#okay breaking the fancy-speak i half-accidentally slipped into here.

[gunpowder-arti]

(Why I Think) Five Pebbles Is Not A Child

hello, all. it is 2am and i have An Opinion. you know what that means! essay

...okay, i might have lied; this will likely not be a proper essay because (upon looking through his dialogue on the wiki) this is very fucking hard to collect evidence for. not because it is unsupported in the text, but rather because it is attempting to refute a position that, in itself, i have seen little of others' specific reasoning for. It is a response, so to speak, to an argument that does not exist.

still, I will try, even though it's difficult, because this specific interpretation irks me and one thing about me is that when someone gets my blorbos slightly wrong I will attempt to write an essay about it regardless of whether i need to, want to, or should.

of course, mandatory disclaimer that you shouldn't, necessarily, trust me on this. I'm just some creature on the internet, what do I know? I'm not necessarily right about any of this, and you shouldn't feel pressured to change your personal interpretation because i, hollow gunpowder-arti, made a late-night post about it.

THAT BEING SAID,

I, personally, believe that Five Pebbles is not a child. I, personally, am somewhat uncomfortable with depictions of him as such.

the only proper 'evidence' I have heard for this stance is that he 'acts immaturely' (i believe generally referring to his behavior before and during spearmaster's campaign? i.e. the moon incident)--which I will concede, he does. but there is a difference between acting immature and being a child.

I will point out, also, that many times these narratives push either Moon, the Artificer, or both into a maternal role towards him--you all know my grievances with Fanon Motherly Arti, but even beyond that, it feels very.... iffy, to me.

I find that many times this idea attempts (either overtly or likely unintentionally) to absolve him of blame for his actions. which... five pebbles is not an unsympathetic or villainous character by any means. I mean that wholly and fully, in fact, I do relate to him in several ways (or... did, moreso when the hyperfixation was in full swing :P).

the situation is very complex, and Five Pebbles is not a bad person. That being said, he made terrible mistakes with terrible consequences. he acted rashly, impulsively, and, yes, at times cruelly. interpreting him as a child (and therefore not to be blamed for acting childishly), however, takes away a lot of this complexity--i would say almost as much, if not as much as interpreting him wholly villainously. because he was partially to blame. congratulations, you have made a perfectly good complex character and made him into a sweet innocent mockery of himself, who cannot be held accountable for his errors because he was a child and it was in his nature and he could not help it.

...if you cannot tell, this interpretation is very, very frustrating to me.

I... would like to go on, but I feel like I would just end up restating what I've already said. So. That's it, I guess.

One last reminder (which i do not think will be necessary, but you never know) to please not harass people on my behalf of course. This is not to say those who follow this interpretation are Problematic, simply to explain my reasoning for disagreeing with and even disliking it.

...how do I end this post. Bye, I guess?

[archived-kin]

late with lucifer

note from kin: i just realised that the title sounds like a talk show ffs

anyway get ready to get SAPPY (and also get ready for a low-key out of character lucifer)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): gn! reader, lucifer, satan, beelzebub, belphie

pairing(s): lucifer/reader

warning(s): brief existential dread right at the end but i think it’s relatively light

genre: fluff all the way (with maybe a teensy bit of angst???? i accidentally got kinda deep towards the end)

Deciding to commit yourself to a bona fide workaholic music nerd who would sooner chop his own hand off than skip a single working day for potentially the rest of eternity has been... a choice and a half, to say the least. Yes, he’s a sweetheart most of the time, and you love him more than possibly any being in the known universe (though jury’s still out on cats and the dragon you met a couple of months ago who brings you giant mouthfuls of leaves every weekend), but you’d be lying if he didn’t have qualities that make you want to drop kick some sense into him sometimes. And one of those qualities happens to be his absolute refusal to just take a damn break.

“Just one more hour,” He keeps telling you whenever you ask him if he’s finally finished with his mountain load of paperwork. “One more hour, and then we can spend some time together.”

It has been five hours since Lucifer went to his study to ‘get a bit of work done’. Five hours of attempting to finish the mountain of books Satan has recommended you in the corner of the library, probably irritating the poor guy to no end with your constant restless shifting. You're surprised that he hasn’t up and left to go read in his room in peace - then again, it’d be hypocritical of him to tell you off for moving about. You’d think a bookworm like him would be so absorbed by his beloved books that he wouldn’t be able to move at all, but he fidgets about so much when he’s reading that you’re surprised he hasn’t somehow worn a hole through his favourite armchair yet. At any rate, you’re pretty sure you can see him getting ready to flip himself upside down for the seventh time this evening in the corner of your eye.

You try once again to focus on the lucrative business deal happening in Chapter 52 for the fourth time in the last ten minutes, but your brain just doesn’t seem to be listening to you right now; no matter how hard you try to register what’s going on, the words just don’t want to be processed. Finally, checking the clock on the wall for what feels like the hundredth time this evening, you decide that you might as well go bother your busy bee upstairs. It’s been at least a fortnight since you’ve been able to spend a full evening or night with him, and, if you’re honest, it’s beginning to get a little on your nerves.

Satan barely looks up from his book as you hop to your feet and begin making your way out, though he does lift a hand to wave a brief goodbye. Contrary to your prediction, he has not flipped himself upside down, but is now sitting the wrong way around on his armchair instead, facing the seat’s back, with his book carefully balanced on its head. Unconventional, but you’ll give him credit for the creativity.

The House of Lamentation is oddly quiet for a Friday night, but you’d guess that’s because Asmo and Mammon, the two loudest members of the house, have taken it upon themselves to celebrate the arrival of the weekend by going out for the night and probably blowing their savings in the process. Well, Asmo will be blowing his savings - Mammon will most likely find a way to put his spendings on one of his other brother’s tabs, or worse, yours. Then again, you don’t buy things often, so you suppose you can spare a bit of cash. (Knowing Mammon, though, he’ll probably buy enough to put you in debt for the rest of your life.)

On your way through the corridor, you’re struck by a sudden idea. Lucifer’s been shut in his study ever since he got home from the R.A.D., which means he most likely won't have eaten anything. At any rate, you know for a fact he wasn’t there for dinner with everyone else, which means you now have a much better excuse for going to see him other than just wanting to. Lucifer may be a stubborn demon, but he's never been able to resist a mug of tea and some biscuits on long nights when it's you offering them.

Beel is rustling about in the snack cupboard when you slip into the kitchen - no surprises there, but it is a little odd that he’s going for the lighter foods rather than something more filling. You'd comment on why he's down here so late into the night - he should really be in bed - but then again, it's Beel. He'd listen to his stomach over his brain any day of the week.

“Oh, hey,” He greets as he retreats from the cupboard with an armful of what look like several cookie boxes stacked on top of each other. “Did you get hungry as well?”

You shake your head and pull two mugs out of the crockery cabinet. “Nope. Just thought I’d bring Lucifer some tea and biscuits, you know?”

“He’s been in his office for ages,” Beel agrees with an earnest nod. He glances down at the heap of cookies in his arms, then pauses. “Ah… here.”

You look up as you fill the kettle with water to see him holding one of the boxes in his arms out to you.  “...what’s this for?”

“There aren’t any biscuits left in the cupboard,” He says by way of explanation, shaking the box he’s offering to indicate that you should take it. “So you can have these.”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that, Beel!” You gently push the box back towards him and give his arm a fond pat. “I’ll just bring him something else. Go ahead and eat the cookies, okay?”

On any other occasion, Beel would most likely have accepted your offer without hesitation (the day that Beel rejects food will probably never come, but you have a sneaking suspicion that a black hole would rip this reality apart if it does), but it must have been a really good day for him in terms of being fed, because he actually continues to try to give you the box. You’re tempted to coo at the big softie’s uncharacteristic generosity, but you’re not particularly sure how that would go over with him. If being in a relationship with Mr Pridey McPrideface upstairs has taught you anything, it’s that you can never take a reaction for granted.

“No, you have it,” Beel insists, shifting so that he doesn’t drop the rest of his biscuits and stubbornly attempting to shove the box into your hands. “I’ve got plenty right here.”

Your surprise must show on your face, because a moment later he smiles a little sheepishly and adds, “I promise I’m not sick or anything. I’ve still got lots right here. One box won’t make that much of a difference.”

You think it over for a moment as the kettle begins to bubble aggressively behind you. You’re a staunch believer in the fact that one should never deprive Beel of his food, partially because he’s an absolute sweetheart who deserves the food he eats, and partially because something bad could and probably would happen if said food is taken from him. Then again, you’re not taking the food from him, strictly speaking - he’s the one offering it to you. That exempts you, right? At the very least, you have a counter-argument if Belphie tries to persecute you for taking his beloved twin brother’s biscuits. (He probably wouldn’t - the kid adores you - but it’s good to be prepared for possible trials.)

“Ah, fine...” You eventually relent and allow Beel to press the box into your hands. Your compliance is well worth it - the beam on his face and the little pat he gives the box in your hands in satisfaction could probably cure multiple strains of cancer. “You’re the sweetest, you know that?”

He flushes slightly. “I-it’s not that big of a deal…”

“Oh, that’s nonsense,” You tell him firmly over your shoulder, beginning to busy yourself with the teabags and sugar as the kettle hisses to a halt. “Personally, I think I’m going to remember it for the rest of my life.”

You smile to yourself as Beel laughs a little bashfully behind you. “Thanks…”

“No problem, bub,” You reply, pausing in your work to turn around and shoot him a wink. “Hey, chuck me a spoon, would you?”

He nods and does just that - literally. He throws the spoon across the kitchen with such precision that it lands perfectly in your outstretched hand.

You thank him and begin to pour the hot water into Lucifer’s mug. He says that he likes his tea as is, without any bells or whistles or fancy additions, but you’ve been doing this thing for long enough that you know that he actually prefers his tea with a teaspoon of honey and just a splash of lemon. He just refuses to actually say it out loud.

(To be honest, you’re not sure why he does that - does he think tea with honey and lemon is a wimpy drink or something just because you told him it’s often drunk as a remedy for a sore throat in the human world? Knowing the way his mind works, it’s probably something along those lines, but still, it’s a weird conclusion to make.)

You finish preparing Lucifer’s tea quickly - you’ve done this so many times that the movements have become second nature to you at this point - and start making your own. The drinks are finished a minute or so later, and with that you begin setting up your little snack tray.

After a moment’s debate, you decide that today is worth going the extra mile, and start to carefully arrange the biscuits on a pretty plate.  It’s a bit of a hassle to get them into the right formation, but it’ll be well worth it once you get them to their intended receiver - Lucifer always gets the fondest little smile on his face when you bring him his biscuits in patterns, and that man doesn’t smile nearly enough for your taste. Personally, you’d quite like it if he smiled like that all the time, but then again, their rarity is what makes them so precious to you.

Ah - you’re starting to get sappy again. That’s a surefire sign that you haven’t spent enough time with your beloved demon lately. Well, it’s a good thing you’re going to see him now, isn’t it?

The door to Lucifer’s study is still as tightly shut as it was five hours ago when you approach it, but you doubt he’s actually locked it. He’s stopped doing that ever since your visits while he works became a regular thing - he hasn’t said it out loud yet, but you know that it’s his way of showing you that you’re always welcome to come in.

Unlocked as it is, though, you can’t exactly turn the doorknob to let yourself in. You’re a human of many talents, but being able to balance a heavy tray in one hand is not one of them. Lucifer’s tea wouldn’t make into his study - it’d just end up all over the floor.

“Lucifer!” You call softly through the door, mindful that he might be having another one of his work-induced headaches, “I’ve brought you some tea! Open up!”

For a while, the only reply is silence. You know there shouldn’t be any reason for him to be, but you can’t help but worry briefly if Lucifer’s somehow angry at you. Then again, Lucifer’s always liked to play the fashionably late card against you - whether to tease you or to disguise something, you’ll never know.

It turns out that your little worry was unfounded - a few moments later, the door swings open to reveal your favourite demon in all his exhausted-looking glory. Lucifer, who looks like the physical manifestation of work burnout, offers you a tired smile, and stands back to let you enter.

(Here’s a little secret - Lucifer would never tell you this, but he’d perked up like a kid when candy is offered the moment he heard your voice. Still, gotta put up the cool front, right? Even if that means waiting restlessly right next to the door for a minute so that you don’t think he’s over-eager…)

“Thank you.” He murmurs as you bring the tray over to his desk and set it down on one of the few patches of wood that aren’t covered by papers.

You dramatically pretend to swipe sweat from your forehead as if you’ve just finished a ten-mile run and shoot a smile up at him. “All in a day’s work, love.”

He smiles softly and leans in to gently press a kiss to the crown of your head. His pale cheeks have darkened slightly - Lucifer’s always been a softie when it comes to the host of sappy nicknames you’ve given him. One gentle ‘sweetheart’ and he’s melting like an ice cube on a hot day. It’s the sort of thing that people like Mammon and Levi would probably call gross or something, but you honestly couldn’t really care less about that. It’s not harming anyone else and it makes both of you happy, so why shouldn’t you give your lover as many endearing pet names as you can come up with?

“What even is all this?” You ask, peering at the papers scattered across the desk as Lucifer moves over to have a look at the plate of biscuits. You look up just in time to spot the way his eyes light up slightly when he sees the flower you've arranged them into.

“This and that,” He replies vaguely, hovering a single gloved hand uncertainly over the plate, as if trying to decide which biscuit he can take without spoiling the pattern.

“That’s hardly an answer at all,” You complain, plucking three broken quills from among the documents and waving them at him. “Why do you keep using these? A pen would be way more efficient.”

“Official documents should be written in the traditional way,” Lucifer tells you. He takes his time chewing the biscuit he’s finally chosen before continuing. “And Diavolo prefers quill and ink calligraphy to look at.”

“Honestly…” You round the edge of the desk and reach up to brush some powdered sugar from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to do absolutely everything according to him.”

Lucifer blinks down at you, lips parting slightly in half awe and half surprise as you smile at him. “Ah…”

His smile widens slightly, and he gazes at you with so much fondness in his eyes that you almost feel a little weak at the knees at the very sight. Lucifer really is a dangerous demon - in more ways than one.

“Well, c-come on, then,” You prompt him abruptly, not wanting him to realise how much his gaze has affected you, because you just know it’s going to give him an ego boost. He pauses in surprise as you start tugging him over to the big armchair beside the fire - the one that the both of you can fit snugly into together. “Let’s have a drink together.”

“I still have papers to fill out—” He attempts to say, but cuts himself off as you shake your head and stubbornly attempt to push him down into the seat. It doesn’t work - Lucifer’s much stronger than you, after all - but he does at least seem to appreciate the effort.

“You’re taking a break whether you like it or not,” You insist, starting to smack lightly at his arms in an bid to get him to listen to you. “Papers can wait. I’m more important.”

That does get a little chuckle out of him, and he finally relents, sitting down with a subtle sigh. “That goes without saying.”

You laugh, suddenly a little more hot around the collar than you’d have liked. “You said it!”

Pausing to retrieve the tray with the tea and biscuits and set it on the table beside the armchair, you quickly join Lucifer in front of the fire, snuggling in at his side and letting out a blissful sigh as you feel him start to draw circles on your arm with his fingers. It’s a sort of habit that he’s developed over the last few months - you’re not sure if he even realises that he’s doing it.

The two of you stay like that in comfortable silence for several minutes. Lucifer’s tense shoulders relax more and more with each passing moment, and soon enough, he’s sprawled out against you, pressing his cheek lovingly into the crown of your head. 

It’s only at moments like this that you get to see this softer version of him, so you always cherish it when it happens. Lucifer may be a slightly passive-aggressive panther who could kill most beings with a swipe of his hand if he sees fit, but, every now and then, he’s a sleepy panther who’ll roll over and let you scratch behind his ears.

Conversation is usually sparse at times like this - the two of you are content enough in each other’s presence that you don’t really need to make small talk. Today, however, Lucifer seems to have something he wants to vent about.

“Belphie has been missing a lot of his homework again lately,” He murmurs. You make a noise of affirmation to indicate that you’re listening, staring at the mugs of tea sitting on the table and pondering whether the two of you will actually manage to part for long enough to drink them.

“Is it anything important?” You ask after a moment, playing absent-mindedly with his left hand. He doesn’t make any move to stop you as you mess about with his slender fingers, so you assume that he doesn’t mind.

“Mostly essays,” He replies, shifting slightly and letting out a quiet sigh. “He’s never liked writing them, but he hasn’t had so many missing before.”

You make a thoughtful sound. Now that you think about it, wasn’t Belphie confiding in you about this the other day?

“It’s just hard to sit down and concentrate sometimes, especially when I’m always so tired,” You remember him saying resignedly over hot chocolate and marshmallows. “It’s not like I don’t want to turn all my homework in on time. Sometimes I just can’t.”

“Well, you shouldn’t force yourself to do them, either,” You’d replied, giving his shoulders a sympathetic pat. “Needs over school of course. If you need to sleep more, then sleep more - if you feel like you can’t write the essay, then don’t write the essay. I’ll talk to Lucifer if he gets mad at you.”

He’d given you a grateful smile then, and turned back to his hot chocolate with a marginally brighter look on his face.

“Belphie’s been having a lot of nightmares lately, so he isn’t getting as much sleep,” You say slowly. “I told him to go ahead and take as many naps as he has to. His needs are more important than schoolwork, after all.”

Lucifer takes a long while to answer, but you don’t mind. It’s only fairly recently that he’s really come to terms with the idea that he doesn’t need to be so hard on his brothers - that it’s okay to put their comfort before whatever image of respectability he’s trying to keep up for Diavolo. The change has been somewhat jarring, according to Satan, but it’s not an unwelcome one, and you’ll gladly take responsibility for it with your constant reminders and careful explanations that Lucifer’s younger brothers have their own problems that he needs to give more leeway for.

“...did he come to talk to you about this?” He asks finally.

“Yeah.” You can’t see his face, but you can practically hear the frown beginning to pinch at his brows. “I know it might not seem like it sometimes, but he does want to make you proud. He’s never wanted to disappoint you.”

He takes a deep breath and releases it with a low hum. “...Belphie has never disappointed me.”

“Seems that he doesn’t realise that sometimes, though,” You sigh, tracing the seams of his glove with your index finger. “He’s a good kid, really.”

Lucifer doesn’t give a verbal reply, but he does hum again. You shift slightly and turn to look up at him; he looks back at you with sleepy, half-lidded crimson eyes. “Take it easy on him, okay?”

He gazes at you in contemplative silence for a long while, blinking slowly like an affectionate cat. Finally, he nods, and you beam proudly, dipping your head to rest on his chest, carefully positioning yourself so that his buttons don’t dig into your cheek.

“I’ll speak to his teachers,” He says quietly. “We should be able to arrange something.”

You smile against the fabric of his waistcoat, taking his hand in yours and giving it a squeeze. “That’s progress. I’m proud of you.”

He doesn’t respond, but you know full well that he loves it when you say that to him. He didn’t in the early days of your relationship, mostly because he’d thought you were patronising him, but now that the two of you are so much more familiar with each other, he’s learnt to recognise that you don’t mince words; you say what you mean, and you mean what you say. Which is exactly why, as the Avatar of Pride, he absolutely loves it when you tell him that you’re proud of him.

Lucifer himself is deep in thought. Struck by a sudden warmth spreading through him, quite independent of the crackling fire before him, he wraps his arms around you, resting his cheek against your head. It’s at moments like these, when you’re so close to him, that he realises just how fragile humans like you are.

It terrifies him sometimes, knowing that the unforgiving march of time means that you cannot be with him forever. One day you will leave, and you will grow old and fade away without him, because, no matter how much he wishes otherwise, you belong to a different realm. You are not a demon, and he is not a human; your worlds can collide briefly, for a single, beautiful moment, but then they will continue to move in their own orbit - and perhaps they will never meet again.

Some would say that, for this reason, he never should have fallen in love in the first place. Relationships like yours have always had a sort of taboo, even in the Devildom, because all beings are not created equal; humans have such short, meaningless lifespans compared to demons and angels, such little power, always depending on leaders and faith in a deity that they cannot prove the existence of. That is what demons tend to think of humanity, and until he’d met you, Lucifer had felt similarly.

But your life has been anything but meaningless, and the power you hold over him and his brothers is far stronger than any amount of potent magic that any being holds. The seven lords of the Devildom would lay waste to all three realms should anything happen to you. 

Lucifer had never thought that he had the ability to love so deeply and so purely, but then again, he’d also never thought that a human like you could exist. It seems that he’s been wrong about a lot of things, and he can only pray that he will be wrong in his prediction of how this will end.

But you’re with him now, curled up against him with a content smile on your face. For now, you’re here, and while you are, Lucifer doesn’t want to waste time on worries.

Your story is yet to reach its ending, and if Lucifer knows anything, it’s that he will stay by your side until then. As long as your worlds are still connected, he will continue to love you, and he will love you long after your worlds separate again.

He’s sure of it.

[little-mad]

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 3

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

Going through the portal from one dimension to another felt as simple as walking through a door. There was no flash of light, no weird tingly sensation all over Gavin’s body, no “welcome to a new dimension” announcement; Gavin could almost believe he was still back home...were it not for the fact that every single thing around him was mega sized.

Trees as tall as skyscrapers loomed overhead, and although he was looking down on them from Rael’s hip height, Gavin could still tell that even the wildflowers sticking out of the ground would be taller than him. He swore he even saw a chipmunk the size of a car scurrying up the side of a tree.

Suddenly, Gavin felt almost glad he was secured inside a cage. As much as he hated being confined, right now he didn’t feel like he could handle being out in the open, not with a bunch of big ass woodland creatures roaming about. Being attached to a big ass dude was bad enough.

Though he couldn’t see it from his current position, Gavin figured the portal they’d come through must have gone away, judging by the abrupt disappearance of the soft blue glow that the portal had been giving off a moment ago. “I’m officially closed off from the rest of humanity,” Gavin’s brain helpfully reminded him.

Glancing upward, Gavin caught Rael throwing him a brief look as if to ensure his captive was still there. The teal eyes examined him for only a moment before they returned to looking forward.

Gavin sighed. As intimidating as Rael was, he knew he couldn’t avoid talking to the guy forever. For one, he needed to ask his captor where exactly he was being taken, because in the middle of the woods hadn’t been what he’d been expecting. Gavin was admittedly not all that knowledgeable about alteon customs, but he was pretty sure they mostly lived in cities and towns.

Before Gavin even got the chance to mentally prepare himself for the prospect of addressing the alteon, he was bucked forward by the movement of the giant leg behind him.

Once again lying at the bottom of the cage, Gavin groaned. He was really beginning to sympathize with hamsters, lizards, and other handheld pets. Getting tossed around in a cage really sucked. Although, he figured most pets would be handled more carefully by their owners than Rael was currently handling him.

Every other step the aleton took jarred Gavin’s cage, meaning there was zero point in trying to stand up because he’d just be thrown to the floor again in an instant. Instead, he opted for sitting in the back with his arms wrapped around the iron bars for stability. It was still an unpleasant experience, but at least this way he could spare himself a few extra aches and pains.

