#just chill in your own space and leave other people alone

[beautiful-songbird]

You know what I realized…I actually just don’t like when people have strong opinions about people who disagree with them.

You didn’t like that book? Cool. You’re fighting with the people who like it? Not cool.

You loved that book? Cool. You’re fighting with people who didn’t like it? Not cool.

People have different opinions, especially when it comes to media. Why can no one seem to respect this? Don’t insult someone just because they didn’t like your favorite book series. Don’t insult someone just because they like a series you think is bad.

Why are full grown adults insulting each other on the internet based off of book tastes??? You guys do realize that no one is going to agree with you 100% of the time, right????

[bunni-v1]

Bunni's Ifa Brainrot

🍓Obsessing over this man right now, so now you'll get the big dump of my thoughts based on what I've seen in the event quest. Some of these come from conversations I had with @pinksandss my fellow Ifa enjoyer, others are just me vomiting whatever I can get out. These are subject to change just the initial thoughts based solely on vibes from the event and in game dialogue.

TW: NSFW under the cut MDNI; unedited I cannot be bothered.

General

-Ifa is incredibly chill, like super laid back. He's not the kind of guy to panic or freak out needlessly, he likes to take his time with things and get them done in however much time he needs. Being rushed just isn't something he jives with.

-That being said, his being laid back doesn't mean he's lazy. Far from it, he's actually incredibly hard-working and takes his job seriously. What's important to him is important to him, and he's not the kind to slack off when he (or the people he cares about) cares about something.

-He's level-headed and reliable, very much the cool older brother type that people look up to. His casual demeanor makes him seem intimidating, but he's actually really easy to get along with if you give him the time of day. Some people might think he's a bit rude with how he holds himself, but he just doesn't care for silly niceties when that's not who he is.

-He's very funny. His sense of humor is dry and he says shit with a straight face, but it always gets you laughing. His timing is always perfect, and sometimes (most times) he's not even trying, he's just charming like that.

-Speaking of charming, he's a flirt, but not 100% intentionally. It's just the way he talks and the way he holds himself, he comes off as overly ambitious in love when he's just being honest about how he feels about someone or something. Not to say he isn't aware of the effect he has on people, just that he's effortlessly good at what he does.

-Despite his ease with socializing, he doesn't strike me as someone who really likes it much. He feels more like he enjoys his alone time more than he does being around others. Sure he'll go out and spend time with people, but he's much more fond of spending quiet time with the saurians.

-When he does like someone, though, it's pretty obvious. He affords them a lot more room for error and goes out of his way to spend time with them/let them in his space. Examples include Ororon, where Ifa seems to humor him, and might even have a teasing streak with the way Ororon talks about him.

-He's well respected, but he doesn't demand it from anyone. The respect he has is through his own hard work, and I don't believe that he's the type to let it bother him if he isn't respected. He's self-assured, and as long as he's getting the job done, he doesn't really care what other people feel about him.

Romantic

-If Ifa is romantically interested in a person (you, specifically), he isn't going to beat around the bush. He's intentional about how he approaches you, not leaving any room for question in the way he feels, but not pushing you into something you don't want. It's pretty obvious what he wants from you, but he gives you plenty of space to make the final decision.

-You can almost imagine it like how he approaches wounded saurians. Obviously, you're a highly intelligent person, and of course the same species as him, but he takes his time in earning your trust and getting you to open him up with his intentions clear as day. He doesn't want to run around and play games, he wants to be with you, so he needs to know if you want the same thing.

-When you do eventually accept his advances and start returning them, he's relieved. Not even all the confidence in the world would've saved his heart from breaking if you'd turned him down. You didn't, though, and so now you get to know Ifa in a more intimate way than others.

-He is so gentle, you wouldn't expect it from someone who seems to be so chilled out all the time, but he is. Part of it comes from the fact that he deals with wounded animals several times bigger than him, but it also is just how he is. He loves you, and how he shows that is through a gentle demeanor no one else is really afforded from him.

-This gentleness does not mean he isn't a tease, though. He likes to poke fun at you, and he expects the same in return. Part of being in a relationship is wanting to have fun with your partner, and what's more fun than picking on each other a little. It's just a sign that you know each other well enough that you know how to get under each other's skin.

-He's very much a 'says it as it is' guy, so he's straightforward in how he compliments you. His "flirting" is more like straightforward comments that leave you reeling for a few seconds after he gives them. It's very different from the perceived "flirting" mentioned earlier, this is very intentional and he wants to see you fluster.

-He is not a romantic, though. Not the type to go for grand gestures of affection and bold displays. His love is quiet and he doesn't like to put it on display, preferring to keep it close between the two of you.

-Instead of fancy shit, he likes to do little things for you that get you all kinds of soft and mushy inside. Like cooking your dinner or coming home with a bouquet of your favorite flowers to decorate the kitchen table. Small things that require time and effort, maybe they're not sparkly, but they're consistent shows of his dedication to you.

-He's very serious about your health, while he's a saurian vet, he knows enough about humans that he knows what he's talking about. He takes good care of you, feeding you well and making sure you're getting all the nutrients you need to remain happy and healthy at his side.

-He also memorizes everything you tell him. He's a smart guy, and he's good at compartmentalizing things in that head of his so he doesn't forget anything. While he might not always be on time to do things because of work, he always shows up. If he is late he always shows up with an apology gift and a pitiful little expression.

-If you show interest in his work (or are in the same line of work as him), he's happy to indulge you. He won't make you do anything intense with serious illnesses, but he does like letting you help him about the clinic and what not.

-He goes out of his way to include you in his life, wanting you to be interested in his interests and the things he does. In return he's equally as invested in yours when given the chance. He loves hearing about what you like to do and the things you're working on.

-Oh, and, yes... he does call you bro. Not even you are exempt from it.

MDNI Under the cut

NSFW

-Ifa is a busy guy, flying around all over Natlan to check up on various different cases. He can spend days at a time without seeing you, and while he's good at suppressing himself and his needs, boy does it get hard when he comes home and you greet him with a big smile after days of endless work.

-After much thinking, I've come to the conclusion that he is a hard top and he cannot be swayed from that. No matter how much you fight him, he's always in control, even when you think you are.

-His sex drive is relatively low, but he can match you pretty easily if yours is higher. He's good at ignoring his own needs, but if you come to him and ask him all cute like that he can't say no to you. He's not nice, though.

-His biggest kink is, obviously, cockwarming. It matches his laid-back and relaxed vibe so well. He's not someone who rushes into sex, and as such, he can have you sit there on his dick for as long as he wants without feeling the need to move once. It's usually reserved for when he's working on something more hands-off, but sometimes... sometimes it's more of a "teaching" moment.

-He likes to quiz you on medical knowledge, regardless of if you know it or not. He'll have you sit on his lap and ask you questions about different things, curious to see how much you remember from your conversations with him. If you get things wrong he'll make you sit there until you get it right. If you get it right he might let you wiggle around a bit, if he's feeling it that day.

-He makes you look at him too, no hiding. He's an observer at heart, so he likes seeing the struggle on your face regardless of the position you're in. Finds it incredibly hot when your face scrunches up to keep yourself from making all those cute little noises he loves.

-Also he's just incredible with his hands. It's genuinely mind-melting how he's able to hit every pleasure point in your body with those deft fingers of his.

-He's got an oral fixation focused on you, not that he doesn't like eating you out, just that he finds your lips wrapped around him to be a much nicer sight. They get so red and swollen when you suck him off, and you take him so well, he can't help the way it burns into the back of his mind.

-Before he fingers you - which is another favorite of his - he likes to have you suck on his fingers to get them ready. He has so much fun playing around with your tongue, pressing it flat beneath his fingers and swirling them around it. And you do it so diligently, obedient to a fault.

-Well, you know what happens when you don't listen. He'll use those fingers against you until you can't think straight. He won't stop until you're a blubbering, overstimulated mess underneath him, begging him for forgiveness.

-And he knows how to get you there quickly if he wants to. While he likes to take his time, and that can be a fun punishment too, when you've really messed up your orgasms come in quick succession and they are relentless. If you let him he'll fuck you until you're dry.

-Of course nothing but the best aftercare afterwards. He might be mean but he's not a monster. He cleans you up and makes you all cozy in bed, gets you hydrated and eating if you have it in you to. Just so sweet on you after you've given him all you've got.

[freeabortionslol]

broken heater (a lake house series fic) ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

pairings: quinn hughes x reader, slight jack hughes x reader summary: reader gets cold because of the broken heater and goes to quinn warnings!! cursing, cuddling (ofc) a/n: love love love love love and I can't stress this enough, LOVEEE the requests/opinions on this series wc: 1.5k anon: "her room is freezing cold during christmas and she knows out of everyone quinn runs the warmest (also just the own she wants to go to.) and she goes to his room and quinn offered to cuddle her and they cuddled together all night , best sleep for both of them"

Another night during the christmas trip at the lake house meant another night freezing cold in your room. No matter how many blankets you had on your bed, you were still shivering, trying to find even the smallest pocket of warmth. Luke came into your room not long before, complaining about the same thing. You graciously offered him two of your blankets, being the people pleaser you were, but now you were left with even less heat than you began the night with. You really tried to deal with it, squirming every so often to find a warm spot on the mattress, but it was nowhere to be found. Quietly, you stood up from the bed, in hopes that Jack would offer his. You opened your door slowly, stepping out and feeling the cold hardwood on your bare feet as you made your way down the hall. You stopped in front of Jack’s door, knocking on it twice before stepping back to wait on him. You heard the rustle of the blankets, the blankets that sounded so warm and cozy, as he made his way. When he opened the door, he was shirtless, looking frazzled- yet his eyes softened when he realized it was you.

“H-Hey,” He said quietly, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Everything okay?”

You licked your lips, rubbing your eyes from the exhaustion of the day. “My room is like 62 degrees, can I sleep in your bed?” You yawned, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as you waited for his response.

Jack let out a light chuckle, one more nervous than humored. “Uh- not tonight?”

You blinked in surprise, your eyes widening. “What? Why?”

Jack turned his gaze away, rubbing the back of his neck. “There's uh…” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. “There’s a girl in my bed.”

Your shoulders slumped, sending him a look of disappointment. “Jack,” You groaned quietly.

“I know, I know-”

“Is it the same girl from the other day?” You asked, whispering to not wake anyone in the house.

Jack clicked his tongue, his gaze centered on the floor. “It’s um…” He paused, looking up at you for a split second before glancing at his bed. “A different…girl.”

You furrowed your brows, your head tilting to the side slightly. You ran your tongue across your bottom row of teeth as you crossed your arms, sending Jack the same disappointment-filled glare. “Fine,” you whispered, turning your body slightly. “Do what you want, I'll just…go somewhere else.” 

“Night, princess.” Jack said before shutting his door, leaving you out in the hallway by yourself. You stood there for a moment, the cold creeping back in as Jack’s door clicked shut. The hallway seemed quieter now, the faint sounds of the wind outside barely reaching your ears. You felt a strange mix of frustration and disappointment stirring inside you, but you weren’t sure if it was more about Jack’s casual dismissal or the fact that you were still freezing cold, alone in the dark. As you turned to head back to your room, you were reminded of the fact that you shouldn’t have gone to Jack in the first place. There was someone waiting for you downstairs who you knew wouldn’t have someone in their bed, someone completely willing to give up some of their space for you. You let out a sigh, fixing your posture as you headed towards the stairs. The railing was cold on your hand as you made your way down, each shiver a gentle reminder of how long this trip would be. You descended the stairs slowly, trying to ignore the chill seeping into your skin. The house was eerily quiet at this hour, the only sounds being the occasional creak of the wood under your feet and the soft whistling of the wind outside. When you reached the bottom, you looked back up at the stairs, half-hoping Jack might come back down to get you. With a reluctant sigh, knowing he wouldn’t, you made your way to Quinn’s door. You knocked twice, no response. You knocked again, no response. You huffed out your breath, slowly turning the doorknob as you left one last knock. You cracked the door just slightly, catching a glimpse of Quinn asleep in his humongous king-sized bed. You and everyone else knew it was the comfiest bed in the entire house, seeing as Quinn had it decked out with some fancy mattress topper, and an even fancier duvet. 

“Quinn,” You whispered from the door, trying to wake him just slightly. He stirred slightly, the soft rise and fall of his chest indicating he was deep in sleep. You hesitated, not wanting to disturb him too much, but you had no other choice. The cold was unbearable, and you could already feel your teeth chattering again as the icy air seeped through the hallway. "Quinn," you whispered again, a little louder this time, your voice slightly pleading. "Quinn, wake up." At the second call, Quinn's eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times, clearly disoriented, before slowly sitting up in bed. His hair was messy, and the pillow had left an imprint on his face, but he still managed to look effortlessly good. 

"Hey," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "What’s going on?" 

You stood in the doorway, trying not to look too desperate, but it was hard when you were shaking from the cold. "The house is fucking freezing," you admitted softly, your voice almost embarrassed. "Could I sleep in the bed with you tonight?" 

Quinn glanced at the bed, then back at you, his expression softening. He shifted his blankets and patted the space next to him, giving you a knowing smile. "Of course. Sorry, I know I need to get the heater fixed." He chuckled quietly, his voice warm and teasing, but there was no hint of annoyance. "Come on, you’re not bothering me."

“Thanks,” You said, climbing over him to get into the bed. “I’ve literally covered myself in blankets. I think I just need to be held.” You giggled softly, your voice still a whisper. Quinn’s eyes flickered with a hint of amusement as you climbed into the bed, and his grin softened at your words. He adjusted the blankets around you, making sure you were comfortable as he shifted beside you. The bed was spacious, but the warmth from his body was immediately reassuring, like a welcome haven against the cold. Quinn shifted onto his side to face you, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. You wrapped your arms around his body, tucking them underneath his as your face settled into his shoulder. Quinn's warmth enveloped you instantly, his body radiating heat that seeped into your chilled skin. The soft rhythm of his breath, steady and calm, was like a comforting lullaby, a perfect contrast to the cold, silent house around you. He adjusted slightly, pulling you even closer, his arms now fully around you, ensuring you were snug against him. His chest pressed lightly against you, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath you. 

