

“It’ll be late. Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Not too long after your conversation, you hear the three boys clamber into the van. You try to busy yourself throughout the day, cleaning in order to distract yourself. Eventually, you sit down at the piano and play whatever song comes to memory. One of the ones Chenle taught you back when he was here.

You taught yourself a few of Dream’s songs as well, like Rainbow, My Youth, Puzzle Piece, Teddy Bear, and most recently, Like We Just Met from their newest album. You play the last one, the darkness cascading around you as the sunset fades away from view. It’s only you and the starlight now, a gentle melody flooding through the air around you.

The door creaks open, and Chenle walks through when you’re almost done with the song. You stop playing, standing up to greet him. There’s an odd moment where you stand there staring at each other, admiring the way the starlight reflects off his skin. His eyebrows are furrowed, like he’s trying to decide what to do next.

You don’t hesitate anymore. Moving forward, you wrap your arms around him and bury your head in his chest. He immediately reciprocates, shaky breath passing by his lips as he holds you closely. His heart thrashes, the sound more than similar to yours.

“I missed you,” he says.

“I missed you, too,” you reply easily, tightening your grip on him.

You pull back slightly to look into his eyes, wetness gathered beneath them. With shaky hands, you reach up to wipe it away. His gaze travels over your face.

“You love me.”

He nods hesitantly, palms pressing into the small of your back. “Always have.”

“I’ve always loved you, too.” Before you talk yourself out of it, you’re on the tips of your toes to kiss him. It starts gently, your mouth barely brushing his before his breath catches in his throat. Then it’s real—he pulls you flush against him, lips fitting with yours like he’s made for you.

You move your hands from his cheeks to his hair, leaning into him. His fingers latch onto the fabric of your shirt. Next thing you know, he’s walking you backward until he’s pressing your back into a wall.

“We have so much to talk about.” He rests his forehead on yours. “So much air to clear up.”

“Yeah.” You nod, but your stare is focused directly on his lips.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” he warns you. “I don’t get to come here often, so unless you were to come to Korea, we’d pretty much never see each other. My schedules are so packed, I’m practicing all day and half-dead by the time I get home. I can be a real asshole when I’m tired, and sometimes I might take jokes too far. This life is not easy, (Y/N). I need you to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“What am I even doing here?” you ask. “I can come with you.”

“I can’t ask you to give up everything you have for me.” He shakes his head, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You’re not asking. Chenle, I spent years thinking you were gone without a word. All I want is to be with you as much as possible.”

“At least think about it for a little bit first, okay? I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.” He gulps. “That goes for a lot of things.”

“I’ve had seven years to think about all the things I wanted from you.”

“You can’t say things like that,” he mutters.

You’re painfully aware of what it feels like to have him pressed against you, warm in all the right ways and, despite being so thin, he’s firm to the touch. The ache you feel to be closer to him is overwhelming.

“I spent years thinking everything was a lie,” you tell him. “That I couldn’t possibly have mattered to you if you could just disappear without a word.”

His fingers play with yours, discomfort at the idea plastered across his face. “Never. I never would’ve done that. You’ve always meant so much to me.”

“I’m just happy I finally get to tell you all of the things I wanted to tell you after I found out you were gone.” You give him the smallest smile, and he reaches up to trace along your bottom lip.

The simple touch sends sparks flying down your spine, and you’re sure you’ll crumble to dust right at his feet from the forceful impact of it. An odd tug occurs in your chest, one that has you questioning if you’ve ever experienced it before. It pulls you toward him, and despite being flush, your mind dips to dangerous places that could get you so, so much closer.

You’re not sure what’s gotten into you, but this is Chenle. Your Chenle. And if you’re having these feelings for him, there’s no need to hide it.

“I…” you trail off, clenching onto the fabric of his shirt, right above his heart. “Do you feel it, too? Everything is…different now.”

“Under other circumstances, I’d say different is bad,” he whispers. “But there’s nothing bad about the way you’re looking at me.” 

His arms wrap around your waist tightly, and simultaneously, you both lean in until your lips are locked in a gentle battle. The warmth of his touch finds your hip, where your sweater rose up enough to reveal your skin. You let out a shaky sigh, and he squeezes you.

“Come upstairs with me?” Your invite is airy, suggestive, and he analyzes you while his gaze darkens.

“If that’s what you want,” he says.

“Is it what you want?” You tilt your head at him, voice quiet since he’s so close.

He pauses and wets his lips. “Of course, it is. I just don’t want you to regret anything. Losing you once was enough, and I refuse to go through that again.”

 Instead of answering, you intertwine your fingers with his and lead him toward the stairs, through the blackness of the night casting through the windows. You take one step at a time, your heart thundering and blood pulsing through your veins. One look at your shoulder, and for a second, you almost swear you see the younger versions of you and Chenle sitting by the piano. Caught up in the music. In each other.

He follows you, entranced by the way you move and how you’re so willingly guiding him. Everything happens in slow motion for you. Too fast but too slow at the same time, somehow the moment you’ve waited for your entire life while simultaneously the thing that’s scared you the most.

Your Chenle.

He said it himself. Why is it so foreign to think about? That maybe, even after all this time, he loves you even an ounce of how much you love him? Endless devotion with no contact. But he did the same—he waited and waited for your response much like you waited for any contact from him. You were both physically and metaphorically in the dark.

The door to your bedroom creaks as you push it open, embarrassed by how little it’s changed since the last time he was in it. The walls are still the same color, faded and paint peeling in some of the corners. Your bed has been swapped from twin-sized to a queen, but everything else is virtually untouched.

No more words are spoken.

They’re not needed.

You don’t need anything. Not when you have him.

He presses your body into the mattress, climbing over you gently. His touch is tender, sweet, not too much pressure. You’re halfway certain you’ll wake up from this dream any time now, and you’ll once again be without him. Without his touch and his love and his truths.

Kissing him is like touching the sun. It burns, nearly enough to make you combust into flames, but magnetic. He is your sun, and you are the Earth. You revolve around him.

Normally, anyone else taking your clothes off would make you nervous, but you know you’re in good hands with Chenle. Your shirt is tossed aside first, his mouth instantly dipping down to explore every inch of exposed skin. His tongue drags along the swells of your breasts, over your collarbones. He nips, teeth leaving shallow indents on your soft flesh.

Your whines are soft, delicately slicing into the silence of the air. The first time he hears you, he freezes, his eyelashes fluttering against your neck as he takes in the way you sound. Quiet cries of ‘more’ escape you while your hands explore beneath his T-shirt.

Never before in your life have you wanted someone with such despracy. Your body aches for him, and the tug in your chest that pulled you closer to him has finally revealed how. As his fingers pop the button on your jeans, you lift your hips.

He pulls his lips away from your chest, gaze honing in on yours. There’s something swirling around in his irises, and you’re sure yours reflect the same. He doesn’t have to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. Not verbally. You nod, guiding his mouth back to yours.

The heat of his touch dips dangerously low, past your jeans and the hem of your panties. You gasp, appreciative of how he catches the sound. You’ve been touched before, but nobody has ever compared to the way he feels. When you’ve met your soulmate, nothing could be better.

He rubs slow circles on your clit, eyes hazy from knowing he’s the one who made you feel this way. Normally, you’d need more. A simple touch wouldn’t be enough to have you squirming in someone’s grasp, but there’s so much more behind his movements than lust.

And he takes it a step further, sliding his long fingers inside you. His gaze focuses on you the whole time, watching your face for any sign of discomfort as he thrusts his hand. He nudges your sensitive bud with the heel of his palm every time he’s knuckle deep.

Your stomach feels elastic, as if you’re stretching a rubber band, and it’s taking everything you have not to let it snap back. It’s too good. Too intoxicating. Too early for it to be over. He swallows your short moans, picking up his pace. You lean up, yearning for his kiss. He doesn’t need to ask, and the second your lips meet, you tighten around him, and it’s over.

Warmth spreads all over your body, your insides boil, and butterflies swarm deep in your stomach. Your eyes shut, and your head falls back against your pillow. He kisses all over your face, humming quietly.

He pulls away from you to help you remove the last of your clothing, the fabric of your panties sticking uncomfortably until he tugs them down your legs.

You reach down to feel him through his pants, unable to stop the shuddering breath that escapes you when you touch his length. He grinds into your hand, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

Finally, nothing separates the two of you anymore. The tip of his cock presses against your entrance, the initial pressure already making you crave more. You need all of him, so you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your heels into his back to tell him to push in further. Your whole body tingles with pleasure, the type enough to make your toes curl, and your chest heaves as you adjust to his size.

His forehead drops against your shoulder, grasping one of your hands in his own to squeeze. He takes you slowly, his throbbing length stretching you to your limits and rubbing your walls perfectly. You were made for him, you’re certain. He fits so well, so completely, there’s no other explanation for it.

He curses under his breath, eyes threatening to flutter shut from the pleasure. Sweat clings to you tighter than Chenle does, but you relish in the way you react to him. His eyebrows pinch as he looks at you for any sign of discomfort.

His name slips past your lips. In that moment, you truly become his, and he becomes yours. Bodies meld together, each one of his thrusts sliding so pleasantly inside you. There’s no sound from either of you besides the brief exchange of names, moans from both of you, and the slick of your wetness.

He kisses you, thrusting at a steady, mind-crumbling pace. His chest brushes against yours, breathing uneven as he clenches the bedsheets next to your head. You quickly realize you could do this forever. The feeling of him so deep inside you would never subside, and you find yourself never wanting to separate from him.

Starlight gleams off his skin, the blue shine accenting the sheen of sweat clinging to him. His muscles contract as he holds himself over you, and his hair hangs over his eyes. All you can do in your current state is push it back, basking in the softness of it.