About five minutes passed by and Rael continued to make his way silently through the forest. He clearly had no intention of striking up a conversation, which meant the task fell on Gavin. “Just picture him in his underwear,” he thought to himself, but then quickly realized that trick only worked on normal sized people. Picturing Rael in his underwear would only make Gavin feel both afraid and uncomfortable. “Okay…just imagine he’s not gigantic then.”

Gavin tilted his head back so he was looking up towards Rael’s face, however from the angle he was at, he could only really see the underside of the man’s jaw. “Yeeeah, kind of hard to imagine he’s not huge when I have to almost break my neck just to see his face.” After taking a deep, steadying breath, Gavin opened his mouth to speak.

-

Were Rael someone well learned in the magical arts, he could have easily teleported both himself and his human charge to the palace. However, as things were, he had no choice but to travel on foot through the woods that surrounded the city of Ostrad.

Rael didn’t necessarily mind a little hiking, but having to walk back to the city added on about an extra hour to the assignment he never wanted in the first place. He blew out an inaudible sigh, ignoring the way the cage hooked onto his belt repeatedly bumped against his thigh as he walked. At least the human had kept quiet so far, as long as it remained that way--

“Hey, uh--Rael?” The unexpected sound of the human’s voice nearly caused Rael to stop in his tracks. He paused for a moment but quickly recovered and continued making his way forward.

Rael flicked his eyes downwards for just a moment and saw that the human was looking up at him expectantly. Half because he didn’t want to end up running into anything, and half because he didn’t want to give the human the satisfaction of getting his attention, Rael quickly went back to looking forward. “What is it?” he responded reluctantly, making no effort to hide his irritation.

“Well--um, I was just wondering where we’re headed,” said the human nervously. Rael had been a little surprised when he found out that humans didn’t have high, squeaky little voices that fit their size. Instead, their voices were essentially normal, though much quieter than that of an alteon. This was something Rael was grateful for. While it would have been briefly amusing if the humans squeaked like mice, Rael had no doubt he would quickly tire of it.

“I’m delivering you to the Emperor at the palace,” Rael stated tersely. Surely the human could have deduced that on his own.

There was a pause, and Rael hoped that would be the end of the discussion, but evidently the human had other plans. “Right but uh--why didn’t we just...portal straight there?” he asked.

Rael rolled his eyes. He didn’t know whether it was all humans or just this one in particular, but there was certainly an air of obliviousness emanating from Gavin Stone. “The portal needs to be distant enough from civilization in the event intruders manage to slip through somehow,” Rael explained slowly, as though he were speaking to a child.

Honestly, the precaution of keeping portals isolated seemed as though it was more for the sake of protecting the humans that might come through than any alteons. Prior to departing for this assignment, Rael had been educated in all the ways humans could potentially bring harm to alteons. The list was quite short, and mostly involved large weapons of mass destruction, which were apparently not widely available in the human realm.

A thoughtful hum came from the caged human. “I guess that makes sense, though I can’t imagine any human intentionally trying to come here,” he commented. He seemed to be gaining some confidence in his speech and no longer stumbled over his words, much to Rael’s annoyance. The last thing he needed was for his captive to start getting talkative.

“Believe me, we don’t want humans here either,” Rael retorted. Perhaps he was speaking from his own opinion more so than that of the general population of his dimension, but he wasn’t about to tell Gavin Stone that.

-

Gavin narrowed his eyes at Rael’s comment. If he didn’t know any better, he might say that his captor wasn’t all too fond of humans. He had to wonder what the alteon’s past experience with humans had been. Was Gavin the first he’d met? Had he really made that bad of a first impression? “Oh yeah, I sprinted away from him full speed,” Gavin reminded himself.

People not liking him was not an unfamiliar thing for Gavin. Admittedly, he maybe didn’t have the best verbal filter, and had the unfortunate tendency to blurt out whatever popped into his head. He had been fired from his first job at a movie theater for accidentally calling his manager a “lazy dickwad” within said manager’s earshot. He had gotten sent to the principal’s office in third grade for letting it slip to another kid that Santa wasn’t real. And Gavin knew it was only a matter of time before he said something to Rael that really pissed off the giant.

If Gavin were smart, he would just keep his mouth shut. It was obviously what Rael would have preferred. The only problem was, Gavin wasn’t smart. Smart people became doctors, settled down with a sweet spouse, and moved into a fancy house in the suburbs. Smart people did not become thieves who stole from literal giants.

“So uh--are you like the Emperor’s delivery guy then?” Gavin asked. He didn’t really know where he was hoping the conversation would go or what he hoped to accomplish, but running his mouth felt familiar. If he stayed quiet he’d just end up wallowing in his own anxiety and fear.

Rael shot Gavin a quick, sharp look. “I am a member of the Imperial Guard, not a ‘delivery guy’,” he snipped, clearly not fond of Gavin’s insinuation.

Gavin didn’t really know what being in the “Imperial Guard” entailed, though he supposed it had a fancy enough name. Honestly, it kind of sounded like something out of Star Wars, though he wasn’t going to mention that to Rael considering the guy probably didn’t even know what a movie was.

“So did they specially choose--” Gavin’s sentence was interrupted midway through by an annoyed huff from Rael.

“There is no need for us to converse. So unless you have something crucial to say, I recommend you keep quiet,” the alteon stated coldly.

Despite Rael’s less than friendly tone, and the fact that it was a colossus of a man saying it, Gavin did not intend on keeping quiet. A familiar desire to be contrary was rising up in him. His mom had always called it his “urge to be a complete pain in the ass.”

Gavin didn’t necessarily want to intentionally piss off his captor, he didn’t want to make an enemy of the alteon. That would be stupid even for him. However, Gavin wasn’t about to roll over and behave like a good little boy. He was a criminal, following the rules was basically the antithesis of who he was. No, Gavin was going to talk to Rael whether the elf looking son of a bitch liked it or not.

[do-y0u-have-to-let-it-linger]

EXT. The Roof (Winter) - Sunset

Not Just Attracted to Women!Peter Maximoff x Fem and Not Just Attracted to Men!Reader

Based off of a dream I recently had: Peter and Y/N have a conversation on the roof of Xavier's in mid-December. Peter accidentally lets it slip that he might not be straight, and he is afraid that Y/N will think less of him because of it because this is the 80s. Y/N reveals that she is also not straight, and is saddened by the fact that Peter could think that she could ever hate him- especially for that. She calls him wonderful. Feelings ensue. Also, a touch of Cherik at the end because I give the people what they want.

Warnings: Swearing, Peter cries, internalized homophobia (this is the 80s-ish and Peter uses the word 'queer' in a kind of incorrect and kind of offensive manner, but it was internalized homophobia and not actually intended to be mean to anyone but himself so I forgive him), a touch of angst but mostly fluff, Charles called you two "children" even though you are obviously not, Erik is happy that his son has someone that cares about him the way you do, Peter is insecure but not super blunt about it, Peter has been deprived of being adored his entire life, bad writing, I mention a serial killer twice, historical inaccuracy because the word queer was still a slur so yeah.

A/N: This is literally the first thing I have ever written so please be nice to me, I wrote this instead of an essay. I would love a comment of any kind, even if it's just a heart emoji or something, and constructive criticism would be highly appreciated. Also 'N/N' stands for nick-name.

(Ok, so, full discloser: the format is odd. The bullet points represent dialogue, and the only dialogue is between you two love birds. The first bullet point is Peter, the second is Y/N, the third is Peter, and so on.)

“I dunno, the whole ‘liking people’ thing has always been weird for me.”

“How do you mean?"

“Pppffftt- 'how do you mean,' what are you, Shakespeare or somethin’?”

“Yeah, because that’s the era when ‘how do you mean' would have been a popular term. Ok, what do you mean?”

“Just- when other people were liking people I never really was?”

He was gesturing wildly and avoiding eye contact, as always. He wasn't uncomfortable with eye contact, he just got bored easily in conversations, he needed to keep himself occupied. In this situation that meant staring at the red and green lights covering the rest of the roof, the snowy trees all over the yard, and a holly garland around the gate. Peter wasn't Christian, but man, did he love their Christmas decorations.

“Like… now? In school?”

“Well- yeah… but also when I was younger. And I never liked the right people? Or... liked them in the right way?”

“So you’ve never liked anyone.”

“No, no… I definitely have. It was just… weird! I don't-”

His hands dropped to his side in defeat.

“I don’t think it’s that out of the ordinary. I would tell you if it was. Also, if it was... 'weird', like you said, that wouldn’t mean it was necessarily bad.”

He hadn’t really heard what she said, he was too busy pondering what his next sentence would be. When she wasn't speaking, he was rambling.

"I had some of the normal crap… like in movies when they talk about the fluttery stomach junk. I've had that around a few girls I've been friends with, also that phase with the boy stuff, a-"

“Wait, what phase with the boy stuff?”

“Like- when you’re in middle school or whatever and you're gay for a second.”

His phrasing was a joke, but the statement as a whole was not.

“…‘Gay for a second’?”

“…Yeah?”

“Hmmm..."

"Is that- not-"

"I don't think that is... 'normal'... per-say..."

“Oh… Really?”

His heart sunk.

“…Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“…Mhm.”

“…Shit.”

He suddenly looked almost embarrassed. He shifted his posture, seemingly trying to shrink into himself.

“Do you... wanna chat about it?”

Panic started to slowly rise in him.

“Um- forget I said anything.”

“Why?”

Something in him said to go on the "defense". He did not appear as calm as he was intending to.

“I’m not- gay! or anything. I like girls! I do!”

She put her hand on his arm.

“Hey- look at me for a second. We are not in court, and I never 'accused' you of being gay. That would be a very funny reality TV show, but not what is happening right now. Listen, theoretically if you were gay that wouldn’t be bad! And I wouldn’t be… whatever you.. think that I would be? I mean- however you are afraid I would act in a negative reaction to it? I would try to be here for you, and be as supportive as possible.”

He didn’t believe her.

“Ok, sure.”

“Peter.”

“What? You’re going to tell me that you would honestly be friends with a queer person- be friends with me if I was... not... normal?”

She was taken aback by his tone, the word he had used, and the way he said it, felt like a weight dropping on her shoulders.

“Oh. would you… not?”

It was her turn to seem nervous.

“What?”

“Would you- stop being friends with someone for liking someone that they… I don’t know… shouldn’t... would be the word I guess?”

Why, in this situation, was she nervous? Oh. His fear was replaced with guilt.

“No.”

“Ok.”

“So… are you… do you… why were you scared?”

“... Why were you?”

She expected a joke from him, something along the lines of “touché".

“Are you… gay?”

“No.”

Yeah, he didn’t believe her.

“Uh-huh”

“Really, I’m not. I’ve liked boys, but also... I've had feelings for girls. I’m not… straight. So I just want to let you know that it’s okay if you aren’t too.”

“I never s-“

She smiled at him with a bit of pity, she had been there. The self-loathing, the feeling of walking on minefields with so many people in your life.

“You are…”

She paused.

“I am… what?”

“Give me a second I’m trying to find the perfect word.”

“… Okay?”

“Wonderful.”

That was not exactly the word he was expecting. Like, at all.

“Huh?”

“That’s the word. Wait- let me start over. You gotta look me in my eyes as I say it, because it’s gonna be really poetic.”

“Uh… should I be scared?”

“No. Maybe a little. No.”

“… Okay.”

He looked at her.

“You are… wonderful.”

“Oh... Thanks?“

He looked away again, to be honest, he was a bit uncomfortable. He rarely received compliments, especially ones that seem so... genuine.

“I’m not finished, look back at me, just for a second. You are so wonderful- and I will support you as whatever you are! I want you to know that I can- I can barely even think of something you could do that would make me genuinely hate you- like… maybe if you Dahmer-ed people or like chopped up a-“

He found this was amusing, yet disturbing.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry- I just- the fact that you thought, even for a second, that I could hate you… is just-“

“I’m sorry”

“No! Stop it. Don’t be sorry.”

She stared at him expectantly.

“What do you want me to-“

“Take it back! The sorry!”

“How?”

“Say you aren’t sorry”

“N/N-“

“Peter.”

“Ok. I’m, ya know, not sorry.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be”

“You’re weird.”

“Yuh-huh. Says the most likely, from the little information I've gathered, bisexual in denial who also happens to be the fastest boy on earth who had to slow down exponentially to interact with other people who also, also, happens sitting on a roof in the dead of winter with me.”

“What’s by smexual?”

Something about the way he attempted to repeat her words must have been hilarious, he thought, because here she was, sitting in front of him, in a fit of childish giggles. He would smile if he weren't so confused.

“No- that’s not- what I said- it’s… wait!”

“What?”

“You’re tryna get me off topic!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Am not!”

“Are t- shit.”

“HAHA! Victory is a sweet dessert... wait is that even the saying? Still, I win you lose, nerd.”

“Ok, okay! go on.”

She was attempting to gather herself to give off a less jokey aura. It was half working, the "am not! are too!" argument a few moments ago made it hard for him to take her seriously, but he could tell it was important to her that he did, so he tried his best.

“You have to look at me again. just for a second.”

“I sw-”

“Just do it? Please?”

His attempt to put up a fight was thwarted by her small "please". He was pathetic.

“Okay.”

He looked at her.

“You…”

“Me… or- wait- I…”

“Are w-“

“Wonderful, yeah yeah. just get to the n-”

“No.”

“… No?”

“When you say it it doesn’t encapsulate it. It sounds silly.”

“Ok little miss ��you art thou wonderful’, how would you have me say it?”

“I am you wonderful?”

“What?”

“You called me ‘little miss you are you wonderful’ what does that-“

“Ok! Would you just- shut up and call me wonderful one more time, please?”

She looked at him and blinked. That sentence surely came off as less ironic than intended.

“You are wonderful.”

She grabbed his face, in a half-joking manner. Her grab smushed his cheeks and she couldn't help but laugh a bit when she did it. Even though it was clearly a bit, he was still flustered.

“W-“

She shook him a bit.

"Shut up 'cause I'm about to say some beautiful and true shit. You are wonderful. You are wonderful. You are wonderful. You are absolutely, unchangingly, and irrevocably wonderful and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it, Maximoff.”

After saying what she would (in 40 years or so) recall as a painfully John Green-ish statement in her blunt and matter-of-fact manner, she let go of her semi-ironic hold on his pink cheeks. Were his cheeks pink because it was absolutely freezing, or because his heart was beating faster than he had ever (and would ever, mind you) run, you ask? No comment.

“Wow.”

“Wow what.”

“You do say it better than I do.”

“Did you like how I stressed different parts of the sentence each time? I thought that was a nice detail.”

“Wow.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Wow.”

Did his voice just... break a little?

“Peter?”

“Uh- yeah?”

Was he a little... sniffle-y? She was now very concerned.

“Are you okay?!”

“Oh- um... yeah!”

No! No he was clearly not! He was sniffling!

“Really? 'Cause, you don't seem it.”

“It’s just- I just- wow.”

“Wow, what!?”

“That was just- uh-"

“Just what? It really wasn't that fancy, you seem much too impressed with me. Oh my God, was it terrible?”

“I mean it was really corny but w-“

“I swear to God if you say 'wow' one more time I may have to add ‘use of the word wow too much’ to the list of things that could make me hate you. Right next to the Dahmer stuff. That was a joke. Your use of the word wow is only mildly perturbing. Sorry."

She was panicking "just a bit".

“I’m sorry, I mean I’m not sorry. Sorry. Shit! sorry! I mean I’m not!”

And he was absolutely... full-on crying at this point.

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

He was looking down at his mittens. Not that this is important, but they were very pretty mittens.

“Look at me, you klepto.”

He didn’t.

“You know- I’ve been hearing a lot of that 'look at me' stuff from you today. I mean- the klepto part is new-“

“Peter.”

“What?!”

He peaked up at her.

“Talk to me. Please, you're kinda scaring me, let me help.”

“I’m not sad!”

“You’re crying!”

“Yeah but not from the sads!”

“… The ‘sads’?”

“You know- when you get sad! It just means being sad! I don't- that’s what Wanda calls it, not me!"

He wiped his nose, tears still running down from his puffy eyes to his reddened cheeks.

“What are you crying from?”

“No one’s ever called me wonderful before.”

“I'm sorry! I did a few minutes ago and you didn’t cry!”

“No! You can't 'sorry' me if I can't 'sorry' you! And- yeah but that doesn’t count!”

“Why?”

“Because it only felt big when you said it the certain way!”

“What way!?”

“You look at me, you grab my cheeks-“

“I'm sorry about that by the way I was j-“

“No! It’s really ok! Do it whenever! I mean don’t do it whene- shut up!”

“I’m not even talking! You're the one talking!”

“You look at me, you grab my cheeks, and you go: you are wonderful.”

“Yeah???”

“No one ever called me that before!”

"Peter, I- well- they- they should! They should! More often! Then the amount that it happens now! I think. In my opinion."

"Or really looked at me like that!”

“Looked at you like what, Peter?”

“Like I was somethin’!”

“Well, you are… ‘somethin'! Whatever that means! And- I think you deserve to be looked at as such!”

“See?”

“What!?”

“You just-“

A strangled sob escaped from his throat. He didn't know how to explain.

“Pete.”

“Ew. I hate that nickname.”

He crossed his arms over his chest like a toddler, trying to completely ignore the fact that he was an emotional wreck.

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

She opened her arms and gestured for him to come closer. He was hesitant at first- but gave up all the reasons he shouldn't move to be closer to her in exchange for the promise of comfort she was offering him. He crawled over to her and curled up in her arms. The way she held him made him want to cry more. Who does she think she is- holding him like he was worth holding? With her chin sitting on top of his hair? Letting him do that gross cry sob with the spit and the snot into her only winter coat? Rocking him, and shushing him, and petting his stupid, silver hair? She was warm, too! The audacity of this woman.

When Erik brought Charles into his office to grab a chess set, they saw the two in the window. For a moment Charles considered telling Peter and Y/N to get off of the high platform, seeing as the two were the reasons the "no sitting on the roof" rule was enacted in the first place (neither of them were coordinated whatsoever). Charles quickly dropped this notion when he saw the look on Erik's face, Charles could tell it made him so happy to see Peter be held like that, cared for like that. Erik's expression made Charles want to both tell Erik that he is the most precious thing in the world, and make fun of him (look at Mr. Metal, gone completely soft). Possibly he could do both at the same time. But for now, he is just going to pretend he didn't see the two outside of the window, and have Erik grab them their game, go to the living room, and pretend not to have read Erik's mind when he inevitably asks him how he always manages to pick the white chess piece at "random".

[adam-memeleri]

Birthday Wishes

hey, guess what? its ayna day. its also the fa finale but thats not as important as ✨ayna✨ i say that as if i haven't stopped reading the last like month of updates afds

and thank you to the lovely @gay-dinosaur-banana-milk-carton for the idea

Masterlists shameless self promotion lmao

T Rating (domestic fluff cuz im a sucker 😔)

Ayna x MC (Kennedy, they/them)

~1,2k words

-

“Mm,” Ayna hums, the sound reverberating in the quiet bedroom. Mid-morning sun shines in long beams of yellow and orange throughout the room, open curtains welcoming every drop of it.

A body lays next to her, rolling over closer. “Good morning,” Kennedy greets, grinning sweetly.

“Good mm, morning,” Ayna mumbles back, her face half buried in the pillow, the other half hidden in the duvet and her eyes shut tight.

Kennedy shuffles closer, reaching out and dancing their fingertips along her covered arm. They trace up Ayna’s shoulder, traveling along her jaw, cheekbone, the bridge of her nose, until a soft smile is drawn from her. “Do you know what today is?”

“I believe it’s Sunday.”

“A very special Sunday,” Kennedy pokes the bridge of her nose again, their efforts earning another twist in her lips.

Ayna’s eyes finally flutter open, peering with dark eyes over the duvet. “For whom?” she inquires teasingly.

“For a very special someone.”

“Are you seeing someone I don’t know about?”

Kennedy chuckles, their hand slipping into messy tresses and twirling a dark strand around their finger. “Only if you’ve never looked in the mirror.”

“Oh? So what does today have to do with me?” Ayna shifts, her forehead gently pressing into their chest as she speaks into it.

“It rhymes with firthmay.”

She laughs softly, the exhale stirring the sheets. “You are not subtle in the slightest.”

“And you’re a tease. We all have our flaws.”

“So what are we doing for my birthday?”

“You are not doing anything,” Kennedy pulls away, carefully taking Ayna’s face within their hands. “Yet,” they wink. “Look, just stay right there, don’t move a muscle.”

Kennedy pecks her forehead before dragging themself out of bed, stretching their back as sunlight shines off the muscles within it. They appear like a work of art, everything just so in this moment.

They turn, pointing a finger at Ayna. “I mean it, don’t move,” they warn, backing away with a stern expression.

Ayna’s lips curl in a familiar smile, one that seems to find its way to her face whenever Kennedy’s around. “Mmhmm,” she hums once more, stretching her legs where they lay tangled in the sheets.

“Hey! I saw that!”

A low chuckle escapes past her lips, “You wouldn’t have if you were quicker.”

“Okay, I’m going, I’m going!” Their hands wave in surrender as they disappear out the door, shouting behind them.

Laughing lightly, Ayna curls her arms around her pillow, snuggling deeper into it as the sounds of Kennedy’s mysterious endeavors floats through the open door. She takes the opportunity to let her eyes flutter shut, grateful for the Sunday morning and the peacefulness it provides.

Last night was spent watching streaming services on the sofa, trading whispers beneath blankets. The entire weekend has been filled to the brim with that peacefulness, and Ayna is far from eager to let it go.

At some point Kennedy’s voice reaches her, though it seems as if it’s only been a short moment since they slipped out of the room. Their footsteps can be heard before they’re in view, excitedly bounding down the hallway before their head pops into the room.

Ayna forces herself upright, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as they draw nearer. Their smile is brighter than the sun’s rays outside as they hold up a tray, eggs and bacon and glasses of orange juice placed atop it carefully.

“Breakfast in bed?” she questions, a grogginess rasping her voice.

Kennedy wiggles their hips teasingly, presenting the food before Ayna’s curled legs on the bed. “Yep! I’m not the best cook, but I thought it was worth a try.”

“Thank you,” Ayna smiles up at them, gently taking their hand as it lays at their side and squeezing.

Kennedy bends at the waist, pressing a kiss to the top of Ayna’s head, “Happy birthday.” With a smile, they cross to the other side of the bed, slipping back beneath the duvet to join her.

Ayna settles against the headrest, taking the fork and starting in on the eggs. Kennedy’s hands swiftly snatches one of the glasses of orange juice, sipping it as they sling an arm over Ayna’s shoulders, curling into her side.

“You know what else we're doing today?” Kennedy asks over the rim of their glass after a long moment, glancing at her curiously.

“I assume you have another surprise for me?” Ayna nudges their ribs with a smile.