"You good?" Quinn murmured, his voice low and soft, a hint of concern lingering despite the ease of the moment. He tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle, like he was careful not to disturb the peaceful stillness that had settled between you. 

You hummed quietly, pressing your face deeper into his shoulder, the scent of him, a mix of fresh air and a hint of cologne filling your senses. "Yeah, much better," you whispered, your voice muffled slightly by the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of his body against yours felt like a weight lifting, and you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace. 

Quinn's grip on you tightened just a little, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, pulling you closer still. "Good," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't mind being your personal heater." 

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against his chest. "I think I might take you up on that offer more often." 

Quinn laughed quietly, his chest moving with the sound. "Anytime," he said, his tone playful but sincere. "Just...next time, don’t wait so long to ask." You smiled against his shoulder, feeling a warmth that wasn’t just physical, but something deeper, a comfort you hadn't realized you needed until now. There was a quiet, unspoken understanding between you two, something that made the stillness feel comfortable rather than awkward. As the minutes passed, you could feel your body slowly unwinding, the coldness from the night fading away as Quinn's embrace became a sanctuary. His breathing remained steady, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest under your cheek was like a steady anchor, keeping you grounded and at ease.

"Goodnight, Quinny," you murmured, your voice drowsy as your eyelids fluttered shut. 

"Goodnight," he replied, his voice softer now, as though he, too, was already slipping into the peaceful quiet of sleep. The world outside the warmth of the bed seemed far away now. In Quinn's arms, you found the kind of peace that let you relax fully, the kind of warmth that only comes from being held by someone who genuinely cared.

[muwapsturniolo]

I was all over her ⋆.˚ M. Sturniolo

"N-no...No girls or guys...I don't uhh - girls don't really look at me."

⟢No smut, loner!Matt, tiny bit of asshole!Matt as well as angst. Deep convos and vaping, that’s it me thinks

@adornedwithlight for divider!

Pursuit of Happiness

That was the song currently blasting throughout the house of a random person Matt didn’t know.

He had been dragged here by his brother Chris, the younger boy claiming that a girl he was talking to asked him to come and bring people. Matt didn’t know why Chris brought him out of all people—he wasn’t the party type, nor was he a good wingman.

He tried to enjoy the party, he really did, but this wasn’t his style.

The loud music, bodies bumping into each other like sardines in a can, the excessive drinking—he preferred more chill, laid-back settings.

Hence, why he escaped to the bathroom filled with balloons and laid in the tub.

It was a weird hiding spot, but it brought him comfort. Chris didn’t even notice he had disappeared. No one did. He liked to think it was his own superpower.

He let out a deep sigh as he closed his eyes, humming along with Cudi as the balloons lay on top of him like a blanket.

Suddenly, the music got louder for a split second, the door opening and closing as a voice was heard.

“Pee, I have to pee so bad. No more drinks for me, unless it’s an Angry Orchard. I fucking love app—it’s occupied.”

The girl nearly jumped out of her skin, wincing softly as her side hit the corner of the counter.

The two stared at each other, one with wide eyes and the other in annoyance.

“Can you get out?” Matt asked right away. He didn’t mean to be harsh, but he wanted to be alone and not with some random girl.

“Bro, I really have to pee. I damn near made a puddle on the couch. I promise I’ll be quick!” For extra flair and a way to convince him, she clenched her legs together and did the ‘pee dance.’

“Is she being serious?” Matt thought to himself. He let out a huff of frustration and lazily motioned toward the toilet, looking back down at his lap covered in balloons to give her some privacy.

After a few seconds, he noticed the silence in the small space. He side-eyed her and saw her sitting on the porcelain throne with a sheepish look.

“Are you going to pee or…?”

“Sorry... I’m pee shy.”

He groaned loudly and ran his hands down his face in frustration. “Just close the curtain! It’ll help me pretend you aren’t here!”

The boy in the tub yanked the curtain with force, the sound of tinkling immediately being heard. He tried to ignore the sound, thinking about everything else besides this moment.

As he got lost in his head, he missed the sound of toilet paper, the flushing, and the washing of hands.

She went to leave the bathroom, her hand just a centimeter away from the knob, when suddenly, she thought about something.

Matt’s eyes flashed open when the curtain was yanked back, the girl standing tall over him.

“Do you have a vape?”

He sighed as he reached into his pocket for the small device, handing it to her and mumbling to himself. He could have told her no and to get out, but he figured letting a stranger hit his vape for a few seconds wouldn't cause any harm.

Except it wasn't just a few seconds.

The girl smiled and settled down on the floor next to him, hitting the fruity-flavored air and blowing it out.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before she finally spoke, “What are you doing in here away?”

She handed him back the vape, watching as he took his own hit before exhaling.

“Don’t like parties…”

“So why are you here then? And what’s your name?”

For some odd reason, Matt couldn’t answer her question or at least the first half of it. He decided to avoid it altogether, deflecting by asking her the same question.

“What’s your name?”

She smiled at him, her body leaning more against the tub.

“Trouble.”

He raised a brow at the name. He could tell it wasn’t her real name, but in an odd way, it fit her perfectly.

“So, are you going to tell me your name now? Or am I going to have to play hangman to figure it out?” He found himself chuckling softly at her question, the idea of teasing her and having her guess being too good to pass up.

“Guess.”

“I’m just going to call you Blue.”

His brows furrowed at the name. Why would she call him that?

“Blue?”

She shrugged as she plucked the vape from his hands once again. “Yup, Blue. Blue eyes, you’ve got a blue balloon on your lap... plus you give off blue vibes.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant by ‘blue vibes,’ but he took it as a compliment. He takes the time to examine her, processing her choice of clothing and how she looks.

She had on an oversized sweater that was a bit random, between the blue skulls with eyes and the two bands 'Nirvana' and 'Smashing Pumpkins' on it, he didn't know if he liked it or hated it. She paired the oversized sweater with a pair of ripped fishnets and a pair of beaten-up platform Converse on her feet.

Her hair was slicked up into two balls of curls, a few stray pieces hanging down and framing her face.

She didn't look like all the girls attending the party. He didn't mean it in a degrading way, he meant that she was different - in a good way.

"So why don't you like parties?" She asks the question once again, hoping to get a different answer. He already stated he doesn't like parties, and she understood that, but she wanted to know the reason.

Matt shrugs, leaning his back against the wall and propping his legs up in the tub. "Don't know really... I think I like parties but not ones like this. It's too packed, too loud and hot. The music is ok, but I don't even know whose house or party this is."

"Bonnie."

He turns and looks at her with a questioning brow, hoping she will elaborate. "Bonnie, it's her birthday party. I know her, but not that well. Honestly, she's kind of a bitch, but she's friends with my best friend, so I got dragged along. Not complaining though, Bonnie has some good alcohol and-"

Matt watches her as she rambles. He usually hated when people talked too much for no reason, especially when he didn't want to talk. But for some reason, he found her rambles enjoyable. Maybe it was because she was odd herself, maybe it was because she acknowledged his existence and actually sat to talk to him.

"My brother, Chris, dragged me here because he likes some girl and she invited him. He didn't want to come alone, so I was dragged out of bed, and now here I am."

"Who's the girl?"

Matt shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, adjusting his body so he is actually facing the girl on the other side of the tub. "I don't know. if I'm being honest, I really don't care. Chris finds a new girl what seems like every other day, I'm done trying to keep up."

The girl known as Trouble hums in acknowledgment, resting her arms on the rim of the porcelain tub.

"Well, what about you?"

"Well, what about me?"

"Any girl in your life? Maybe guys? I'm not one to judge."

Matt could feel his face getting warm, his eyes darting down at the balloon-filled tub. "N-no...No girls or guys...I don't uhh - girls don't really look at me."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck before resting his head on the edge of the tub, the girl following suit. "I don't know...I think I'm invisible to most people, like they see me, but they don't see me, you know? usually, I enjoy that, not being seen and being able to be alone and with myself, but sometimes it's a curse. You get lonely, but you get used to it... Then when they do see me, it's like I don't match the version of me in their head, I somehow fuck up, so once again, m'left alone."

Silence settles over them for a moment, Matt realizing he rambled and expressed too much, it wasn't something he was used to doing.

" I see you...."

Her soft words cause Matt to turn and look at her, his expression one of nirvana.

Truth be told, these two strangers didn't know each other, they just met and yet, a mutual understanding is had, a connection is being formed - a deep connection.

It seems like time grows slower, the world moving in slow motion as their faces inch closer. The muffled music and voices from the outside created an odd sense of tranquility in the dimly lit bathroom.

There was no urgency in the moment, the two strangers that seemed to be growing closer at an accelerated pace, teetering on the edge as their lips ghosted each other, their breath fanning over the other's face.

Just before their lips could meet, the bathroom door swung open, a guy standing at the entrance. He misses the way trouble and blue jerk away from each other, their eyes wide and hearts beating wildly.

"There you are! I've been looking for you forever. Party is almost over, let's go."

Matt watches with longing as the girl stands up, giving him one last glance as she leaves with the other boy.

After a few seconds, he stands up quietly, the balloons in the tub flying up and spilling over. He moves towards the sink, gripping the counter as he stares at the reflection in the mirror.

He couldn't help but feel a dull ache in his chest, the loneliness settling in once more.

Who was that stranger that came to get her? Was that her boyfriend? If so, why did they almost kiss if she was taken?

Why doesn't he feel bad about the potential kiss?

He sighs and rubs over his face.

They didn't makeout, yet he was all over her.

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter five)

18+ 4.3k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, eventual smut. gif credit | fic directory | AO3

Within the isolation Homelander has imposed on you, your entire world is rapidly narrowing to just the two of you. With that, your understanding of the man who has ensnared you grows alongside his infatuation with you.

It’s much too early when you hear the alerting beep of the front door unlocking, metal sliding against metal as the mechanism engages. 

Your eyes snap to the clock. 

It’s barely after 2:00pm. 

You scrub at your tear streaked face, ill-prepared to be confronted by your captor so soon. Your misery evaporates in a rush of panic, leaving only what’s necessary to survive.

Sucking in a deep breath, you drop your hands just in time to see Homelander appear in the archway. 

The two of you stare at each other for a long, quiet moment. 

His expression is difficult to discern. Pinched. Anxious. Staring at him now, you suddenly have no doubt that the boy in the photo is him. You can see every ounce of that nervous boy in his face.

But why is he looking at you like that?

Before you can ask, he closes the distance between you in a handful of long strides. The determination he moves with makes your stomach lurch. 

Just as you move to get to your feet, he takes hold of you with that same chilling, unrelenting strength—arms coiling around you like serpents—and hauls you up until your body is flush to his. 

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of you so deeply your skin erupts into goosebumps.

“I’m really happy you’re here,” he says, his breath hot on your neck. His hand slides all the way up your spine, cupping the back of your head. His other arm remains looped around your waist, gloved fingers biting into your skin through your clothes. 

You feel his lips shape the words against your skin as he murmurs, quieter yet, “I missed you.”

You almost say it back, survival instincts compelling you to appease him, but you stop yourself. You were scolded the last time you said something you didn’t mean in an attempt to appeal to him.

Even if despite yourself, a small part of you is glad he’s back. Being stranded alone in your prison had somehow been worse than the unease you feel with him present.

While logically you know humanity still exists beyond these walls, the deafening quiet of the penthouse makes it feel like the rest of the world has simply vanished, leaving you well and truly alone in it.

For all the good the people outside these walls can do you, it may as well have.

There’s tension thrumming through him from his head to his toes that you can feel in every inch of his body pressed tightly against yours. He’s clutching you like he thought—despite the fortress he left you in—you’d also have vanished in his absence. 

You lift your hands, knuckles brushing the underside of the heavy cape hanging from his shoulders, and tentatively begin to stroke soothing patterns up and down his back.

The effect is instantaneous. His grip on you relaxes from stifling to a more tender hold, his fingertips no longer sinking into you like claws. He rests his chin on your shoulder, sighing out a long breath that tickles the back of your neck.

Silence fills the narrow spaces between you. He’s overwhelmingly warm, his heat seeping through even the dense layers of his suit and into you. 

Despite the way he’s leaning into you, you’re barely standing on your own feet. You could go limp right now and not move an inch in his hold. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, speaking in the same pacifying tone you would use with a spooked animal.

He draws back to meet your eyes, his own bereft of their earlier anxiety, though he does look a little surprised that you asked. He recovers quickly, his expression softening around a sly glint in his stare. 

“You actually sound like you care,” he says, and though the words themselves are callous, you get the sense he’s paying you a compliment. Praising you for playing your role so convincingly.

“Unlike some people I know,” he says with sudden venom, hands migrating to your arms. 

“You would not believe how fucking ungrateful they are out there. Day after day, I’m out there”—he nods to the window behind you—”working the crowds, selling the pitches. I’m the face of this entire fucking company.” 

His grip occasionally flexes on your arms as he speaks, not quite enough to hurt, but enough to make you nervous, and though his anger isn’t directed at you, it’s unsettling nonetheless. 

“But do any of them care? Those–the fucking–the CEO’s, those weak-necked pencil pushers? Do they respect any goddamn thing I think?”

“No?” you offer the word as half an answer and half a question. You’re not sure how rhetorical his spiel is, but you’re keen to commiserate with him and not find yourself in the path of misdirected ire.

“No!” He echoes louder, scoffing. Your response only riles him up further, his tension seeping into his hold on you. "And what are they doing? Hm? What are they doing that's so fucking important?"

Your lips part. You hesitate, but now he's looking at you with such exasperated expectation, you know you should answer. You start and stop a few times, but he makes no move to interrupt you or fill in the blanks. 

Instead, he’s watching you with a rapt kind of intensity, suddenly eager to hear what you’ll say next.

"Making your work look like theirs," you say, finding your bearings. It’s not as though you haven’t experienced the same. 

Any time you’ve ever had a boss, their only objective has been using you to make themselves look good. Standing on you like you’re just another rung on the ladder. 