Picking up his pace, he slides one of his hands down your body, his thumb connecting with your clit. You’re a moaning mess, clinging to him as the familiar sensation returns to the pit of your stomach.

His trembling breath fans across your ear as he leans close. You’re unsure of how to handle all of the pleasure, your body spasming. He presses a kiss on that sensitive spot.

“I love you,” he whispers.

And that’s all it takes to have you shatter around him, your back arching as you grip onto his shoulders for dear life. He moans loudly, hips stuttering as your walls clench. When he spills inside you, it’s as if the last piece of you two finally comes together.

In bliss, you tell him you love him, too, over and over.

He kisses you passionately once more before gently pulling out of you, reassuring you that he’ll be right back so you let go. Grabbing a towel from your bathroom, he cleans you up, gaze drinking up every part of you. Once he’s finished, he crawls next to you in bed, pulling you to his chest.

You’re still certain you’ll wake up, and all of this will have been a dream, but until then, you’re going to enjoy it. Burying yourself in the warmth of his chest, you hum in content when he pulls the blankets over the two of you.

Finally, he’s here.

He’s no longer a memory trapped within the piano keys in your foyer.

He’s your Chenle, never to leave your side again.

[livlaughloveluke]

Hey!! Can u write a story inspired by “Snow on the beach” with Taylor and Lana ofc bc they r the music industry. Love ya!!

𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡- 𝐞.𝐥

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when you and ethan fall for each other, a new feeling that only can be described as snow on the beach emerges

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none

𝐚/𝐧: i love lana and taylor so yk i had to fill this request! if you requested something earlier, i am working on it now! also this should be gender neutral, but its my first time writing for a gn reader so I might have messed up! 💗💕

you walked down the dimly lit street with your friends, while having an amazing time. however, something inside you still felt empty. you wanted someone you love you the way you had loved others. you had a couple partners in the past years, but most were hookup buddies or toxic, if we’re being honest.

unbeknownst to you, across the empty street, was a man who had been craving love, the same way you did. he walked behind his friends, who were in seemingly perfect relationships. his roommate chad was laughing with tara, while mindy was holding hands with anika. sam was absent from their meetup, probably with her boyfriend, danny.

as fate would have it, the two strangers would see each other again in the near future.

tara and you had met through a shared class, and quickly became good friends. one friday, during study period, she invited you to a frat party that she was attending with her friends later that night. you agreed, and soon you were laughing your asses off, half drunk, while walking to the house it was hosted at. 

chad had seen you around campus, and your kind-hearted personality and gorgeous looks made him think you and ethan were a perfect match. once he heard you were showing up to the party with tara, he knew he had to set you and ethan up. 

the two boys waited for you and tara’s arrival. chad had told ethan about you, and ethan immediately recognized your name. you were extremely intelligent, and he had plenty of classes with you. he doubted that you would even look his direction, but chad begged to differ. he spent the next few minutes hyping ethan up, until you arrived.

tara looked around the crowded rooms of the building, searching for her boyfriend. once she spotted him, she grabbed your wrist and dragged you with her. the house was filled with drunk, sweaty college students, and the aroma made you gag. 

“chad!” tara exclaimed, letting go of your hand to enthusiastically hug him. “this is my friend y/n!” 

you look at the boys, and are immediately caught off guard by the taller ones beauty. you quickly introduce yourself to them, before meeting eyes with ethan.

“ethan, right? i think we have econ together.” you say, eagerly awaiting his response. he was surprised you knew his name, let alone recognized him. 

“uh, yeah! i’m pretty sure i’ve seen you around the school before.” he nervously responds, fidgeting with his hands. 

“mhm! if im being honest, I literally have no clue what we’re doing in that class.” you reply, trying to start a conversation. chad and tara look at each other with a smile, knowing you and the boy would be getting along well.

“oh, i could totally help! not to flex, but im pretty good at econ. i could help tutor you or something, i mean maybe if you wanted to.” he offers, and you smile and agree. you exchange numbers and begin studying together every tuesday and thursday. 

after a few weeks of strictly schoolwork, you start to hang out together more, as friends instead of tutor and tutuee. it started off as going out with the group, but you slowly began spending one on one time with each other.

you were currently having your first sleepover together, as friends of course. you and him were attempting to make homemade cookies, and lets just say it wasn’t going well. 

“eth, how much sugar did you pour into the batter…?” you ask, noticing the extreme sweetness while tasting.

“I don’t know, like four cups? thats what you told me.” he continues mixing, unaware of the situation.

“ethan!! i said two cups you dipshit!!” you say, now laughing at his silly mistake.

“what?! you did not!! i mean, it cant taste that bad, right?” he dips his finger in the sugary substance, and immediately regrets tasting it. he starts laughing too, to the point of tears. it really wasn’t that funny, but seeing you laugh just made him fill with joy.

truth was, he was falling for you. and he had a sneaky suspicion that you felt the same. however, this state of your relationship was heavenly, and he wouldn’t dare to ruin anything by attaching a label. 

he had never fallen in love with a person who truly loved him back, so this was very new to him. it was an ethereal experience, and he lacked the words to describe it.

if he had to however, he would compare it to snow on the beach. god it was weird, and yet somehow so beautiful. it was like watching a romantic movie, and he was the star. 

little did he know, soon you would start dating, and this unique feeling would never go away. in other words, the snow on the beach never seemed to melt.

taglist- @nowitsmissing, @nikoschrissis, @lvndryyhoe, @ieattoesforbreakfqst, @sevenheavxns, @wonderstruck4llthew4yhome, @imkillmyselfxoxo, @lumaxstans-blog, @ilovejackchampionnn, @hyeyulove, @jackchampiongf13, @sebastiansallowsgf, @michaelangdonsslut, @1212valee, @teenagedramaqueenlisa, @fherlima, @kate4katie, @itsb3a2, @maybankfr

some names wouldn’t let me tag :(

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part I

Find more writing here :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge, huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who literally deserves all the credit and whose post inspired me to start writing this. I could not stop thinking about this head canon, and it was so kind of you to let me try and make a story from it :)

Part II >>

Lucien tugged at the iron chains around his wrists, the unforgiving metal biting into his skin. He knew there was no chance of escaping, that his fate now rested in the hands of others, but Lucien had hoped one of the links would break and he could take some of the pressure off his shoulders. 

“Fuck,” Lucien mumbled, blood still wet on his lips. He ran his tongue over his teeth to check if they were all there. “Fucking hells.” 

With one last useless pull on his restraints, Lucien gave up on breaking free from his shackles. He decided to take a better look around the small cell he had been thrown into, but even with his golden eye, he had to squint into the darkness. 

Stone walls spelled against magic of any type closed Lucien off from the rest of the world. He could feel damp, cool air against his skin, the type that came from being deep within the earth. He was quite sure his nose had been broken, but he took a shuddering breath. Mingled with the copper scent of his own blood, Lucien could smell dying leaves. 

Home. 

The thought came to him unbidden, thunderous in the silence. Others in Prythian thought that Autumn was rotting, cruel in its beauty, always just on the verge of death. Lucien had always found comfort in the constant state of the court he had been raised in. He had not considered Autumn his home for centuries, and Lucien rushed to shake the idea from his mind. 

He stumbled to the cell’s door, leaning onto the aged wood with all his weight. There was a small circle carved into it, a sorry excuse for a window, Lucien thought. When he pressed his forehead against the opening, and angled his head just right, Lucien could make out an endless hallway. He could see no guards, could hear nothing but the steady beat of his own heart. 

Lucien had been hopeful before, but the chance of him making it out of Autumn alive was starting to look more and more unlikely with each passing moment. Golden eye whirring, he searched for a crack in the wards. 

Lucien felt dread, ice cold, crawling up his spine. No one would come for him, he thought, the panic gripping him like a vice. He would be left entirely at his father’s mercy, alone and forgotten. 

Voice low, Lucien cursed Beron Vanserra for being terrible, and he cursed his brothers for being even worse. He added Rhysand’s name as well, angry for having sent him to handle the issue at Spring’s border. Lucien hissed one last bitter curse before he kicked the door in frustration. 

The action sent a jolt of pain up his entire leg, but being able to release some of that pent up rage managed to make Lucien feel just a bit better. He kicked the door once again with added force, wholly out of character for one of Prythian’s best emissaries. 

When the door shuddered, the ancient hinges screeching as if in protest, Lucien wondered if he had perhaps shattered the ward. As the door slowly opened, though, dim firelight falling through the widening space, Lucien moved faerie-quick to press his back against the rough stone behind him.  

It was a lesson the youngest of children were taught in Autumn, how easy it was for jewelled daggers to meet their mark. It was easier to fight, and to protect yourself, if you only had to worry about what was in front of you. It was a lesson so well ingrained in Lucien’s mind that it had become instinct. 

As the door opened entirely, and a tall figure stepped into the stone arch of the cell, Lucien remembered who had been the one to teach him that lesson in the first place. 

Eris Vanserra, Beron’s most trusted son and the heir to his throne. No one could deny Eris looked like a prince, all Autumn, even without a golden crown set on his blood-red hair. 

Lucien looked from his brother’s leather boots, to his brown pants, to the white shirt laced to Eris’s throat. He couldn’t see a weapon, no dagger hilt warning others that Eris was armed. 

Amber eyes fell on Lucien, lip curling in disgust. He looked disappointed, Lucien thought, before he realised that Eris was within the walls of the cell. 

Mind racing, Lucien glanced past his brother and into the hallway. Perhaps—

“Don’t even think about it,” Eris snapped, the words like a whip’s lash. 