They nod eagerly, bursting to announce their secrets, “We’re going to dinner! Just you and me. At that real nice Italian place, so you can get dressed all fancy.”

“Don’t you need a reservation there?”

“I made one three months ago.”

Dark eyes land on them, inspecting curiously before Ayna abates, turning to her own glass. “You’re spoiling me,” she comments. “Why are you making such a big deal out of today?”

“I don’t know,” they shrug. “I just like it. I never thought we’d end up here, so now I want to celebrate every year we get.”

“Where did you think we would end up?”

“No idea,” their expression explodes in amusement, eyes glimmering with it. “The first time I saw you was as a teaching assistant, not… in bed eating eggs, you know,” they gesture to the pair’s current position.

Ayna chuckles, sinking into the arm around her. “What did you think of me when you first saw Teaching Assistant Ayna?”

“I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.”

Ayna laughs, breaking a slice of bacon in half. “All I thought was that this one kid kept staring at me.”

“Hey!” Kennedy scolds, sparking another laugh from Ayna.

“And then,” Ayna drawls, turning to meet Kennedy’s eyes, “I thought that I was going to get in trouble if you kept smiling at me like that.”

And there’s that same smile, though maybe it’s bolder now, more comfortable. “Seems like you did.”

“Trouble seems to follow you more than your own shadow.”

“Sometimes it's worth it, though. Like when beautiful teaching assistants end up as my advisor on accident. And then said accidental advisor starts taking me on totally-not-a-date coffee dates.”

“They weren’t dates!”

“Uh-huh,” Kennedy laughs, tearing off a piece of bacon and popping it in their mouth, gently squeezing Ayna under their arm and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“I thought you were supposed to be sweet on my birthday?”

“I made you eggs and a dinner reservation!” they retort. “How else am I meant to show my undying love?”

“Undying, hmm?” Ayna smiles, fingers tracing the length of her glass.

Kennedy nods beside her, hooking their chin on her shoulder. They tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, movements gentle and full of care as they whisper against her skin, “Like a zombie.”

A laugh bursts from Ayna’s throat, surprised and unbridled, “That is not what that means!”

“Really?” they hum in her ear. “I could have sworn…”

“Just come here,” Ayna turns her head to meet their gaze, her chuckles filling the small space between them.

Kennedy meets her in the middle, in a soft and warm kiss that tastes of citrus. “Happy birthday,” they murmur against her lips, sending a shiver down her spine..

She pulls away, holding her orange juice glass up in a toast, “Here’s to another year, of just you and me.” Kennedy grins, the corners of their eyes crinkling as they clink their own glass against hers.

[daxieoclock]

Okay let’s do this. TW for scientific dehumanization

This is Vee, my Final Fantasy 7 OC (primarily with the remake in mind, though the meta aspects of that story don’t play a part here). Formerly from a small village whose inhabitants were captured and experimented on by Shinra, she possesses minor draconic abilities and an affinity with fire Materia as a result of those experiments. She only escaped the labs at all by accidentally faking her death – going into cardiac shock during an experiment and then surviving their attempt to dispose of her body through incineration, due to her newfound immunity to flame. Vee was then nursed back to health in a small religious collective centered around worship of the Ancients, and spent a few years there until she had recovered enough to leave. While she isn’t quite an amnesiac, the trauma from those labs has fucked significantly with her memories and self of self.

Personality-wise, Vee is brash and self-assured, displaying both an abundance of confidence and a general sense of polite ease. She’s a hopeless flirt, but drops that behavior immediately around her elders and anyone who shows discomfort in being flirted with. While she jumps at the chance to make a show, she also shies away from attention outside of her control, hiding her fiend eyes behind sunglasses and keeping her wings dismissed. That overly casual persona also helps hide a deep insatiable fury towards Shinra, SOLDIERs and especially that snickering scientist bastard, whose throat she would personally like to tear out for everything he’s done to her and her family.

In combat, she keeps at least one hand in her pocket at all times, and fights with close-range fire magic and a flame sword she can summon and dismiss at will.

AU summary (including Gay Details) under cut.

EDIT: I’ve made a few minor edits and added events up until a little ways past the departure from Midgar.

EDIT 2: I made this into a fic.

Initial

A large aspect of the “Vee AU,” so to speak, is the change of timescale: stretching out the events of the plot over the span of a couple months rather than a couple weeks, with multiple periods of reprieve between urgent setpieces. Other than that, the first big change comes after Cloud’s meeting with Aerith, in that he makes it back to Seventh Heaven without being pulled into the Wall Market nonsense – Aerith tagging along the whole time. Aerith meets Tifa and decides to stick around for a bit, Cloud slips back into his friendly neighborhood merc gig, and Avalanche stresses in the background about their next move.

It’s during this point that Cloud investigates a commotion nearby Sector 7 only to find the cause to be a bloodied Vee standing amidst a bunch of ko’d Shinra soldiers. When she notices Cloud’s mako eyes, she attacks him – SOLDIERS were the people who took her to the labs – before half-collapsing from her injuries. Cloud heals her, and makes the ‘ex’ part of ex-SOLDIER very clear, as well as his open contempt for Shinra. Vee apologizes for losing control, thanks them, and decides to stick around to help out – since they have a common enemy, and she wants to pay back Cloud for saving her life after she almost murdered him. Vee Joins The Party.

A few days later, we enter the leadup to Wall Market. Desperate for details and noticing a surge of Shinra activity in and around Sector 7, the gang decides to try and get info from the one man who might know anything: Don Corneo. Unfortunately, he’s an asshole, so they’re going to have to threaten him for it. While Barret and the rest of Avalanche stay behind to keep Shinra from trying anything, Aerith, Tifa, Cloud and Vee head to Wall Market. On the way there, Tifa and Vee get separated from the others when part of the collapsed highway collapses further, and they spend some time getting to know each other while Aerith takes Cloud on a more direct route.

Tifa and Vee smooch after roughly a day of romantic tension. No further relationship is established at this time.

In Wall Market, the gang splits up into two teams to try and pincer Corneo’s security. Vee and Aerith hit up the tournament under Madame M’s supervision, passing themselves off as a Shinra rep and her Turk bodyguard to get an invite through the front door, while Cloud and Tifa go through Andrea Rhodea to try and weasel their way into Corneo’s audition for his next wife.

Aerith and Vee smooch after kicking ass in the tourney. No further relationship is established at this time.

Corneo’s security is dispatched from two angles, and the gang rushes back towards Sector 7 after hearing the info about Shinra’s now ongoing plan to collapse the plate. They get there, and fight their way up to Barret and the other Avalanche crew, managing to minimize the damage from the plate’s fall by locking the center supports in place, but they cannot fully prevent the collapse. While the majority of Sector 7 remains livable, the outskirts are devastated. (Aerith is not approached by Tseng at this point. Jessie, Biggs and Wedge survive.)

There’s a terse, tense celebration in Seventh Heaven. A lot of lives were saved, but not all of them, and there’s still the financial cost to the already destitute slums – not to mention that Shinra will likely try to take credit for the collapse’s partial prevention, and pin the collapse itself on Avalanche. This isn’t even close to the end of hardship. Regardless, it is a victory.

Over the next few days, the gang recovers and focuses on helping Sector 7 rebuild. Tifa tries to push Aerith and Vee together, seeing herself as an obstacle between them. Aerith confronts Tifa about this, they discuss their feelings and reservations.

Aerith and Tifa smooch. At this time, we establish a relationship between Aerith, Tifa and Vee. Many more smoochings occur.

Saving Aerith

One morning, the gang wake up to find Aerith missing. Tifa, Vee, Cloud and Barret go to her house to look for her, and Elmyra tells them she visited late last night to say she wouldn’t be coming back home for a while. Elmyra realizes something is wrong, and tells the gang that Aerith is a descendant of the Ancients, and her birth mother was captured by Shinra. Vee and Cloud are especially tense when she says she suspects Shinra’s head scientist of being involved in Aerith’s disappearance. When the party returns to Sector 7, Wedge shares a message from Avalanche HQ: the Turks brought someone matching Aerith’s description into Shinra headquarters last night.

After tangoing with Corneo and Leslie in the sewers, the gang fights their way to the Shinra Building. On the elevator up, Vee and Barret have a bit of an ideological clash. Vee makes it clear she doesn’t care about the suffering of Shinra Employees, their paychecks are soaked through with the blood of Shinra’s victims, and their complicity is guilt enough. Barret fires back that while they’re taking the easy road out, there are fewer and fewer non-Shinra jobs out there every day, and some employees have more than their own mouth to feed. Not everyone can afford to make the sacrifices he did, and while they don’t have to be buddy-buddy with Shinra’s suckers, the company would fall apart without them. Draw them over to Avalanche’s side, and Shinra wouldn’t last a day.

Mayor Domino helps the gang get into Shinra R&D, and they’re forced to fight a whole floor full of mutant experiments to get to where Aerith is kept. When they reach her, she’s contained in a glass cylinder, overlooked by Hojo in an isolated observation room. Vee immediately lunges at the reinforced glass between her and the scientist. She asks if Hojo recognizes her, and he expresses delight that she managed to survive. Vee tries to break the glass but hesitates when more experiments attack Tifa, Barret and Cloud. She does issue one last threat to Hojo: she’s going to walk out of here with Aerith, and then she’s going to track him down, so he’d better start running. Next time they meet, she’ll make him hurt in every way he hurt her, and she’ll enjoy it. Vee punches the glass hard enough to crack it, and she gets one good look at Hojo’s surprised – maybe frightened – face before metal shutters close off the observation room completely.

After being freed and embracing both of her girlfriends, Aerith explains that she was captured voluntarily – half to keep Avalanche from being targeted by Shinra, and half to find out the truth. She takes them down a floor to a place she identifies as her mother’s room, and her own. Aerith spent most of her childhood here, and her mother managed to escape with her just long enough to hide her with Elmyra before being captured again. Aerith returned because she thought her mother might still be alive, but apparently the woman didn’t survive more than a year after being recaptured. Vee reminds Aerith that she’s still alive, and she has a life outside these walls now, with people who love her. Tifa simply asks her to promise not to leave like that again, and Aerith gladly does so. She doesn’t plan on chasing ghosts, not anymore. She knows where her home is.

The reforged quintet meets with Red XIII, who Vee immediately takes a one-sided liking to, trying to befriend the more tempermental catdog. They head farther into the labs to both chase Hojo and make it to the roof for extraction, and find Jenova. Sephiroth appears, sending Tifa into shock and Cloud into blind fury, and the latter charges at the specter – who severs the bridge and sends them plummenting into the depths of the labs. Cloud is seperated from the others for a time, and fights alone and half-berserk through a small horde of experiments, nearly attacking Barret when he runs into him. Barret and Red manage to calm him down, and they fight up the Drum to Tifa, Vee and Aerith, then back up to the elevator.

The gang follows Jenova-infected footsteps to President Shinra’s office to find the bigwig himself danging off the side of his big fancy tower. Vee immediately hops over the railing and extends a hand to pull him up, but digs her nails into his arm and keeps on holding him over the edge. It’s his fault. Everything that happened to Aerith, to Vee herself. Guilt travels upwards, and there’s no one higher than Shinra. Killing him won’t bring back Aerith’s mother, or the people killed by the plate, or Vee’s family. It won’t take away what happened to her. But it’ll make her feel a whole lot better. Vee is ready to drop him, but Barret talks her down, convinces her that Shinra is more use clearing their names and owning up to dropping the plate. With him as a hostage, they can bring the company to its knees. Vee relents, and pulls Shinra to safety, only for Sephiroth to stab him through the chest.

Cloud barely holds it together, and Sephiroth taunts him, trying to egg him on. Doesn’t Cloud want to hurt him? Doesn’t he want to take revenge, for his family, for his home? For his companion? Cloud is a breath away from trying to take his head off, but it’s Tifa who strikes first, forcing Sephiroth back with a roundhouse kick. She tells him to leave her friend alone, and the rest of the gang backs her up. That manages to shake Cloud out of his fury, and he stands by his friends as they take on the legendary SOLDIER hero.

And lose. They’re barely a match for him, their attacks don’t phase him in the slightest, and he seems impossibly fast. With one final mockery, Sephiroth takes Jenova’s body and dives off the side of the Shinra building, leaving Cloud almost numb, hollow. Tifa manages to pull him out of it, and he doesn’t understand how she’s still herself aftering seeing him. She shows that her hands are still shaking, and admits she’s not letting it catch up with her. Right now, she’s focused on trying to stay alive, and keep the people she cares about alive. Our six rebels fight their way back through Shinra security and, with one look back at the home they’re leaving behind, they steal a ride out of Midgar.

Once they make it to the inn in Kalm, Cloud finally fills everyone in on what he hasn’t told them. He’d only meant to tell Tifa, originally, but the others deserve the truth as well. With her permission, he recalls the Nibelheim Incident. After Sephiroth killed his hometown and injured Tifa, Cloud attacked the man, overpowering him and throwing him to his death – or he assumed, at least. Another Nibelhiem resident, Zangan, took Tifa to safety, promising to come back for Cloud. He didn’t make it, and Cloud was captured and experimented on by Hojo; toughing through thanks to the mako infusions he got as a SOLDIER. After five years, he managed to escape, and make it to Midgar. The others are horrified, but Cloud almost no-sells it. It’s in the past. It’s fine. He’s fine. And with that, and without taking any questions, he goes to his room and sleeps.

Tifa admits once he’s gone that there’s something odd about the story, about the way he told it. She can’t quite pick out what, but it feels as if he’s leaving out something big from the parts that she can’t corraberate. Barret and Red agree, they felt similarly, but Vee reminds them that traumatic events like that can fuck with a person’s head, muddle their memories. And she knows firsthand how traumatic Shinra’s labs can get. The five agree not to push him on it, and follow suit to get some sleep.

When she’s finally alone with Aerith and Vee, Tifa breaks down completely as the events of the day wash over her. The man who scarred her, who slaughtered her family, who burnt down her home, is alive. Her best friend has years of trauma he’s never told her about. And she almost lost her girlfriend. Vee and Aerith hold her, and the three fall asleep together. For now, they’re safe.

[peraltasames]

your love’s put me at the top of the world

He’s beyond relieved that he made it back in time, but even more relieved when Amy lets out one final cry of agony and everything falls silent for a split second before the unmistakable cries of a newborn fill the room.

That’s his son. His son is here.

prompt: 💐 - buying each other flowers

read on ao3

There’s never been any doubt in Jake’s mind that Amy is a superhero.

Her first month at the Nine-Nine, he saw her tackle a perp twice her size without breaking a sweat. It was both awesome and insanely hot, though Jake suppressed those feelings as quickly as they arose when she yelled at him to cuff the 250-pound man she just smacked down on the pavement.

She’s saved his life multiple times, whether it be by always having his back in the field or shooting him in the leg in the thick humidity of the worst state in America (he wasn’t overly fond of the latter, but he was very appreciative of avoiding a bullet in the head).

She’s had more emotional endurance than anyone Jake knows, remaining his steady guidepost during his time in WitSec and his prison sentence and everything else life has thrown at them, even when he knew it was just as hard for her. Her strength and hope never wavered during the long months of failed attempts at getting pregnant.

Still, despite all this, he’s never been more in awe of her than he is seeing her give birth to their son, in the damn precinct, without any painkillers. She’s glowing, an absolute vision of beauty, but he knows better than to tell her that while she’s swearing like a sailor and squeezing his hand so hard he thinks she might break it.

He’s beyond relieved that he made it back in time, but even more relieved when Amy lets out one final cry of agony and everything falls silent for a split second before the unmistakable cries of a newborn fill the room.

That’s his son. His son is here.

Of course, more chaos ensues after that - he’s pretty sure they had enough chaos for a lifetime tonight, but they’ve also had a lot of crazy days that have made for good stories, so he decides he can handle a little chaos as long as his wife and their little boy are okay.

There’s an ambulance ride and several tests run by several different doctors. There’s the entire squad visiting and the reveal of their son’s name - Mac Peralta, after John McClane, of course. There’s Roger and Victor arguing over what Mac’s middle name should be (even though they decided on Raymond weeks ago to avoid upsetting either of their fathers) while Camila and Karen fawn over Amy and the baby.

Eventually, there’s just the three of them again. Amy falls asleep soon after, very understandably considering all her body’s been through over the past few hours, and Mac is happily dozing in the bassinet next to her bed.

Jake’s in the midst of responding to a dozen text messages and trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’s really a father when his stomach starts to grumble, a casual reminder that he hasn’t eaten since lunch and it’s nearly two in the morning.

“Detective Peralta, you’re free to go grab food or coffee.”

The nurse standing next to the bassinet, monitoring Mac’s vitals, seems to have read Jake’s mind. He would kill for even a bag of chips from a vending machine right now, but he also really doesn’t want to leave the baby unattended while Amy’s sleeping.

“We’re keeping a close eye on your son and your wife, so there’s no reason to worry.”

He’s got half a mind to try to recruit her as a detective with the mind-reading capabilities she’s got going on (although it’s possible his instinctual need to protect Amy and their baby really is just that transparent) but he simply nods in appreciation and bends down to kiss Amy’s forehead before slipping out the door.

He’s determined to make it as quick of a mission as possible, eager to return to the room, so he makes a very Amy-esque list in his head: food, coffee, something more comfortable and clean to sleep in.

He knocks off the first two very quickly with a cold sandwich and a cup of stale but decently warm coffee from the cafeteria. It’s certainly not a Charles-approved meal, but he’s still riding on such a high that it tastes like the elixir of the gods right now.

The gift shop fulfills his need for comfortable clothing - sweatpants with the New York Presbyterian logo and an I ❤️ NY hoodie. It also offers a wide selection of stuffed animals, and even though they already have way too many for a newborn to appreciate at home from Amy’s baby shower, he can’t resist grabbing a tiny teddy bear that says I love my mom.

That’s all he intends to buy, but the bouquets of flowers positioned conveniently near the checkout catch his eye immediately. He does have a more significant push present for Amy planned, a signed copy of Marie Kondo’s new book that Gina managed to score for him accompanied by two tickets to Hamilton and reservations at a very fancy restaurant in Midtown four months from now. He really feels like his wife having just undergone tremendous pain and physical exertion to bring their baby into the world means she deserves something now, though, so he carefully peruses the selection.

“New dad?” the lady behind the cash register asks, smiling at him.

Jake nods proudly, glancing briefly at the teddy bear in his arms. “As of like three hours ago, yeah.”

“Go for the gardenias. They symbolize joy, your wife will love them.”

Jake has to read the little tags to identify which ones are gardenias, but he’s pleased that they’re the pretty white and yellow bouquet in a small white vase that his eyes were first drawn to.

“Thank you,” Jake smiles, quickly swiping his credit card and gathering his purchases.

He carefully creeps back into the dark room so he doesn’t accidentally wake Amy or Mac, who he pauses to stare at in awe for another long moment before going to the bathroom to change. After tossing his dirty clothes in Scully’s big hospital bag, he attempts to lightly place the flowers down on the bedside table, but even the slight disruption of the silence causes Amy to stir.

“Sorry, babe,” he winces, setting the teddy bear down next to the bouquet. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You got me flowers?” Amy smiles, shifting up on her elbows slightly to get a better look. “Jake, they’re beautiful.”

“The lady at the gift shop said they symbolize joy, so...”

His eyes wander to the bassinet, soaking in every second that he can of admiring their very own bundle of joy.

Amy smiles wider, reaching for his hand to pull him towards her. He settles in on the bed beside her, carefully wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“You were so amazing,” he whispers into her hair. It’s not the first time he’s told her that tonight, but he doesn’t think he could ever say those words enough to encapsulate just how in awe of his wife he actually is.

“You’re a pretty good baby daddy,” Amy murmurs into his chest. “I mean, you were literally my knight in shining armour riding in on horseback tonight.” He chuckles, squeezing her tightly. “I’m so glad you made it in time.”

“Me too,” he sighs, pressing kisses to her hairline and temple and cheek.

Amy shifts over slightly, making as much room in the bed as she can for him, and his desire to be close to his wife is overruled by the interest of her being as comfortable and non-crowded as possible.

“Ames, they said they could bring a cot for me. Or I can sleep in the chair, I really don’t mind.”

She frowns, shaking her head. “There’s plenty of room.”

“You just had a baby, I want you to be comfortable.”

“Jake,” she says, more firmly. “Speaking as your wife who just had a baby, I want you to sleep here with me. That’s an order.”

He knows he’s fighting a losing battle, so he kicks off his shoes and climbs under the covers with her. It turns out to be kind of perfect - he has just enough space to comfortably stretch out and, once he’s wrapped his arm around Amy and assumed the big spoon position, he has an unobstructed view of Mac.

“We’re really parents,” Amy sighs happily, lacing her fingers with his.

Jake nods and smiles, his eyes reluctant to close just yet while he absorbs the last moments of the most important day of his life.

He kisses her cheek once more before settling into the pillows and letting his eyelids droop.

“I love you guys so much.”

[queen-lilith-fanfics]

Silence is Deadly - Chapter Two

So much love to @elven-aeterna who has been so nice and is giving me some motivation!

All characters belong to Cassandra Clare.

Part I - Pandemonium

For about a week after Magnus had gone to see Alec (or Brother Nehemiah, whatever he was), Magnus was still getting drunk every night. Yes, he knew it was not a good idea, but Magnus didn't care. It was something he did after a break-up. Like that one time in Peru.

It was hard for Magnus to adjust to this new life. Magnus had fallen in love with so many people, and had so many of them leave him. Everyone left him in someway, but it had never hurt like this.

The pain was like a wound that would never heal. One that if you accidentally opened it again, it hurt worse than when you got it.

Tessa was there for him, though. She'd been doing a lot of things for Magnus. Every night she'd been getting take-out and not forcing Magnus to talk about it if he didn't want to.

"I know it hurts," Tessa would say, "but you'll get over it."

"Tessa, when Jem became a Silent Brother, you were in a cave with Will Herondale," Magnus pointed out. "You had someone to love. I'm all alone."

"I'm just trying to help," she whispered. "Don't push me away if I can help you."

Magnus sighed and got up from the chair he was sitting in.

"I want to go out," he said. "You know, to a club or something. Tess, you want to come with me?"

"As long as you feel better." Tessa got up and walked towards Magnus. "Where do you want to go?"

Magnus turned around, grinning like a devil. "The Pandemonium Nightclub."

Part II - Hope

Magnus loved Pandemonium club. It was a place he had gone to many nights. He's tried to bring Alec there one night, but Alec didn't like it. At least now that Magnus was here he didn't have the painful memories of Alec attached to here.

They walked up to the club, pounding music coming from the vicinity. People loittered outside, some of them smoking.

Mundane clubs drew Downworlders because it was easier for them to fit in. Magnus could pass his cat eyes off as weird contacts at clubs like this. It was kinda nice to be able for Magnus to be himself, and not have to hide.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Tessa asked.

A moment of silence hung between them. The only sound was the bass of the music coming from inside Pandemonium.

"I'll be fine," Magnus replied. "I'm going to be fine."