“Taking the credit and the money for themselves.”

"Yes!" he hisses, bouncing his fist lightly off of your shoulder. The way he moves is sharp, jagged like broken glass. 

"Even you get it. I mean, I'm the fucking Homelander, and they treat me like a goddamn show pony. They trot me out and then expect me to prance right back into my fucking stall.”

You can feel the heat of his anger in his breath, in the way his fingers sink into the meat of your arm. It isn’t a loud or boisterous thing, it’s more sinister; the hiss and rattle of a venomous snake. 

Everything about him—from the bearing of his teeth to the inescapable strength of his grip—is a screaming warning that you should run far, far away from him.

However, trapped as you are, your only recourse is to appeal to your predator.

“You’re more than that,” you say, his words from the night prior suddenly coming to you in a rush. “You’re underappreciated, and capable of so much more than they give you credit for.”

His tense expression slackens, his anger replaced by a flash of shockingly earnest vulnerability. 

This Homelander is by far the least unnerving of the variety you’ve seen.

Last night he was manic, frightening in his unhinged flavor of excitement. This morning he’d been tender one moment and terse the next, eerie in his sudden lack of warmth. The way he smiled at you during breakfast felt straight off of a movie poster. 

Performative. 

Fake.

Nothing like the way he looks now.

“Yeah,” he breathes, relief heavy in his tone. 

If he recognizes his own words on your tongue, it doesn’t show. He’s looking at you with a sort of wonder, as if they’re completely new to him. 

It’s clear now more than ever that he said them to you because he desperately needed to hear them. 

“Yes, exactly.”

He cups either side of your face, pulling yours closer to his. 

“I knew you would understand,” he says, close enough that you feel the breath of each word on your lips. “I knew that if I could see you, you’d see me. Because you’re different. Because you’re not like those empty fucking suits with Cornell degrees.”

The tension between you makes the air thick and hard to breathe. You lick your lips subconsciously and his eyes drop predator-quick to follow the movement. 

He hasn’t lost that look of expectation yet. 

When his eyes meet yours again, they’re blown black, the vibrant blue of them constricted to a fine ring around his pupils.

You swallow dryly, your heart a pounding drum in your ears.

“Do you want me to kill them?” You blurt out, the words all impulse and zero thought.

He blinks, face jerking slightly back from yours in obvious surprise. Whatever he expected you to say, that certainly wasn't it. 

Truth be told, you’re as surprised about what came out of your mouth as he is. It’s the kind of joke you would make to an exasperated friend. Not your kidnapper.

The silence between you stretches on. Homelander's face can't seem to settle, lips twitching between a near-smile and that same part of surprise.

“You’re gonna kill Stan Edgar?” The way he places emphasis makes it sound like he’s considered it before, but came to the conclusion that the task is an impossible one.

You shrug. “How tough can he be?”

At that, he starts to laugh.

His gloved hands slip from your face and go to his own, rubbing at his eyes as he laughs and laughs, the sound of it reverberating from deep in his chest. It’s the kind of laugh that speaks of deep catharsis. Your own lips curve in empathy, tension seeping from you.

"Christ," he says under his breath. His hands slide down his face until they fall away, landing on his hips. He gives his head a small shake before looking back at you, his smile broad and boyish. 

Another rare instance of an expression from him without palpable pretense or agenda.

“You kill a lot of CEOs?” He asks, stepping right back into your personal bubble.

You hold your ground. 

“Does imagining it in vivid detail count? Because I used to do that pretty often. Especially on unpaid lunch breaks in the closet.”

His brows furrow. “You ate lunch in a closet?”

"Not always. Sometimes I just went inside to scream. Thick walls," you say, only half-joking. 

That had been at your previous job, where you routinely hid during meal breaks. 

“My supervisor was always riding my ass. I couldn’t even eat in peace.”

“You’re kind of a weirdo,” he muses, his tone quiet and warm. Affectionate, even.

It’s your turn to bark an incredulous laugh, your nerves fading. 

The gall of him to call you weird. In a bizarre way, it almost makes things feel… normal.

“I’ve been called worse.” 

You don’t realize you’re smiling until his thumb brushes your cheek, his touch trailing down your jaw. He curls a lock of your hair around his index finger and brings it to his lips, closing his eyes on a slow inhale. 

Oddly captivated by the display, you watch him with bated breath.

When he opens his eyes, the blue has returned to them. There’s a tired kind of relief to his expression. It’s as though he’s let go of something very heavy that he’d been carrying just a moment ago. 

He releases your hair in favor of reaching for your hand, though he stops just shy of grabbing it, fingers outstretched.

“Will you watch a movie with me?” He asks. It’s the exact same tone he used when he’d asked for a kiss: there’s an underlying anxiousness that you’re starting to understand. 

Despite the imbalance of power between you, he’s still anticipating rejection. He might even fear it.

Once again you find yourself thinking of the boy in the photo. How quietly and heartbreakingly miserable he had looked.

“Yeah. I’ll watch a movie with you.”

You slip your hand into his. His eyes light up and he squeezes, pulling you down onto the couch next to him. You watch him pick up the remote and begin flipping through the menus. 

It’s surreal: the version of yourself that desperately typed in address after address until you were sobbing feels like someone else entirely. A part of yourself that you’ve compartmentalized away.

“How about Taxi Driver?”

You blink. The 70s flick with De Niro? 

What an oddly specific pull.

“Sure.”

His smile broadens. He leans in, and though you brace yourself to be kissed, he only kisses your cheek.

Precisely the way you kissed his this morning. 

“You’re the best.”

The tone of his voice gives a deceptively oppressive weight to such a simple compliment. 

Turning back to the menu, he rests your interlaced hands on his thigh, thumb stroking your knuckles.

You stare at your hand enclosed in his for a long while before you glance up at him. 

He has a classic kind of profile; a strong nose that slopes to a point, a firmly outlined jaw, subtle but defined lips, brows that neatly frame his striking ocean blue eyes.

Despite obvious bleaching, his hair looks soft and touchable. The dark undercut is even moreso. 

More than just the sum of his parts, he’s perhaps objectively the most attractive man you’ve ever made contact with. 

Certainly the wealthiest. 

He’s strange in his mannerisms, but aside from the whole kidnapping ordeal, he’s been… mostly decent to you. 

It’s not that you want to think of him as attractive. He just is.

It makes it all the more confusing as to why such a man would need to kidnap anyone at all. There must be more: just what the hell is so wrong with him that he’s so incapable of forming an organic relationship?

Suppose I’ll find out one way or another.

Realizing you’re staring again, you snap your attention to the screen.

While Homelander occasionally squeezes your hand, you spend the duration of the film pretending not to notice the long moments he spends staring at you. 

You can’t help but be tense, anticipating that he’ll make a move at any moment, but his hand never moves from yours. He stays eerily still over the course of the next two hours, rarely shifting other than to spare you a lingering look.

It’s all so bizarrely chaste.

The movie, on the other hand, is anything but.

While Travis Bickle is the main character, he’s not what anyone would consider a hero. Even at his best he can't sleep, drinks heavily, pops pills, and spends his mornings in porn theaters. He’s irrational, unstable, and entirely too caught up in his own version of reality.

A terrible dread crawls up your spine when his attentions land on Betsy. He’s enamored with her too immediately, speaking to a stranger as if she hung the stars in the sky just for him. You want to scream at her to run, but she reciprocates instead.

When their second date rolls around, that dread in your gut doubles.

Don’t, you find yourself wishing, brows furrowing. Don’t do it. For fuck’s sake, don’t take her to the theatre!

No matter how hard you wish for it, the movie plays out as it always has, as it always will, and the whole thing blows up in Travis’ face. Disgusted with him, Betsy rejects him. It takes everything in you not to writhe off of the couch in sheer discomfort when he snatches her wrist, pleading with her.

"Loneliness has followed me my whole life. Everywhere. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There's no escape. I'm God's lonely man."

Homelander’s hand sits heavily atop yours.

Travis’ descent into madness is a gradual one from that point on. He grows violent and obsessive, hyper aware that the world he inhabits was not made for him, but unable to adapt. 

Even among his peers he is isolated and unable to connect. He loses whatever self-awareness he once had, and deludes himself into progressively more dangerous ideals.

By the time the credits roll, Travis is the hero of his own warped story, and your neck is stiff from holding the same position with such tension.

“Now that is how you get control of your life,” Homelander says suddenly, bringing your attention to him. “You take it. Guns blazing, and you walk out of it a hero,” he says with a grin, turning to catch your eye.

Yes, you think, stomach churning. You have certainly learned to take. 

“What was your favorite part?” he asks, surprising you a little with the earnestness of his question. 

He’s an odd mixture of endearing and unnerving in his ability to move so fluidly from an intimidating unnatural force to someone sincere and boyish.

It doesn’t make his take-away from the movie any less disturbing.

“Oh, uhm…” You rub at your sore neck absently. It wasn’t exactly the type of movie with laughs or feel good moments to choose from, despite the handful of times Homelander laughed or cheered himself. 

“Probably the part where–”

“What’s wrong with your neck?” he interrupts suddenly, gaze dropping to your hand.

You let your hand fall back into your lap. “It’s fine, I get stiff sitting. I just need to stre–”

Before you can finish, Homelander slips his hand from yours and grasps your shoulder, turning you away from him.

“I can fix it.” His tone is unerringly certain, leaving you no space to protest. He manhandles you until your back is faced to him, your legs drawn up onto the couch. “Believe me, I’m used to women with tech neck.”

“Who?” You ask impulsively. It’s eating you up inside wondering if there have been others before you, and what might have happened to them to land you here in their stead.

“You jealous?” He asks. You don’t have to see his face to know he’s smiling. You can hear it.

“No,” you say after a beat, ever careful with your words. “Just curious.”

He slides his hands up slowly over your shoulders and hooks his thumbs over your collar, adjusting it out of the way. 

“No one you need to worry about.”

A non-answer that does nothing to quell your anxiety.

He brings his thumbs to either side of your neck and presses them in at the base of your skull, slowly moving them all the way down and out towards your shoulders, your muscles popping beneath the pressure.

The precision with which he finds the ache in your neck shocks a little gasp out of you.

Fuck, maybe he can fix it.

“You know, muscles actually look different when they’re all knotted up like this,” he says, sounding pleased with himself. 

“Y’got all these little nodules, and all I need to do”—he drags his thumb down your neck, following to the side of your spine—”is pop ‘em.”

The sound of tense tissue crackling and loosening under his touch sounds like a zipper being undone. You can’t deny that he knows what he’s doing. He works slowly, gradually increasing pressure.  The strength in his hands doesn’t falter once, the leather of his glove soft on your skin.

It’s only when you make a noise–a sigh caught somewhere between pain and pleasure–that he hesitates.

“Are you really saying you can see the knots in my muscles? Through my skin?” You ask when he stops, tilting your neck to one side.

It already feels better.

“One of the many perks of dating me,” he says, his voice lower and nearer to your ear than it had been a beat ago. Goosebumps erupt down your spine and arms.

Dating.

Life would be easier if you could believe that to be true even half as much as he does.

He resumes the massage, focusing mainly on your neck, his thumbs pushing up into your hairline and then slowly back down. The level of control he has over his strength is staggering, the pressure just enough to stay shy of hurting you.

Your eyes fall shut while he works the tension from your muscles. Your mind drifts back to the movie. To Travis and Betsy. To the dozens of times he called her, and the dozen more flowers he sent to her door. To the delusional power fantasies he fell into in the wake of that denial.

The agony of rejection during their phone call had been so visceral that not even the camera could seem to bear it, panning away to an empty hall while he held a painfully one-sided conversation.

Homelander doesn’t have to fantasize about power. He has more of it than any one man rightfully should, yet still he has found himself in deficit. 

Is he so terrified of rejection that he would deny even someone as powerless as you the chance of it?

Perhaps he isn’t quite so powerful after all.

“That feels amazing. You’re really good at this,” you tell him, correctly anticipating the way your words give him pause. 

This time, you hear him swallow.

The couch dips and you lean back with it, his thigh pressing in behind you as he shifts closer. The massage becomes less focused, his grip loosening and moving wider. His hands come to rest on your shoulders. 

Your breath hitches at the feel of warm, bare skin along your exposed neck. His lips ghost your skin in a faint not-quite kiss.

“That’s not all I’m good at,” he murmurs, staying close enough that you feel the shape of each word against your flesh. 

You don’t move, your eyes remain closed.

He takes your silence as permission, hands sliding down your arms, falling off from your elbows to your hips. He holds you in place while he peppers tentative kisses on the tender flesh of your neck, following down the line of your spine as low as the collar of your shirt allows him to.

Your stomach flips, but your heart isn’t the only thing fluttering. There’s a faint throb between your legs that feels like it should belong to someone else entirely.

Can he hear that, too? Can he see it?

Shame, fear and arousal swim hot in your gut, the heat of it crawling slowly up your chest, your face. You screw your eyes shut tighter.

Dating. 

That single word spins around and around you like the rattle of a broken record. He exists in a sweeter reality than you do. 

It would be nice–no, not nice, safer–to visit it, if only for a moment.

Wouldn’t it?

His lips are soft along your hairline to the shell of your ear, his breath warm and tickling. His hands begin to work up your sides, cupping your ribs.

There’s a tentativeness to his movements that implies a question, and there’s no doubt in your mind that if you stayed still, stayed quiet, he would find the answers he wants all on his own.

Instead you take hold of his wrists, stopping him in his tracks. Part of you is surprised that he’s so easy to halt. You turn around slowly, moving his hands away as you do, releasing one of them in order to face him properly.

The look of him catches you off guard; cheeks stung pink, lips parted and shiny wet from where he’s licked the taste of you from them. His eyes are wide and hungry, but there’s an inquisitive apprehension in his expression. 

That same terrible anticipation of rejection.

Gently, as if you might somehow spook him, you place your hand on his chest and push. A victorious little rush moves through you with how easily he bends under your touch, moving until he’s forced to lay back, sweeping his cape out from under him to drape off the edge of the couch.