“Fuck off,” Lucien snarled, angry that so much time had passed and yet Eris could still read him like an open book. Lucien looked more closely at Autumn’s heir, but he couldn’t guess just from the expression on his brother's face whether he had come to help, or to do their father’s bidding. 

“Were you always so crude with your words,” Eris raised an eyebrow in question, “or is this the Night Court’s influence?” 

Lucien bowed slightly at the waist, the gesture awkward with his hands still shackled behind him, mocking. “You have my sincerest apologies.” Lucien wanted to strangle Eris, and he hoped the tone of his voice conveyed the feeling well. 

When Eris tilted his head, looking more wolf than faerie, the small golden hoops going up the arch of his ear glimmered in the light from the torches. “Father is not very pleased with you.” 

Lucien made a point to look around the small space he was in. “Thank you for telling me, he hadn’t made his displeasure obvious.” His golden eye clicked into place as he faced Eris. “Is that all?” 

“He wants you dead,” Eris said, voice clipped, but certain. Lucien could see no mercy in that flaming gaze, no care. 

Lucien nodded, unseeing. He had known, from the moment he had been brought to Autumn, that his death would be the likeliest outcome. He was too busy thinking, mind preoccupied with the image of brown eyes, the rich colour of a fawn’s coat. 

I can hear your heart beating through the stone. 

For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop. 

The thought troubled him enough that he turned his attention back to Eris, glaring. “Come to gloat?” 

Eris shrugged, the movement elegant in a way only the best of courtier’s were capable of. “Only partially.” His lips turned down at the corners, the smallest of frowns, before he continued. “If it were up to me, I’d leave you here to rot with the rest of the prisoners. Truly, I could care less about what father decides to do to you.” 

“How kind,” Lucien mumbled, not entirely believing his brother’s words, but not exactly sure where the Autumn heir actually stood on the matter. Once, Lucien had believed Eris cared, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. 

Eris ignored Lucien’s remark all together. “Mother, though,” he continued, “she’s worried about your well being.” 

“Then tell her everything is fine.” Lucien knew the Lady of Autumn had enough to worry about. 

“That would be a lie,” Eris snapped. “Father is one bad mood away from ripping you apart and sending your severed head to Rhysand as a gift.” The words were a hiss, barely a whisper. 

Lucien breathed in sharply. “Eris–” He hadn’t known what he was going to say, but Eris raised a beringed hand, demanding silence. 

“You’re very lucky, Lucien, that I have some spare time in my very busy schedule to do as our mother has asked and find a way to return you to the Night Court.” 

Lucien could imagine his mother, tears in her russett eyes so similar to his own, as she fell to her knees at Eris’s feet, begging for help. He wondered if Eris had spoken to her kindly. 

“All out of the goodness of your heart?” Lucien questioned. He had meant for it to be angry, but instead he sounded exhausted. 

“What heart?” 

Lucien very nearly rolled his eyes. Only in the Autumn Court could people be so dramatic. “You’ll come back for me, then?” He would try to keep his expectations of Eris low. Lucien had learned from the last time he had found himself in a similar situation that hoping for help from his eldest brother was pointless. Then, he had considered it a betrayal, now he knew better, it was simply in Eris’s nature to do things that only ever benefited him. 

Eris smiled, the expression making it seem like he was baring his teeth. The dim firelight was casting long shadows on Eris’s face, the slash of his cheekbones looked glass sharp. “Give me a day or two, little brother.” Lucien flinched at the last two words, more cruel than anything else Eris had said to him since his arrival. If Eris noticed, he chose not to acknowledge it. “If your heart is still beating, I’ll find a way to return you to your High Lady.” 

Eris had a rare gift in his ability to make anything sound like an insult, Lucien thought. Still leaning against the rough wall for support, Lucien nodded in agreement. He knew better than to trust his brother’s word, but for the first time since he’d been tossed into the dungeons, he felt a small spark of hope. 

Eris took a step back, away from the arch in the stone, and Lucien was plunged once more into darkness. He winnowed without a word, the torches going out as he disappeared, and leaving nothing but a few dying embers in his wake. 

The heavy oak door slammed shut, locks falling into place, and Lucien was once again alone.

[heliads]

Hii Lisa my beloved!💕💕 I'm in my Kaz phase again and some stupid ideas have been running through my head constantly. Hoping you could turn it into a wonderful fic, if you like the idea of course.

Kaz x reader with slight Nikolai x reader😌

So, reader is a Grisha with healing abilities (hidden like Alina). After a tragic event, the loss of their family hit hard and they were taken into care by some people that worked at the palace. That's where reader met Nikolai, they became best friends and later enrolled in Army, became lovers all of that. Reader's healing powers were slightly special in the sense that when they used them there was a golden glow all around, making the wrong people believe reader was a sun summoner. After being madly in love for some time, reader got kidnapped for their powers. Tortured for 2 years, reader was saved by our lovely Crows. Reader believed Nikolai never looked for them (false because he did desperately until he ran away and became Sturmhond after believing that reader died)

Reader becomes a Crow, falls in love with Kaz, they have a relationship for 2 years or so and then, one day they fight about something and right at that time, Nikolai makes his way to their bar. Reader and Nikolai have an emotional meeting that leaves Kaz insecure and jealous.

The ending...well I think reader should stay with Kaz buut I'm not opposed to something else👀

Whatever you want my dear Lisa. I hope this makes sense and it's not too insane. I love you and thank you💕

my beloved!!! this request is literally incredible, why are your ideas always exquisite????

masterlist

You don’t like it when Ketterdam is quiet. This jilted city of yours is always loud, always rowdy, and on the few instances in which it isn’t, the whole place seems to hold its breath, just waiting for something bad to happen. Sometimes you hear things you shouldn’t when there’s no background noise to cover it up. Sometimes, worst of all, you dream. 

This dream is not a good one. You only know this after waking. The dream leaves quickly, as all dreams do, slipping back away under cover of night to haunt some other sleeper. You let it pool in your trembling hands, dripping out through your fingers despite your best attempts to stop it from abandoning you. It must have been a tumultuous dream indeed, because for a moment you thought you were back. Back in Ravka. Back with him. 

Ravka is not yours anymore. It was, once upon a time, or so you let yourself believe. You were born in a small village near Adena, home mostly to craftsmen without merit and tradesmen with a fear of leaving their homes. It was a quiet, get-what-you-will existence for the most part, up until the point when you reattached a woman’s severed leg with a wave of your hand and discovered you were a Grisha.

Healers are valuable commodities in a war-torn nation, and you were shipped off to Os Alta before you knew it. It would have been lonely there in a city fiercely divided between Grisha and non-Grisha, were it not for the one friend you made there. A prince, of all people. A second son who wanted nothing more to run. Nikolai Lantsov.

You and Nikolai were just children when you met. It took years of close friendship for you to trust each other enough to fall in love, and even then, it was your best kept secret. Princes do not fall in love with witches. Grisha do not fall in love with mortal men. You kissed him behind locked doors and swore it would be enough for you, even if it wasn’t.

Perhaps it would have been, if Fate had been content to let you rest in mere complacency. There was one singular trait that separated you from the rest of the Corporalnik Healers at the Little Palace, one minor mark of difference. You can heal a patient just as well as anybody else, but for some reason, you glow when you do it. A warm, golden light emits from your palms whenever you use your gifts. His sunbeam, Nikolai used to call you.

Maybe people listened in too closely when they shouldn’t have. Maybe someone connected dots that didn’t exist. Maybe it’s just that in a country like Ravka, a country split by the Shadow Fold, a country in desperate need of Saints, it would be easy to overlook someone’s mortality in the hopes of discovering their own salvation.

That’s your best guess as to what happened to you. What you remember best is the aftermath, not the reason. You were taken from Os Alta in the dead of night, your hands bound in chains so you couldn’t fight or use your gift. You tried to scream, but they had a Squaller, a damned traitor, who stole the breath from your lungs before any sound could be heard.

They tortured you for two months, hoping you’d break and show that you really were the Sun Summoner they’d get paid to sell. It never happened, so they dug harder, cut you more, cared even less. You waited in dark and squalid rooms for someone to rescue you, someone like Nikolai, but no one came. No one Ravkan, at least.

You always wondered if you could put a time cap on the love of a prince. It turns out you can:  four months and six days is all it took for Nikolai Lantsov to give up on you. You spent four months and six days waiting for him before hearing that he’d officially stopped mourning you in public to go to university, and the remainder of those two years in wondering how little he must have cared for you to give up just like that. 

You have no doubt that your captors would have spent far longer than two pathetic years in trying to extract a Sun Saint from your exhausted spirit were it not for your rescuer. A far different savior than you expected, to be sure, far more bloodthirsty than any guardian angel you’ve ever heard about, but he did the job. He always does.

That’s Dirtyhands for you, you suppose, he gets what he wants. And if what he wants is a Healer at the low cost of having to break into a smuggler’s ship while it paused briefly in the Kerch harbor for supplies, so be it. Kaz Brekker was there for money and he was there for a new soldier to serve in his gang. You happened to fit both bills.

At first, you hadn’t known if you were actually safe or in even more danger than before. At least Kaz wasn’t torturing you outright– that was a start, wasn’t it? You didn’t trust him in the slightest at first, nor him with you. It took months of slow, apprehensive acceptance for that to happen.

It took longer for hesitant acquaintanceship to turn into friendship, and for friendship to turn to something more. Something like happiness. Something like the pure contentment of knowing that there is one person out there who would burn the whole world down if you were ever hurt. Nikolai mourned you for an appropriate time, but if the roles were reversed and you were in Ketterdam when you were kidnapped, Kaz would never accept your loss. 