"I just want to be sure," Tessa said. "Magnus, I care about you. And I don't want you to try and be okay even though you need time."

"I'm fine," Magnus promised. Tessa opened her mouth to speak, and Magnus bolted into Pandemonium.

It wasn't that he wanted to avoid Tessa. He just needed to stop her from going to full-on Mom Mode. Not like Magnus would be able to avoid her yelling at him later, but Magnus needed to be alone in a crowd of people.

Standing in the middle of the crowd, Magnus closed his eyes. It was almost calming how he could disappear here, become just another lonely soul in a building of sorrow.

Magnus opened his eyes again. A woman from his past was standing in front of him.

"Hello, Hypatia," Magnus said. "Fancy seeing you here."

"I was bored," Hypatia explained. "I wanted a change in locale. So I travelled to New York."

"It's strange to see you here," Magnus commented. He anxiously drummed his fingers on the side of his leg. To be honest, it was one of the most awkward situations Magnus had been in.

Hypatia and Magnus had dated a long time ago. Even if Magnus tried to have an amicable parting when he broke up with people, not seeing Hypatia for about a hundred years just made this weird.

"How have you been doing?" Hypatia asked. "Anything big happen in the past . . . Oh, about hundred years."

"I dated a Shadowhunter," Magnus replied. "He was turned into a Silent Brother really recently."

"My colodences," she said. "You know, Malcolm Fade is starting a service to help warlocks who have fallen in love with Shadowhunters and. . . . Things happened. You remember what happened with Annabel?"

"Of course I do," Magnus whispered. "That was horrible. Wait-what happens next?"

"I don't know."

"I don't care," Magnus said. "I don't even care, Hypatia, but if I can get Alec back-everything is going to be okay. Thank you so much."

"Uh-okay," Hypatia replied. "You know, Malcolm is just across the street. That's why I came here, Magnus, to check up on Malcolm."

"Thank you so much. I will be forever grateful."

And Magnus bolted across the dance floor again, finally allowing himself to hope again.

Part III - Evil Warlock

Magnus was a little worried that Hypatia was screwing with him. But at this point he was desperate.

He missed Alexander. Magnus always knew there was a chance he could lose him, but here he was, with that possibility already playing itself out.

The building across the street Hypatia was talking about had mainly dark windows. One had a bright light streaming out of it, but it was from under blinds that were half-drawn.

There was warlock magic here. Some wards, but just against mundanes. Warlocks could come and go as they pleased.

"I must be so desperate," Magnus whispered to himself. "But Hypatia hasn't steered me wrong before."

Magnus took a deep breath, and opened the doors of the building.

There was a set of stairs. A plastic sign was sitting in front of it. Magnus stepped closer to read it.

"Lost a Shadowhunter lover to the Silent Brothers or the Iron Sisters? Come upstairs and have a little talk with Malcom Fade."

"A little creepy," Magnus whispered to himself.

He took a deep breath and walked up the stairs, slowly. He kept expecting a demon to show up out of nowhere or something like that.

On the landing at the top of the stairs, there was a waiting area and a few chairs, along with one of those "take a number" signs. Magnus took a number and sat down in a chair, staring forward at a door with a number sign above it. The number was 19.

Magnus looked down at his slip of paper. His number was twenty.

The number ticked forward. Now it was at twenty.

The door opened, and Malcolm Fade walked out, wearing an elegant suit.

"Magnus Bane," he said. "Fancy seeing you here."

[in-tua-deep]

How would Ravenclaw! Klaus react to the ghosts in Hogwarts? Like, would he ignore them until he realizes everyone else can see them? Does he discover that he can make ghosts corporeal and/or levitation and telekinesis now that he's not on drugs? Does he accidentally talk to a ghost that no one else can see, like the ghost of a muggle, and everyone thinks he's crazy? Basically, what are your Klaus headcannons for your HP AU? (Sorry if this was too long, I've just been thinking about this alot.)

asdfFGDH no worries - I also like the idea of Ravenclaw!Klaus but for the purpose of this au he is a baby Slytherin bless his heart

okay okay okay

So the thing is, while the kids stay at the school for winter break and that’s fine, they have to go somewhere for the summer. Headmistress McGonagall took them for the remainder of the summer before they went into their first year, yeah, but she wasn’t exactly planning on housing seven magical kids. She was just the best bet to transfigure them seven beds (can you say bunk beds?) as a temporary measure

The summer between first and second year they end up with the Weasleys who have an empty nest after Ginny moved out. They have room for seven magical kids at least, even if they kind of tiptoe around one another and it’s kind of an awkward placing

Molly Weasley is very physically affectionate and loud. The kids are very used to violence and getting yelled at so this is not a fantastic combination. Five thinks Arthur Weasley is an idiot of the highest degree after several questions regarding muggle things (and the other won’t say it but they’re kind of thinking it as well) not to mention their general wariness of male parental or authority figures. 

Diego volunteers to cook with Mrs. Weasley and likes it but then immediately feels guilty because that’s something he did with Grace and he misses her so he swings wildly between liking Mrs. Weasley and hating her for not being Grace and then feeling guilty for liking her AND guilty for hating her and it’s a vicious cycle 

Luther still resents the fact that they can’t go home, even if he’s starting to clue in to the fact that the way Reginald treated them was way beyond not normal and that he’s actually way safer than he’s ever been before? It’s weird and he feels guilty for what he perceives as disloyalty for enjoying himself and having fun and so he’s kind of moody like Diego is

(this combination is somewhat explosive oops. at least they don’t share a room unlike they did at McGonagall’s place)

now this is a somewhat long winded way of saying that during the summer, the Weasley kids do come and visit their mother of course! And, one fateful day, one half of a matched pair shows up to cheerfully cause chaos. George Weasley comes home with a big smile and free samples from the shop to distribute among the little kiddies under his parents roof - have to keep them on their toes after all!

And Klaus sees ghosts. Which, if you said this to any wizard or witch, they would nod and tell you that they also see ghosts! Except Klaus sees more than the ones like Nearly Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron. He sees souls that are only wispily tied to the world, who haven’t had time to solidify their presence. Who follow behind their family.

Now, Klaus doesn’t mention this. It’s not normal, after all, and all of the Hargreeves have agreed to keep their... extra issues under wraps in case the grown ups decide to return them or something, or decide they aren’t magic after all, or whatever. They’re eleven going on twelve they’re allowed to be afraid.

So Klaus doesn’t mention anything when the red headed man comes in followed by an identical (albeit slightly younger) man. Klaus only cottons onto the fact that this man is a ghost because Molly Weasley introduces George to them and not the other one. No one notices the other one. And they’ve seen pictures, they know that there used to be Fred-and-George until the war happened and then there was only-George. 

(related: Klaus is actually very happy with the wizarding world ghosts and also very pissed off about them. On the bright side, the killing curse leaves no visible wounds! So there’s not as many incredibly disturbing traumatizing ghosts to look at! Downside here is that Klaus cannot tell if a ghost is a ghost. Unless they’re wearing fancy ass historical period clothes :/

Klaus memorizes pretty much all the years students out of sheer self defense. If there someone who Klaus knows Is Not a Student, he just quietly asks the nearest sibling who is In The Know about his powers

He gets anxious when they’re out in like, hogsmeade or diagon alley though, or when there are a lot of strangers. his general rule of thumb is to only interact with people his siblings interact with, or people who he touches first. He’s perfected the ‘accidental bump’ move thank you

The other sibs are all very accommodating because if Klaus’s secret gets out, then all their secrets get out)

Anyway so Klaus’s modus opperandi is to ignore ignore ignore! Usually if ghosts don’t realize he can see them, they leave him alone. Unfortunately, Klaus is sharing Fred-and-George’s old room with Ben (they organized themselves this way so that Ben can wake Klaus up when he has nightmares)

and Fred floats up to reminisce while Klaus is in there and Klaus would ignore him except he keeps making comments and looking sad and just UGH and he’s lurking in front of the door and Klaus can’t just walk through him to leave. That’s weird and gross. So eventually, eventually, Klaus snaps at him “Can you please move?”

and he’s tired and he had nightmares last night (he can’t just ask Five to carve the good dream runes into some random lady’s son’s bed) and he just wants to go downstairs okay?? and he’s not thinking about it and the guy looks young and friendly and almost alive and it just slips out

and Fred stands there in shock for a solid second before finally whispering a simple - “You can see me?”

and this is a mistake

Fred tries to convince Klaus so hard to tell George and to pass messages and and and - he’s just so excited! He’s been following George around, watching him wallow in grief and watching his family wallow in grief and he’d thought that ghosts were just. Ghosts. He didn’t realize it was even possible, this invisible existence. He’s been silent for so long 

But Klaus is a traumatized eleven year old okay he is Not About Any of This

eventually Fred gets it into his head that he’s freaking the kid out and softens, because Fred’s always been pretty good with kids anyway. He listens when Klaus haltingly explains why no one can know and then kind of hedges, because Fred is really nice, so he makes a deal

He’ll tell George about Fred, but only when he’s 17 and a legal adult in wizarding society with no chance of being sent back into Reginald’s grasp. Fred thinks this is stupid, but he’s waited fourish years already and didn’t expect to have any chance so (and Klaus is very adamant about keeping away from his ex-Dad and Fred knows there’s a reason)

anyway Fred follows Klaus when he goes back to Hogwarts to start second year. Well, kind of. He splits time between the shop/lurking after George and then going to bug Klaus. Klaus is very resistant to this at first, because if the other ghosts realize he can talk to Fred, then they’ll want to talk to him.

Fred fixes it though by basically just going around (because Fred is still legendary and his pranks are to be feared and all the ghosts in Hogwarts uniforms with haunted eyes that fell defending their school know that) and warning them off. He takes requests and messages and passes them to Klaus to write down in a notebook to be distributed when Klaus hits 17 - so Klaus isn’t bothered by any ghosts

besides being bros with Fred is actually a very excellent thing to be because Fred knows everything about the school. He knows all the secret passageways and all the trick steps and trap doors and empty rooms. He mentions missing having a map in passing, but tells Klaus it would have been so much cooler to have an invisible ghost to scout ahead and warn them about professors or anyone coming

Klaus doesn’t keep Fred secret from the others, so the whole family gets to benefit from Fred’s vast knowledge

(Klaus’s written test grades increase, to the bafflement of his professors - it certainly helps having a ghost to help you cheat!

none of the family are above cheating tbh, they are all very wary of the concept of failure in general and are willing to do a lot to avoid becoming acquainted with the consequences of failing)

Klaus probably figures out making ghosts corporeal when he’s hmm. 15? There is. a lot of drama in Klaus’s fifth year and it’s stressful and there is an Incident where Fred going corporeal saves Klaus’s life

(Fred helps out a lot in Klaus’s fifth year, actually, the kids would probably be in serious trouble without him)

anyway this sparks another freak out where Fred says they HAVE to tell George - because this changes everything!! They fight and don’t speak for like two entire weeks before Fred comes back and grudgingly apologizes. After so long hanging around the Hargreeves, he knows very well that they were Super Fucking Abused and are fearful of being returned for Good Reason

so Fred gets to be the one that Klaus practices with and figure out corporeal ghost stuff with

I’m going to say no levitation/telekinesis in this au (pending the results of season two maybe?) but I will say that the first year flying class? Klaus fucking excels. You think about Klaus on a broom and it should be a disaster, but Klaus is the best flyer in Hogwarts, he treats the broom almost as an extension of himself

Slytherin keeps trying to recruit him onto the quidditch team but Klaus always laughs it off saying that he’s not a jock - also his flying skills do not translate into catching/throwing skills thanks. He’s graceful as all fuck but if you try throw him a quaffle or whatever, he will drop it

i feel like it should be noted that with all seven of them, the Hargreeves could form their own quidditch team lmao

But yeah to sum up, Klaus ignores ghosts (his housemates tease him about being scared of ghosts and he laughs them off), he does discover his ability to make ghosts corporeal due to no drugs, no levitation/telekinesis, he can absolutely see ghosts that wizards can’t see (and not every wizard/witch who dies becomes the wizarding version of a ghost), and I have headcanons about Klaus being very good on a broom lmao

[chipsandwaffles]

bad for you

Synopsis: You meet Johnny, a guy who just won’t leave you alone with your bad habits. Member: Johnny/Reader Word Count: 2,712 Notes: i’ve gone back and forth on this fic and she isn’t even that long like the fuck. not even sure i love it anymore but i gotta post it so enjoy. Warnings: smoking is heavily mentioned

-

“You know, smoking is bad for you.”  

You place the cigarette between your index finger and middle finger, inhale, and bring it away from your face before turning around to look at the person who was intruding your quiet time.  

Then, you exhale.  

“As if I’m not aware of that,” you say, putting it to your lips again. “Are you my mother or something?”

“...no, I guess not.” The intruder enters the room you’re in and walks over to you, standing next to you on the balcony. “Why are you up here by yourself? Don’t you want to be at the party?”  

You laugh and quickly snuff your cigarette against the ashtray that was sitting on the balcony railing, knowing it wasn’t very kind to smoke in front of other people who clearly didn’t. You look over at the guy right after. “Not really one for parties. What about you? Why are you up here?”  

You watch the guy lean against the railing, placing his elbow on it and pressing his cheek to his fist as he stands before you.

Then, he smiles.  

“Came looking for you actually.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. I thought you were cute, so I wanted to talk to you,” he says. You look away from him, the honesty of his words making it hard for you not to blush. “Clearly I was right. You’re really cute right now.”  

You turn away from the guy completely and shake your head. “You’re dumb. Do you usually go around calling random girls you don’t know cute?”

He laughs, and you hear him move behind you until he’s standing right in front of you again. “Nope. Only you.”

“...weirdo.”

“It’s Johnny, actually. And you?” Johnny asks. You frown up at him and turn away once more, this time towards the door. You begin walking, but, immediately, Johnny stops you. “No name then?”

You pull your hand away and look back at him. “It’s Y/N. Goodbye.”  

And you leave Johnny by himself on the balcony.  

-

“Fancy meeting you here.” You look away from the cigarette and lighter in your hands and at the familiar voice, eyes wide when you see Johnny standing there in front of you. You hadn’t seen him for weeks, and suddenly, here he was again.  

“…it's the laundry mat,” you quickly say. You look away and flick at your lighter a few times before the flame comes out. It touches the tip of your cigarette, turning red as you light it up. You set your lighter down before placing your fingers around the cigarette, inhaling, pulling it away, then exhaling.  

“Still smoking, huh?” Johnny asks, still standing there. Wasn’t he going to go in and do his laundry?

“It’s a bad habit, so, you know.” You pocket your lighter and stand up, walking over to the bench farther away from Johnny. Even if he was being dumb and not going inside, you still weren’t going to be the jerk that was going to blow smoke practically in his face.  

“Ah, thanks,” he says. You watch as he walks inside, and you’re left by yourself for a few minutes. It’s not enough time to finish your cigarette, and eventually, Johnny comes out when you’re in the middle of knocking off the ash from the butt. He sits next to you as he speaks.

“You know, there’s other things you can do to pass the time besides smoking.” You roll your eyes and debate for a second whether you wanted to continue your cigarette, or snuff it out to appease Johnny. Some part of you wants to keep smoking, just because he didn’t want you to.

“I’m just saying though.”  

“Do you usually go around telling people that their bad habits are bad or?” You say, sighing as you bend down to place the end of your cigarette against the concrete, rubbing it out until it was extinguished.  

“Well, if they’re my friends or something but- really! We could do other things while we wait for our laundry,” Johnny says. You raise an eyebrow at him and sigh.  

“Like what?”

“Well...” Johnny leans close all of a sudden, and you blink at him, confused, until he gets too close that you gasp and push him away. He looks at you, just as confused for a moment before grinning.  

“Like play cards,” he says, pulling out a deck from his coat pocket. Then, he laughs. “What, did you think I was implying something else?”  

“I- no, of course not- shut up! Let’s play cards then,” you say, taking the deck from his hands and picking off the rubber band he kept around it. He laughs again, a low one, and takes the rubber band from you.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”  

“You’re cute when shut up,” you say, not sure of what else to say.

Johnny just laughs again as you shuffle the cards.

-

“Hey.” You blink up from your lighter, nearly dropping it when you see Johnny standing outside of your car, grinning at you like he’s supposed to be there. Except, he definitely wasn’t because you were parked outside your work, taking a quick smoke break before you ate your lunch, and him appearing out of nowhere was just weird.  

“What- why are you here?” You ask, quickly snuffing out your cigarette before you accidentally blew some smoke right into Johnny’s face.

“They say when you like someone you start seeing them everywhere,” Johnny says, still grinning. You frown.

“Yeah, sure, but this also feels like you're stalking me!” You say. “I mean, what are the chances you’re here while I’m in my car?”  

“Actually, you parked your car outside where I work. It's really just coincidental.” Johnny points to the building across the street from where you were, and you frown even more.  

“Are you kidding me?”  

“Nope. Why?”  

“We… work right across from each other. That's weird. You're weird,” you say, looking away from Johnny. You don't know what to do now that your cigarette was gone, and you weren't going to light up another one with Johnny around. You sigh.  

“It’s a small world, you know. I find it funny though,” Johnny says. You shake your head. Seven billion people in the world and yet here you and he were.

Maybe it was kind of funny.  

“Are you on your lunch break?” You ask.

“Yeah, I was just about to go get something- why?”  

“You make me waste all my cigarettes when we meet so buy me lunch. I'll drive.”  You hear Johnny laugh loudly and you look up, seeing that same familiar grin on his face.  

It makes your heart skip a beat.  

“Yeah, sure. Let's get lunch then.”  

-

“Hey, instead of lunch today, let me make you dinner.” You frown up at Johnny as he leans against your door, that big goofy grin on his face again. You’ve been noticing it a lot more lately; whether that was a good or bad thing, you didn’t know yet.  

You weren’t even sure if wanting to hang out with him and actually doing it was a good or bad thing yet either. If it meant something more to you, you weren’t entirely sure. Your brain was all over the place when it came to Johnny.

“How do I know you can even cook?” You ask, skeptical at his suggestion. He rolls his eyes and leans in closer.  

“Just trust me. I’ll cook you up something delicious and then afterwards I have a treat. You’ll like it, I promise.”

“If I don’t, then what will you give me?” You ask. Johnny purses his lips and leans back a little, crossing his arms. “What? If I have to suffer through bad cooking, I feel like I should be given something in apology.”

“You’re really a glass half empty kind of person, huh?” He asks. You frown and mimic his body language.  

“It’s a bad habit.”

“And bad habits are meant to be broken. So look forward to dinner, okay? Just for me,” Johnny says. He smiles at you with that stupid, beautiful smile and you roll your eyes.  

“Fine. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Good. Meet you after work.”

Johnny does in fact meet you after work, and even though he told you to look forward to dinner together, you really weren’t. Johnny didn’t seem like the type who really knew how to cook, and you wanted to eat something good, not something some boy who liked you thought you’d eat out of pity and adoration.  

You pause before you step through Johnny’s apartment, shaking your head.

Okay, maybe Johnny was right. Maybe you were really negative. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Mediocre was better than absolute trash after all.  

“You coming in?” Johnny asks. You nod and step through his door, allowing him to shut it behind you. The two of you slip off your shoes and into slippers before heading towards the living room together. Johnny’s place was small, but humble. It was cute for a guy like him.  

“You can wait here, okay? Bathroom is down the hall if you need it. I’ll just be in the kitchen.”

“What? I can’t join you as you cook?” You ask. Johnny shakes his head and steps away from you.

“I’ll definitely mess up if you watch me, so just wait here,” he replies.  

So you do.  

You play on your phone for a while, and look through the books Johnny has, and even use the bathroom, but eventually end up bored and antsy. You start playing with the box of cigarettes in your jacket pocket, itching for one in nervousness. You could probably go outside and have one, but then you know Johnny would just interrupt you and you didn’t want to waste any. He always managed to pop up right as you started one. Whether it was coincidental or not, you didn’t know.  

“Hey, I’m almost done, so if you want to help me real quick,” Johnny calls from the kitchen. You quickly get up and head to him, thankful for the distraction.  

“What do you need me to do?”

Johnny mostly has you set the table, bringing out plates for the two of you, along with side dishes for your dinner. You bring out drinks as a finishing touch, and Johnny sends you back to sit down. The food doesn’t smell bad at all, and sitting there, waiting for Johnny, your stomach starts growling.

Luckily, he comes out only a few moments later with the main dish, setting it in the middle of the table. He sits across from you, and smiles.  

“Doesn’t look bad, right?”

“...I guess it looks okay,” you say, not wanting to admit it looked tasty. He laughs and begins digging in, you following after.

By the end of the meal, you have to admit it’s as delicious as Johnny said it was. Johnny smiles at you from across the table and begins picking up the empty bowls. “What did I tell you?”

“Shut up. It’s probably like, the only thing you can make.”  

“...wow, how’d you know?” He asks. You roll your eyes and pick up the bowls he leaves behind, walking to the kitchen after him. He places the dishes into the sink, so you do the same before turning to him.  

“So, what’s this treat you mentioned?” You ask.  

“Oh, right!” He puts his hand out and you look down at it, frown and look back to him. “You’re supposed to take it. Come on, it’s not dangerous.”  

You hesitantly take his hand and ignore the butterflies it disrupts in your stomach. “You never know. Could burn my hand off.”

“As if I’d be holding your hand if they did that.”

Johnny leads you to his door, and the two of you put your shoes back on as you head into the hallway. He leads you to the stairs and takes you up them, skipping floor after floor until you reach a final door. He opens it up and gestures you through onto the roof of the apartment building. There’s a small garden up there, and within the garden is a few blankets and pillows laid out that you can only assume is Johnny’s treat for you.  

“...what is this?” You ask.  

“Don’t you know? There’s a meteor shower tonight. I didn’t feel like making you drive us somewhere, so this is the next best place to see it.” Johnny walks over to the blankets and immediately sits down, leaning back to look up at the sky.  

You stare at him for a long moment, the feelings in your chest inflating as you do. This was so awfully sweet of him. Making you dinner and then inviting you to watch a meteor shower with him was something you’d never expect from anyone who liked you.

The whole thing really made you happy.  

“You coming?” Johnny asks, now looking at you. That same smile is on his face, the one you decided you really liked, and you nod your head, walking over to him. You sit down next to him, maybe a little too close for two people that were friends, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He instead leans his head back, and you do the same, looking at the stars above you.

“Wow... Even with all the light pollution you can see so many stars.”

“Right? I told you this is a great place. But, you know, I think all the stars came out just to see you.” You laugh and shove at Johnny, knocking him down onto the blankets.

“That is so fricking cheesy. Are you made of cheese?”

“No, but I hear the moon is.” You laugh, shaking your head, before laying down next to Johnny. It's quiet between the two of you as you watch the sky, a feeling of peacefulness running through your body as you lay there. Being with Johnny made you feel good, and happy, and comfortable. Something you haven’t really felt in a long time.  