You slip off of the couch but leave your hand planted firmly on his chest, nudging his legs with yours until he gets the picture and brings them both up onto the couch, too.

All the while he watches you intently, curiosity edging out anxious uncertainty.

Holding his gaze, you lay yourself down next to him. The narrowness of the couch leaves you practically on top of him, but he clearly doesn’t mind. His lips spread slowly into a wondrous smile, his arm curling around your waist to bring you closer yet.

Where last night the weight of his arm had felt suffocating, now it feels more like putting on a seat belt to ride a rollercoaster. 

He may be a supe, but he has shown you–intentionally or not–that he’s also just a man, and you have power over him, too. You only need to wield it as such. Your affection can be a shield. Your indulgence a precaution.

You drape your arm over his middle and rest your head upon his chest, letting out a long, calming breath.

“This is, uh... a nice surprise,” he says, resting his hand on your forearm. He strokes your back idly with the other.

“So was the massage.”

His chest rumbles faintly against your ear as he laughs.

“I would’ve done it sooner if I knew you’d like it so much.”

You stare at his hand. Resting as lightly as it is, his fingers still curl in just enough to press into your arm. Even when you choose to offer your affection freely, he can’t help but grip like you’ll suddenly take it away if he doesn’t.

It’s like he never learned how to hold something without leaving claw marks on it. 

“We have a lot to learn about each other,” you say quietly, closing your eyes.

His hand pauses upon your back for a moment, and then without comment, he pulls you properly into his arms, enveloping you in that familiar warm thrum of power.

It’s like being embraced by a nuclear reactor.

You can’t survive in fight or flight forever. The relief he brought to your neck has made you realize how tense all over you really are, how heavy your fear has made your aching heart. If you’re going to get out of this, you have to learn to put it down when it’s safe.

So, for at least a little while, you decide to let yourself relax not only in Homelander’s embrace, but in his rose-tinted reality.

( chapter six )

[caelivir]

rayne ames relationship hcs (part ii)

— WARNING: creepy behavior from a guy but that’s it

— author’s note. i feel like the author’s note from when i posted this doesn’t apply anymore, but anyway, this is part two but isn’t actually because i lost the first part when i accidentally deleted my account… again im so sorry. ALSO!! the writing is a little different bc i’m cringing rereading my old stuff. (how did u guys let that slide)

— HUGE HUGE HUGE THANK YOU TO @mikadzukis FOR SAVING MY OLD HCS I AM INDEBTED TO U!!!!

rayne ames loves dates with you. he loves them.

but he especially loves picnic dates

you introduced him to the idea on one of his days off

you promised it wasn’t going to be draining because you knew being a visionary is a taxing job

so he agreed

and he loved it

spread across the red and white checkered picnic blanket are plates of grapes, cheese, and sandwiches. two goblets of iced tea rest on top of a wooden board so they can remain balanced.

rayne’s large hands support his weight as he leans back onto the blanket. the half-blonde cranes his neck to stare up at the leaves. rays of sunlight peek through slivers of space between them. a butterfly flutters its wings above him.

“rayne!” you call for his attention.

your lover hums as a reply before directing his eyes toward you, offering his full attention.

“i made something for you.” you speak, grabbing for another basket on the blanket. you lift up the cover, reaching carefully inside it. you pull out a cake platter and set aside the lid that protected the dessert residing on it.

“it’s a cake!” you continue with a smile. “this is the first time you’ve been off in a while so i thought i could make a cake to celebrate! i even decorated it with some bunnies!”

a small grin grows on the visionary’s face. he pushes himself up. rayne takes the platter out of your hand and gently places it on a free board on the blanket. you’re caught in surprise as his arms wrap themselves around your waist. his head finds warmth in the crook of your neck.

“thank you.” he whispers.

rayne’s protective of you

he knows you’re capable of fighting your own battles, but there are certain situations where he just had to take care of it

if someone’s saying things about you or harassing you, he isn’t going to tolerate that

the entirety of easton knows not to mess with you, because messing with you means messing with rayne, and no one wants to put themselves through that

he’s already scary enough as is so all it takes is a couple of threats for the person to leave cowering in fear

you wait outside of the café as rayne uses the restroom. people of all ages each other as they navigate their ways theough marchétte street. one of them approaches you, but it’s not rayne.

“so what’s a fine thing like you doing alone here in the street.” a guy smirks, trailing his eyes up and down your body. you shift uncomfortably. he’s definitely a few years older than you and inches taller than rayne. a single line cuts through his right cheek, indicating his level of magic.

you swallow down an anxious gulp before speaking. “i’m with my boyfriend.”

“tell me gorgeous,” the man’s hand travels down the path of your jaw. you’re disgusted by his touch. “does your boyfriend like to share?”

“i really think you should go.” you respond firmly, shoving the grimy hand away from your face.

the guy chuckles, raising his hands in defense. “no need to get aggressive, sweetheart! i just want to know!”

“and who the hell are you?” a familiar deep voice says from behind you. you turn around to discover rayne, and your eyes light up at his appearance. you’re well acquainted with the detachment and chilling coldness of rayne’s gaze, but now, there’s a fire behind them.

rage.

he’s pissed.

recognition becomes evident in the man’s face, and it dawns on him that he just messed with a divine visionary’s lover, but before he can retreat, rayne steps in front of you. he yanks your harasser down to your level. you don’t know what the half-blonde says, but it’s clear that it sparks fear into the features of the other man. once rayne’s finishes with him, he apologizes profusely before running away in the opposite direction.

the anger behind rayne’s eyes fade; they soften when he finds your gaze. “are you okay.”

you grin. “yeah, now that you’re here.”

rayne lets you wear his robes

whenever you hang out in his dorm, your first instinct is to go through his closet and take them

when you first did it, he was going to protest

but you looked so cute i. them that he decided to let it slide

you especially like wearing them when you nap

though you wearing his robes does pose some problems for him from time to time

“you’re late,” orter points out from his seat at the table. his fingers slide the frame of his glasses up his nose. “and where’s your visionary robe?”

rayne strolls past the desert came, not bothering to answer for his actions. he didn’t want to admit—especially to orter of all people—the reason behind his missing robe.

this morning, just as he was almost ready to leave for the divine visionary meeting, rayne realized that he was missing his robe. the half-blonde searched ever crevice of his dorm but to no avail. rayne sighed, reaching the conclusion that you accidentally took it.

yesterday, he had to run a quick errand while you were napping. upon his return, rayne discovered that you had left. you scribbled a message on a notepad, explaining that you didn’t want to keep intruding. you were probably too tired to realize that you had his war robe in your possession.

rayne could waste any more time making a trip to your dorm. it was a bit of a distance from his. the best decision at the moment was to let you have it and attend the meeting without it.

that is how he ended up in this situation, late and stuck sitting next to ryoh.

“y/n has your robe, don’t they?” ryoh teases in a whisper. for some reason, ryoh had discovered rayne’s relationship with you. whenever the two visionaries crossed paths, his senior never fails to mention you.

the sword cane doesn’t respond. “that’s a yes, isn’t it?” ryoh continues with a shit-eating grin. he pokes the arm of the boy next to him

rayne inhales. gods, he was not going to hear the end of this.

whenever you and rayne are apart due to his job as divine visionary, you communicate through letters sent by owls

he talks about the places he’s at and shit talks the people he doesn’t like

you tell him about you classes and how things are back at the academy, especially things going on within the adler dorm

and you occasionally give him updates on finn because you know deep down rayne cares about him

an owl lands on the sill of the open window of rayne’s temporary room. the animal clamps down on an browned envelope placed in its beak. rayne approaches the bird, and it drops the letter into his hands before flying off.

the mattress of the bend sinks under rayne’s weight when he sits on it. he unfolds the piece of parchment in his hands unsealing the envelope. his eyes scan down the letter that reads:

dear rayne,

how’s your trip? i hope nothing’s gone bad. things back at easton have been the same as usual, but it’s not that fun without you here.

classes are boring, but that’s nothing new. i might rip my brain out. i’ve been baking to try and cope. by the way, when you get back, you have to try this cheese tart i made. i had your brother and a friend of his try them. they seemed to like it a lot. i don’t know the name of the kid yet, but he wants me to make cream puffs next time. he says they’re a lot better than cheese tarts so you’ll have to try those too.

speaking of finn, he’s doing extremely well. he’s making lots of friends which is really nice to see. he always seems nervous to talk to me though. am i intimidating or something. i don’t think i am. unless you’ve been saying some things about me then i think we’re gonna have a problem…

gods, i miss you so much. come back soon. i’ll be waiting for you always. take care of yourself and don’t stress too much. i love you.

- y/n

p.s. please get me a souvenir. thank you! i love you, again.

rayne stands up, finding a sheet of paper and a quill. he pulls out a chair by a table. a slight smile flashes on the visionary’s face as he writes back to you—his home.

[od4saku]

Gojo Satoru wakes with a start.

His skin is hot with emotion but the air in the bedroom is cold. Wind whistles high and sharp outside the window: a song of storm. It's wintertime in Tokyo. He thinks it may snow soon.

He's sitting up in bed, at some odd hour of the morning. And it's not unusual for him to be unable to sleep, or even to be plagued by nightmares like the one that'd just awoken him, not in the slightest— but it's different kind of restlessness that plagues him tonight. A kind that he fears not even your company can cure.

You lay so peacefully in bed, occupying the space beside him. One hand is slid beneath your pillow, and the other is reached out. Like you're trying to touch him. Hold him. His heaving chest and harsh, hollow breathing have not roused you. The blanket is not over you, rather it rests at your hips; Satoru wonders if you are cold. With gentle, quiet hands, he slides it up from your waist to cover more of you.

Satoru has mastered the art of silence. It's something that comes hand in hand with solitude, and he is all-too-familiar with solitude. Raised to be his own god, he has never not been alone. A shrine is a lonely place at night. He sits for a moment. Stares. Your chest rises and falls like ripples on a lake. The clock on the bedside table next to you reads 2:23 AM; he will not be sleeping again tonight, Satoru decides. He's quiet as he stands, shifting to the door of the bedroom— he's about to open the door when your voice cuts through the cool stillness of the air.

"S'toru?" A yawn. "Why are you up?"

He freezes. He's usually more careful. You usually don't wake up.

He has a quiet tendency of sorts, to pull away into himself. To hold it all back. There are people who love him; there are people he loves. But on nights, these lonesome nights, it all fades into the back recesses of his mind. This same tendency tells him to ignore you, or dismiss you back to your own dreaming. He wants to push you away. He wants to tell you to go back to sleep. His eyes squeeze shut, and his fingertips ghost the cold metal of the doorknob. His nightmare comes back to him in pieces. A faceless girl; the bullet that pierces her skull. Her white headband turning red. His best friend— the hole where his heart used to be. Your body gutted, like a dead animal on the side of the road, and the powerless man who'd done it coming for him next. This dream isn't so much fictive as it is macabre pieces of his past, stuck together like tracks burned into a CD that plays on loop in his mind whenever he shuts his eyes.

It's a subtle ache. It's an emptiness that lingers, persists. It's one he knows. Satoru is familiar with his own pain. He's never been able to shake it. It's a piece of him, the other half of his heart. He is stained blue. If he turns around to face you, he will not be able to leave. He will not be able to spare you of his own pain. He'll burden you with all that he feels, all that he is, more than he already has. If he walks out the bedroom door now, he knows he'll be okay— he always is. That's what he's always done. He's always walked out. He's always faced it all alone.

"Satoru?" You call for him again, voice raspy with sleep, and his resolve crumbles.

He's always faced it alone— but he doesn't have to. He believes it when he looks at you, head propped up with a hand, sleepy gaze fixed on him. Your eyes widen when you catch the look in his eyes. He's sure they betray how he feels. He always had a hard time lying to you.

You've known Satoru since high school. Everything he's been through, you've been through with him. You'd nearly died by his side, at Toji's hands, all those years ago. You'd stood by him when Suguru left. You'd given him space when he needed it, and gifted him with your company when he'd wanted it again. His love for you is something soft like fresh snow. Renewing, beautiful, and chilling, right down to the bone. He knows you love him, too. He sees it in you constantly. He recalls a memory from only a few months back; you'd gone out on a 'girl's night' with your friends and returned wasted, hardly able to stand, heels in Shoko's hands as she dropped you off to his apartment with an amused smile.

"Where are we, Ieiri? T's not my apartment," he had heard you slur as he opened the door. It was late. He'd predicted this outcome, and he smiled when he saw you clinging to Shoko's arm. Your nails were sure to leave indents.

"You need your babysitter tonight," she replied, gesturing to where Satoru stood in the doorframe. With a slight delay, your eyes widened when you saw him and you let go of Shoko, surging forward into your boyfriend's arms.

"'Toru! I didn't know you'd be here!" You were hardly intelligible, as you began to press scores of kisses to his face. They were open-mouthed and heavy, leaving lipstick stains on his cheek, jaw, chin, nose. Every time he would try to get a word in, you'd plant a clumsy kiss to his lips, silencing him and sending him into bouts of laughter. Shoko waved him off, and he'd helped you inside, where you promptly passed out in your dress. But not before telling him about how much you'd missed him. He'd slipped your dress off with gentle hands and helped you into warmer, more comfortable clothes, and carried you to bed.

That blatant show of affection, the way your love spilt through the cracks of your porcelain mask— he knows you care for him, too. He thinks about that night now and feels it again. The ghost of your lips and hands and warm, soft kisses. The bubbling laughter that escapes your throat, the slew of “I love you’s” that you don’t even try to contain. He believes in your love for him. He believes in it more than anything. So when you tilt your head with worry and ask him, "is everything okay?" Satoru lets himself shatter, then fall apart in front of you without thinking twice. He's always faced his pain alone— he doesn't have to. You love him. You are willing to hold it all for him.

He chokes in a harsh, strangled breath, and you’re up on your feet before he can inhale again.

“Hey,” you whisper as you place a hand on his shoulder, and your voice is so soft, so sweet, so real, he can’t help how he slumps into your body. You welcome the added weight, rearranging your hands so that one falls to his neck and hair and the other is draped around his waist. “It’s okay. What’s wrong? It’s okay. I’m here.”