He’s all but told you this himself. There was one instance in your first six months of being in the Barrel when another Grisha hunter decided you would make decent prey. You were only an hour later than expected, but ten men were killed and a pleasure house burnt to the ground by the time Kaz got you back. You never feared getting taken again. You think he’s quite proud of that, even if he’ll never admit it to a living soul. Only the dead tell no tales. 

So the Barrel is your home, so bloody kruge becomes your daily bread and butter. You wouldn’t want any other life. There is always the fear that you would someday lose that confidence, but you swore that time was over. Apparently not, though. 

All that time spent learning to live again, and you still wake up in cold sweats, half sure that you’re back in your birth country and no better off than when you started. Kaz doesn’t deserve that. Your guilty conscience makes you want to beg his forgiveness, so you slip out of your room and up the stairs to his office without a second thought.

You know better than to think that Kaz Brekker would be asleep a few hours past dawn. You’re not entirely sure that he ever sleeps at all. It wouldn’t surprise you if he found a way to optimize his waking hours such that he never needed to close his eyes. Being able to capitalize on the time everyone else spent sleeping would certainly give him a leg up in the race of the Barrel rats. 

Sometimes, when he’s feeling charitable, Kaz lets you heal him just a little bit, not the sort of injury reduction associated with broken bones but that of eliminating exhaustion. You’ve learned how to use your gifts without touching skin. Maybe that’s why he wanted your skills on his side in the first place, just in case. 

The door creaks slightly when you come in. It is well within Kaz’s powers to oil the dratted thing, but you think he likes the sound. It serves as a warning of an intruder if he needs one, a reminder that he is no longer alone. It tells him that you are here now, and he looks up from his seat at his desk. The only sign that these aren’t normal working hours for anyone else is the slight dishevelment of his appearance, dark hair falling haphazardly over his eyes from being frustratedly pushed out of the way one too many times, his clothes rumpled and jacket removed.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks.

“Could you?” You return.

Kaz rolls his eyes. “I don’t need sleep.”

“Of course you do,” you say matter-of-factly, “You’re still human, Kaz, despite your best efforts to turn yourself into a machine.”

“I think it would be less productive to be a machine,” Kaz muses as he considers the stacks of ledgers before him, “think of the rust. Also, I don’t trust any gadget not to break down when you need it most.”

You snort, closing the door behind you and walking to the window behind his desk. “Machines aren’t the only ones breaking down all the time. People do that too.”

Your voice trails off on your last sentence, and Kaz cuts off his stare with his ledgers, turning his chair to face you. When he speaks again, his tone is gentle. It would surprise anyone but you.

“You’ve had another nightmare about Ravka again, haven’t you?”

You deliberate over your words, opting instead to perch on Kaz’s window seat and draw your legs up to your chest. He already knows the answer, anyway. “Yes,” you reply at last.

Kaz nods once. “It’s not real. The dream.”

You laugh bitterly. “I know that. I just hate the way I keep thinking about that place. It makes me feel weak.”

Kaz frowns. “You’re not weak. If you were, I never would have hired you.”

You can’t stop a faint grin from flitting across your face. “So romantic, Kaz.”

“Isn’t it?” He asks.

You glance at him over your shoulder and register genuine bewilderment on your face. To Kaz, you suppose, that is the height of romance after all. A true validation of your worth, a promise that you are enough.

It makes you smile. “You’re right,” you decide, “it is. It’s good to know my position is safe.”

“You’re safe,” Kaz repeats. He stands, walking over to the window. He doesn’t lean against you, but you can feel the exhale of his breath on your shoulder, the ghost of the touch you will never force him to give. “I will make sure of it.”

The two of you stare out the window at the rising sun. A new dawn is coming, bringing with it a new day, new surprises. Some of those surprises, as it turns out, will be far more shocking than you could have ever envisioned.

You’d like to say that you recovered from your nightmare pretty quickly after that, and you did collect your wits, but the jittery feeling stays with you well into the evening. You decide to stop by the Crow Club once dusk sets in, both as a favor to Kaz and for yourself. Once you do your usual perusal of tables, only having to point out one particularly gifted cheater to the guards, you allow yourself to drift over to the bar and order your favorite drink.

You see Jesper briefly in between rounds of Makker’s Wheel and talk idly for a few moments before he drifts off again. The Crow Club, albeit one of the fastest places in Kerch for money to leave your pockets, still feels like home to you. The rowdy hubbub, the dim lights, all of it is yours and has been for some time now. The Barrel is not safe, but this is Kaz’s place, and that means you never feel threatened so long as you’re within its walls.

Maybe that’s why you don’t register the new presence until it’s too late to run. The thought that the young man standing before you could ever be here at all is utterly bewildering. This is the Barrel, this is your mess of dingy canals and hopeless cases. What reason could Nikolai Lantsov possibly have to bring him down these parts?

You blink and he’s standing there staring at you like he’s seen a ghost. All the cockiness drains from his step as his jaw unapologetically drops. It is loud in here, but you swear the volume drops just long enough for you to hear him with perfect accuracy as Nikolai whispers:

“Y/N?”

He says it like a prayer delivered by a dying man, every syllable infused with impossible hope. You don’t respond, but something in your expression must confirm his question anyway. Either that or your face has changed so little in the five years since you saw him last that Nikolai can recognize you anyway, even in the smoke-filled haven of the Crow Club.

He draws forward by impulse, steps quickening the closer he gets to you. In all honesty, you have no idea what he is about to do, nor how you would respond, so you find yourself unquestionably grateful when Kaz emerges out of nowhere to stand in between you and Ravka’s younger prince.

Nikolai pulls up short to avoid running into him. “Who,” Kaz says, voice low but cold as a blade, “are you?”

Nikolai’s gaze darts past Kaz to lock squarely on you. You find yourself answering in his stead. “This is Nikolai.”

You can’t see Kaz’s expression from this angle, but you can imagine the way his eyes must narrow anyway. “Nikolai from Ravka?”

“The very one,” Nikolai replies, a touch of that same bravado in his tone you remembered so well.

Kaz scoffs. “Impossible. How’d you cross the Shadow Fold, then, prince?”

Nikolai gestures to himself, and only now once the initial shock of seeing him is starting to fade away do you realize how absurdly he’s dressed. “I left Ravka when I thought Y/N died. I go by a different name now. Sturmhond.”

You laugh in spite of yourself, a high sound bordering almost on fright. “You became a pirate?”

“Privateer,” he corrects, and judging by the quick answer you’re guessing it’s the same knee-jerk response he gives to everybody.

Kaz shifts slightly, allowing you to see the glare he’s not bothering to hide. “And what are you doing in my city, privateer?”

Nikolai swallows hard. “I heard a rumor about a Healer. A Healer whose hands glowed when she saved someone’s life. I had to know.”

Kaz looks like he wants to physically cut the source of this information out of Nikolai’s throat, but you beat him to it. “Why would you care now? You never tried to find me.”

Nikolai’s eyes flash. “I tried every day until I heard you were dead. I mourned for months.”

“Heard,” Kaz comments, “you never found a body?”

“Obviously not,” Nikolai says, glancing towards you again, “Why didn’t you come back to Ravka, Y/N? Why didn’t you try to find me? I missed you. I loved you. I still do.” He holds out a hand to you. “My ship leaves in one week’s time. Come home with me.”

You find yourself flinching back. Since your first days on the shores of Ketterdam, you’ve long since learned to disguise any sign of weakness, but Kaz knows you well enough to look for signs of trouble in even your slightest of expressions.

The small catch of your breath now tells him all he needs to know regarding Nikolai’s offer. Kaz’s hands curl around his cane, causing the black leather to crease like skin. “Y/N is safe here, Lantosov. She doesn’t need your war-torn country.”

Nikolai’s brow furrows. “Who are you to speak for her?”

“I’m the one who actually saved her instead of giving up,” Kaz says simply, “I’m the one who gave her a home.”

Nikolai’s eyes flit to you again, and you nod. “I loved you, Nikolai, it’s true, but I moved on when you did. Ketterdam is where I belong. My time in Ravka is over.”

You see Kaz straighten up imperceptibly by your side. From the way he’d spoken to Nikolai, you hadn’t thought he harbored a shred of uncertainty regarding where you would want to go, but it appears that his worst fears were assuaged by you asserting that you wanted to stay with him.

Nikolai swallows hard. “I won’t blame you for wanting to come home.” Only myself,  you can sense him mentally adding on. It is a shame that time has not robbed you of the ability to tell what he’s thinking.

“I already am home, Nikolai.” You tell him.

He nods and leaves without another word. You watch him go, and he does not look back. Nikolai has had quite a long time to mourn your absence. Tonight may have set him back a little bit, but you have no doubt that he will recover just as he did before.

“Thank you for staying,” Kaz murmurs when Nikolai disappears from the club.

“Thank you for fighting to keep me here,” you whisper back.

Kaz’s eyes are sharp when they meet yours. “I will always fight for you.”

That, you think, is the difference between him and Nikolai in the end. Nikolai will carry your memory with him wherever he goes, but Kaz would never allow someone to take you from him in the first place. He would go to war to keep you safe. In a way, you think he already has.

You have the perfect view of Fifth Harbor from Kaz’s office window. You wonder if he planned it that way, so he could see both who was entering his life and who was leaving it. The two of you stand and watch Nikolai’s ship leave for Ravka once more. You wondered if it would hurt to see a ticket back to your place of birth evaporate from between your fingers, but it doesn’t. It’s just like you told Nikolai, isn’t it? You are already home. There is no need to leave.

requested by @zaypay, i hope you enjoy!