You let out a breath and open your mouth to speak, but Johnny speaks first.  

“Why'd you start smoking?” he asks. You turn your head to look at him, only to see him looking back at you. You frown, and shrug.  

“Had a shit partner who gave me some bad habits. What else?” you say. Johnny nods in understanding.  

“Habits are always meant to be broken; you know.”  

“You said that before. As if you’re going to break them for me or some shit,” you say. You watch as Johnny shifts next to you so that he’s on his side, and he leans in a little closer.

You can’t help it when your eyes flicker to his lips.

“I just think there’s more productive and fun things to be doing with your mouth,” Johnny says. You know exactly what he’s talking about. This whole thing is nothing short of a date, and Johnny hasn’t really made it a secret that he likes you.  

It’s been obvious the whole time.

That doesn’t mean you still don’t blush at his words.

“Aren’t you real smooth?” You move your hands up to your face, trying your best to hide the blush Johnny has caused. He just laughs before gently pulling your hands away, a big smile on his face.

“You’re so cute when you get shy. Can I kiss you?” Johnny asks. You stare at him for a long moment before nodding your head and closing your eyes.  

There’s a brief moment as you wait, and then you feel one of Johnny’s hands entwine in yours, and his other coming to rest at your cheek. His breath is on your lips for a short second and then he’s pressing his own against yours.  

It’s soft and sweet and nothing you’ve ever really had before, and you can’t believe Johnny was right.

This is way more fun than smoking.  

You pull away quickly and look at him. “You do know I’m not going to stop smoking anytime soon though, right?”

“Yeah, I know. But I’ll just kiss you anytime you want to. Sound good to you?” Johnny asks. You laugh at his words.  

“Sounds good to me.”

And once again, your lips find each other.

[sinfullystanning]

Begin Again

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Genre: Fluff

A/N: Based on an idea I had late last night.

Summary: Sam had been unsuccessfully trying to get Bucky back in the game until he had a chance encounter with a kindred spirit.

You were standing at one of those tall tables squished into the back of the bar, shifting your weight from one heeled foot to the other uncomfortably, silently wishing one of your feet would just fall off so you’d have a reason to leave that wasn’t what your friends would describe as chickening out. People pressed up against you from time to time and your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your napkin in an attempt to distract yourself from the pressing need to shout at the complete and probably inebriated strangers to stop touching you. The room reeked of alcohol and bodily fluids, and you tried your best to breathe through your mouth lest the smell caused you to pass out. One of your hands was wrapped around a glass that held a virgin Cuba Libre that you were hoping no one could tell was just a fancy name for coke. Alcohol had never really been your thing, and the idea of getting loose around complete strangers was not exactly your dream Friday night. Glancing at your phone you wondered for the thousandth time that night if you’d been here long enough to go home. Just as you were about to chug the last your drink and head out, pride be damned, a man came up to your table, placing a bottle of beer on the opposite side before leaning his forearms on the table chancing a glance over his shoulder before facing your curious expression. You’d been here for hours and he was the first person that wasn’t on staff to even acknowledge your presence.

His cautious expression melted into an apologetic one as he rubbed a hand over the scruff of stubble on the lower half of his face. “Look, I know this is probably really weird, but my friend keeps bringing me to bars and he’s dead set on getting me with a girl and honestly I just need a break so I can I just hide out here for a while.” You blinked, surprised. “Unless you’re here with someone of course.” He sputtered, clearly uncomfortable, glancing around looking for your nonexistent companion.

“Nope, the only one here with me is loneliness and I’m sure even he’s starting to get bored of my company.” You fidgetted with the bracelet on your wrist, not meeting his eyes as you gave a self-deprecating laugh. The mystery man chuckled before running a hand through his long dark brown hair, pushing it back away from his face, probably unconsciously.

“Well, I hope he doesn’t mind if I take his spot, then.” You shook your head, still shy. “I’m Bucky.” He stretched out a big strong hand that you nervously took in yours.

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. You know, maybe it’s not my place, but you look about as miserable as I do here so where’s your captor?” He ducked his head, trying to catch your eyes that were very fascinated with your hands at the moment. Sensing his movements you looked up to accidentally meet the most beautiful pair of eyes you’d ever seen, a melancholy mixture of icy blue and lonely gray that you wanted to dive right into. You shook your head, surprised at your embarrassing thoughts, flushing as you took a sip of your drink before answering him. “Well, mine’s a little less corporeal, I call her my pride and she’s probably hooking up with loneliness in the bathroom as we speak.

At that, Bucky burst out laughing, tossing his head back, eyes scrunched shut in joy. You couldn’t help but smile at his amusement. “You are hilarious.” He said as he straightened back up, leaning his head in one hand as he watched you. “But seriously, you’re here all by yourself? Why bother if you don’t want to be?”

You sighed, sipping your drink again before continuing. “Well, I live with five of my friends from college, and as of two weeks ago, all five of them are in relationships. Tonight, they’re on probably the world’s most ambitious quintuple date so I guess I decided I should do something to change my status from the world’s biggest third wheel to something else. Yeah, I could have come with them one day, but I really want to do this on my own terms. No half-drunk bestie shoving me across the room towards the nearest hot guy. I’m more of a conservative dater even if the rest of the world has moved past that.” You shrugged, surprised at how much you were telling some stranger you’d just met. “How about you? You said your friend wants to set you up? Is it all pure intentions or does he just want a wingman?”

Bucky laughed at that. “Well, it's technically all pure intentions, but nothing seems pure when it's the exact opposite of what you want to do, you know?” You nodded, understanding completely. “I’ve been out of the game for a while and he’s just trying to help me get back in, I’m just not sure it’s something I want to do yet.” You pushed a hand through his hair again.

“Were you in a long-term relationship or something? What kept you ‘out of the game’ until now?” You asked before adding. “Sorry that was really nosy, you don’t have to answer that.”

“No, you’re good.” He reassured you. “Just life, mostly, work, in particular, doesn’t leave a lot of room for that sort of thing.” You could tell he was trying to simplify something way bigger than the bubble the two of you were in but you let it slide, it was none of your business.

“What do you do?” You asked, carefully. Harmless question, right?

He scratched his chin before answering. “Former US Army, now a bit more of a specialized soldier.”

“Damn.” The word slipped out before you could stop yourself. You had tried to ignore it before, but Bucky was definitely not built like the average guy in here. His body was broad with decently muscled arms from what you could see under his long sleeves. Now that you knew what all that was from, it made sense. “Who wouldn’t want to date a soldier through? Every girl likes a man in uniform.” You pointed out, finishing off your drink and pulling a piece of ice into your mouth.

Bucky chuckled, “Maybe, but most girls aren’t exactly thrilled about a guy having so many guns in his closet.”

“Well, something’s got to keep those skeletons company.” You pointed out and Bucky laughed.

“Y/N, I don’t think I’ve ever met another girl like you.” He mused, shaking his head in wonder.

“Oh thank God, otherwise the whole world would dissolve into a nihilistic black hole.” You said, flagging down a waiter. Bucky threw his head back laughing again as the waiter approached the table.

“I’d like another virgin Cuba Libre, please.” You said, handing him your empty glass.

The waiter’s face drew into a condescending smirk. “Virgin Cuba Libre, sweetie? Don’t you mean a coke?” Your face turned red with embarrassment and you looked down at the table, cheeks flaming.

“No, I’m pretty sure she meant a virgin Cuba Libre.” Bucky’s voice made you peek up through your lashes. “And I’ll take another beer. You can put both of those on here.” He handed the waiter his credit card, giving him a firm look that said ‘get lost’ all over it. The waiter gave him a disgusted look before leaving the table. You felt a hand cover your own. “Hey, are you okay?” You lifted your head to see Bucky peering at you, worry in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you straightened, pushing your hair out of your face and trying to keep yourself from folding in on yourself out of embarrassment. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“What was that guy’s deal?” He said, glancing back towards the bar. “He didn’t have any right to treat you like that.” Bucky turned back to you, a sincere look in his blue eyes.

You shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe I’ve been hogging the table all night.”

“Well, you aren’t anymore,” Bucky said, grinning. “We are.” You felt your stomach flip at the sight of his smile. “Maybe I should go ask for a military discount.” He glanced back at the bar again, chuckling.

“He’d probably kill you.” You said, laughing.

“Well, at least he didn’t spit in our drinks,” Bucky said as the waiter approached the table again, holding your glass and Bucky’s bottle. He didn’t say anything as he set down the drinks and handed Bucky his card back. The moment he was out of earshot, the two of you burst out laughing, Bucky holding his sides and you holding a hand over your mouth as you shook with it.

***

As the evening progressed you found yourself more and more attracted to Bucky, hanging on his every word as he told you horror stories from previous bar trips and you paid him back with your own escapades. Finally, your conversation was interrupted by a voice calling his name from across the bar and Bucky excused himself as he went to go see what his friend, who you’d learned was named Sam, wanted. You took his absence as an opportunity to check the time and your jaw dropped as you realized it was 1:30 and you had dozens of missed calls and texts from your friends. You craned your neck to see where Bucky had gone, but you couldn’t see him. Pressed for time, you pulled a pen out of your purse.

***

When Bucky got back to the table you were nowhere in sight. He looked around but didn’t see any signs of you. Another girl that had ditched him. This time he’d thought he’d actually had a connection with you, unlike the other girls that he’s half-heartedly forced conversation with over the past few months. He shoved a frustrated hand through his hair, and just as he was about to go ask the bartender if he’d seen you leave, his eyes caught a napkin pinned under his empty bottle on the table. He picked it up and a smile spread across his face as he read the note that you’d hastily scribbled onto it.

“Sorry Bucky, I had to run, but call me! -Y/N” followed by your number. Bucky grinned as he pulled his phone out, entering your number into his contacts before placing it and the napkin into his pocket, heading back to where Sam was entertaining a few other women by the bar.

[fourthingsandawizard]

Firewhisky

Dan is fast asleep at Hogwarts when he gets a 2am call from a Firewhisky-fueled Phil in the club

Rating: Gen

Words: 1752

Relationship: Dan Howell & Phil Lester; friendship; phan if you squint

Tags: wizard au; Hogwarts au; Youtuber Dan; Youtuber Phil; muggleborn Dan; pureblood Phil; Hufflepuff Dan; Hogwarts grad Phil

Read on ao3

a/n: Written for @phandomficfests​ 2019 Bingo to fill the prompts birthday, drug/alcohol use, and writer’s choice (which I made magic au)

**This oneshot takes place in the Dan and Phil Hogwarts/Modern Day Wizards AU established in my chaptered fic Galaxies and Greenhouses, which should probably be read before reading this fic, but isn't absolutely necessary.

(If you don't want to read the chaptered fic first, main takeaway info needed for this fic: yes, Dan is a Hufflepuff in my au, fight me; also, Phil and PJ worked together to make a wizard smartphone equivalent out of a magic mirror, aka SmartMirror, that bypasses the Hogwarts ban on Muggle tech)

Dan groaned as his eyes slowly blinked open. He breathed sharply through his nose and stretched his long limbs across all four corners of his bed, resulting in a satisfying pop in one of his joints.

As he let his eyes begin to drift shut again, he noticed that he wasn’t hearing his housemates bustling around the room and starting their days while he, as usual, slept the morning away with his bed curtains drawn tight. Curious, he reached over and parted the heavy yellow drapes, only to be met with moonlight streaming into the dormitory and the soft snores of the other seventh year Hufflepuff boys.

Dan let the curtains fall together again and collapsed back against his pillow, wondering what could have possibly woken him up in the middle of the night, when suddenly he received his answer: a faint buzzing was coming from somewhere underneath his duvet.

Fumbling through his bed sheets in the darkness, Dan’s fingers finally closed around his SmartMirror. Bringing it closer to his face, he was nearly blinded by the screen, which displayed the unflattering closeup that Dan had set as Phil’s contact photo, along with the time and date: nearly two in the morning on the 30th of January.

Dan somehow managed to groggily accept the call, bringing the device up to his ear. “‘lo?”

“DAN!”

Dan jerked away from the sudden onslaught of sound, both from Phil’s unexpectedly loud greeting and the cacophony of background noises and music behind him.

“DAN? DAN, ARE YOU STILL THERE?” Wincing, Dan brought the SmartMirror closer again. “Yeah, Phil, I’m here,” he half whispered, “but why the hell are you calling this late?”

“DAN, IT’S MY BIRTHDAY! TELL ME HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAN! I THINK IT’S THE LAW!”

Dan rolled his eyes, chuckling fondly. “Yeah, yeah, happy birthday, dork.”

“WHAT?”

“Happy birthday!”

“DAN? ARE YOU THERE?”

“I SAID HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Merlin’s sake!” Dan finally had to almost yell for Phil to hear over the pounding music behind him.

“Oi! Howell!”

Dan’s bed curtains were suddenly ripped open, revealing a bed-headed and irritated housemate.

“Some of us are trying to sleep here, yeah? Slughorn has that nasty N.E.W.T. practice exam for us tomorrow, remember?”

Dan felt the tell-tale rosy patch on his cheek flush red and was thankful for the darkness of the dormitory. “Er, sorry, I’ll just…” He jerked his head towards the door, grabbing his wand and slipping out of bed.

Once he was safely in the quiet of the empty common room, he brought the phone back up to his ear, settling into one of the plush yellow armchairs facing the dwindling fire in the hearth.

“Phil? You still there?”

“Why, hello there, Daniel. Fancy meeting you here at this late hour, eh?”

Dan frowned at the familiar Northern voice, although it wasn’t the one he had been expecting.

“Chris? Where’s Phil?”

“Ah, well, our no-longer young Mr. Philip is currently finishing off what I believe is his third birthday Firewhisky shot of the evening and asked me to hold his phone,” Chris answered with a mischievous laugh. “So… How’s Hogwarts?”

“Three Firewhiskies? Shit, Chris, where the hell are you guys?”

“Lighten up, Daniel! Don’t get your wand in a knot, he’s fine. PJ and I just took him out for his birthday to that new magic club in London, Smoke and Mirrors. Perfect Prefect Lester is actually letting loose for once, it’s kind of wild—”

Chris was suddenly cut off and Dan heard nothing but the thumping bass of the music and the sound of someone fumbling with the SmartMirror, accidentally mashing several buttons.

“DAN! I’M BACK! CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

Dan winced at Phil’s unexpectedly loud return, leaning away from his phone slightly. “Trust me, bub, hearing you is not an issue right now.”

“WHAT? DAN, HANG ON A SEC, I’M GOING OUTSIDE SO I CAN HEAR YOU BETTER!” Phil shouted into the receiver. “PJ, I’LL BE RIGHT BACK!”

Dan idly flicked his wand against his knee, shooting out small sparks and reigniting the fire in front of him as he half listened to the sound of Phil making his way through the crowded club, mumbling apologizes to seemingly everyone he passed.

As he heard the door swing shut behind Phil, the music that had been blasting only moments before completely vanished; presumably there was some kind of noise dampening spell around the club to avoid suspicious Muggles.

“Okay, that’s better,” Phil said, finally at a semi normal volume.

“Yeah, much better,” Dan agreed, pulling both of his long legs up into the chair to get more comfortable. “Aren’t you freezing standing outside, though?” Dan glanced out the window where he could see a thin layer of snow blanketing the castle grounds. Phil may have been further south than Dan at the moment, but it was still January, even in London.

“Nah, I’m practically immune to cold, I’m so Northern,” Phil replied, and Dan could hear the smile in his voice. “Besides, I reckon I’ve probably had about half a bottle of Firewhisky tonight, I’m basically a dragon at this point.”

“Phil!”

At Dan’s scandalized exclamation, Phil let out a loud shriek, which came off much more pterodactyl than dragon, before dissolving into giggles on the other end of the line.

“You okay, there, bud?”

“Dan?”

“Yes, Phil?”

“I think I might be a little drunk,” Phil stage whispered into the phone, leaving Dan rolling his eyes fondly.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock,” he replied, making Phil snicker in return. “It sounds like you’re having a pretty good birthday, though.”

Phil hummed in response, and Dan could easily imagine the shrug that would have accompanied it. “‘s alright, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It’d be a lot better if you were here.”

Dan felt himself deflate a bit. He pulled his legs to his chest and hooked his chin over his knee.

“You remember my seventeenth when we snuck up to the Astronomy Tower,” Phil continued, filling Dan’s silence, “and we pretty much ate our weight in Honeydukes?”

“‘course I do,” Dan finally managed to breathe out, “McGonagall was pissed when she caught us out of bed that late.”

Phil snorted. “I think it was worth a couple detentions, though, to get to spend my birthday with my best friend for the first time.”

Dan felt a wetness suddenly pricking at his eyes. “Shit, Phil. I really miss you… Like, I know I just saw you last month during Christmas break, but I mean… Why’d you have to be a whole year older and graduate before me, again?”

“Hey, I offered to flunk my N.E.W.T.s and stay another year.” Phil chuckled, voice cracking a bit.

“Yeah, I’m sure Kath would have just loved that,” Dan said as he rubbed at his eyes. “And speaking of… What’s she gonna say when you stumble home drunk off your tits tonight?”

“I’m, uh… I’m not going home tonight. I’m staying with PJ and Chris in Brighton for a couple days. I kinda got in an argument with my dad and I’m trying to avoid him for a bit.”

“I mean, I can definitely relate.” Dan laughed, a little darker than he intended. “But you and your dad usually get along mostly fine, what happened?”

He heard Phil sigh deeply. “He bought me, like, proper business-person robes for my birthday.”

“What? Why?”

“Dunno, I guess he thinks it’s time for me to ‘be a man’ and ‘get a proper job’ and all that other adulty stuff.”

“Damn,” Dan replied, twirling his wand between his fingers absentmindedly. “And is that what you want?”

“I dunno. Probably not,” Phil admitted quietly. “I don’t really know what I want to do with my life, I just know I really like making videos, especially with you.”

“And I’m guessing your dad doesn’t really get that?”

“Not at all. Try explaining Youtube to a wizard who’s never even touched a computer.”

“Mine doesn’t really get it, either. I think maybe it’s less a wizard versus Muggle thing and more just a dad thing.”

Phil was silent for a long moment, leading Dan to pull the phone away just to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“Hey, Dan? Promise me something?”

“Yeah?”

Phil took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Promise me that we’re still gonna move in together next year like we talked about?”

‘“Course we will,” Dan answered with no hesitation. “We’ll probably have a pretty crappy apartment ‘cause it’s all we can afford, but it’s gonna be awesome.”

“And we’ll make videos together?”

“I mean, duh, all the time.” Dan couldn’t wipe the smile from his face if he tried. “Damn, our neighbors are gonna hate us, aren’t they?”

He got a classic Phil laugh in return, and he felt better knowing he put that goofy tongue-biting smile back on the older boy’s face. “That’s fine by me. Dan and Phil versus the world.”

“Always,” Dan answered as he glanced around the empty common room, desperately wishing his best friend wasn’t so far away, and felt tears building up again. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just thinking about how being here without you guys this year sucks major ass.”

“How would you know?”

“What?”

Phil snickered. “How would you know that it sucks ass unless you’ve—”

“Damn!” Dan swiftly interrupted before Phil could finish that thought. “Proper pissed Phil is a cheeky little shit, isn’t he?”

“No,” Phil answered around a yawn, “he’s a sleepy little shit. I kinda wanna just lay down right here on the pavement and take a nap...”

“Phil! You’re not sleeping on some random London street at two in the morning, you’ll get picked up by the Muggle police,” Dan laughed, shifting his phone to the other ear. “Go back inside and find Chris and PJ.”

“‘kay.”

“And make sure at least one of you sobers up a little before anyone tries to Apparate home,” Dan instructed. “I doubt you want to spend the rest of your birthday at St. Mungo’s because you splinched yourself and left an arm behind in the club or something.”

“Okay, okay, we’ll be careful,” Phil assured him as he opened the door to the club and the music suddenly blared into the phone again.

“Text me tomorrow whenever your hangover goes away,” Dan called over the noise.

Phil groaned in reply. “Ugh, don’t remind me of the consequences of my actions! It’s my birthday!”

Dan felt himself grinning like an idiot. “Happy birthday, you dork.”

[sweetheartjeongguk]

pretty kitty 3 (m)

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: hybrid au, camgirl au, fluff, smut

rating: nc-17

warning(s): drunk sex, impregnation kink, daddy kink, mentions of drugs and alcohol, taehyung and oc having the feels 

word count: 6.6k+

summary: you’re both jagged pieces of a puzzle, but you fit rather nicely together. 

the discovery | the denial | the meeting | the aftermath | the payback

masterlist

“You tired already?”

You huff out an annoyed breath. “Easy for you to say. You just stick your dick in while I gotta deal with your sweaty body on top of me. It’s like Niagara Falls every time you top.”

Seojoon clutches at his chest in offense. “How dare you? First of all, might I remind you that I made you that spicy ramen last night even though we all know it starts World War III in your guts and you were stuck on the toilet for an hour crying over your ‘ruined asshole’?”

“Why, you little—”  

You launch a pillow at his face, but unfortunately for you, his reflexes as a panther hybrid allow him to easily avoid your attempted assault.

“Anyways, I gotta get going.” Seojoon sighs in fake disappointment. “Hyungsik wanted to binge-watch My Hero Academia with me, but I’ve been avoiding him ever since I accidentally watched the season already.”

“Yikes, good luck dealing with that mess.”

You never really liked Hyungsik, and you’re 99.9% certain that the feeling’s mutual. Just something about him strikes a wrong chord with you, but Seojoon shrugs this off as irrational paranoia. Unwilling to argue with your friend, you force yourself to muster up the brightest phony smile whenever you stop by their apartment to hang out or drop something off.

“See you tomorrow!” He shouts as he escapes through the front door after slipping his clothes back on. “Great work today as always! Don’t forget my money, bitch!”

“Love you too, jackass.” You grumble as you lay in a starfish position on your mattress.  

The livestream ended an hour ago, but Seojoon stayed to help you clean up and recuperate after the camming session. While he’s a dumbass half the time, you admire him for his consistent attitude for quality aftercare, even after the most vanilla of encounters. This particular session gained you a hundred more viewers and a decent amount of money for you to share with. If your elementary school-level calculations serve you well, the night’s earnings combined with your last solo stream are enough to cover textbook costs and the money you owe Seojoon for the time you overflowed his toilet after trying to flush his toothbrush down after accidentally flinging it inside and wanting to “destroy the evidence” before Seojoon came home.  

Your next defense was to blame it on Hyungsik, but he didn’t seem to appreciate the joke.

As recompense for your so-called “crime against humanity”, you offered a substantial portion of your earnings if he helped with filming. Sex came natural to the both of you, lacking the expectation of blatant resistance when you first brought up the idea. Casual sex with a trustworthy friend while making a couple hundred bucks every five minutes? Seojoon couldn’t find any fault with that.

After all, you sucked him off in a frat house bathroom just an hour after you two were officially introduced.