He can’t speak. Doesn’t trust himself to. Satoru settles for letting breathing into the crook of your neck as you rub his shoulders comfortingly, whispering sweet words he can’t quite understand into his scalp. He feels the ache dripping off his bones with every circle your fingers trace across the small of his back. He feels the rot dissolve. He tightens his hold on you. He loves you. He will let you hold him.

A sudden fear grips him. The insecurities of his dream come rushing back at full tilt. His hands squeeze the skin you’ve offered, so tight that it might bruise, and he looks into your eyes. They shine with something unsaid. He refuses to listen his grip, to let you go— if he does he fears that you won’t come back.

It’s a common theme in his life, for those he loves to banish, just like that. The minute he allows himself to care, they’re gone. And what of this love, like no other he’s felt? If he releases you, if he leaves, you’ll be gone, too. He can’t have that. Can’t handle it. The thought of your absence is more than he can bare, so he lets his head fall to your shoulder again, maximizing the contact between you and him. If you feel him on you, if you feel his touch, his love, you can’t leave. You won’t. He won’t let you.

Satoru’s truth is that he is selfish, disgustingly so. His hands hold and don’t let go— they grip, grasping onto whatever they can— loose fabric, fingers, trailing up to the nail, roots of hair, a forearm— he can’t let go. He won’t. Like a little boy holding onto a toy, tightly, so tight. White-knuckles and glossy eyes, he holds on. Oh, he’s selfish. He’s selfish with the way he clings to a memory long past, meant to be forgotten. But Satoru holds all the same, like a lifeline, like a priest holds a bible. A religious devotion, a saint’s zeal.

He holds onto you for what feels like ages but must only have been the better half of an hour before you ease him back onto the bed, so he’s lying curled into your lap. He won’t let you move, let you stop touching him. He fears you might disappear. But you don’t move, either.

You remain still beneath him, present with your touch. You’re still murmuring things too quiet for him to hear over the sound of his heartbeat in his throat, but your tone is soft and soothing. Like cool water being poured over a hot open wound. Like a salve. You don’t leave, not when his heavy breathing turns to shallow gasps, not when his shallow gasps turn to the quiet sounds of sleep. When he wakes, Satoru will find you asleep in the safe position he’d remembered you in when he’d drifted off.

His love is selfish. His mind is a mess, mayhem. He is greedy and cruel and tortured, and you will stay through it all, he realizes that morning, as he watches your chest rise and fall from your lap. For all of Satoru’s burdens, and all his doubts, for all the pain that weighs him down and sinks him like an anchor to the bottom of his own brain, you will stay. You will stay, you will stay, you have stayed. The familiarity of you is chilling in the most comforting way. It’s nostalgia. The emptiness still lingers, but it lessens. The dull ache still makes its home in his chest, but there’s something new, now. Something he thinks may have always been there, but he’s been too blinded to realize it until now. There’s you, too.

(Outside the window, snow falls silently. Satoru will have no bad dreams when night falls.)

“There were all my secrets, spread out on the table. Like someone had taken my insides and scooped them out for everyone to see. Look, here are her stupid hopes! Look, here’s her dumb soft heart!”

Carol Rifka Brunt / Tell the Wolves I’m Home

[pommpuriinn]

November 2024 DAZED Magazine

Featuring Txt’s Joohyung and Beomgyu

cover one with photos in the magazine

Beomgyu and Joohyung’s outfit

Joohyung’s hair (has baby bangs sharp tips like the bangs in the makeup pic)/color | makeup | nails

cover two with photos in the magazine

Beomgyu and Joohyung’s outfit

Joohyung’s hair/color | makeup | nails

What’s the issue about?

In this November issue we show sides of the couple people haven’t seen along with finally getting so information from the couple about their dynamic relationship like; how is it working side by side constantly? Does the relationship ever create tension within the group? What’s the couple’s future plans? This issue also covers each person’s own individual lives and their own path with music.

Thank you again for accepting the shoot. *interviewer smiles brightly at the couple*

B: oh, thank you for having us. *smiles backs*

It’s quite hard to get you two together like this and talk about your public relationship. So, my first question is why is that?

J: *stuck air between her teeth* honestly…I don’t know? *laughs* We honestly don’t really go talking about our relationship when we’re on variety shows. Like if the mc asks who’s dating yeah we say it, but other than that we are quite private about it.

B: It's like something we unconsciously do. We never talked about it behind hand *shakes his head ‘no’* like it’s not planned, plus we don’t really act much different with each other.

How is the dynamic in the relationship?

B: despite my goofy attitude on cameras I’m more serious behind closed doors and it carries on within the relationship. I’m more sentimental when it comes to our relationship. I like to have long, serious conversations and just hang out inside our places like very calm and chill. *shyly smiles and nods his head*

J: I don’t really recognize that I’m more…cuter? *looks at Beomgyu for confirmation* I heard from not just Beomgyu, but the members that I’m the complete opposite when I’m not on camera. I guess I tend to be warmer and clinger.

B: We balance each other out. She’s definitely the mood maker in the relationship, at least to me she is. *looks at Joohyung longingly*

Does working together get in the way of working with each other in the group?

J: never. It has never affected the group

B: Yeah, being in a relationship together didn’t really change anything at all. There was no awkwardness between anyone or tension. We act exactly the same as before.

You two have known each other for quite a long time, do you have any future plans with each other?

*the two look at each other before bursting into laughter causing the interviewer to smile at the young couple*

J: I’m sorry, it’s just we have been asked that question many times from my aunt and Beomgyu’s parents. Umm…I mean we don’t like thinking too much ahead. We’re still so young, but I would be lying if I say we didn’t fully think about our future sometimes.

B: Yeah I agree. *chuckles*

I heard that Joohyung-ssi has moved out of the dorms and actually lives alone and I wonder if Beomgyu-ssi has plans on moving in?

J: lives alone? *jokingly scoffs* they all come and sleep then eat like they own the place. *everyone laughs*

B: *clears throat* I do visit often, but I want to give Joohyung the space she never had for like 6 to 7 years. She has always been next to us since day one plus since before we would practiced for hours on end she would never leave to go back to her little room to sleep. Joohyung would sleep with us on the practice room floor, and once they chose us to be the final group line up we became even more attached to the hip.

J: I can finally have girl time with my cats without hearing them yell at their computers, tv, or at each other whenever they’re playing an intense game. Though I do miss when the younger ones would come to my room in the middle of night and ask if they could sleep with me, like little babies. *laughs* I could tell cats do miss them sometimes too because when they come to visit me the cats could hear them talking while coming through the door and they jump off their cat tree and sprint towards the door to greet them.

B: they would be like MEOW MEOW sometimes dragging their meows out then they start rubbing themselves on our feet, it’s really cute.

Joohyung-ssi I wanted to ask during the American leg of the group’s tour moas would ask about a new album and I too am curious if you’re working on anything new?

J: That’s quite a difficult question. *laughs bitterly* Mm…all I’ll say is that I had quite some time thinking over a few things about my own music away from the group, and it’s complicated right now with everything going on. But I don’t want moas to lose hope since everyday I see their kind messages waiting for my music and I just want to say I’m so thankful that moas are so understanding and patient when it comes to my music, and I won’t disappoint them when the time comes.

And Beomgyu-ssi we know your love for creating music and I wonder if you’re going to release any of your very own some day?

B: I do constantly love writing and making music and I’m happy that sometimes the company goes with my work, but it does happen rarely. I really hope in the future I could release some music I worked on fully for moas.

Lastly, what do you want to tell moas?

B: I want to say thank you to all the moas who support us being together and for sending lots of love and support for tomorrow x together. Please stay with us and show lots of love for our new album the star chapter: sanctuary

J: I’m not usually good at this *chuckles* moa thank you so much for staying by our side and always defending and fighting for us, I know it’s hard right now. We tomorrow x together will always repay you with lots of love back and constantly giving you amazing music that we put in lots of time and effort. Please listen to our new album with the title track ‘over the moon’

J & B: thank you~

[aspenmissing]

ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ꜱᴘᴀʀᴋ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ x ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 1307 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴊᴏɪɴɪɴɢ ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ'ꜱ ꜱᴀɴᴄᴛᴜᴀʀʏ ɪɴ ᴢᴀᴜɴ, ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ꜱᴏʟᴀᴄᴇ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪꜱᴅᴏᴍ. ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴏɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ, ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛᴇᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴀʟᴜᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇ. ɪɴꜱᴘɪʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ, ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴛʀɪᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜɪᴍ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ

The bar smelled of spilled ale, wood polish, and the faint metallic tang of the undercity—a mix that you had grown accustomed to over the past few weeks. It was far from pleasant, but it was familiar. After the rebellion, life had become a series of adjustments. Vander’s home—a sanctuary for those who had lost everything—was where you now found yourself.

Vander had taken you in, just as he had with Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor. The man’s kindness was overwhelming at first; it seemed impossible that anyone could be so selfless, especially after losing so much. But Vander had a way of making people feel safe, even in the chaotic heart of Zaun.

“You’re staring at that broom like it’s going to clean the bar on its own,” Vander said, his deep voice pulling you from your thoughts.

Startled, you blinked up at him. The broom was still clutched loosely in your hands, but the floor beneath you remained unswept.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, quickly beginning to push the broom across the floor. “I’ll get it done.”

Vander chuckled, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. His towering frame and the graying streaks in his beard made him look as much a protector as a father figure. “Take your time, kid. No one’s judging.”

You glanced up at him, his words a gentle reminder that here, there was no rush. No expectations. Vander never pushed anyone harder than they could manage. That alone was a new experience for you, a child of the streets where survival meant running faster and hitting harder than everyone else.

“I just don’t want to be a burden,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Vander’s brows furrowed, and he stepped closer, crouching slightly to meet your eyes. “Listen to me,” he said, his tone firm but warm. “You’re not a burden. Not to me, not to anyone here. Got it?”

You nodded, though doubt still lingered in the back of your mind. Vander ruffled your hair affectionately before straightening up. “Good. Now, once you finish that, how about giving me a hand with the barrels?"

The two of you worked in companionable silence, the occasional clink of glasses and muffled chatter from the street outside filling the space. Vander’s bar was a hub for Zaun’s people, a place where they could gather and find respite from the harshness of their lives. It was also a place where Vander’s quiet strength was most apparent. He carried the weight of the undercity on his shoulders, yet never seemed to falter.

The first time you saw him fight was a few days after you arrived. A group of enforcers had come down from Piltover, their polished boots and sneering faces a stark contrast to the grime of Zaun. They’d demanded “taxes”—a thinly veiled excuse to extort whatever they could from the struggling people. Vander had stepped in, his voice calm but commanding as he told them to leave.

When they didn’t, he showed them why he was called the Hound of the Underground.

His punches were precise, each one sending a message. He didn’t fight for sport or for ego; he fought to protect. And as you watched him stand tall, even as blood trickled from a split lip, you realized what kind of man Vander truly was.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Vander said, breaking through your reverie as you sat together in the dimly lit bar. The others had gone to bed, leaving the two of you alone. He slid a mug of warm tea across the table to you, his own tankard of ale in hand.

“Just thinking,” you replied, wrapping your hands around the mug. The warmth seeped into your fingers, a comforting contrast to the chill of the underground.

“Dangerous habit, that,” he teased, though his eyes held genuine concern. “Something on your mind?”

You hesitated, unsure how to put your thoughts into words. Finally, you said, “Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it? Fighting so hard for people who don’t always fight for themselves?”

Vander’s expression softened. He leaned back in his chair, taking a long sip of his ale before answering. “Every day,” he admitted. “But the way I see it, someone has to stand up. If not me, then who?”

His words hung in the air, their weight settling in your chest. You’d seen firsthand the sacrifices Vander made for the people of Zaun, and yet he never wavered. It was a kind of strength you weren’t sure you’d ever possess.

“You’re a good person,” you said quietly.

Vander chuckled, the sound deep and genuine. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, kid. But I try. That’s all any of us can do.”

As the weeks turned into months, you began to feel a sense of belonging you hadn’t known before. Vander’s bar became more than just a shelter; it became a home. Vi taught you how to throw a proper punch, Mylo’s sarcasm became oddly endearing, Powder’s wide-eyed curiosity reminded you of a time when you’d been just as innocent, and Claggor’s steady presence grounded you, his quiet wisdom offering comfort during the chaos. Together, they became your new family, each one leaving their mark on your heart in ways you hadn’t expected.

But it was Vander who left the deepest impression. He was more than a protector; he was a guide, a steady hand in a world that seemed determined to swallow you whole. He didn’t just teach you how to survive; he taught you how to live.

One evening, as you helped him clean up after a particularly busy night, he asked, “What do you want to do with your life?”

The question caught you off guard. You’d spent so long just trying to get by that the idea of a future felt almost foreign.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Maybe it’s time you did,” Vander said, his tone encouraging. “You’ve got potential, kid. More than you realize. Don’t let this place define you.”

“This place didn’t define you,” you pointed out.

Vander smiled, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “Didn’t it? The rebellion, this bar, these people—they’re all part of me. But they’re not all I am. You’ll figure out who you are, too. Just give it time.”

His words stayed with you long after the bar had emptied and the lights had dimmed. For the first time, you allowed yourself to imagine a future—one where you weren’t just surviving, but thriving.

The turning point came one rainy afternoon when a fight broke out near the bar. A group of thugs had cornered a young woman, their sneers and jeers echoing off the wet pavement. You froze, unsure of what to do. But then you saw Vander, striding toward them with a look of quiet determination.

“Enough,” he said, his voice cutting through the chaos like a knife.

The thugs hesitated, but when one of them lunged, Vander moved with a speed and precision that took your breath away. He disarmed the man with ease, his movements a testament to years of experience. The others quickly scattered, leaving the young woman unharmed.

As Vander helped her to her feet, you felt a surge of admiration. He wasn’t just a fighter; he was a protector, a force for good in a world that so often seemed devoid of it.

Later, as you sat together in the bar, you said, “I want to help people. Like you do.”