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @retvenkos, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie, @story-scribbler, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000

[where-dreams-dwell]

Just finished The Fall of the House of Usher and wow I have thoughts.

……….

Verna is fascinating!

My interpretation (I have read literally NO Poe so sorry if this is obvious) if that Verna is a personification/demon/something for Choices and Decisions.

When she first meets the Ushers she offers them a choice: here is a possible outcome of the decisions you’ve already made, which might well happen on its own, but would you like to *ensure* that it happens? What would you choose to give up to get what you want? I don’t think she’s *creating* this outcome (as it’s literally what Madeline said would happen while they bricked the CEO into the wall) but she’s saying she can make sure certain possible outcomes are the only ones that happen.

Death and killing might be part of her powers but at least in the case of the Ushers she’s only killing the children because the deal was none of them survive Roderick.

I think her deal with Madeline and Roderick is a mix of be careful what you wish for as you’ll get it in unexpected ways, and exposing their own hypocritical choices. The Ushers believe they are entitled to the company due to their father, that it is their legacy, that if he had only acknowledged them and planned for them to continue the company in their name they would have everything they deserve. But in order to get that legacy, they have to behave in the exact same manner their father did, and think only of themselves while not plan to leave anything for their children.

Verna even offers choices to the other people we see her interact with.

For Perry she reminds him he could choose to stop recoding people, choose not to peruse his brothers wife, choose to end the party. It’s not too late. Even at that party when she tells Morelle to ‘leave now’ it is still a choice, one Morelle doesn’t take which leads to its own consequences. And in the run up to the party we’re shown so many moments when Perry could have chosen differently and the outcome would have been different: having the party at all, inviting Morelle (he turns away and then back to offer her a ticket), Napoleon saying he’s better than this and doesn’t need to become a drug pusher, the building not having water and so choosing to use the assumed water on the roof… right up to the last moment when he chooses to give the signal for the sprinklers to go on.

And her conversation with Perry Verna almost admits it: the series of decisions which lead to him, some small ones, a big one, and then another smaller on and now here he is. Choices he wasn’t involved in have led to him being there that night. And she loves bad boys because they always make all the wrong choices.

For Camille she refuses entry to the lab multiple times and offers her the choice to turn around and go home: it won’t change her fate as she’ll die either way, but if she goes home she’ll die in her sleep instead of being torn apart. She doesn’t *need* to see everything with her own eyes, she already has the proof. But Camille chooses to revel in her sisters shame, to twist the knife, and so she dies painfully.

And Napoleon is told the cat he wants to buy isn’t for sale and to choose to go back home to his boyfriend (and likely confess his actions) but he pushes through with his money and demands that he should get what he wants. He even has a moment within his confrontation with the cat when he thinks this might be a drugged hallucination, but instead of stopping or calling his boyfriend he continues to destroy their home.

Victorine also gets choices: the file of perfect patient data is handed to her but she doesn’t have to call Verna back about the human trial. Verna asks at multiple points if this procedure is safe, if the surgeon has agreed, even if her patient data is safe in this clinic. And Victorine chooses to lie at every opportunity, chooses to sacrifice this woman’s life in the pursuit of her dream. And so she is haunted by her lies, driving her to a more gruesome death than necessary.

For Tammy Verna shows her how to make better choices from their first meeting: we only saw one other sex worker play out the fantasy scene pretending to be Tammy but their interactions with Bill were surface level. When Verna appears as Candy she plays fake-Tammy as caring about Bill, showing Real-Tammy how she could be a better partner from the get go. Verna compliments his cooking, says she’d been craving his ‘famous chicken Alfredo’, asks about his work earnestly and listens to his replies. Even later, when she is Tammys hallucination double, she keeps showing Tammy how she could choose differently: Bill would probably set your fight aside considering another sibling has died, you could call him? Bill would probably be concerned about your health, you could apologise? And after her breakdown Verna pretends to answer Bills call (which Tammy had thrown across the room) and apologises to him for how he’d been treated. The whole time Verna is telling Tammy ‘it’s not too late, you could choose to be kind, you could choose to make yourself happy’: like Camille it wont stop her inevitable death but it could have been easier. And again she didn’t have to die in this manner, she could have gone in her sleep but her chosen treatment of Bill and her own guilt over her decisions has been keeping her awake.

For Frederick, Verna even admits that she has chosen his manner of death *due* to the choices he made: he would have died in his car from a heart attack but he chose to take his wife home, chose to torture her, ‘chose to pick up the pliers’ and so here are the consequences of his decisions.

For Lenore, the only innocent in the whole family, Verna wants her to know that her *choice* to give a statement, her choice to break with her family and get her mother out, will have lasting consequences. That Lenore’s decision will have changed the world.

That Verna’s power focuses on choices is further emphasised with her knowledge of ‘what people would have been’ as I think that’s an expansion upon what different choices would have led to. Of people had chosen differently then this is what they would have become.

And in Verna’s interactions with Pym all of the moments she references are ones where choices are made: the choice to leave a man in the desert, to abandon a guide in the snow, to assault a woman in the arctic. Moments when a choice or decision was made.

So I think she is a bargainer, or demon of decisions, and while she isn’t inherently evil she has her own morality as seen when she chooses deaths which are painful or peaceful, depending on a persons actions.

And really the message of the whole show is choices and their consequences.

[yoroshiu]

Thinking about Kingdom Hearts' narrative with communication.

As with a lot of conflicts in story and real life, much of the most heart wrenching stuff in this series stems from a lack of communication or a severe misunderstanding between characters.

The Foretellers fall apart due to mistrust that was bred in between them, as according to the Master of Master's plan, and a lot of their interactions are full of deceit and witholding information. In an effort for most of them to do what MoM says while simultaneously realizing that they could go against his word to save the world, it inevitably leads to war.

Baldr, in his grief, is kept separate from his friends, alone until the darkness overtakes him and he ends up being consumed by it. As a result, everyone is taken by surprise and there's already too many bodies piled up by the time he's dealt with. Even when Hoder appears before him, they are unable to meet in the middle and turn on each other. He ends up killing many friends and plants a seed into what Xehanort becomes.

The basis of the Wayfinders and Eraqus is that they constantly don't talk to each other properly, pushing each other away until their tragedy becomes inescapable. Eraqus not telling his students about anything Xehanort has done, for instilling such an unforgiving view of Light and Darkness, for not telling Ventus the truth until it was too late. Terra, Aqua, and Ventus not being able to talk or clear things up until Xehanort is already beyond knees deep into his plans, and despite having their love for each other go beyond any possible discord, it is not enough to prevent unfortunate fates that befall them.

The Destiny Trio, especially Riku earlier on, suffers from a lack of communication. While not as turbulent as the other trios, it's Riku's tendency to hide away and lash out that builds the conflict between him and Sora. For one reason or another, a quite literal and physical reason for Kairi, they were unable to talk which goes on and on until RIku gets possessed. And it his shame that pushes him to hide for such a long time in the second game as well. Sora has also picked up on not saying anything, deciding to perish without letting anyone know beforehand, and the full-on effects of that have yet to be explored.

The Sea Salt Trio was built on miscommunication. Secrets, unknowns, caring so much that you believe that it'd be much better to fade away without a word than to burden someone with the pain of truth and knowledge. It drives a wedge between Roxas, Axel, and Xion at multiple points. Axel, who was stuck between loyalties, kept information to himself and ended up driving Roxas and Xion away at one point and another. Xion, who found out the truth and also made big decisions without fully explaining to the other two, also inevitably leaves a grief that digs into them even when they don't remember her. And Roxas, who was the probably the biggest victim of not being told anything, ends up barrelling forward, trust broken up until the pieces finally fell in place and he had to accept his fate in tired resignation.

But it's when love overcomes the lies, clearing them away that these groups of friends can come together and start again.

A lot of the emotional turmoil that Kingdom Hearts displays often comes from the very human act of communication with others and how often we fail to do so. The fragility that comes with one kept secret, or one mispoken phrase. How badly people get torn apart when no one says anything. Yet, it also shows how it can potentially be overcome with enough love and determination to recover what was lost, and even if it's not the same as before, there's potential to make things better.

TLDR; Connections are the basis of Kingdom Hearts. Communication is a foundation of connection. The highs and lows of communication is something that Kingdom Hearts explores extensively in the stories of its characters, and that has resonated with me so heavily that I stay up thinking about it.

[waltwhitmansbeard]

20. “What were you like before I met you?”

Hmm… let’s make this interesting. Keyleth meeting the Mighty Nein and getting to know them.

20. "What were you like before I met you?" so this happened bc, not for the first time, i read "mighty nein" and saw "bells hells," and, not for the first time, saw "bells hells" and thought "orym." so basically, this in no way resembles the prompt, but it is what i have lol

All of the most important people in the world are leaving, scattering and coalescing into their various war rooms and private councils. The Hells are getting sidelong looks, which Orym can understand; yesterday, they were strangers, interlopers, nobodies—today, they're heroes.

He watches Dorian fall into conversation with his father and tries not to use his keen lip-reading ability to follow every word. He imagines a thousand different ways that conversation could go, but it's up to Dorian to tell him about which one it ended up being, if he wants to. Chetney's been flagged down by one of the Sanctuary's scalebearers, and Orym just has to see the phrase "C-POP" on his lips to know he wants nothing to do with whatever that is. Braius is being reconfronted by Highbearer Vord, but Orym has learned in their scant few hours together that if anyone can lie their way out of trouble, it's Braius Doomseed.