You stretch out across the bed with a wince. Maybe you’ll invest an hour-long massage once your money gets transferred to your account. Better yet, you’ll force Seojoon to pay for it since this is his fault in the beginning. The man’s built like a god but fucks like the devil.  

When you unlock the screen of your cell phone, you’re bombarded with the sight of multiple texts from Seulgi and an email about your Music 101 class being cancelled on Monday. After browsing through bland Instagram stories, you finally decide to appease the witch in your inbox.

Right off the bat, you regret opening up the message.

BITCH YOU BETTER ANSWER ME BEFORE I COME OVER AND TELL SEOJOON ABOUT UR CRUSTY VAGINA PROBLEMS.

You’ve had plenty of experiences with Seulgi barging in during your not-so PG moments and having her fall into an exaggerated spiel that has your partners running out of your dorm in record time. You’d be a fool to fall into her hands again so with a heavy heart, your thumbs type out your response.

yes ur majesty??

Not even five seconds later, your phone beeps with a new message.

wOW look whos here, puss in boots has finally blessed me with her appearance.

Before you can type back your offended retort, you’re blasted with the annoying Facetime ringtone. With a sigh and silent prayer to whatever higher power is up there, you accept the call.

“I almost thought the dick went to your head and not your vagina.” Seulgi snorts when your less than glamorous face comes into view on her screen. “How was your dick appointment, sunshine?”

“I’m doing fine, thanks for asking appropriately.” You flash her an unimpressed stare. “I made over $5k tonight so cancel your plans for tomorrow. We’re going shopping at the outlet tomorrow!”

“Okay, Little Miss Fancy.” Seulgi wiggles her eyebrows in approval. “Just in time too. There’s going to be a party at Jennie and Jisoo’s this weekend, and I’m trying to get dicked down before I’m forced to graduate with cobwebs on my clit.”

“Okay, first of all…I’m not even going to ask.” You shudder in disgust. “Second of all, don’t you have your project due the day after? Might I remind you of what happened last time?”

Seulgi blanches white. “Please don’t. I’d rather not remember that when there’s a dick in my mouth.”

You hold your free hand up in surrender. “Alright then, your problem. Just so you know, I think that you should have started that project months ago.”

“And I think that I should be married to Gong Yoo with two beautiful children, but we don’t always get everything we want.” Seulgi harrumphs. “Anyways, don’t be a party pooper. Who knows, maybe you’ll find Sugar Daddy Number 163 there?”

“My finger is literally hovering over the end call button as we speak.”

“Do it, bitch. I’ll throw away that catnip that you think I don’t know about in the secret drawer inside your closet.”

“That is low, Kang, that is just low.”

“Hey, there’s a party at Jennie’s this weekend? You down?” Jimin calls from the couch as he scrolls through the influx of messages in his dance class group chat.

Taehyung is fully immersed in washing the pile of dishes in the sink that he almost doesn’t catch Jimin’s voice over the running faucet. When he contemplates this in his head, he just shrugs indifferently.

“I don’t know, I’m not really friends with her.”

“She’s cool, man. The rest of us are going too anyway, so it’s not like you’re going to be by yourself.” Jimin points out.

“Knowing you all, you’re going to be dragged off into a game of beer pong against Jungkook or caught up in some random hook-up in a closet somewhere, Namjoon’s going to get himself stuck in another piece of furniture again, and Jin and Yoongi are going to make another stupid bet that’s going to get Jin stuck in jail again.”

“What about Hoseok?”

“He gets red after two sips.” Taehyung scoffs. “The most I had to do was stop him from calling his parents to apologize for drinking and never calling enough. He’s the least of our worries.”

“You might find someone to spend the night with?” Jimin singsongs. “Get your dick wet after all these months of being a loser and staying home jerking off to porn?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Staying home doesn’t make someone a loser.”

“That’s something a loser who stays at home jerking off to porn would say.”

Taehyung sighs up at the ceiling, hands soaked and wrinkled from the soapy water. “I don’t even know why I try at this point.”

“Just think about it.” Jimin stands to grab his jacket hanging off the side of the couch. “You might be pleasantly surprised.”

“Highly doubt it, but thanks for the advice.” Taehyung actively avoids the flick of Jimin’s middle finger as the latter leaves to head back to his own dorm.

Once he’s finally alone, Taehyung takes a moment to actually think about Jimin’s proposal. If he does go to the party, there’s a 50-50 chance of him getting lucky with some hot stranger desperate for a random dick for the night or him returning home with six (or five, depending on Seokjin’s law-breaking kink) drunken idiots.

His Plan B (B standing for “Better Option”) would be to just forget about the party and stay home where he can happily jerk off to porn while digging into a huge bag of Hot Cheetos. Thankfully, he’s learned his lesson on how to jerk off without accidentally using the Hot Cheeto hand.

Taehyung had the case of spicy dick for a good five hours until Jimin came over to check up on him. However, the only thing Jimin could do was fall back in crazed laughter and snap a Polaroid of Taehyung’s distressed tears from his Cheeto dick.

Maybe the party idea isn’t sounding too bad after all.  

You fidget uncomfortably in your seat as you adjust your too-tight top. You had forced yourself to sit through an entire styling process from Seulgi who decided that you needed a little more “oomph” in your appearance.

In the words of Kang Seulgi, “God, Y/N, you’re a popular camgirl known for her sexual appeal, and yet you continue to dress like a middle-aged librarian mixed with Maria from the Sound of Music.”

You couldn’t help but shrink back in offense – your wardrobe isn’t that terrible. Sure, you wear too many casual clothes, and the only time you wear expensive lingerie or anything remotely “sexy” is when you go on camera, wearing the gifts given to you by loyal viewers.

Regardless, you let Seulgi work her magic in the brief time you had to yourself before Ji-Eun arrived to drive the three of you to the party.

Seulgi passionately performs a mini concert in the backseat with her own rendition of “God is a Woman” while Ji-Eun boils in the driver’s seat, her hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel. You don’t know which is worst at this point.

“God, will this car go any fucking slower?” She grits her teeth as another person honks their horn at Ji-Eun to let them through. “Why do they have to live so far away in the ass crack of nowhere?”

“They’re only 15 minutes away from us…”

“You better watch your mouth, Kang, or else you’re walking home.” Ji-Eun scowls into the rearview mirror.

Seulgi slouches back in her seat, no longer feeling the need to belt out the last notes of the song as it comes to an end. Angry Ji-Eun’s a side to the usually cherubic Ji-Eun that should never see the light of day no matter the circumstances. You busy yourself by scrolling through your Instagram feed, liking a couple pictures from your friends back home and laughing silently at some random dog videos that pop up in-between. Your scrolling comes to a halt, your thumb hovering hesitantly above the heart button of a certain photo.

If it wasn’t for the owner of the account, you would have found the courage to double-tap.

“Oh, isn’t that Kim Taehyung?”

“It is…” You mutter quietly, ignoring the close presence of Seulgi’s face near yours.

You’re desperate to scroll past, but Seulgi reaches her hand out to hold your phone.

“You should go for him, Y/N!” Ji-Eun whistles when she catches the picture of his selfie from the corner of her eye. “I heard he and Sooyoung already broke up, so you got a shot.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up in a half-assed smile. As if.

“They broke up already?” Seulgi asks curiously as she hands you back your phone. “I could have sworn that they were messing around together a couple weeks ago.”

There goes your fleeting moment of happiness.

“They weren’t really a thing, I’m pretty sure.” Ji-Eun pauses in thought. “They hooked up a couple times, but I think they’re just friends or at least just in the same friend group.”

You silently stew in your seat, clicking out of the app and locking your phone. Thanks to Seulgi, you’re aching to burn the image of Sooyoung wrapped around Taehyung from your brain. Not that you’re jealous, of course.  

Ji-Eun sighs in relief as the sight of the house comes into view. After parking precariously on the side of the street, Seulgi rushes your trio inside and through the living room teeming with drunk college students and into the kitchen to grab the first drinks of the night. You twitch your nose at the stench of musky cologne, hormones, and hard liquor intermingling as you approach the bartender of the night who just so happens to be Seojoon.

“Hey guys!” Seojoon chimes as he finishes up mixing Hyungsik’s drink who stands cross-armed against the wall with a look of boredom directed at the three of you, mostly at you. “I was wondering when you’d be getting here.”

“When did you get here?” You greet him with a short side-hug, stopping to glare at him until his traveling palm averts its course from your ass.

“Hyungsik and I got here beforehand to help set up.” Seojoon nods towards the brooding man in the corner. “Jisoo stuck me with this job, and now I can’t leave until the party’s over or at least until I’m forced to go out to buy more alcohol for these heathens.”

You scrunch your nose in annoyance. “That doesn’t sound fun. Why can’t they do it themselves?”

Seojoon clears his throat. “I quote, ‘because getting dicked down by the hottest guy in the room is the main priority of the night’.”

“Hear, hear.” Seulgi nods distractedly.

You smack your hand against her bicep. “Can’t you think without your genitals for a second?”

“Y/N…sweetheart.” Seulgi pats your cheek as if you’re an innocent child. “You must not know me at all.”

“Nevertheless, ladies, please enjoy the party.” Seojoon pulls you back before you can take a swipe at your best friend. “Y/N, I’ll be seeing you later.”

Seojoon clicks his tongue suggestively, reveling in your eyeroll and not-so discreet middle finger. After grabbing your drinks, the three of you head towards an empty corner of the room, away from the concentrated cloud of marijuana and crusty men who crave a quick grope.    

“Dang, was the dick that bad?” Seulgi scoffs jokingly. “Maybe if you’re not interested, you can spare a little bite...”

“Wait, since when you and Seojoon a thing?” Ji-Eun’s eyes widen.

You subtly glare at Seulgi’s apparent struggle to hold back her knowing laughter before turning to answer Ji-Eun with the most innocent look imaginable.

“I don’t know where Seulgi gets her delusions.” You smile through gritted teeth. “Seojoon and I hanging out from time to time does not equate to us fucking.”

Seulgi lets out a snort. “Something smells fishy…I think it’s your va—"

She squeaks in pain when she feels the stab of your heel into her foot. The music drowns out most of her cries of distress which Ji-Eun fails to notice. She takes a large gulp of her drink, grimacing at the strong aftertaste of the mostly-vodka mixture.

“God, I want to sue Seojoon for making us this terrible drink.” Ji-Eun stares at the cup with utter hatred in her eyes. “Seriously, it tastes like straight-up ass paired with off brand Caprisun.”

“I second that notion.” You swallow back a gag as the concoction slips uneasily down your throat.

“Me three.” Seulgi grimaces but forces herself to finish the content. “I’m undoubtedly puking later, so I’m going to go off and find some nice dick before that happens. Tootles!”

You silently devise a plan involving bear traps and superglue as you threaten to bore a hole through the back of Seulgi’s head with a scorching glower as she blends into the crowd in search of her next friend with benefits, leaving you to deal with the most infamous lightweight of your friend group.

“You okay?” Ji-Eun questions curiously.

“I’m fucking fantastic.”

“Y/N, I love you.” You remain stone-faced as the drunk girl leans against you with her entire weight. “You’re always so good to me, and I love you for that. I’ll make it my mission in life to help you find a boyfriend, okay?”

Her arms are like spaghetti, and her knees knock together in an attempt to keep straight. The cup once clutched in her hands is now dumped in a random corner of the kitchen, but you shrug it off as Seojoon’s responsibility. He did make you terrible alcohol after all.

“Hyung, n-no, I’m not d-drunk.”

You momentarily glance up at the voice, suddenly blanking out at the figures slowly approaching your corner of the room.

“Oh God, please turn around, please turn around.” You desperately pray as they inch closer.

Much like your situation, Taehyung struggles to hold his unmistakably intoxicated friend – Jungkook or something along those lines – in an upright position. He mutters angry words that were inaudible to you into Jungkook’s ear, but the boy keeps trying to shove Taehyung away.

“I w-wanna go party-y!” He hiccups. “They’re p-playing beer p-pong without me.”

Jungkook twists his body to make a run for the living room, but his own clumsy feet send him back to square one in his friend’s arms. You can see Taehyung roll his eyes as he hauls Jungkook’s heavy body towards the row of chairs where you’re forced into cuddling an equally drunk Ji-Eun.

Taehyung fails to recognize you until your uncomfortable shifting in your chair lets out a shrill squeak. When his gaze settles on you, you notice that his entire body freezes. Heat rushes to your body as his eyes trail over you in a bizarre manner – almost as if he’s scanning you to make sure that you’re actually there and not just a figment of his imagination.

Before you can muster up the courage to utter one phrase to the boy, he turns to the side to tend to Jungkook who’s stuck mumbling and drooling, much like a newborn baby. There’s an itch in the pit of your stomach that begins to bother you more than you’d expected it to. You feel an obligation to say something over to Taehyung – at least something along the lines of “Drunk friends, am I right?” – but you decide to push aside whatever tempts you to say something.

Between the choices of not saying anything and not having Taehyung know who you are or uttering your sentence and making a complete fool of yourself, you’d prefer the latter by a long shot.

“Um…is she okay?”

Your head shoots up in surprise. Taehyung allows his friend to lay on his side across the row of chairs, taking up the entire space while he’s forced to cram his body onto the tiny chair a seat away. Your gaze trickles down to Ji-Eun who mirrors Jungkook perfectly, completely passed out and drooling away on your lap like there’s no tomorrow.

“She will be.” You abruptly clear your throat. “She’s always like this at parties, so it’s nothing new.”

Taehyung nods in agreement. “Same, I’m always stuck watching over all my friends which is why I didn’t really want to go to this party in the first place.”

“Ugh, same!” You groan as you cradle your forehead with a palm. “My friend Seulgi’s no help either. She’s probably off choking on dick in one of the guest rooms right now while I’m stuck here on babysitter duty for someone older than me, for fuck’s sake.”

When Taehyung answers with an awkward cough, you’re hit with the sudden realization that maybe you shouldn’t be so open with a complete stranger, even if that stranger is Kim Taehyung who you’ve had a crush on for years now.

Just a thought.

“Sorry…” You force out a laugh, sounding uncannily like a robot. “You probably don’t want to hear about that.”

“No worries.” Taehyung shakes his head. “My friend Jimin’s the same way. In fact, I think that’s them over there.”

You squint your eyes in the direction that Taehyung points towards. When you finally catch onto the sight, you instantly wish you hadn’t.

There, practically undressing each other in the middle of the dance floor with their tongues curled one another, is Seulgi and Jimin.

“Yup, time for me to burn my eyeballs.”

Taehyung giggles at the horror in your eyes, throwing you overboard into a sea of useless emotions. The worst part of it is that he’s not even trying – that’s just how he is.

‘Ugh, pretty boys.’

“You’re telling me.” Taehyung cringes. “But that’s not the worst situation I’ve caught Jimin in, so I guess we’re spared this time.”

“H-hey.” A voice hiccups from below.

You both direct your attention to Jungkook who points a shaky finger towards you.

“You l-look familiar…” The boy slurs. “Have I seen you before?”

“Nope.” You answer with a shrug. “School, perhaps?”

“N-no.” He hiccups again. “Are you a Y-Youtuber?”

‘Not exactly, kiddo.’

Instead, you reply with another shake of your head. He opens his mouth as if to ask another question, but even uttering a complete sentence proves too difficult a task for Jungkook to complete. With a slurred humph, he slumps against the row of chairs again with his head resting on Taehyung’s right thigh.

“Sorry about him.” Taehyung mutters apologetically. “He rarely drinks, but when he does, this happens.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You smile politely. “That makes two of us.”

Five minutes into a conversation with Taehyung, and you’re scared of falling back into the dreaded Awkward Silence. If only Seulgi was here to save you, but she’s probably too busy giving Park Jimin the suck of a lifetime while you’re floundering to save your conversation with the cutest boy in school.

You’re suddenly thrown back into the image of you as a shy middle schooler, silently crushing on the cheery tiger hybrid in Mrs. Lee’s classroom across the hall. Those were the days before you discovered the wonders of makeup and Moroccan oil and when you would sit in the corner of the lunchroom with your eyes glued on a certain boxy smile as he laughs with his best friends and the rest of the popular kids. The lasting memory of you in his mind was probably the Kindergarten Incident with you crying on the playground after your mother dropped you off in the morning. You long to change his perception and show him who you are now, flaws and all, but you have no idea where to begin.

Curse you and your inability to socialize.

You take your time scanning through the room for a potential lifesaver or topic to blab about to make yourself look semi-interesting to Taehyung. You go to blow away a strand of hair that falls into your vision, unaware of the pair of eyes watching you softly.

Taehyung holds back the urge to brush the troublesome strand from your skin and place a gentle kiss where it used to lay.

“Hey, do you…” Taehyung choking on his words cause you to turn towards him with a raised eyebrow.

“Do I…” You trail off.

Taehyung pales as he forces the words from his mouth in an awkward splurge of word vomit.

‘It’s now or never, Kim.’

“Doyoumaybewanttogohavesomefunonourown?”  

Taehyung could almost die at your stoic appearance. Nothing in your eyes or your smile (lack thereof) gives him any clue into the thoughts churning around your brain. Just as he’s ready to give up and find an excuse to escape with a sloppy Jungkook in tow, you begin to giggle.  

Now, Taehyung’s 99.9% sure he’s about to die.

A smile plays at the side of your lip. “Alright, Kim. I second that notion. But first, let’s go find some beds for these guys first.”

It takes you roughly 10 minutes to scour the house for either Jennie or Jisoo, eventually finding the latter hanging around the poolside with Soyeon and Chaeyoung. You thank a higher power for the Kim girls’ wealth from part-time modeling that allows them to buy a house with more than one guest room. After accidentally opening up occupied rooms and getting more than a couple dick flashes, Taehyung and you finally find two empty rooms that are decently far away from the loud chattering and music blaring throughout the house. Quickly, you plop Ji-Eun down onto the soft comforter of the bed and turn her on her side, shoving a trashcan beside the bed just in case that night’s menu decides to make an appearance when she wakes up.

“All set?” Taehyung asks, a hint of hopefulness in his voice. You brush it off as wishful thinking.  

“We’re finally free.” You beam with a wide grin.

Taehyung sends you a soft smile before grabbing your wrist to pull you downstairs and into the kitchen for drinks. Seojoon eyes you carefully as you approach, curious as to your sudden acquaintance with Mr. Kim Taehyung. He knows a little bit about your not-so-little crush but holds back his questions for another time; however, it’s completely obvious that he’s holding back from making a crude sex joke in front of the two of you.

“Enjoy, you crazy kids.” Seojoon winks, sending a flood of embarrassment to your cheeks.

Taehyung eyes Seojoon with a subtle glare, one that you barely notice but one that Seojoon senses immediately. You’re none the wisest towards the display of dominance, but Seojoon notices it all – from the way Taehyung subtly puffs up his chest to the growing feral glint in his eyes.

“Kiss my ass, Park.” You hiss when you snatch the cups away from Seojoon’s fingers.

“Gladly, sweetheart.” Seojoon purrs back without missing a beat.

It takes all of Taehyung’s inner strength to force his irritation down to an unnoticeable level of annoyance. Even then, his bad mood is still visible to anyone who dares to look closer. After grabbing your drinks from an amused Seojoon, you begin to guide Taehyung out of the kitchen to head back upstairs.

With your back turned, Taehyung chances a dangerous snarl at Seojoon. The older raises a hand up in surrender, but the aggression does nothing to deter Seojoon. If anything, it just makes him even more pleased than before.

Oh, how he can’t wait until you finally become a couple.

“Sorry about him.” You apologize meekly as you two head onto the balcony connected to an empty guest room in the farthest part of the house. “Seojoon can be a little annoying when you first meet him, but he’s actually not that bad.”

“Ha, you’re telling me.” Taehyung mutters annoyedly.

Before you can question Taehyung’s irritation, he’s already chugging half the cup’s contents down his throat. You hold back your disgust for the taste as you follow in Taehyung’s footsteps and gulp down the fiery alcohol. You’ve already developed a small buzz from your first round of drinks, but you feel yourself slip into a more relaxed state with your second.

“So, Miss Y/N…” You lazily turn your head. “Tell me a little about yourself.”

The two of you rest your elbows on top of the balcony railing, inviting the cool autumn breeze to blow across your skin and through your hair with a gentle caress. The party music is muffled behind the glass door of the balcony, but you can still feel the bass thumping within your chest. You hum for a moment as you rack your brain for something, anything interesting to say.

“There’s not really that much about me.” You shrug. “I’ve lived here most of my life, and I plan on leaving once school’s over to explore the rest of the world. My two best friends are Seulgi and Ji-Eun, just not tonight...and that’s all to me really. I guess I’m just an open book with a little too many blank pages in-between.”

Taehyung nudges his elbow to your side. “Ah, there’s more to you than that. Surely, you like to do fun things. Unless you’re one of those boring people whose favorite show is Jeopardy and likes to go to the mall just to walk around.”

“Hey, Jeopardy is a great show, Mr. I-Have-The-Mental-Capacity-Of-A-Walnut.” You retort jokingly.

Taehyung laughs wholeheartedly at your teasing jab. “Okay then, fair enough. I’ll take your word for it.”

The moon beams down on your figures as you continue to chatter about random topics and sip on your disgusting drinks with only a small grimace. Little by little, you learn more about Taehyung’s passions in life and what he wants to do after graduation while he learns more about your friendships with Seulgi and Ji-Eun and all the horror stories from freshman year. You share giggles and playful nudges as if you’ve been friends for decades.

Every sip from your cup sends a tingly buzz that fills you from your head down to the tips of your toes. Your bright eyes grow lazy with a familiar drunken glaze, and you find yourself leaning a little closer into Taehyung’s side.

It’s when you finally make eye contact with Taehyung that he makes the first move.

Your bodies move in an almost fluid yet messy choreography, your lips latching onto one another in utter desperation. Taehyung quickly parts your mouth with his tongue to finally taste the hidden sweetness hidden within. His large, veiny hands slip down from the sides of your face to clutch your hips against his body, forcing your hands to rest against his broad chest.

“Want to go inside?” He pants when you eventually separate for a breath.

“Please.” You whine urgently.

You squeak in surprise as he grips your body with one arm while the other slams open the balcony door leading into the guest room. In a blink of an eye, Taehyung drops you onto the comforter and frantically suctions his lips to your jawline, creating soft marks on your supple skin and kneading the soft flesh near your inner thighs. You bite back a moan as his lips trail down your neck and towards the cleavage of your top.

“Take this fucking thing off.”

Without missing a beat, he rips your top over your head and returns his mouth to the valley between your breasts. Taehyung’s pleasantly surprised at your braless form, and he can’t help but brush a thumb across before replacing it with his tongue.  

“T-Tae…” You sigh airily as he circles around your nipple, drawing them to a hardened peak and leaving thin traces of saliva on your skin. “P-Please.”

“Relax.” He coos into your ear. “This is all for you. You just lay back and enjoy it, my little kitten.”

“I’ll enjoy it once you’re inside of me already.” You whisper coyly, your hands tracing down the curve of his spine and down towards his ass. “I want you to fill my pretty pussy up with your come already.”