Vander’s eyes lit up with pride. “Then you’re already on the right path, kid. Just remember, it’s not about being a hero. It’s about doing what’s right, even when it’s hard.”

“Like you do?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Like we all try to do,” he corrected gently.

[uhhlifeig]

The Black Lake - Nov. 24 - word count: 525 - @wolfstarmicrofic

The breeze rolling off the Black Lake carried the sharp chill of the late afternoon, biting through Sirius's shirt and crawling over his skin. 

He hardly noticed. 

The lake stretched before him, glassy and serene, but the calm didn’t reach him. Instead, he felt like he was drowning, pulled under by the weight of his own thoughts.

He sat on the bank, knees drawn up to his chest, arms locked around them. 

The voices from earlier still rang in his ears- Remus’s sharp, furious words, James’s frustrated yelling, the stifling silence from Peter.

You’re no different from your family.

The words gutted him. He could handle anger. He could handle yelling. But that?

Sirius clawed at the dirt beneath him, the grit catching under his nails. He wasn’t his family. 

He’d spent years proving that, hadn’t he? But if Remus- of all people- thought he was…

The thought made his stomach churn.

He picked up a small rock and hurled it into the lake, watching the ripples spread and fade. He wanted to scream, to cry, to do something, but all he could manage was to sit there, silently suffocating in his thoughts.

Footsteps behind him broke the silence, crunching softly against the grass. He didn’t turn, half-hoping whoever it was would just leave him alone.

“Sirius?”

Peter’s voice. Of course.

“What do you want?” The noiret asked.

His friend- ex-friend?- hesitated, then came closer. “I, uh… I wanted to check on you.”

Sirius let out a bitter laugh. “Why?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said after a long pause.

“For what? “You didn’t yell at me. You didn’t call me-” The dog animagus broke off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

The shorter boy fiddled with a loose thread on his robes, his gaze fixed on the ground. “I didn’t stick up for you,” he said quietly. “I should have. You didn’t deserve… all of that. I mean, you made a mistake, yeah, but-”

“Stop.” Sirius’s voice cracked, and he looked away again. “Don’t.”

Peter fell silent.

They sat like that for a while, the sounds of the lake filling the space between them. The water lapped gently at the shore, the breeze rustling through the grass. The older boy stared out at the horizon, his mind a whirl of guilt and self-loathing.

“You’re not like them,” the other boy said suddenly.

Sirius froze, his breath catching in his throat. “But Remus-”

“You’re not,” Peter repeated. “I don’t care what Remus said. He’s angry, and hurt, and… I get it. But you’re not your family, Sirius. You’re not them.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Yeah, right.”

“You’re not. They wouldn’t care.”

Sirius didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

The rat animagus sighed, standing up and brushing dirt from his robes. “You should come back. I know things are…messed up right now. But sitting out here by yourself isn’t going to fix anything.”

No response.

Peter hesitated for a moment, then turned to leave. “I’ll see you back in the dorms,” he said quietly before walking away.

Sirius trudged up to Gryffindor Tower, but stopped in the common room. 

Who would want to see the face of a traitor?

pt. 1, pt. 3

@estellethewriter

[bloodstainedobsession]

Hello if it's okay can I do another fic request of Azusa x Reader on a date in the cemetery at night 😉 and ofc smut and NSFW are welcome

Thank you for your request! Yes of course! Azusa taking reader in a date in the cemetery🤭 Love it! And of course we need some nsfw in there aswell, enjoy!

Tender Shadows

Azusa Mukami x Reader

Smut

Tags: Azusa x reader, soft sex, outside, penetration, nsfw, cute talking

Summary: You and Azusa are on a date in the cementery. However, Azusa gets other plans when he notices how extra beautiful you are this wonderful night

Masterlist

The night is still young when you and Azusa arrive at the cemetery. The winding path leading to the graveyard is empty, save for the occasional rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. The air is crisp, a slight chill clinging to the atmosphere as you walk together, his hand casually brushing against yours.

Azusa’s usual demeanor is a little softer tonight, his typically reserved nature giving way to something more affectionate. He’s surprisingly calm, the weight of the night somehow grounding him in a way that is unfamiliar but comforting. His dark eyes flicker to you now and then, as though he’s savoring the moments shared between the two of you.

“You… like it here?” he asks, his voice soft, as if worried his question might break the spell of tranquility that settles over the two of you.

The cemetery is quiet, serene, and though it might seem like an odd choice for a date, there’s a strange beauty in the place. The old stones are worn with age, but they stand tall, silent guardians of history. It feels like the past and the present exist in the same space, and somehow, it’s comforting.

You nod, glancing around at the peaceful stillness. “It’s beautiful in its own way.”

Azusa’s lips curl into a soft smile, a rare, gentle expression that lights up his usually subdued face. “I thought so, too. It’s peaceful… no one to bother us.” His voice trails off, the last words almost a whisper, but you can hear the slight edge of excitement in his tone. His fingers twitch, as though he’s longing to touch you, but he restrains himself.

The two of you wander deeper into the cemetery, passing by elaborate headstones and faded markers. The quiet makes everything feel intimate, like you’re in your own little world. Azusa pauses at a particularly old grave, studying the inscription carefully, his hand brushing against the stone as if he’s reading it with his fingertips.

“There’s something calming about being here,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving the engraving. “The people who rest here… they’re at peace. I wonder… if I could be like them someday.” His words hang in the air, a little cryptic, but his tone is reflective, almost wistful.

You stop beside him, placing a hand on his arm gently. “You don’t have to worry about that for a long time, Azusa.”

His gaze shifts to you, and for a moment, the usual distance between you fades. There’s something vulnerable in his eyes that you rarely see, a fleeting moment where he’s not the quiet, distant Azusa, but someone who needs connection, someone who seeks comfort in your presence.

“You’re right,” he says, his lips curling into that soft, slightly shy smile once more. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

You squeeze his arm, offering a reassuring smile of your own. “You’re not alone.”

The moment lingers, and the air between you feels charged in a way that it didn’t before. There’s something unspoken, a mutual understanding, that this night holds something more than just a simple date. The tension in the air grows, but there’s no rush, only the slow, steady rhythm of your hearts beating together in time with the quiet night around you.

Azusa shifts closer to you, his hand brushing against yours once more before he hesitates. His eyes flicker down to your hand, as if asking for permission, before he gently takes hold of it.

“I’m glad I’m here with you,” he whispers, his voice low and full of sincerity.

Your fingers curl around his, and for a brief moment, you feel the weight of the night lifting off your shoulders. Everything feels right. The world around you, the soft moonlight, the soft rustle of the wind, it all fades into the background as you focus entirely on him.

The cool night air caresses your skin as Azusa’s fingers drift higher along your thigh, his touch sending a soft, tingling sensation with each brush. The full moon casts an ethereal glow over the cemetery, its silver light pooling around the two of you, illuminating his pale, delicate features. The silence of the place feels almost sacred, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind between the branches of nearby trees.

Azusa leans in, his breath warm against your ear, the smell of him, vanilla and something darker, more haunting, lingering around you. His voice is barely above a whisper, sending a shiver through you. “You’re so beautiful tonight…” His words are slow, deliberate, like a promise.

You feel a rush of warmth flood through your body as a response to his words. There’s something intoxicating about the way he speaks, his voice laced with a mix of longing and tenderness, and the way his fingers skate over the fabric of your clothing, teasing, tempting, but never quite reaching the places you crave.

He pulls back slightly, eyes studying your face, as if gauging your reaction. His hand moves from your thigh to the curve of your waist, fingers splaying out to feel the softness of your body beneath your clothes. You can feel the tension building between you, an electric current hanging in the air, thick with anticipation.

“Can I kiss you?” Azusa asks, his eyes dark with an unreadable hunger. His lips are only inches from yours, and his breath is warm against your skin. It’s as if he’s waiting for you to give him the signal, the green light to move closer, to close that final gap between the two of you.

The urge to kiss him is overwhelming, and without another word, you lean forward, brushing your lips against his. The kiss is slow at first, gentle, but there’s a hunger behind it that builds with every passing second. His lips are soft, like he’s savoring the taste of you, his tongue tentative as it grazes against your bottom lip. When you part your lips, allowing him entry, Azusa deepens the kiss, his hands coming to cradle your face, pulling you closer as if afraid you might slip away.

You can feel the pulse of his desire against you as he pulls you onto his lap, his hands now roaming freely over your body, kneading and caressing with an almost obsessive tenderness. His touch is cold, but it stirs something hot inside you, a fire that burns brighter with every move he makes.

“I want to feel you, all of you,” Azusa breathes against your lips, his voice laced with desperation now. “Please… let me.”

Your heart races, the darkness of the cemetery, the quiet isolation, the stillness around you, it all feels so intimate, so intense. The world beyond the gates of the cemetery feels far away, like it no longer matters. It’s just the two of you here, alone in the moonlight, the silence broken only by the sound of your breath mingling with his.

His hands slide under your clothes, fingers brushing over the soft, heated skin of your abdomen, drawing lazy circles as he teases his way higher. You arch into his touch, feeling your body respond to him instinctively, your breath quickening as his fingers ghost over your chest, brushing your nipple through the fabric of your clothing. A quiet gasp escapes you, and Azusa smiles against your lips, sensing the effect he’s having on you.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I can feel it… every time you shiver, every time you breathe deeper for me.”

His lips trail down your throat, nipping gently at your skin, and you feel yourself melt further into his touch. You want him, more than anything, but there’s no rush. The way he’s touching you, savoring every inch of you, makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters.

His mouth finds the sensitive spot just below your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Let me make you feel good,” he whispers, his fingers working their way down, brushing against the waistband of your pants. His touch is gentle but firm, making it clear that he wants to take his time, to feel every inch of you, just as much as you crave to feel him.

“Please,” you whisper back, barely able to control the urgency in your voice. It’s enough to break whatever restraint he’s been holding onto.

Azusa’s hands move quickly now, tugging at your clothes with a sense of quiet determination, his lips capturing yours in a deep, possessive kiss as his fingers slide under the fabric, skin against skin. The sensation sends a jolt through you, your body instinctively rising to meet him, desperate for the contact.

As your clothes fall away, you’re left bare beneath the moonlight, the cold air biting at your skin as Azusa gazes at you, his expression filled with a mix of admiration and hunger. “So beautiful,” he breathes, his voice rough. He’s lost in you, his hands trembling as he touches you, caressing you, as if trying to memorize every curve, every inch of your body.

His touch is cold, but it sends heat rushing through you, and your body reacts instinctively, pressing closer to him. The distance between you narrows, your lips barely brushing as he pulls you into a slow, deep kiss. It’s a kiss that holds more than just passion, it’s full of tenderness, full of the emotions that neither of you know how to put into words.

When he finally pulls away, he’s breathless, his lips lingering on yours for a moment longer, as if he never wants to break the connection. His eyes search yours, a mixture of hesitation and desire clouding his expression.

“I need you,” he confesses in a whisper, his voice tight with barely contained emotion.

The vulnerability in his words makes your chest tighten, and without a second thought, you nod, your hands slipping up to his neck, pulling him in for another kiss. This time, there’s no hesitation. The kiss is deeper, more urgent, as your bodies press together, feeling the heat of each other’s skin through the thin layers of clothing.

Azusa’s hands trail down your back, his fingers brushing along the curve of your spine before they move to your waist, pulling you even closer. His lips move to your throat, his breath hot against your skin as he kisses and nips at the sensitive spot just below your ear. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but let out a soft moan.

“Let me feel you,” Azusa whispers, his voice rough with desire. “Let me love you, slowly. Please.”

The sincerity in his tone, combined with the intensity of his touch, makes your heart skip a beat. You can feel the tension building, and the warmth between you grows as he gently guides you back against one of the gravestones, the rough stone cool against your back but nothing compared to the heat radiating between the two of you.

His hands move with a practiced ease, gently pulling at your clothes, his fingers shaking with anticipation. As each layer falls away, he takes his time, eyes never leaving you, drinking in the sight of your bare skin like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. When you’re finally exposed to him, he leans down, kissing every inch of you, your neck, your chest, your stomach, as though worshiping you in the most intimate way possible.

Azusa’s touch is soft, deliberate, but there’s a dark hunger there, a quiet urgency that sends your pulse racing. His lips finally return to yours, and this time, the kiss is fiery, full of the need that’s been building between you. You respond eagerly, hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer as his body presses into yours.

“Azusa,” you gasp, your voice trembling with desire.

He pulls back slightly, eyes dark with longing, and without a word, he moves between your legs, his body hovering over yours. There’s a moment of stillness, a pause that feels like an eternity, before he shifts his hips, aligning himself with you.

“I’ll take care of you,” Azusa promises, his voice low, full of reverence and longing. “I’ll be gentle.”

The cemetery, with all its history and quiet beauty, becomes the backdrop to the most intense connection you’ve ever known, a love that is patient, tender, and all-consuming.

Azusa’s hands continue to explore your skin with a sense of reverence, as if each touch is a way to claim you, to draw you closer. His lips trail down your neck, slowly, deliberately, kissing and nibbling at the sensitive flesh beneath your ear. Every kiss feels like a quiet promise, a whispered confession of the passion he’s holding back until now.

The weight of his body presses into yours as he moves between your legs, positioning himself with such care, ensuring you’re ready. You can feel his body tremble slightly, the mix of anticipation and reverence clear in the way his fingers brush the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His eyes meet yours, searching for reassurance, and when you nod, his expression softens, the vulnerability in his gaze making you melt.

“I’ll go slow,” Azusa whispers, his voice full of affection and something deeper, something darker that lingers beneath the surface. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You nod again, your chest tight with emotion. The trust you’ve built together, the way he’s been so gentle with you, makes every second feel like it’s wrapped in tenderness, in a love that’s delicate but all-encompassing. You run your hands along his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he positions himself just so, the subtle sound of his breath quickening with the proximity.