So he takes this moment to find the Voice of the Tempest. He appears at her elbow silently, making the Dwendalian representative she's speaking with jump, but the Tempest doesn't even flinch. "Hello, Orym."

"Tempest." He ducks his head. "Do you have a minute? I don't mean to interrupt."

"Of course." She bids goodbye to the Dwendalian and leads Orym away. "What's on your mind?"

"Well, uh, first I wanted to thank you for those titles, the ones you gave my friends. It...means a lot."

The Tempest snorts ungracefully. "You should have seen the first six drafts." She smiles down at him. "It was my honor, Orym. I know what it is to have the fate of the world on your shoulders. The very least we could do is acknowledge it appropriately."

"What were you like before I met you?" Orym asks.

The Tempest laughs. "Orym, I've known you since you were the size of a housecat."

He flushes. "I know, I mean—what were you like when you were...like me? Part of a group with the fate of the world on its shoulders?"

She drums her fingers thoughtfully along her staff. "Hmm. Well, I was younger," she quips. "More optimistic, I think. Definitely more naive. I really thought that if we tried hard enough, if we cared enough, we could stop all the bad things from happening." She smiles again, this time wryly. "My secret, though, is that most of the time? I still think that way."

Orym's heart sinks a little. "So...you never had any doubt? You just always knew you were going to get the job done?"

The Tempest throws her head back and lets out a barking laugh that draws the attention of the surrounding dignitaries. "Oh, fuck no, are you kidding?" She crouches down then, gets to his eye level in the way that has never once felt to Orym like a parent condescending to a child, but rather someone speaking to their equal. "Orym, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the doubt is there literally all of the time. Even today, putting forth that plan with Vex and Allura, I had no idea how that was going to go, if the others would accept it, if it's even going to work. But the alternative is doing nothing, and I have never been good at that."

"Is that why you're so strong? Because there is no alternative?"

"I am strong, Orym, for the same reason you're strong." Her fingers dance briefly between them, and suddenly, she's holding onto the stem of a pearly white snowdrop. "I'm strong because there are people counting on me to be strong. People I love. People I couldn't bear to let down." She hands him the snowdrop. It is soft and alive in his fingers. "You have those people. I know you do." He doesn't miss the way her eyes flick over to Dorian, who is just now walking away from his father. "And a word of advice? From someone who waited and will carry the regret of that waiting for the next millennium?" There's a twinkle of something almost mischievous in her eye. "Do not take too long to let those people know how you feel. You and I know better than most that you never know how long you have with them."

She stands then, tall and regal, gives him a wink, and glides away, leaving Orym speechless and holding the flower. He watches her disappear into the throngs of the Platinum Sanctuary, and then his eyes catch Zeru Wyvernwind walking down the steps. He stuffs the snowdrop into his pocket and jogs after him, suddenly finding himself with quite a bit to say.

[arthenaa]

Courting the MC more specifically with a music. Both or our beloved Slytherins helping each other out. Can we do a Hufflepuff character cause I love the challenge of it. Thank you and good luck!

harana - sebastian x hufflepuff!reader x ominis

definition: means to serenade. an old courtship tradition in the Philippines that men do to formally meet and court women. Usually done by singing.

summary: After seeing the sudden rise of suitors after saving Hogwarts, Sebastian and Ominis go out of their comfort zones to top the other men in courting you. Even if it means getting to sing a little.

note: ahhh tysm for requesting !! not sure if this is what you meant but i immediately thought of my culture's old courting tradition so why not <3 i also love writing ominis and seb as two idiots in love who love vying for ur attention. the song below sets the mood and its opm (filipino music) and its v good ahhhh its optional tho! the song's abt a person falling in love w someone and finding them as their muse.

tags: reader is gender neutral despite the definition, fluff fluff, seb and omi are jealous fucks and being the slytherins that they are they get competitive, the end slowly descends to a crack fic cause its 3 in the morning, mentions of breaking kneecaps and homicide but its just ominis joking around, reader acting like a slytherin for a few seconds, reader is hinted to grow up in filipino culture but its just mentioning harana, other than that everythings by ur choice, seb and ominis insulting gryffindors BUT ITS NOT SRS ,,, ily my gryffindor readers, i love writing imelda as a menace, seb and ominis duet, im so fucking in love w them.

"That's the twelfth fucking letter I've seen today." Imelda eyes the letter on your desk in transfiguration class as the three of you enter the room. Poppy sends a harsh glare at the Slytherin as you busy yourself with examining the letter.

Do you think that saving Hogwarts and the fate of the wizarding world would lead you to this type of situation? Not at all. Sure you expected some type of attention— If anything, you wish you didn't receive any unnecessary ones at all but certainly Merlin has other plans for you. The result of being in Hogwarts' main spotlight has caused numerous heads to turn. At first, it was out of respect but then that same respect suddenly turned into something more.

You could hear whispers of attraction from your yearmates and the giggles from 3rd years as you roam the halls of the castle. It felt good for the first few days but now with the number of gifts and letters you're receiving, you wished you were once the 5th year who people regarded as a late bloomer and not worthy of their time.

You sigh as you read the letter, raising your eyebrows in amusement as it contained quite explicit details regarding you. You close the letter fast before shoving it in your satchel. "Hopefully, that's the last one."

"Ha!" Imelda scoffs as she sits down beside you. Poppy sits on your other side. "After that whole fiasco at the Great Hall, you think their fragile egos would allow that to top their chance with you?"

You let out a groan at the mention. For some reason, one of your suitors decided to send a howler to top the other gifts sent to you. Apparently the thought was the louder it is, the more it'll get your attention. He took it quite literally and you spent most of your lunch wallowing in misery as Poppy comforted you.

"I just pray there wouldn't be any more howlers screaming at Y/N's face. A bit of an overreaction must I say. Who would want to date that?" Poppy sends you a pitiful look. You pinch her cheek at her concern.

"These things are overwhelming— You think if I asked Leander to drink a polyjuice potion of me in exchange for blackmail on Sebastian, would he agree?" You turn to Imelda with a hopeful gaze. The Slytherin girl chuckled.

"I'd drink a polyjuice potion of you if you gave me blackmail of Sebastian." Imelda leans close with a mischievous gaze before backtracking with hesitance. "On second thought, I might just be bombarded with love letters and that goo goo eyes from Sallow and Gaunt so no I take it back."

"Goo goo eyes?" You let out a confused laugh. "Since when do they do that?"

"All the time." Poppy chimes in as she watches students slowly pile in the classroom. "It's quite fun to watch actually."

"No, they don't?" You incredulously reply as you glance back and forth at your seatmates.

"Yes, they do." Imelda retorts

"No, they don't."

"Yes, they do." Poppy puts a hand on your shoulder, whispering it slowly. You playfully shove her hand away.

"On a third thought actually, let me drink the polyjuice potion. I'd like to mess with the two and see their fucking reactions when I tell them I'm in love with Garreth Weasley." Imelda jokes as she nudges you with her arm. It might've been the best time for the subjects of the conversation to enter. You stop yourself from laughing as Sebastian winks playfully at you, walking towards your table and propping a leg on the elevated platform. Ominis follows behind him, smiling at the sense of your presence.

"You're in love with Weasley?" Sebastian gasps dramatically. Imelda spins around in surprise before scowling at the entrance of Sebastian.

"As Y/N." Imelda responds. Sebastian turns now to you with a raised eyebrow.

"Y/N's in love with Weasley?" Ominis adds more to the confusion. You roll your eyes at them. Poppy watches as the two men tense at the thought, waiting for your explanation. She thinks Imelda is right. This is quite amusing.

"No, I'm not. Stop twisting things." You correct them. Ominis and Sebastian visibly relax and it almost makes Poppy cackle.

"Then who's in love with the Gryffindork?" Sebastian seats on the seat in front of you, Ominis sitting beside him. "Oh yeah, before I forgot."

Sebastian turns around to you, placing a bag of chocolate frogs on your desk. You fall silent at the gift before smiling at him. Sebastian nonchalantly licks his lips before continuing. "It's from both of us."

"Both of you?" Imelda leans over to send a knowing gaze at Sebastian who flips her off.

"Thank you. I was supposed to get some on my trip to Hogsmeade later. You're heaven-sent." You giggle as you lean forward to pinch Sebastian's cheeks before ruffling Ominis's hair. The two only grumble in thanks, ears flushed red. Of course, you wouldn't notice, Imelda thinks as she watches Ominis fix his hair without even snapping at you for ruining it.

"No one's in love with Garreth. Y/N was just asking Imelda if she'd drink a polyjuice potion of them in exchange for blackmail on Sebastian, would she agree." Poppy explains as she leans back against her chair. Sebastian turns with furrowed eyebrows.

"You'd offer me over that?" Sebastian gasps, betrayed. You chuckle at his expression before glancing at Ominis who shrugs at the thought.

"It's quite a tempting offer." Ominis jests before Sebastian smacks his arm in retaliation.

"I mean if you spend a day like Y/N, won't it be so entertaining with the number of love letters they're getting?" Imelda places an arm on your chair behind you, sighing as she drums her fingertips against the wooden surface of the back of the chair. This catches Sebastian and Ominis's attention.

"What letters?" Ominis's voice is quiet but firm. You sit up, tense as if you've been caught doing something you shouldn't be doing.

"You don't know?" Poppy unawarely responds. "Y/N's the center of attention. Tons of suitors are asking for their hand. The gifts are horrendous so far though. Especially, that howler."

"Is that the same fucking howler I heard people talking about in the greenhouse?" Sebastian looks at you for confirmation to which you sheepishly nod.

"That's quite aggressive." Ominis huffs in annoyance. "Can't believe they would resort to unnecessary means of conveying feelings rather than just doing it properly."