With one look into his frenzied pupils, you shrink into yourself as though you’re some meager prey hybrid with a bloodthirsty predator chasing after you.

Oh, how you love it.

He peppers a series of small kisses down your stomach, his movements slower than before. He wants to make you feel as frustrated as he does whenever he watches your videos and yearns to reach through the screen to feel your body against his.

However, with the real thing’s in front of him, his biological urge to mount you and pump you full of his kittens starts to overpower his original plans of taking things slow.

“Fuck, you smell so good, baby.” Taehyung groans as your excitement seeps through the fabric of your jeans. “I can’t wait to taste this sweet little pussy. My little kitten’s been waiting so long for me.”

Your muddled thoughts fail to form into coherent words as Taehyung’s tongue slides across from the top of your pelvis and down towards your core drenched in your excitement. He relishes in your whiny moans at the ticklish flicks he gives your swollen clit, noting cockily how your nails grasp at the bedsheets with reckless abandon and how your toes curl in delight at the warmth filling your bloodstream.

“Are you all wet just for me, kitten?” Taehyung murmurs, cheeks completely soaked from your excitement. “You taste so good, baby. So sweet.”

“Y-Yes, I’m all wet just f-for you, baby.” You whimper as his tongue licks larger stripes against you. “P-Please, Tae, I want you.”

“Want me where?” Teasing you is quickly becoming his new favorite pastime.

“I-Inside. Please, I want to feel all of you.”

“Isn’t that a little too easy?” Taehyung clicks his tongue as he wipes away the excess slick from his chin.

He holds in his shudder when you pull his hand towards you to envelope the come-stained fingers inside your mouth, moaning in delight as you taste yourself.

“I-I think I n-need something in return before your little pussy can earn its treat.”

Taehyung is quick to unbutton his jeans and shrug them along with his boxers onto the bedroom floor. The tip of his cock drips small strings of pre-come onto the sheets, reddened and sensitive to the touch. You quickly discover this when your small fingers reach forward to briefly tease around the head with the pad of your thumb.

“Open up, sweetheart.” Taehyung bites down onto his lip as he guides the first two inches inside your awaiting mouth.

You moan at the salty taste that you’ve grown to love that coats your tongue, sucking lightly for the first few seconds before hollowing your cheeks and applying more pressure with every stroke. Taehyung hisses as your mouth sinks even deeper, nearly driving the head into the back of your throat.

“You’re so good to me, huh?” Taehyung lets out a low moan when he feels you hum in agreement, sending vibrations across the sensitive head of his cock. “Does my baby deserve to be fucked now?”

Your watery eyes connect with Taehyung’s as you choke on the smooth length. Suddenly, you feel miniscule and powerless underneath his lustful gaze, but you welcome the degradation wholeheartedly.  

“Turn around, baby.” Taehyung grunts as he slips himself from your mouth. “I want to see your tight little ass when I fuck this little pussy open.”

He props you up on your elbows with your back arched as far as you can go. There’s a slight pressure in your lower back as you present yourself to him, but the discomfort is nothing compared to the uncontrollable need to finally be fucked by Taehyung. He admires the sight of your awaiting pussy, completely soaked with your come and swollen from his relentless ministrations on your sensitive bud.  

You draw out a long mewl when you feel the tip nudge your seam before pushing inside, clenching hard as he continues to bottom out.

Oh, how he loves it.  

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight.” Taehyung chuckles lowly as he begins a steady yet hard-hitting pace. “You’re making Daddy proud. His kitten’s taking his cock so well, don’t you agree?”

You smother your face into a pillow to muffle your cries, not wanting someone barging in during the fuck of your lifetime. With every hard thrust, your pussy sucks him back inside with a lewd squelch, desperate to hold him there whenever he tries to retract. His fingers are sure to leave marks on your skin in the morning from the way he’s grasping your hips for dear life. .

You fuck yourself almost every week, and yet you’re still the tiniest hole Taehyung’s ever had the pleasure of fucking. It entices him to continue his thrusts, in hopes of absolutely ruining you and filling you to the brim with his seed. His mind floods with images of you overflowing with come, carrying his potential kittens deep within and yet, still demanding for more.

This daydream alone has Taehyung stuttering in his movements and nearly blowing his load before you can squeeze around him in your own mind-melting pleasure. You have to come first, and Taehyung would be damned if he ruins that for you by acting like a pubescent boy who came in less than a minute to his very first porn video.

“Taehyung…” You cry pathetically. “T-Touch me.”

He’s quick to follow your orders, rubbing at the bundle of nerves between your legs with two wet fingertips and earning a sharp “F-fuck, Daddy!” in response. Your body threatens to curl inward, and you force yourself to grip onto the pillowcase instead of onto Taehyung’s thigh to force him to fuck you even harder.

He wants to feel you absolutely fall apart with his cock splitting you open – and fall apart, you do.

A surprised hiss escapes the tiger hybrid as you spasm underneath his body, your euphoric release dribbling onto the sheets below. Your claws that unsheathed a second before your orgasm have shredded through a good portion of the pillowcase you buried your face into. It’s not long until Taehyung’s hips lose their rhythm and suddenly, you’re filled with copious amounts of his warm seed.

All for you.  

“F-fuck, kitten, you made Daddy come so much.” He admires the sight of your completely battered pussy as he goes to pull out, stuffed to the brim with his seed that slowly starts dripping out. “Stuffed full of Daddy’s kittens. Such a good girl.”

You sigh in relaxed pleasure as he starts cleaning around your entrance with a skilled tongue, a strong hand massaging each cheek. There’s something satisfying about the fact that Taehyung’s tasting himself which seduces you into pushing through the overstimulation by twisting your hips in tight circles to aid him in his taste test.

“You little—” He laughs as he lands a light smack to an ass cheek. He groans internally at how it jiggles under the force, drawing a tiny moan from you and a string of come that seeps from your used pussy and down your thighs.  

Before he can treat himself to another taste, you flip over and grab at his neck. “My turn.”

Taehyung nearly falls forward on his face when you connect your lips together, your tongue sliding through for a mixture of your releases. They’re still both salty and bitter on your palate, but you’ve gotten used to the taste by now. If anything, Taehyung makes it taste even better.

As you sink further into the mattress deep in the kiss, Taehyung lifts himself up to pull you onto your side. You let out a tiny squeal at the sudden shift in position, especially when his lips tickle the crook of your neck with a trail of wet kisses.

“Now, sleep.” Taehyung kisses your cheek before nuzzling his face into the back of your neck.

“Weirdo.” You purr groggily before succumbing to the inevitable fatigue that seeps into your bones and muscles.

Once you’re deep in sleep, Taehyung leans closer for a better glimpse of your face. Your skin’s still flushed red and sweaty, but you still look like an angel in Taehyung’s eyes. The entire room smells of come and sweat, but he can still sense your unique sweet scent of your skin, and it pains him to hold himself back from tasting some more. The stress that wrinkles your brow is smoothed out and replaced with a peaceful expression, one he sees quite often during your streams after you finally fall back down from your high.

Taehyung is finally brought back to reality when his ears pick up incessant cheering from drunk patrons outside by the poolside accompanied by loud EDM blaring from the outdoor speakers. He ignores them all with an exasperated wrinkle of the nose, and instead he chooses to savor in the warmth radiating from your body that just so happens to fit perfectly against his own – just like pieces of a jagged puzzle.  

Taehyung smiles. You’re finally in his arms, and he doesn’t want to let go.

[fhimechan]

Merman AU - April

This is the 12th chapter of my AU where Hannibal is a merman and Will is a human, started because of @brokenfannibal​ and @my-soul-and-perfume​ :) I’m also tentatively tagging @bonesandscales and @limonium-anemos, who are under no obligation to read :D

Tumblr is still formatting my posts as it wants so please forgive me if something’s amiss. Another warning is that I didn’t ask anyone to beta, and since this month is long, I didn’t check preposition by preposition as usual… Keep reading with kindness 😅

[Prologue]   [June]   [July]   [August]   [September]   [October]   [November]   [December]   [January]   [February]   [March]

Jenny comes to pick him up in his house in a small van with the shop’s logo. She waves cheerfully from the car, but when Will hops in she frowns. “What did he do now?”

Will was sure he had been able to dissimulate his emotions when he was  a cop. But maybe, and he blinks at the realization, he didn’t have friends. And he’s about to put his friend in danger, involving her into his not-yet-planned rescue.

He sighs. Instead of answering, he says, “If you take me there, I’ll get you in trouble.

Jenny takes a hard, long look at his face. She nods. “I’ll do it. Anything you need to know?”

Will swallows around the lump in his throat. He will repay her, take the blame. Maybe pretend he forced her, if worst comes to worst.

“What are we carrying?”

She starts the engine, and adamantly refuses not to smile. “Some sort of fancy underwater recording device. Looks like a huge mic. George takes mermaids seriously.” She winks. 

Will thinks. They’re bringing Hannibal a mic. Sounds promising.“Oh, a plan is coming, I see it in your eyes. Do I have a role in it?”

Will blinks. He should really try to hide his emotions better, but at the same time being read like that is weirdly reassuring.

“Would you pretend to faint in front of George?” The familiar name is weird on his tongue.

She considers it. “Okay. I suppose it must be bad enough that he has to carry me home, to my meds? Possibly I should cling to him so it doesn’t occur to him to send you?” Her expression is very incongruous with the seriousness of the situation. “What? Don’t you think I had an emergency strategy to get out of school early?”

Will snorts in spite of the worry.

-

The house is visible from the road, suspended at the top of the cliff in the twilight light. It’s dark and imposing, straight out of a fairytale, or a nightmare. It’s currently empty, a cursed home calling for his lost tenants.

Then, as they come closer, the lights lit, and Will is back to the here and now. 

They must have already transferred Hannibal inside.

-

There’s only George’s car outside, which is good. The captors must have come by boat. George himself opens the door. When Will says “Jenny…”, worrying his shirt and breathing heavily, George is out and running to the car before Will could even finish his sentence. He knows he should feel ashamed at his act, but the guilt is nowhere to be found as George gives him vague indications about where to leave the equipment and speeds down the hill.

Will blocks the gate with the van, so that George, or anyone else, won’t have an easy access to the house, then heads inside with the box containing the microphone.

The house is completely silent apart from some distant voices. Will follows them to a room where three people are fussing with some sort of equipment. Will thinks he remembers two of them from the cruise.

Beside them there’s a stunning tank, which covers the entire wall of the room, dominating the assorted soft sofas and small tables currently covered in cables and assorted instruments. The tank is lit from inside, and the small spotlights shine over a number of colorful fishes.

In the furthest corner of the tank, there’s Hannibal. Will didn’t see him at first glance because he’s curled on himself, impassive. His rigid stance screams of fear.

Will realizes he has frozen in place and steps over the threshold, towards Hannibal, forcing himself not to fret or to look anything but surprised. Not angry, not nervous, not worried.

As soon as he enters the room, Hannibal’s eyes snaps to Will, and he straightens. Will ignores how the other people turn to him, because the burning red in Hannibal’s eyes is unfocused, and his emotions, usually hidden under the surface, are bare. Hannibal is burning with fury.

“Oh, the mic! Thank goodness!”

Someone takes the box from his hands, as Will’s anger builds. He has expected to find Hannibal drugged, because how else Hannibal would have ended up trapped? But even if rationally it makes sense, it’s still infuriating.

And they have him only because he saved me, Will thinks.

He fakes a charming smile. “Why! Was it real then? A merman?”

The three people start to talk at the same time, too excited to pay attention to what Will is doing. He advances towards the tank, giving his back to the rest of the room.

“After a month of searching, we found him during our surprise visit…”

“What a surprise, indeed!”

“Can’t believe our luck!”

Will is tempted to smash the glass and let the water flood the room. Hannibal would attack them and they would pay for taking him away.

Hannibal smiles slowly at him, pleased, ready to lunge.

Instead, Will signs, “I’ll take you out.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrow.

Apparently, the microphone is expensive enough to be assembled in record time, because one of the men, still chatting, pushes a ladder to Will’s left. He climbs to a small panel above the water, where he can enter the long arm of the mic into the tank.

“Finally we can discover if it’s sentient.”

Hannibal’s eyes widens when recognizes the device. Calculating. Cold. The drug isn’t slowing him down; if anything, it’s bringing out his instinct.

Hannibal is in the water. He could order them to do anything. He could tell the men to kill each other with the cutter they have used to open the box, or maybe with their bare hands. He could tell Will to kill them.

Will feels a thrill of anticipation at the though.

Plausible deniability. A kill outside of his control. The satisfaction, without the guilt.

Will could show the knife to Hannibal and let the events unfold, following his urge to kill whoever tried to separate them; or he could tell the man to stop, not to lower the mic, giving away his chance of breaking him free and stopping Hannibal’s murders forever.

What he does instead is a leap of faith. Because he wants Hannibal, and he doesn’t want to kill innocents, and he must at least try to have both. He signs at Hannibal. “Please. Don’t. I just want to stay with you.”

I don’t want to live with the guilt every day for the rest of my life.

The mic splashes into the water. Hannibal swims closer, looks at Will.

“Please.”

Hannibal’s eyes still burn, but part of it belongs to Will. He speaks.

“Will, if you may, cover your ears for a moment.”

Will does. Hannibal’s mouth moves, and the men blink, confused, then their eyes unfocus and they lie down on the floor, staring unmoving at the ceiling.

Will’s legs fold under him. He smiles.

“You…”

Hannibal looks annoyed. Yeah, well, he just didn’t kill three people, must be exhausting after a lifetime of violence. Will giggles. He suspects it’s a bit hysterical.

Hannibal frowns. “Stop being silly and let me out.”

His voice is warm and low, and Will loves how it comforts him. Will is still smiling as the orders kick in, and the smile widens when Hannibal flinches. The order was accidental. Oh, well, Hannibal’s drugged, he can’t be perfect.

Will has to stop moving, in spite of the order, because he doesn’t know what to do.

He giggles again. “How did you get in there?”

Hannibal growls in frustration, and it shouldn’t be that funny. “I don’t know. You’re the human, do something!”

The order kicks in again, and Will laughs aloud. “I’m doing something, Hannibal. Breathing.”

Before Hannibal loses his last shred of patience, Will looks around. After a small search, he finds it. Hidden under a wood panel, there’s a smaller tank which can be attached and detached from the main one through a watertight seal.

The seal is currently open, so Hannibal hops in, somewhat uncoordinated, and glares at Will, daring him to joke over it. Hannibal is out of the reach of the mic now.

Operating the controls of the seal isn’t difficult, but it isn’t easy either. Will sobers up, starting to worry. How much time has passed? Surely at least half an hour. How much time left do they have?

Hannibal is sitting on the bottom of his small tank, simply watching Will as he fumbles to get the container moving. The tank can move directly into the internal elevator and down the cliff, or at least it could if Will managed to pull the right lever.

Finally, the engine buzzes to life and the tank slips sideway, on its way to the elevator. Will smiles and turns to Hannibal.

He has less than a second to register how Hannibal’s eyes are wide and savage and how he is pressing his body against the glass, before two arms are choking him from behind.

Will kicks, enough to conquer a mouthful of air, but the arms strengthen around him.

“What did you do?”

George’s voice is almost unrecognizable for the rage. Will understands it. Discovering Jenny is lying, walking into his house, his friends on the floor, Will stealing his his prize. He knows how he looks like.  George is strong, and Will’s arms grow more and more uncoordinated, as his blows don’t seem to obtain any result. He wants to apologize to Hannibal.

Something crashes, loud enough that Will hears it over the pounding of his ears. The seam of his trouser is splashed and pierced by small shreds of glass, and he can breath.

He falls to the floor, coughing, clutching his throat, and sees Hannibal. He’s lying in a puddle in the floor, wrestling with George on the ground, teeth bared, about to rip George’s throat off.

Will doesn’t think, and lunges.

He rolls with Hannibal in a mess of wet carpet and splinters, narrowly avoiding to impale his eye in a bigger shred of glass, Hannibal’s sharp teeth scratching his shoulder. He is remotely aware of some steps fading away, when Hannibal bites deeper and the skin breaks. Will stops struggling. He tilts his chin down and sideways to look at Hannibal.

Red splattered on his face, unfocused red on his eyes. Dangerous. Free. Alive.

Will feels alive, too.

Will smiles down at him, and says, “Thank you.”

Hannibal blinks and stares.

Then his teeth retracts, and at first Will thinks it’s Hannibal moving away, but immediately after Hannibal coughts, and his whole body trembles, and suddenly Will, scared out of his mind, is sitting with Hannibal on his lap, watching him twitch without the faintest idea of what to do. Hannibal’s tale splits into two legs, his skin loses the green undertone. Will doesn’t care, focusing on Hannibal’s ragged breathing, willing him to be okay. He holds Hannibal as he changes, until his breath are regular and there’s a man in Will’s lap.

A man, Hannibal, who doesn’t leave Will any time to process the event before flinging himself outside of the door, as if called by a distant voice.

Will can only raise and run after him.

Outside, the sea is screaming in the otherwise quiet night. The moon lits the angry waves, letting Will see the outline of each single drop, even if between him and the water there’s a fucking long dive.

Hannibal stands at the edge of the cliff, staring at a single boat who’s running away in the distance. His whole body is tense, ready to jump.

The pendulum swings, and Will sees Hannibal as a kid, centuries before, on that same cliff, watching his sister’s killers escape, summoning the power to chase them. The past and the present overlaps perfectly.

Will’s heart breaks. Hannibal’s going to leave him, picking once again revenge over humanity.

Will reaches out. “Hannibal…”

Hannibal turns, his eyes dart from the ship to Will and back to the ship again. George is running away and soon he’ll be out of sight. There’s only a tiny, small shred of doubt in Hannibal, and Will doesn’t know how to reach him. He wants to say that George won’t be believed, not without a merman. Not without witnesses. He won’t be believed when the police will discover his friends are alive and passed out on the floor.

That won’t get through Hannibal’s unfocused eyes.

So Will extends his hand, a silent plea, like he did the first time Hannibal came to him. Will knows that this is the moment. If Hannibal reaches back for him now, they’ll be together forever. If he doesn’t… It hurts to even think about it.

The first time Hannibal has reached out, he has been curious. Will can only hope now he’s committed.

Hannibal stares at the hand without blinking, and his eyes clear.

Then, a step forward, away from the edge. And another. And another.

Their hands touch again, and Hannibal is still cold as the ocean, inevitably breaking through Will’s barriers to his core.

Will doesn’t know what he’s saying, but he grips the hands harder, then he clings.

Hannibal whispers into his ear. “Yes, I’m taking you home.”

——

[Epilogue]

This is the end of the main story, next month there’ll be an epilogue… and then it’ll be done! Thank you for reading! ♥ 

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 17

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: ongoing fic; we try to update twice a week, more depending. Tag list? We have one. Hi friends! Requests?

Warnings: Lots of Roger-esque swearing

Abstract: Roger wants to make the speed of light out of this place; Deacy and reader share a hot space.

Roger Taylor knew what was going on here. During his thirty-some years, he had discovered the hard way just how easy it was to underestimate a man with an insanely high emotional intelligence; underestimating him tended to occur more often than he’d like to admit. He frequently wondered if it was his appearance, his high-pitched voice, or his talent that made people think he was just another pretty face, some blond model with no brain. That couldn’t be farther from the truth, and he had fought his entire life so far against that ill-assuming tide. He was shrewd. A multi-instrumental musician, songwriter, fashion icon (he’d like to think, anyway) should be well-respected among his peers. Maybe it was his temper? He was in touch with his emotions more than anyone else he knew; Freddie frequently said he was the emotional equivalent of a night at the opera. Roger couldn’t dispute this. He was proud of his emotional range and stubbornly believed his emotional prowess linked strongly to his emotional empowerment and vulnerability. For his emotional transparency was vulnerability of a very specific sort: even if he wasn’t sharing it with anyone in particular or sharing it with everyone in particular, it was still targeted, specific, and intentional openness.

For a man so deeply in tune with the emotions of the people around him and his own emotions, it was a new experience for him to find himself not united with his own current desires and his self-imposed limitations. This was causing him serious problems. Everything related to an emotional state for him. It was his core. Emotions were the road map he used to understand his own existence. Right now, he had either lost the map or torn it up in a fit of anger. His carefully created veneer of denial was crumbling. And try as he might to glue the delicate pieces back together, he was failing at every turn. Denial, an emotion like any other, was his shield. Denial protected him from what he was not ready to feel, confront, and process. As anyone who knows what it’s like to live a predominantly emotional life, it is exhausting, and safety measures, escape routes, and panic rooms must be utilized to keep the peace.

The ability to hide emotions until the appropriate time to deal with them was part of having a high emotional intelligence. Some people couldn’t read other people’s emotions to save their lives; you put a gun to Roger’s head, and he’d be able to identify the emotional ranges and feelings of anyone around him; he’d make a great foreign agent, he thought. The FBI, maybe; he could profile a bitch faster than most people took to tie their shoes; this was because of his perceptions and emotional intelligence; sure, Brain was just brilliant, but could he read a room’s emotions and play everyone in it? Probably not, Rog figured. The ability to recognize when certain emotions were right for certain situations was his wheelhouse. This didn’t mean he paid any attention to what he knew was appropriate, however. Having knowledge and using it were two vastly different things. Half of the fun was to be found in reading a room full of people, knowing what they wanted or expected, and giving them the exact opposite, giving them what they didn’t even know they wanted, and changing their minds with the swagger of his emotional charm: this was power. And it was better than any drug, and almost better than sex.

Right now, however, Roger had little control over himself and his own emotions. Reading the interior of his mind and heart, every alarm was going off in unison: FLY AWAY RUN AWAY.

This was Lydia’s fault, he angrily thought. Sure, being in touch with his emotions didn’t mean he was always honest about what he was feeling. Especially regarding love, falling in love, being in love…. No—

That’s not what’s happening here. Fuck that, he thought very loudly, trying to convince himself. Focus. But not on her—not on Lydia. Fuck. Bloody fucking fuck. Focus on Deacy and Y/N.

He placed his hands on either side of the door frame. One up higher, one down lower. He wore his too-fancy-for-the-occasion black tuxedo stripe pants, his too-dressed-down-for-the-occasion white classic tee shirt, a pair of over-worn high-tops, and what could only be a black fur coat of Lydia’s. It smelled like her, and he savored--NO NO savoring fucking nothing here. He peered at you and Deacy from behind his sepia circular prescription sunglasses. He was, essentially, too cool to be allowed. Roger Meddows Taylor was synonymous with illegal behavior. His blue eyes popped out from his tinted glasses as he surveyed the scene before him.