When he finally moves, the slow, deliberate thrust pulls a gasp from both of you. The sensation is almost overwhelming, the stretch of him filling you in a way that’s intimate, private, something only the two of you can experience in this moment. Azusa’s lips meet yours again, deep and hungry, as he pulls out slightly, then moves slowly back into you. Each movement is met with careful precision, a steady rhythm that speaks of his need for you, but also his patience, his desire to cherish this.

You respond, your body moving in time with his, the connection between you growing deeper with each motion. His hands slide beneath you, cupping your hips to guide you closer, urging you to meet him halfway. His touch is firm, possessive, but always gentle enough to remind you that this is about trust, about sharing something intimate. His lips wander down to your chest, kissing a trail from your throat to your breasts, his hands gently kneading the soft flesh as he continues to move inside you.

“Azusa…” you breathe, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging him back to your lips. The kiss is desperate now, filled with the urgency of your desire, the connection that’s deepening with each passing second.

“Hmm?” His voice is barely a whisper as he pulls back, eyes dark with a quiet hunger. “Tell me what you need. I want to hear it.”

His words stir something deep inside you, and you find yourself whispering, “I need you… all of you, Azusa.” The words are laced with a kind of vulnerability you’ve never shared before, but with him, they feel right.

Azusa groans, the sound a mix of desire and something deeper, something raw and possessive. His pace quickens slightly, but it’s still slow, deliberate, as if he’s savoring the way you clench around him, the way your body moves beneath his. Each thrust brings you closer, pulling you into a rhythm that’s nothing short of perfect, an unspoken language only the two of you understand.

His hands slide down to your waist, gripping you tightly as he lifts your hips slightly to change the angle. The new angle hits deeper, a soft gasp escaping you as a wave of pleasure rolls through you. “Is this okay?” Azusa asks, his voice hoarse with barely-contained desire, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

You gasp out a breathless affirmation, pulling him closer with a sharp tug on his hair, silently begging for more. Azusa’s movements become more urgent, more desperate, as the tension builds between you. His mouth finds your neck again, kissing and biting at the sensitive skin, leaving soft marks in the wake of his lips.

The cemetery around you feels like a distant memory, the cool night air, the quiet of the gravestones, all fading into the background as your world becomes just Azusa, his touch, his scent, the sound of his breath mingling with yours.

He presses his forehead to yours, his movements growing more erratic as he chases his own release. “I’m close,” he murmurs, his voice strained with the effort to hold back. “I want to make you come first, though. I need to feel you… please…”

His words send a rush of heat through you, and you grip him tighter, pushing yourself into each thrust, your body nearing the edge. Every nerve is alight, every inch of your skin buzzing with the electricity of your connection.

When the moment finally breaks, it’s like an explosion. Your body trembles beneath his, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you come undone in his arms. Azusa’s name slips from your lips, your hands gripping him tightly as your body contracts around him.

With a low, guttural groan, Azusa follows you over the edge, his body jerking against yours as he releases, the feel of him inside you sending a final jolt of pleasure through your system. His grip on your waist tightens, his body pressed against yours as he rides out the waves of pleasure.

For a moment, neither of you moves, the only sound the soft shuddering of your breaths, the weight of your bodies pressed together. The world outside the cemetery returns slowly, but it feels distant, far away from the quiet, intimate moment the two of you have shared.

Azusa pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back as you both breathe deeply, savoring the aftermath of your connection.

“I’m glad I’m with you,” Azusa whispers, his voice soft, almost as if he’s afraid to break the tranquility of the moment. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

You nestle against him, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on his chest. “Neither do I,” you murmur, your heart full.

The night stretches on, and the cemetery, with its silent gravestones and the faint rustling of the wind, feels like the perfect place to be, together, in this quiet, intimate moment.

[yanderegrizzsworld]

saw your post about taking digital circus content so may I request for Pomni or Ragatha or even Jax with a reader who's pretty calm when first entering in the digital circus and doesn't seem to mind everything else happening with how they're just like "hey, that's cool" basically they're pretty chill

Imagine: Platonic Yandere Pomni, Ragatha & Jax with a chill reader

TW/CW: Implied stalking & Mentions of Bullying

Pomni:

With Ragatha's reassurance, Pomni reckoned that everyone acted similarly to her upon their arrival to the Digital Circus. This did ease her perturbation, though not by much & far less upon your arrival to their Digital "home".

Are you alright? Complete & utter calmness is the last reaction the jester expects from a newcomer, yet reasons that you're probably seeking to assess your situation &/or keep focus. It's quite smart really, it means you're less likely to abstract in this world, such an easygoing attitude it quite a quick way to get her attached to you.

She'll strive to stick by you as much as possible, though is willing to give you your space if asked to as she wishes not to be regarded as chafing & will at most watch you from a distance. Expect her coming to you a lot whenever she seeks comfort from one of her paranoid episodes of searching for an exit, while Ragatha is very willing to be a nice shoulder to cry on, Pomni truly feels her anxious thoughts leave whenever she's in your presence & will progressively get more antsy the longer she can't find you in the circus.

Ragatha:

She reckons herself as the peacemaker of the group from being one of the oldest to be there, though one would be forgiven (& correct) for thinking that she seems quite close to losing it at any moment. From this, she always strives to ease newcomers to their new digital home, understanding how nerve-wracking it is.

Ragatha is chiefly clueless upon your arrival. Years of seeing new faces initially scared & addled to this world has made the ragdoll has grown accustomed to introducing the new performers, downplaying the existential dread of their circumstance, whether as so they don't abstract or so her own crisis doesn't get to her is up in the air. She takes her steps forward as she usually does to new people, but doesn't know what to properly say seeing as you're not freaking out about the situation.

Seeing her around you a lot is something you'd best get used to, whether it's a short, simple chat on how you're holding up or talking about nothing within the walls of the tent, getting Ragatha to leave is quite the task. She refuses to leave you alone with Jax, as in her eyes & years of being around him, he might chip away at your sanity, small at first but grows worse over time until it's too late, claiming she's somehow surprised someone hasn't abstracted because of him.

Jax:

Nobody's sure if Jax's frequent bullying is merely an aspect of who he is or his way of coping with living in the circus, it's doesn't matter either way, he won't give a luculent answer. Jax isn't one to comfort a new face, opting to hectoring them until Ragatha stops him towards causing the other's disquietude.

Your breezy attitude doesn't deter him from his usual antics, including said frolics being thrown at you. Your lack of reaction to the prank both throws off the lavender rabbit & bemuses him, just what goes through that head of yours? His motive shift from wanting a reaction from you to seeking to see what makes you tick, what you experienced to make you have the viewpoint that you do, that makes you merely laugh at your situation rather than panic.

Jax sees fit to insert himself into conversations without a need to explain himself & brushes off any questions thrown at him, every attempt to interrogate him tends to end with Jax dragging you off with him, maybe to not start an argument with Ragatha or Zooble or perhaps he got bored of the conversation, who knows what goes on in his head. Any thought of suspect for his behavior towards you is out his head a second later, you don't seem to mind so his mind discerns no issue with his comportment & is what Jax uses as an excuse, true reason for his frequent presence around you.

[sugar-crash]

🍬King Candy (Wreck-It Ralph) x (gn) Reader👑

(Sleep Edition!)

(Request here! Sorry this came out way later than it was supposed to, some personal stuff is happening that’s I won’t divulge into... But I’ll just say that the fanfiction🔑 curse is apparently real and doesn’t stop at AO3.)

- He’s more tolerant than how he is Turbo when you start sleeping with one another but still has those selfish habits of hogging the bed, but seeing how he’s royalty now it probably isn’t much of a problem— He feels like the type to have a overly large bed or something like that.

- Snores a bit louder than he used to, cause,, old man disguise. Uhhh old man in general, whose supposed to be whimsical but falling back on it.

- But like again they’re not going to keep you up at night, at least, I hope they don’t cause you guys probably spend a lot of time together.

- More cuddly for sure, like I touched upon earlier after all those years of hiding and being all alone did something to me, he probably realized that being more affectionate would help him and this relationship.

- I like to think that as a creation of humans it isn’t much of a stretch to say like any other piece of art it imitates life, and what is life with those moments of desire, belonging.

- A part of him probably wants to belong to Sugar Rush desperately, and being in charge of it is what makes him feel like does, at least to a degree. Giving you affection and space when you need it, sleeping in Sugar Rush is always the best, sleeping on literal marshmallows.

- Maybe even wants to feel as if he belongs in this relationship in general, His actions in this relationship trying so hard to be genuine at times when he feels it warrants them, like hugging you close and lulling you to sleep.

- He’s making an active effort to be what he thinks you need in this relationship, thinking he knows what’s best for you more you do, that sense of entitlement he has seeping into this relationship almost covertly.

- Who knows what’s going on in his brain most of the time, maybe ways to insult people who he deems below him but I digress, like sometimes his emotion is unreadable when you finally nod off after a conversation about your place and why never comes over or leaves Sugar Rush itself where he is able to quell you enough for the time being.

- He has so much going through his brain constantly, mostly stemming from that anxiety that has the tendency to keep him up at times.

- Still a terrible insomniac, that’s not up for debate he has lost hours of sleep over his own self imposed fears of being replaced by the original ruler Venallope.

- One word to describe both Turbo and King Candy is Paranoid, whether it be about his popularity or maintaining a power of authority over something that isn’t his.

- He’s so afraid and that mixed with sleep deprivation and denial of what he truly is, getting him away from everything is how you get him to stop and think critically before finally calming down and taking a chill pill after being strung up for so long.

- He gives you credit for your care for him, thanking you softly but never repeating himself when you ask him to, you know what he said.

- Again he doesn’t hang on your every word, that self reliance still being a very important part of who he is, especially now as a ruler.

- The amount of lectures you get when you guys first start dating and he has to explain away how weird Sugar Rush gets is far too many.

- I think with your help he’s a bit less paranoid, like a relationship with you definitely lessens the edge he has about him— Hell he’s probably even more conniving to others than he is in the movie because he takes the time to really think about what he can do without needing to think on the spot.

- His tendency to think later on is still very much intact, and I believe your relationship has both their benefits and drawbacks— A part of him definitely becomes more smug and full of himself, he got someone to love him as King Candy after all, further adding less suspicion on him.

- I think in a way to keep him from going “too soft” convinces himself that your relationship is that, but no amount of justification can hide that genuine caring he has for you, years of being together only amplifying that.

- In a way, you give him ease, just not in a literal way he does for you, a way that he doesn’t really recognize till he reaches the point of no return.

(Bdr aqfdk dr rljcsbdko kl lkc wdhh squhy nljmqcbcki fki d ilks sbdkg fkylkc wdhh cvcq sbc nbfknc sl fs hcfrs kls sbc mclmhc lt sbc fqnfic.)

[widemindeddreamer]

Quiet

(Danny Wagner x F Reader)

MINORS DNI!! 18+

Warnings: Smut. it's all sex. Oral if you squint (M Receiving)

Day-Jobs are shit. You work all day with shitty, uptight people for a paycheck that's just enough to make ends meet. You couldn't stand the place, a cubicle, all alone, with no scenery to look at but the picturesque landscape on your computer monitor. A dream it would be to just drop everything you're doing and dive into it, away from the dreary, boring, beige, black and white, depressing......

you snap out of it. 5:00 pm. your shift is over. You look over at the unfinished paperwork, already collecting dust. The library was calling your name. You collect your things and stride out the door, the cool fall breeze flowing over you sending chills down your spine and a wave of comfort through your soul.

The library was super old, and always empty, but you loved it. The aroma of old books always brought you a sense of serenity as you flicked through them, finding one that would spark interest, and as you read, you would dream of a life that was different than the one you have now.

You walk through the library door, the quiet jingle of bells ringing through your ears, and you see him. A new librarian, with long, curly brown hair and eyes that glow with a brown-green hue. He's quiet, different from the usual librarian you see: Mrs. Garner. You try to brush the thought of him away as you do the same thing you always do: Flick through the books and read until you think you might pass out. This time felt different. The thought of him couldn't leave your mind, his eyes burning a hole into the back of your head. You try to maintain contact with the books, but your eyes drift towards him like a magnet. shit...shit...SHIT. he's staring right at me already....How long has he been staring? you thought to yourself. You quickly turn away, face flushed in red, rifling through the books before you can even read the titles. You pick out a random book just to check out. To see him. You approach the desk and you're already trembling. You clear your throat; "Hi," you softly stutter out, "I'm...Y/N, I'd like to check out this ...book. Uhm...here's my uh..card"

He looks up at you and smiles. "I'm Daniel. Daniel Wagner, but you can just call me Danny". You smile back at him, and end up in a conversation, completely discarding the book.

"I'm actually working here as a part-time librarian." he says "I live in the next town over, and I figured since it'd be so quiet, I would never have to deal with anyone, especially since nobody ever comes here." he laughs with a shrug.

"I come here often. I work a full-time job downtown. It's hell, honestly. Co-workers are always rude, my boss is always yelling, piles of paperwork collecting dust bunnies and cobwebs, just waiting to be filled out. This library is the only thing that brings me comfort and feels like...well..home."

"That does sound like hell, I could never work in a place like that." a tone of sympathy in his voice. He glances down to his watch, and smiles.

"It's time for my break, do you," he pauses "do you want to come with me to the break room? We can keep talking and, y'know, get to know each other better" he asks shyly. A simple nod in approval was all it took. The two of you walked to the break room, you both sat on a small couch, with no space for either of you to be completely apart. The gap was completely closed. The conversation continues, sharing information about life outside of jobs, hobbies, the list went on.

It felt like hours had passed, eons, maybe. It felt like you had known Danny since you were children, even though you've only known him for a few hours. Something about him felt right. It made you crave him. He was consuming every thought you had until there was nothing else to think about but Danny and Danny only.

danny...danny...danny...

danny this...danny that...blah blah blah...

The conversation slowly dwindled into silence. Silence so loud you could hear your own heartbeat pounding through your ears. Air so thick with lust and desire you could suffocate. Each hair on your arm standing on end, each and every breath you took almost felt like not taking a breath at all. The anticipation was overwhelming and you couldn't take much more. You felt like it was time to go. You stand up to leave, dusting invisible lint off of your now wrinkled clothes from sitting. As you walk towards the door, swallowing the anxious lump in your throat, a hand grabs your wrist.