"It's fine guys." You try to reassure them. "It'll die down."

"Do you take that as proper?" Imelda raises her eyebrows, eyes subtly glancing down at the bag of chocolate frogs on your desk. Sebastian squints his eyes to a glare at her.

"You ought to learn how to keep your mouth shut, Reyes," Ominis replies as he pulls out his quill. Reyes leans back to catch Poppy's eye before quietly mocking Ominis, repeating his words. The Hufflepuff laughs at her antics before sitting up at the entrace of Professor Weasley.

You catch Sebastian's hand moving back up and resting on your desk, palm facing up. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as he seems to focus on Professor Weasley's discussion but the twitch of his fingers as he motions for you to give him something says otherwise. You try to give an extra quill at first but he shakes it off, then the chocolates, then a handkerchief but none fits what he's blindly requesting. So as a joke, you place your hand in his palm and surprisingly he curls his fingers to hold yours. It was an odd position but you smile at his cheekiness. He tilts his head to the side, smirking at you from the side of his eye.

The moment was short-lived however.

"Mr. Sallow, I advise you to focus in class and have your hand hold your quill instead." Professor Weasley shoots a pointed look at Sebastian and then at you. You smile sheepishly, hesitantly pulling your hand away.

The Slytherin boy only smiles innocently. "Apologies, Professor."

Ominis grumbles beside him, hitting the side of his thigh with his knee. The Sallow boy makes a show of holding his quill toward Professor Weasley who shakes her head in amusement. His eyes then look up to assess the room, finding multiple stares at him. Most of them were filled with jealousy.

Definitely worth it.

"You're a moron. An idiot." Ominis hisses as he pinches Sebastian on the way out of class. Sebastian yelps in pain as they stop in a secluded corner to allow Ominis to chastise him for his little act back at class.

"What? It was worth it!" Sebastian reasons as he rubs his abused arm. "The look on their face was hilarious. You should've seen them."

Ominis raises an eyebrow at him to which he chuckles. Before the two could ask you to hang out with them in the Undercroft, Poppy had immediately whisked you away, claiming that you two had plans for something back at the Hufflepuff common room. If being nice was a person, Sebastian thinks it's you as you allow yourself to be dragged away by the energetic girl. Imelda however was a pain in the ass as she gives the both of them with a knowing look and a wiggle of her eyebrows before moving along to wherever she's going— probably to fly her stupid fucking broom.

"I didn't know we had competition." Sebastian says as he leans back against the stone walls. His head turns to Ominis who does the same as him, fiddling with his wand.

"I mean why wouldn't we." Ominis blows a raspberry. It almost makes Sebastian laugh at how uncharacteristic it is but he knows better. Ominis is worried. "It's more understandable that they'd have more admirers now."

Sebastian nods in understanding as he now turns to face the almost empty corridor. The soft breeze from outside blew softly against their robes, tousling Sebastian's curls.

"Doesn't change the fact we're first, though." He smiles, nudging Ominis's shoulder with his own. Anyone who probably wasn't Leander Prewett would immediately guess the budding attraction these two had for you. Samantha Dale was the first one to point it out, and if she weren't Sebastian's dearest friend, he probably would cast an oscausi on her for being so loud with her teasing. The two kept it from each other at first before they both noticed things at the same time. How different the other acted around you. All it took was a hushed conversation in the Undercroft and your sudden presence as you entered the secret room with an excited smile as you gushed about your adventure with Natty and the Hippogriffs, that the boys had a silent agreement.

That they'd pursue you together.

Of course, it didn't hinder the fact that you might choose only one of them. So they agreed to not disturb each other's alone time with you or their individual efforts in pursuing you. After all, they were best friends first before you.

It didn't also help the fact that they haven't formally courted you yet.

"I heard from Poppy someone had given them a bouquet of roses in their common room. It caused quite a commotion yesterday." Sebastian scoffs. "Why are we now only knowing this?"

Well it was probably because they were deemed to be the rivals to have the best chance on winning you over. They had been with you right from the start and we're considered to be your dearest friends. Of course people would keep things from them.

"Anyways, did you get the thing?" Ominis tilts his head toward Sebastian's direction. "I still can't believe this is how we'll do it."

"It's romantic! Also, yes." Sebastian grins as he leans his body against Ominis. The blonde stumbles a bit to the side at the sudden pressure on his side.

"Get off me."

"No."

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to agree to our hangout a while ago. Poppy insisted her situation was too dire to ignore." You smiled sheepishly as you open the doors to the room of requirement. Ominis smiles in understanding while Sebastian whistles as he admires the place.

"Will never get used to this at all." Sebastian sighs dreamily, tucking his hands in his pockets as he stands at the center of the room. You promised to make it up to them before Poppy rudely dragged you away to your common room and when Imelda grudgingly approached them in the Slytherin common room with a message from you, they were quite ecstatic. The two made haste in gathering their things to meet you at the assigned place (Ominis made sure that Sebastian had the thing they needed before leaving).

They had been here a couple of times before. Once after that whole scriptorium escapade, You had said that it was only fair that you show them your secret hideout after they had entrusted theirs with you. Ominis tried to argue that it wasn't necessary, not realizing that you were actually leading them to the place but you had already pulled them in and shown the wonders of your vivarium before they could even have the chance to say no.

"Same." You breathed out before turning to them with a smile. With a skip on your step, you grab Ominis first and guide him to suit down at the lounge area located at the center of the room. It faced the vivariums quite nicely, allowing a glimpse of the happy creatures fluttering around in their dens. You then moved to the brunette who lets himself be dragged to the chair beside Ominis. "Wait here, I'll just feed them. Highwing's got herself a new offspring and Godiva's handling triplets. I'll be right back."

You spoke of your Hippogriff and Niffler with love and affection that it almost makes Ominis jealous but he only nods in understanding. 'Really, over a niffler?' Ominis thinks, pinching himself on the thigh as he hears your footsteps fade away inside the vivarium.

There's a moment of silence before Sebastian reaches over to slap Ominis's arm. The blonde yelps in pain. "What the fuck?"

"Are we supposed to y'know..."

"What?"

"To..." Sebastian makes hand gestures to which Ominis makes a deadpan face.

"To?"

"Y'know..."

"You do know I can't see you right?" Ominis grunts, annoyed. He could just sense Sebastian making weird movements with his hands from the way his robes ruffled against each other.

"Right, forgot. Silly me!" Sebastian laughs. He's been trying to piss off Ominis since this morning from making tasteless pun jokes to borderline harassing the poor blonde. Ominis has only had enough before he decides to result to homicide (jokingly).

"Keep making jokes like that and I'll break your fucking kneecaps off."

"Damn, you don't have to go that far." Sebastian moves his chair slightly to the right in fear of what Ominis might do.

"Keep your eyes peeled, Sallow," Ominis threatens like a fucking menace in society. "Disability is never a choice unless I inflict it."

"I'm sorry."

"Got that right."

"I'll be there in a moment!" You had emerged from one of the vivariums on the second floor. Sebastian and Ominis awkwardly smile at you, the brunette going for a wave as well. You smile at them before heading back in. The room had given you a way to easily travel between vivariums, giving you fast access to tend to your beasts.

Sebastian turns to Ominis and huffs before a determined look flashes on his face. "It's now or never, Ominis."

"Now wait a fucking minute—"

"You can do it," Sebastian grumbles under his breath as he apparates a guitar in his lap. He adjusts the instrument as he glances up at where you had disappeared. "Any moment Y/N walks through those doors and we don't do this now, we lose to fucking Leander Prewett. Would you allow yourself to lose to a fucking Gryffindor of all people?"

"No," Ominis replies as he grips his knees in nervousness. "That would be degrading... I don't like being degraded... Actually.... I change my mind, it depends."

"Depends on what?"

"... Nothing, just forget about it. Anyways, I would rather be stomped on by a troll than let Leander Prewett get a chance."

"Exactly! It's like getting stupefied in the ass." He furrows his eyebrows in determination as he reaches one hand to grip Ominis on the shoulder.

"You speak as though you've experienced it."

"... Things are better left unsaid, my friend." Sebastian smiles before they hear your voice again, this time coming from left vivarium. Sebastian smacks Ominis's arm before placing his hands back on the guitar.

"On three." Sebastian whispers before counting down.

The soft strumming of the guitar catches your attention. You had been trying to get Neo, Highwing's son, to stop following you back into the room after you had tried to tend to your patient guests below but now, you just wanted to investigate the sudden music filling your ears. You quickly make your way out of the vivarium, stepping into their vision as you gasp in marvel at the sight of Sebastian playing the guitar beautifully. You lean against the balcony railing, biting your lip as you pointlessly fail to prevent a smile from coming out.

It's Ominis's voice that even shocks you further.

Georgia, wrap me up in all your

I want you in my arms

His voice is magical and melodious. Like raindrops softly tapping against the window or the sound of a piano on a sustain pedal. Continuous and ethereal. You stare at him in awe as he continues to sing.

Oh, let me hold you

I'll never let you go again like I did

Oh, I used to say

As Ominis sings, your eyes catch Sebastian's eyes, never leaving yours as he expertly plucks the strings of the guitar. Your breath hitches as his eye never seem to leave you as you descend the stairs, slowly making your way towards them before stopping a few meters away from where they're seated. Then you hear Sebastian's voice.

I would never fall in love again until I found them

I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into"

It's beautiful. The way Ominis's ethereal voice blends with Sebastian's smooth one. While Ominis reminds you of magic itself, Sebastian gives you the feeling of reality. The concept of it all. It sounds quite ironic with two concepts unimaginably relating to one another but in your world, it coincides perfectly. Two unintangible concepts make sense together. Just like you three. Vast differences and yet you had formed a bond like no other.