Wait.

Don't go.

You turn around to see Danny holding your wrist with almost urgency.

Don't go just yet. Please.

The begging hue in his voice grabbed you tight and reeled you in, you couldn't help but stay with him longer. You needed his presence more than anything now, anyway. You sit even closer to him this time, almost straddling him, and continue to talk more in depth about life.

closer....

closer....

fuck.

You're on his lap now. Straddling him. Nose to nose with Danny.

"when the FUCK did this happen??" you thought to yourself, it felt like you blacked out and the rest was a blur.

Your shirt is now half-buttoned and his hands are on your hips. Your face is a deep red, his face painted with a bright red blush. The "amnesia" of it all subsides as you dive into him feverishly kissing him. Waves crashing upon waves of fervent kissing and touching, it felt endless.

His hands unbutton the rest of your shirt, revealing your lacy blue bra, to which he undoes with one hand and discards to the side. His plush lips kiss down...

down...

down...

down...

They hit your collarbone with the softest kiss, eliciting a soft groan from your throat. He leaves blushing bruises on your collarbone as he moves down to the valley between your breast, giving attention to each on as he softly kisses and marks one, while fidgeting and pulling at the other. He switches, making sure both tits are marked to his satisfaction. He motions for you to stand up, as you do, you discard the rest of your clothes to the side of the room. He unbuttons his shirt, but leaves it

on, and undoes his belt and pulls his pants

down halfway, revealing his boxers and his toned chest. With one swift motion he pulls his cock out, giving it a few gentle strokes before motioning back for you to take a seat.

The way you sink down onto his cock is almost pornographic. His hands glide up from your ass to your hips, guiding them while he thrusts into you.

theres a fire burning inside your core with every thrust as he fucks you. Sweat beading on your forehead and dripping onto his chest.

that's it, baby. Take it just like that

Every praise made you immediately want to burst at the seams and come undone on top of him just like that. His praise was like heaven on earth.

He continues to buck his hips into you, slowly growing more sloppy as he's close to his own release as you are to your own. Your chests are both rising and falling together in heavy pants, both groaning and moaning from the friction.

F...fuck. Yeah right there.

You feel so fucking good on me

Keep going, i'm close..fuck

God, i'm gonna cum

His hips buck into you once more, your orgasms hitting you both like a freight train at the same time. A loud groan escapes Danny's throat when he cums, and it fills you up nicely and drips back onto his cock when he pulls it out. You're seeing white while riding out the high. You never thought you'd be fucking a man you had just met, let alone a librarian.

You weren't finished yet, to Danny's absolute shock you let yourself off of his lap, position yourself on the floor between his legs, and suck his cock absolutely clean, the flavors of both yourself and him colliding together. It was such a dirty acted and you loved it. Danny was absolutely engulfed in the moment, he probably would've came again down your throat, but before he could even put his hands in your hair, you release him from your mouth with a pop and smile as you get up.

You collect his clothes and your own off the floor to put them back on, then head back into the main library area. You picked up the books you discarded before and handed them to Danny for him to check them out.

He stamps the book and hands them back to you with a smile.

Come see me again sometime, will you?

Of course I will.

You smile and exit the library, finally heading home. You're comfy in your bed and crack open the book to read it, but the book wasn't stamped with the name or date.

It was Danny's phone number.

[miraclecherryblossomsblog]

Ok gonna give my take cuz its so lil of yan hobie with random headcanons (i did take some inspo from another fic tho ill put the blog later)

Edit: got inspo from this fic here

MDNI!!!

Tw: murder mention, slight violence mention, doesnt feel yandere but its there lol

- Yandere! Hobie isn't yout typical yandere. Unlike Yan! Miguel, he wouldn't feel jealousy if someone were to interact with you because he's just chill like that

-He would rather find it amusing if someone were to flirt with you, dating or not he would just come up to you and swing his arm around your shoulders "They are pretty great aren't they~?" Smirks as he looks at you.

-Yandere! Hobie who wouldn't kidnap or force you into dating him because it just goes agaisnt everything that he stands for. He belives to be free, do your own thing without any rules other than your own.

-He would kill for you tho, anyone who hurts you gonna get their heads bashed by his guitar <3333

-Yandere! Hobie that although he might be heartbroken that you reject him it won't mean he wouldn't respect your friendship (u a fool if u think he'll leave u alone after that lol)

-He wouldn't take it personal either, hurt but its not something he will hold onto.

-Yandere! Hobie that is very fucking scary when he is in protective mode, I mean ma man ain't playing around when it comes to your safety (nor for protecting his friends either) spider or not he will FUCK SHIT UP if someone messed with you

-Did I mention he would be a good mentor to you? Like you know those scenes where the mc is in danger and then they have flashback from their mentor telling them a lesson that they didn't understand at first until they go into the situation they in?

-ye that him

-Yandere! Hobie that steals the stuff u leave by accident in his room and has them hidden well on a box. From your hoddie to your hairband.

-he wouldn't be a creep either, intimidating? Yes but creepy? To you? Never. He respects your space and boundaries (consent people, CONSENT!!! Its a priority to him in any relationship!)

-He's obssessed with you tho, he will do anything just to see that preddy smile of yours or get you show a sort of emotion

-LOVES when u pout, everytime u do something cute or ur lips purse in annoyance I swear if u look closely u can see hearts in his eyes while having a stupid smile on his face 😌💕

-face squish. LOTS of them

[cosmitton]

seeing a cute boy outside of a restaurant at night

Johan Seong x F!Reader (foreigner)

A/N: I haven’t written in so long and this is the first thing I’ve ever written for Lookism, so I’m nervous lol. The reader in this is described to be a foreigner, but I don’t describe what she looks like, so I hope that’s okay. She’s based off of one of my Lookism OCs but I thought it’d be better to write it as a Reader instead. I also won’t be using (Y/N) or anything like that bc I think it takes away from the flow of the writing/dialogue. Also, I think this takes place a little after the God Dog arc where Johan’s on his own again.

It’s not really romantic in this, but I’m thinking of making this a sort of series of one shots with this Reader specifically. Please lmk if Johan is OOC, bc I’m not confident in writing him haha. Anyways, hope you enjoy! c:

The nights are still cold at this time of year in Seoul. Not that you can really feel it at this point from where you are, starting the process of cleaning up and closing the restaurant. After having been cooped up in the small kitchen in the back of the hole-in-the-wall building you work at, finally done cooking after several hours, the space is well and truly stuffy by now. You were even a bit sweaty, in contrast to the people you can see pass by the windows outside that are trying to stay bundled up against the wind chill.

“Alright,” your boss walks into the back to join you, “you’ve been holed up in here long enough, I’ll take care of this. You go deal with the front.”

As if it’s ingrained in his mind as instinct, he swats at your back with the hand towel he grabs before you can protest that you can do it yourself and he should rest. You laugh slightly at the older man, deciding that you’re too tired anyway to argue with him right now.

You leave behind what you were working on to go out into the front of house in order to count down the register and go about cleaning and packing up the floors and tables. You work silently, comforted by the sound of your boss cleaning in the back and the distant hum of life filtering in from behind the windows and locked door.

“Mr. Terrence,” you call as you walk toward the back doors, “I’ll take the trash out now.”

“Thanks, kid.” He replies as you grab the black bags in both hands.

It’s as you walk outside, hit by the cold and slightly regretting not grabbing your jacket first, that you see him. A slim, brown-haired boy sitting by the mouth of the alley between your workplace and the building next door. He’s curled up like he’s trying to hide, in a way, with his knees drawn up tight and facing slightly away from you. When you glance over at what he’s looking at, you see two small dogs not far from him.

You try not to stare as you pass by, but it is weird to you. There’s not usually anyone out here, especially at this time of night and in this weather – and if there is, they’re usually not here for any good reason. It’s not your business, you try to remind yourself, and you can’t afford to be getting caught up in anything bad that might be happening.

Although, that doesn’t seem right, either. This boy is just sitting alone on the ground, watching – presumably – his two dogs and still hasn’t even looked up at you. He doesn’t seem the type to be here for any salacious reason, which makes the only other conclusion that comes to your mind much more heartbreaking – he’s here because he has nowhere else to go. You could be wrong, but the way he was dressed (yes, he had a jacket, but not thick enough for this cold) and had only his dogs and a single backpack sat at his side just hit your instincts in a certain way. You couldn’t see his face, but he looked slim – probably not starving, but clearly not eating as much as you preferred for a young person to be eating. (Distantly, you think about how Mr. Terrence would make fun of you for thinking this despite the fact that you are also a “young person”.) His dogs also looked skinny, and even if you didn’t care about this boy, you couldn’t in good conscience let animals go without food.

With that thought, you made up your mind and quickly threw away the trash and made your way back into the restaurant to head straight toward the kitchen.

“Mr. Terrence,” your boss jumped as you burst back into the room again, “sorry. I was wondering if you finished packing everything up?”

“Nearly there,” the older man watched as you scuttled about the kitchen to grab a to go box from under the counter and start filling it with food. “Oh, no,” he scoffs lightly, “not another stray. If you keep feedin’ ‘em, they’ll keep comin’ back expectin’ more.”

“A stray and his strays, yeah.” You continue, ignoring his scoff because you know he could stop you if he was really that bothered by it.

“What?”

“Some guy and his dogs.”

“Ohhh~” you don’t need to look up to face him, because you can hear the smug smile in his voice, “a boy, huh~? No wonder you’re so eager.”

You resist the urge to fling some of the food at him, “shut up. You know it isn’t like that.”

He’s already stopped listening to you, having made up his mind about your intentions, “uh-huh, sure.”

You don’t bother to reply, finished with packing up the to go box now and not trying to play his games. You make your way back toward the doors, hoping the boy and his dogs hadn’t left already. He’s still there, thankfully, when you get outside – again regretting that you forgot to grab your jacket, but somehow remembered to grab the dog treats you keep in your bag for any stray you might come across – and still not looking up. You make your way over to the boy with your shoulders hiked up in a weak attempt to shield yourself against the wind, trying to walk around into his sight so that you don’t sneak up on him.

One of his dogs notices you first, a little thing with pink ears, and seems to watch your approach cautiously. The boy notices and whips his head around immediately, as if he was trying to catch you, and you pause for a moment at the way he looks at you like you might be a threat. He looks to be around your age, with a pretty face and puppy eyes, but he scowls at you in a way that makes him seem older – weathered and weary from past experience. Oof, you think as you try to figure out how best to approach him, a standoffish one, then.

“Hey,” you greet lightly, “sorry to bother you. I work at this restaurant and I was wondering if you wanted to take these leftovers off my hands so we don’t have to waste them by throwing them away.”

You don’t actually have to throw away the leftovers, of course, but you’re banking on him not knowing that because he seems like the type to not take handouts unless it’s phrased as if he’d be doing you a favor instead. Before the boy can answer, though, the dog with pink ears walks up to you first. You kneel down to its level, putting your hand out to let it sniff you before you try to pet it.

“Hi, puppy~!” You can’t help the high-pitched baby voice you use to talk to animals, it’s instinct at this point and you refuse to feel embarrassed about it.

The other white dog that’s wearing a sweater is still hanging back, looking like it’s shivering, but you can’t tell if that’s from the cold or if that’s just natural. You set the to go box down beside you, petting the pink-eared dog with one hand while you wrestle the dog treats out of your pocket with the other. The pup is fully excited now, tail wagging so hard that it’s almost throwing the dog off its feet, while you feed the treats to it, eagerly.

You realize that you pretty much forgot about the boy when his voice makes you jump, “her name is Miro.”

You look over, and he doesn’t seem to be scowling at you anymore, just watching you interact with his dog – still cautious, but not threatened.

“She’s cute,” you smile, “and your other dog?”

“He’s Eden.”

“Can I give him some treats?”

“He doesn’t like strangers much.”

“Well,” you shift slightly, waiting for permission to approach, “I’ll give them to you and you can give them to him, then.”

“Why?” He’s suspicious again - not in the same way that others here are when they see your face and know you’re an outsider - and you recognize it and it breaks your heart for him. (It seems a bit ridiculous for you to hurt for him, given that you don’t know him at all, but you do because you’ve seen it before and you know it at your core.)

“Because they deserve it. They all do.” You mean his dogs, specifically, but you also mean him and every other person like him.

He watches you for a moment more, and you let him, but he doesn’t respond verbally – just shrugs and makes the smallest movement of his head to nod. You grab the to go box again, dog treats in the other hand, and rise to move toward him. He rises too, probably more comfortable with being at eye level than sitting – just in case. Miro is following at your feet, and you stop with a bit of distance between yourself and the boy. You hand him the dog treats first, glancing at Eden shaking a bit behind him, and he stuffs them into the pocket of his jacket. You try to hand him the to go box and that’s when he becomes suspicious again – obvious when you look him in the eye.

“I know it might be an inconvenience, but it’d really help if you could take these. It just seems like such a waste if we have to toss them.” He doesn’t believe you, you know he doesn’t just by how he looks at you, but neither of you are going to say it aloud.

He stares at you for a moment again, seeming to battle in his mind over whether to take it or not, but the hunger that you’re sure he’s feeling seems to win out. He takes it from you and, despite how reluctant he was to accept it in the first place, he immediately holds it close to him and slightly away from you as if you’re going to snatch it back.

You want to say more, but you’re not sure what and you don’t really have any more reason to since you accomplished what you came out here for. You think to ask his name and give him yours, but you feel like you might be pushing him with that. So, with nothing else that you can come up with, you start to back away.

“Thanks,” you smile at him again and look down at Miro and Eden, “bye puppies~!”

You think anything else would bother him, so with one last glance at the boy – who seems to be waiting for you to leave before he goes on with whatever his plans are – you fully turn back to the restaurant and go inside. You wish you had gotten his name, or had some way of checking up on him and Eden and Miro again just to make sure they’d be okay, but you just have to accept that it’s left up to fate now.

Who knows, you might meet him again one day.