Your smile reaches to your eyes as you listen to their song.

I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her

I found you.

The strumming softly ends as the both of them lick their lips in nervousness. There was a moment of pause before you let out a soft giggle and clap joyously at their performance.

"That was wonderful!" You walk towards them, sitting on the coffee table in front of their seats. Sebastian and Ominis blush at your compliments.

"Do— Do you know what it means?" Ominis hesitantly asks.

You stare softly at the two. "It's harana, isn't it? You're both serenading me?"

Sebastian breathes out a shaky breath before nodding. "We've felt for you for quite some time now. We decided to pursue you together. Apologies if that made you feel overwhelmed."

"No. No! It's quite alright." You reassure them. "I'm happy that you've resorted to this method. It certainly brings back a lot of memories from home. The streets are always filled with music because of it. I wondered if I would ever get to receive one."

You bite your lip as you reminisce, your hands fiddling with each other. You let out a sigh before reaching out to hold one of their hands in yours. "Thank you. I'm glad you did."

Sebastian eyes furrow in confusion. "Are— Are you allowing us to court you?"

"Mhm."

"Is it me or?"

"Together." You nod as you glance back and forth at their surprised faces.

"Together?" Ominis whispers.

"Together." You repeat.

It takes a moment to process before both of them surge from their seats to hug you. You almost fall off but the Ominis's hand on your waist catches you. The three of you laugh.

"Well I mean, three is better than two, right?" Sebastian giggles like a schoolgirl as both he and Ominis lean back enough to be close to you and not hog your space with his weight. "I can't fucking believe this."

"Well, you have to." You smile before you smugly cross your arms over your chest "I was gonna let you two court me either way, I was just waiting for you two to ask."

"What if we hadn't agreed to pursue you together?" Ominis raises his eyebrow in suspicion. Your eyes playfully look away as you purse your lips.

"You have to." You shrug with a smile. "I'll make you. Besides, it's no secret that you two like each other as well. I have eyes you know."

The two blush once again at your observation to which you two laugh.

"Well, green has always looked better with yellow." Sebastian coughs as an attempt to recollect himself before smugly smiling.

"Unfortunately, I have to disagree." You sadly smile. "Imelda says we'll look like puke together. She's decided to call us that if we do in fact get together."

"Well, fuck Imelda." Ominis snorts. You giggle at his reply as Sebastian nods, agreeing with him in badmouthing your friend.

"Fuck Imelda indeed."

You decide to let this pass and fly over your head. Surely Imelda won't mind.

She doesn't need to know.

A/N: This took quite long HAHAHA but I had fun hehe hope this satisfied you anon <3 will be editing this in the morning gnight

[wannaeatramyeon]

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!! IM NOT SURE IF YOUR REQS ARE STILL OPEN OR NOT, IF NOT, PLEASE IGNORE THIS!

its been like 2 or 3 days since i found your account and your fanfics and they are just perfect like they r literally the defination of perfect

and since i love reading ur fanfics, i wanted to ask if it was possible for you to write a gun x goo fanfic where they both realize that they slowly fall in love to each other, but they r too scared to admit it.. just idiots in love, yk. you write them so good and im here for it hehe.

love you, take care of urself<33

Oof Gun x Goo? Gotta admit, I love this pairing. Thank you so much for reading anon and getting back to your ask like... 8 weeks later (maybe 8 weeks of MORE reading heh). 🫶 Take care too!

Gun Park x Goo Kim: Equals

What happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force? Two lives fated to entwine for better or worse? Not souls to be saved but dragging each other to depths of depravity and then some.

Gun's ears pricked when he heard the name from Charles Choi. A weapons prodigy, someone meant to be his equal.

And on their first meeting, all Goo could say at first glance was 'woah' to the man standing before him. A legend built through rumours of ferocity and power on the grapevine.

What better way is there to prove everything than with a test of strength?

It didn't take long for them to bring out the brutality in one another. A bloody battle resulting in no clear winner but perfectly matched equals, lasting scars and permanent steel pins.

The beginning of a partnership.

.

.

An object of mutual hatred speeds up their bonding.

Mr. Carpenter. Tom Lee. Someone who tests the limits of their patience and what they are willing to do to achieve their goals.

Day after day, both put through their paces until their bodies are beaten and spirits almost broken.

Gun is the first one to offer a helping hand. A truce. Held in his palm a healing balm developed by the Yamazaki clan to ease the muscles and numb the agony.

It's not much. Though it means at least Goo can go to sleep instead of lying awake, brain kept sharp from his body and limbs pulsing with pain.

Goo calls him a bastard and takes it.

.

.

Opposites in so many ways yet different sides of the exact same coin.

Forced to spend minutes, hours, days, in one another's company. Until they know each other's habits like their own. Know every single button to press. Can predict the next words out of the other's mouth. The time together, the company becoming as natural as breathing.

It was Goo's idea.

After the training, after they both started working formally for HNH.

Cabin fever building from seeing each other day in day out. Partners during business hours, sharing a home during the rest.

Why not prove dominance in other ways Goo had suggested, thinking there is no way Gun Park would say yes to this.

But when all the constant fights only lead to dead ends, what else is there to do? Why not chase a little pleasure with the pain too.

Gun agrees.

It doesn't mean anything. Why would it? It's a means to an end (though the victor is never decided) and a way to fulfil a human need.

.

.

The first inkling of something blossoming is thanks to Sinu Han.

The Boss of Big Deal breaking Goo's glasses and him sulking all the way home.

After listening to his incessant whining for what feels like hours, Gun takes a detour; pulling up straight outside an optometrist and marching the blonde in.

He even pays the bill.

"Aww," Goo places the black frames on and Gun has to admit that his broken ones, the gold pair, never did him enough justice, "A gift for your boyfriend. How kind."

.

.

Little adventures together add up. Nights in a bathhouse. Natural springs. Sailing vast oceans. Drifting under the open sky.

Training and eating and fighting. Against each other or back to back, Gun looking out for Goo and Goo looking out for Gun.

Honing their skills, unknowingly, to fight with a very specific partner by their side.

Hours upon hours upon hours together.

Sunlight following as they drive along highways, experiencing the highs of summer and lows of winter and everything in between. 

Moonlight illuminating dark corners in shady warehouses; casting a glow on all the skin torn open with violence and blood they have spilled.

It's a twisted sort of romance. One that would never be remembered as any great love story but fitting for demons that have never known anything else.

.

.

Karaoke in Ansan is never part of the plan.

(Neither was falling into bed together.)

Completely destroying the place and crew was but not the staying behind, surrounded by broken bodies and singing.

Goo pouts and frowns so much that Gun, even with the vein throbbing on his neck, acquiesce.

And when Gun suggested they make a move back to Seoul soon, and Goo scowled even more, saying he's having fun?

Fine. They stay for another song.

Which turns into 3, into 5, into the whole night.

Gun never gives in to the duet Goo asks for. He considers that a small win.

.

.

Goo is not familar with jealousy. Simply put, he’s an attention seeker. Loves the limelight, seeks it out and demands all eyes on him.

When Gun first started obsessing over Daniel Park, it doesn't affect him. Not really.

But when they're together, Gun is still distracted. Well, that's when it irks him.

On seeing Gun's broken arm, Goo laughed himself silly. It's what that bastard deserves.

Daniel Park should have broken his other one. Maybe snapped a leg too and his neck.

Goo continues to laugh even when he holds up Gun's phone for him.

Even when he knots that asshole's tie.

Even when he follows him to check ups and appointments.

Goo laughs especially hard when he offers to feed him and receives a dirty look in return.

It's only half a joke.

.

.

Everyone knows of their fights, the way they constantly butt heads and gripe at each other.

What no-one else sees are the moments of tenderness. That neither realise they are capable of giving and also could accept.

Goo, one that always prefers to run his mouth, stays quiet. Sitting in the gloom with Gun whenever a successor doesn't work out.

Eagerly takes the brunt of Gun's frustrations with his back arched and whimpers falling from his lips.

Then when finally, the storm passes, Goo is still there. Full of smart quips and sassy remarks until Gun cracks. A smirk, a tiny thing.

But it's there.

.

.

Debt is repaid and so is kindness, though no one is keeping count.

And neither would admit that it's kindness.

The night Goo returns home, shovel in hand after the run in with Charles Choi and Tom Lee, Gun is the one that offers to fight Tom Lee together.

Goo doesn't know how serious he is. Nevertheless the idea makes him cackle. Maybe they would win, maybe they would die together.

It’s kind of poetic, in a way.

In the morning, he wakes with Gun curled around his back and an arm flung over his waist.

.

.

Cards are still held close to their chest; Gun and Goo both keep their secrets. They're at each other's throat as much as they're on each other's lips.

It's an unconventional relationship that would likely doom anyone else but for them, it works.

They never tell one another how they feel, they don't have to. It's not in their nature to say I love you, anyway. Their actions speak for themselves.

.

.

Gun watches his partner, his equal, driving. Humming along to a pop song, windows down and breeze fanning his hair.

It really is strange how they have managed to slot all their broken edges together.

How the line has blurred and turned fuzzy, yet now he can't recall if there was a line in the first place.

Goo, feeling Gun's eyes on him, looks over and snorts when he sees his expression. It's become soft, softer still with each passing day. He would make fun but sometimes he catches himself wearing the same one.

And. Well, he doesn't want to be a hypocrite. Not with this.

Goo grins, wide and a little wild, "We have fun, don't we?"

Gun barely even needs to think about his answer.

"Of course."