He effortlessly read the emotions on both of your faces. Every glance you and Deacy sent each other, every hesitant touch, every “accidentally” intentional touch, every unspoken word was a clue for Roger, and he was a bloodhound. There was a dreamy quality to your olive eyes that smacked of infatuation and confusion—no not confusion, Roger thought. It was more of an ignorance is bliss kind of emotional vacuousness he associated with early, blind love. He tried to not roll his eyes and tried desperately to not think of Lydia, with whom he was having his own blind feelings—STOP that bloody well right now. Deacy has this hopeful dewy glow that had nothing to do with sex and sweat. Pure joy, Roger thought. Pure fucking undivided, maybe even not fully registered, joy. Ah, to be young and in love—Roger banged a fist on the door frame, suddenly. His smile still stays on, whatever happens pain and fury would fuel his waning denial.

Roger saw your flushed face spark a look of concern at the quick eruption of his fist speaking what he would not give voice to yet. He continued to take in your haphazard dress and twisted tights, and Deacy’s barely zipped pants, and felt a keen sense of deja vu. We’ve already been here tonight. Get a room, he thought, he’d like to get a room with Lydia. Maybe every room. WHAT the fuck is wrong with me? He hated himself more than he hated the idea of Deacy’s new Queen record. He smashed his fist into the door frame again. Fuck. Focus. Fuck.

These details, NOT HIS EMOTIONAL DETAILS, he reminded himself, your clothing and glancing details, HOWEVER, told him a lot about you and your night. He hadn’t even had to witness it first hand, and he knew the landscape of your night like he knew every wink, every breath and beat of every time signature.

It was clear to Roger you both hadn’t actually had full on sex yet. Sure, you had experimented, licked and touched, kissed and felt, but he’d put serious money on the fact you hadn’t been penetrated and Deacy hadn’t cum. Fascinating and boring simultaneously. That’s got Deacy all over it.

He and Deacy liked games, similar flavors but completely different goals and power structures. Deacy’s was inherently equal with delaying of certain actions, while Roger favored a flat out war of equals where everyone got precisely what they wanted assuming, of course, they could negotiate it. Both had a hard time finding compatible partners because of this. It was easy to settle, especially for Roger, for a night of climaxing fun with a beauty just to feel close to somebody. Yet, it was never as fulfilling as sex with someone who wanted what you wanted too.

Lydia could negotiate her way around a room full of cats, or room full of blind people without breaking a sweat or running into anyone or setting anyone or any cat off course. She was good. Fantastic. Challenging. Formidable. Roger was a sauntering sapient, a fucking loudmouthed, dirty disaster. The denial kept slipping away from his talented grasp. God, I know we don’t talk, you tend to mess things up, but fucking help me, he thought. FOCUS.

If you and Deacy had actually had sex, he figured, you two wouldn’t be pawing at each other whenever anyone turned around or left you alone for more than a few minutes. Your and Deacy’s emotions were spilling out of your hands; he had seen it before. Fuck, he was going through it himself. Right now. In front of you and Deacy. Fuck, he thought.

“What—No self-control, mates?” He said, shaking his head at the two of you, while his own voice slightly shook, higher than normal.

“Coming from you that’s a laugh.” Deacy retorted.

Roger grinned, walking up to you. He sweetly and shamelessly planted a chaste kiss on your cheek. He turned to Deacy and mock-begrudgingly placed a kiss on his cheek. “Do try to get some sleep, children.” Leaving between to you both, he flashed a peace sign (best case scenario, worst case he was telling himself to fuck off) behind him as he walked down the stairs. Instead of his rainbow-sequin blazer, he had acquisitioned a fur coat, you recognized as Lydia’s; it was high summer, yet here he was, fur coat and all. Roger Taylor was the anomaly of a sudden blizzard smack dab in the middle of June.

The Blond God would try to control even the seasons, you thought. Maybe he already did. You couldn’t tell if his behavior had been erratic or normal, so you weren’t particularly concerned, and Deacy didn’t look worried, so you decided to let it slide and ignore it.

“I live with Lydia.” You explained to Deacy, satisfying the floating, unspoken question in the air. “And if I thought when I woke up this morning Roger Taylor and John Deacon would be in our apartment, I definitely would have done the dishes.”

Deacon laughed, kissing your cheek, “dishes are overrated.”

“Did you just claim my cheek back from Roger?”

“I did, yes.”

“Jealous?”

“I prefer possessively keen.”

“Is it okay if we do a tour later?” You asked, entering your apartment with a laugh. “I’m exhausted.”

“I’m more interested in your bedroom.” Deacy confided. “I can't stop now that we’ve started the whole thinking out loud confiding in each other thing.”

“It’s like I’m living in my own sitcom.” You said, swerving Deacy past several room towards the very back of the apartment.

You paused at the door to your bedroom, your sanctuary. Sharing this space had always been excessively private for you. You were about to let a man into the most secret areas of your life. He’d be free to explore and witness all the hidden dreams and trinkets to which your entire existence amounted. It would make you an open book, in a sense. This was a big step. And it was happening the same night you met.

Deacy, sensing some of this on your face, said “Before I owned my own home, my bedroom was all I had. Letting someone into that space took time for me. We don’t have to go in there if you’re not ready. The sofa would be accommodating, I’m sure.”

“I’m ready. It means a lot to me, this space. Sharing it with you will be my honor. I'm just trying to remember if I tidied up before leaving for the party…”

“Well, m’lady, when you see my home I’m sure you’ll understand just how little I care about neatness.” Deacy had affected a bow and brandished the door open for you.

Turning on the light, the first noticeable piece of furniture was your upright piano. Tried and true it had been your friend through many sleepless nights, more than you could count. There for you when no could understand you, when words failed you, there was always this: you could return to the music, and it would save you. You had a makeshift desk, a rather large dining room table in a corner. It was strewn with sheet music, text books, and a rotary phone. You had an enormous blackboard hanging on the wall behind your large bed. Musical notations were scribbled on it in half-asleep hurried handwriting. To the right of it on the wall was an even larger bulletin board with more stable notations pinned to it. You had a deep plum-colored armchair next to a window with a high stool next to it serving as an end table. A old cup of tea was resting on it from earlier in the day; several tabloid magazine rested under the cup. A record player was in the corner by the door, several albums rested in a very wide floor-to-ceiling shelf next to it. It was the tallest, largest piece in the room. A collection built over careful years of curating your tastes and passions. A bench in front of the bed had a rustic conifer-colored throw on it. The bedding was deep maroons and rusty oranges. Several dresses were layered on the bed, some inside out some discarded. The window was open, and slight breeze made the gauzy curtains twirl in the very late night, or exceptionally early morning. The floors were a dark-colored hardwood, with a simple beige area rug to finish it off. The closet was insignificant compared to the colorful and varied clothes covering the floor of it, obscuring several pairs of shoes while doing so. It was your favorite room in the apartment, besides the kitchen, and the bathroom’s fantastic antique claw-foot tub.

Deacy hadn’t said anything yet. “I know it’s not much,” you said, “but it’s mine and—“

“I love everything about it. It’s everything you love and are perfectly condensed into one space. I’m not sure what I expected, but this is you; it’s flawless. If you find me in the middle of the night looking at your record collection, you can’t blame me; it’s better than my own.”

“I get that a lot.” You laughed. Deacy gave you a look, one eyebrow raised, all innocent curiosity. “Oh, not from men I’m sleeping with, just people who know my interests and have heard of my collection.”

“Your collection is quite prodigious…” His hands fluttered past a row of plastic sleeve covers, making that all too specific soft clicking sound.

“You were gonna add for someone my age, weren’t you?” You asked playfully.

“I was and thought better of it; ten years isn’t too much.” He added, softly touching a few keys on your piano.

“Not to obsess over, no; and, I’ve decided it doesn’t matter to me.” You smiled at him, putting an end to that topic hopefully for the duration. “I don’t really have any pajamas for you to wear. Turn around while I change into mine?”

Deacy looked at you like maybe you were joking; his eyes squinted and his face angled as if trying to detect your humor through his chin. He put his hands over his eyes, then peeped through them slyly yet obviously.

“Really! Deacy! We haven’t seen each other naked. Close your eyes!” You were laughing as you said it, though you were quite serious. There was something sacred to preserve here, you thought. Some innocence to be stolen away if he saw you naked now and not during intercourse. It would be so anticlimactic for the first time you see someone naked was when they were struggling to put on their flannel bottoms, and not during some all out sexual to-do. He obeyed this time, to the letter, and kept his eyes shut until you had finished changing. “Okay, you can look now.”

He opened his eyes and smiled at you in the same way he had been smiling at you the first time he saw you: he was captivated. You were wearing a matching flannel set. Nondescript and routine. Yet he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Was that love, he thought?

He began undoing his necktie, making sultry eye contact the entire time. He placed it on the armchair. He methodically unbuttoned each button of his blue shirt, removed it, and placed it on the armchair. He had a white tank top on under it, and that he kept on. He removed his black oxfords and red jeans next. His polka-dot boxers where sufficient pjs, you thought. Decorum was satisfied this night, though for how much longer, you weren’t sure. It would be hard enough to sleep in a bed next to Deacy without trying something. You had little hope you’d make it through the night.

You began removing the clothes from the bed, tossing them in your closet. You turned down the bed together and climbed in together.

Deacy reached out and took one of your hands in his, and happily held it, waiting to see if you had anything else to say besides your sleepy good-nights. You turned to him, moving in close, draping a leg across his, and laying your head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around your waist, breathing in the scent of your hair, and twirling a strand in his nimble fingers. Your soft snores were the only music he needed.

Tag List: @obsessedwithrogertaylor @triggeredpossum @groupiie-love @richiethotzierz @phantom-fangirl-stuff @partydulce @sophierobisonartfoundationblr @psychostarkid @teathymewithben @smittyjaws @just-ladyme @botinstqueen @mydogisthebest @little-welsh-wonder @maxjesty @deakysdiscos @yourealegendroger @marvellouspengwing @molethemollie @deakysgirl @arrowswithwifi

[yoon-kooks]

Witch Hazel- Pt.1

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader 

Genre: FanficWriter!Jungkook, Idol!Reader, College!AU, Angst, Fluff 

Summary: There are two students in your art class with a secret: you and the quiet Jeon Jungkook. You’re a problematic idol singer, infamous for your ice cold reputation and perpetual resting bitch face; he’s the artist and author behind the viral comic series based on a certain ice queen idol. After a blowup of destructive rumors, lost motivation and inevitable solitude, you stumble upon Jungkook’s comic and find a new and unexpected light.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: none

Parts: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // ?

A/N: after a million years, it’s finally here guys! my first jeon jungkook series :’)

“For homework this weekend, I want you all to sketch a self-portrait. It can be realistic or abstract, but just make sure it still represents you,” your professor says before dismissing class.

As you shove your sketchbook into your bag and pick up your guitar case, you hear one of your loud classmates, Kim Taehyung, talking with his friend who’s always so quiet in class that you don’t actually know what the fuck his name is. All you know is that he only ever wears oversized hoodies.

“Psst, Jungkook. Wanna draw my face for me?” Taehyung makes a flower pose with his handsome face.

“What’s in it for me?” Hoodie Boy throws his eraser at Taehyung to make him stop, perhaps out of secondhand embarrassment. You snicker silently to yourself as you pass by them to exit the room, but not before they mention something that triggers you.

“I’ll pay for your ticket tonight.”

“And tomorrow night, too, lol.” 

“Bitch, I’m not even going to tomorrow’s concert.”

“Then I guess you have time to draw your own face~”

“Wait, Jungkook. I’m busy tomorrow. Really. I have a date, remember?” Taehyung is basically pleading for his life at this point, and you can’t really blame him. Out of the entire class, he’s the only other non-art major besides you, so his drawing abilities are almost as shitty as yours. “And besides, we both know you could spend five minutes on the assignment and it’ll still look better than if I spent an hour on it.”

“Fine,” Hoodie Boy sighs. “I’ll take a ticket to tonight’s concert and a signed album instead. Thanks in advance.”

“Deal… I just don’t understand how you can be so whipped for an idol like Snow. She might have a nice body and a pretty face, but her personality is the worst. Even worse than Y/N’s,” Taehyung spins around to wave at you. “Right?”

“Ew, don’t compare me to her, Tae.” You give him an unimpressed face. The boy literally talks to everyone as if they’re his friend, and it kind of pisses you off.

“But you agree she has a shitty attitude, yeah?”

You notice Hoodie Boy is keeping a close ear out for your opinion on his supposed favorite idol. He accidentally makes eye contact with you for half a second before flailing around to gather his shit into his camo backpack. Were you really that intimidating to make those around you so flustered?

“Her shitty attitude isn’t the problem,” you hum as you walk away before they can bother you some more.

When you arrive home, you only have half an hour before you have to head out again. After tossing your bag and guitar case off to the side, you slip into slightly more fashionable clothes and break out your makeup bag. A quick layering of shadows, winged liner, and falsies paired with contouring and rose lip tint is enough for you to transform out of your barefaced college kid self. With a mask and your signature icy blue lens, you leave once more.

-

“You’re late, again,” your manager, Kim Seokjin, only sighs as you casually walk into backstage with a nonfat latte in hand. “I’m the one who’s going to be fired if you keep showing up late for soundcheck, Y/N.”

“It’s not my fault, Jin.” You pass your latte over to your cranky manager, who’s long overdue for another caffeine fix. He takes a sip, still glaring at you. “I was held up after class by two cute boys~”

“Cute boys? Y/N, you know you’re not supposed to be-”

“I know, I know. I’m just fucking with you,” you shrug. “All they did was ask me about Snow’s shitty personality. Oh, and apparently they’re coming to the concert tonight.”

“Don’t let them recognize you.” Seokjin finally hands you back your latte after chugging down half of it.

“I’m sure they would’ve said something months ago if they recognized me in class, Jin…” No one at school knows you’re an idol. As a matter of fact, no one in the world is aware that you, Y/N, are the idol with a cold piercing gaze and an even colder personality, Snow. No one except Seokjin, of course. He’s the only one you trust enough. “Besides, taking that art class has improved my makeup disguising skills, so don’t worry~”

“Well speaking of cute boys attending your concert, there are a few other idols that’ll be coming as well, so be careful.”

“Great, because all we need is another dumb dating rumor to get out of hand.” You’ve already experienced far too many of those in your short idol career. As an idol equally looked up to as you are frowned down upon, you’re pretty much at the center of every rumor or scandal. And it fucking sucks.

“Just try to stay positive about it, and don’t put yourself in a situation that the media can take advantage of, okay?” Seokjin has a worried look in his eyes—not for his own sake, but for yours. It’s his genuine tenderness and concern for you that keep you from walking away.

“Okay…”

The concert goes as usual. There are no technical difficulties, your vocals are on point, and nothing scandalous happens on stage. But at what cost?

Fan engagement is always kept at a minimum—the most fanservice you can offer is a split second of eye contact while you’re singing. You often wonder why anyone would want to see you perform live when there’s an invisible yet obvious wall standing between the stage and the audience. Like Seokjin advised, your company is doing what they can to ensure that their loose cannon idol stays out of any potential problematic situations.

But this distance doesn’t simply go away after your concerts. If it did, you wouldn’t be known as the Ice Queen, and your personal life wouldn’t be such a mystery to everyone. And for that, you cannot even put the full blame on the strict rules of your company. A large part of you appreciates the privacy that comes with this distance. Even if it is a little selfish and unfair to those who only wish to support you and your music.

As your concert comes to a close, you’re finally given the opportunity to address the dedicated fans who came out to see your performance.

“Thank you for coming tonight.” I’m sorry if it feels like you’ve wasted your money and time.

“A lot of you might be busy with school and studying right now, but you still made time for me.” I know because I too am a student.

“That means a lot, even to an Ice Queen.” I know what my reputation is, but please remember I’m human as well. I’m really grateful even if my resting bitch face doesn’t reflect that.

“Let’s meet again next time.” Next time, I’ll try to show a better version of Snow.

“Good night, everyone. Please get home safely~” I hope I was able to make you guys smile at least a little bit.

On your way out, you do your best to avoid both the media and the crowd. If you’re quick enough, you’ll be able to make it home in peace. Tonight is not that night, however.

You don’t even get outside of the venue before you see two familiar faces from class sitting on the stairs near one of the exits: Taehyung and Hoodie Boy. This is exactly why you never take off your makeup or lens until after you’re home where you don’t have to face anyone.

Of course it’s the loud one who approaches you. Hoodie Boy stays put on the stairs and watches from afar. You give them a halfhearted wave in hopes that that’s all they want, but of course it’s not.

“My friend is a huge fan of yours, Snow,” Taehyung lowkey pointed his thumb back at Hoodie Boy. He pulled out a copy of your latest album and a black sharpie. “Of course I love your music too, but would it be alright for me to get an autograph for him? He said he didn’t want to bother you himself.”

Usually you’d refuse. Whenever people say their “friend” is a fan, you get the impression that they’re just too ashamed to identify themselves as a fan of you. Like they don’t want to be associated with the kind of idol that you are.

But you’re certain that Taehyung is telling the truth since you heard that same promise being made earlier in class. And you know how shy Hoodie Boy is. So just this once, you’ll allow it.

You take the boy’s album and pen. “What’s your friend’s name?” You want to know, not only so you could write his name out, but also so you could stop calling him Hoodie Boy.

“Taehyung,” he says in a rather hushed voice.

“Taehyung?” That asshole. You glance over at Hoodie Boy just for a second. He’s busy taking pictures on his phone—not of you, but of the now empty venue. You feel bad, but there’s not much you can do besides sign the album to “Taehyung”. As you hand back the album, an idea pops up, “May I ask what your name is?”

“Me? Uhh-” You catch Taehyung off guard. “It’s Jungkook.” The name sounds familiar to you.

You nod and pull out a spare album from your bag to sign for Jungkook. You even decide to get a little fancy and draw a cute heart next to his name, just to spite Taehyung. “Here,” you say, looking back at the real Jungkook once more, only to find that yet another unwanted visitor had appeared. In moments like this, you question your decision to become an idol despite hating the attention.

Quickly you shoo away your classmates before the media shows up. You wouldn't want there to be another “misunderstanding”. The other boy now approaching you is already more than you’d prefer.

With his bleached ash blonde hair and an expensive yet casual fashion, you recognize him as fellow idol, Park Jimin, aka Korea’s Sweetheart. If you’re the devil, he’s most certainly an angel.

You’ve never spoken to the boy, but you’ve seen him at music shows plenty of times and have even competed against him for several awards. The two of you are “rivals”, or at least that’s how the media loves to phrase it. To you, there is no such rivalry; it’s clear that Jimin is the likable one. Your name is only ever placed next to his to generate newsworthy content.

“Is it really a good idea to visit your rival at her concert?” You don’t know how else to welcome the unwelcomed idol.

“It’s always good to scout out the competition,” Jimin shrugs, going along with your unfriendly greeting. “But for real, the concert was a lot of fun.” He glows with sparkles in his eyes. You can’t deny he has the most gorgeous smile.

“I’m glad…” It’s reassuring to hear compliments, especially from a fellow idol. But at the same time, you know Korea’s Sweetheart would never say anything rude—even if he feels differently. He’s perfect, after all.

“Anyway, I heard from the boy in the black hoodie that you’re handing out free autographs?” Jimin tries to point back at Jungkook, but he and Taehyung have already vanished. “I thought you were notorious for refusing autographs?” He pokes fun at you, but not in a way that annoys you like Taehyung had.

“They were bothering me and that was the easiest way to get them to leave,” you explain in half-truth. “Should I give you one too? It’d be better for you to leave before the media shows up.”

“Only if you have a stash of albums hiding in your bag.”

“I don’t.”

“Why did you happen to have one with you?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“I’m just curious. Idols don’t just carry around their own albums like that.”

“…My friend gave it to me,” you say after a moment of hesitation. That isn’t a lie, but a vague truth.

“Your friend gave it to you as a gift, and you just gave it away to a stranger?” Jimin chuckles, amused by you for whatever reason. “Living up to your reputation as Ice Queen, huh.”

You narrow your eyes at him. You hate when other people call you that, and you hate it even more when they aren’t wrong.

“I’m just kidding, Snow.” The way he smiles while speaking is so mesmerizing that you almost forgive him. “I know you did it with good intentions. And because of that, those two boys were able to leave here with a smile.”

“Good.” Your expression softens. “Anyway, did you need something or…?”

“I just wanted to say hi before heading home,” Jimin shook his head. “But let’s hangout some time, yeah?” He waves farewell and leaves before you can properly reject him.

On your way home, however, you take the time to consider the boy’s offer again. Truthfully, it would be a nice opportunity, especially since you don’t have any friends besides Seokjin. Plus, Jimin is pretty fucking attractive in your eyes.

But the conclusion you come to remains the same. There’s no way you can say yes.

By the time you finally return home, it’s late, you’re exhausted, but you still have that self-portrait to draw. In all honesty, you’re quite jealous of Taehyung who has a friend willing to do the work for him. If anything, Jungkook should draw your face, since you were the one who ultimately ensured that he got his signed album. But that’s just you being salty.

You pull out your sketchbook and pens and stare into the oval mirror that hangs from your bedroom wall. Your eye makeup is smudged, your dark circles are prominent through the fading concealer, and your eyes are as icy as ever. To finish your homework as soon as possible, you don’t overthink anything and just draw what you see. At this point you just want to get it over with so you can roll into bed and laze around.

“Finally~” you squeal about an hour later, plopping yourself onto your bed in your pink penguin pajamas. You’re always in a more cheerful mood after taking a shower, so you snuggle up under your blankets and take the time to check up on social media before dozing off. This wouldn’t be the first mistake of the night.

According to the latest news that has blown up on Twitter, you’re apparently dating and fucking Park Jimin, who made a special trip just to see you, his secret lover. How. Fucking. Romantic. You laugh because you notice a confused Jungkook with his hoodie and album in the shadowy background of the tabloid photo. But other than that, you’re pissed.

You want to post a tweet to express your outrage over the dumb rumor, but those kinds of messages need to pass through PR first, and you’re sure as fuck your company’s not going to approve of anything you have to say. As always, they’d just rewrite your statement in a more civilized manor, and at that point, it’s no longer your words.

So instead, you move away from the toxic hellsite that is Twitter and move somewhere a little more tranquil. You wish you could just find a few posts about fans who enjoyed the concert—that would be enough to set your mind at ease. It isn’t easy, considering all of the positive posts are buried beneath the massive amount of shit you’re getting for sleeping with the Park Jimin, but you eventually reach a cute blog post.

“guys! i saw snow tonight and shes so pretty😭💕”

“her vocals? fUCK. yes pls”

“also she might have rbf but shes super sweet ok”

“btw new fanfic coming tomorrow bc i was suddenly inspired lol👋”

You’re not sure how to feel about being the central subject to someone else’s fictional fantasies, but you do really love that you’ve inspired this person. Being able to have a positive impact in someone’s life; that was perhaps the deciding factor for you to walk the path of an idol. You only hope that this rewarding feeling can outweigh all of the bad.

Before closing your eyes, you check the name of the blog: jk.seagull. What a funny name, you giggle to yourself. But at least there’s someone out there who’s able to make your cold-hearted soul laugh. And for that, you’re as grateful to that person as your fans are to Snow.

-

7:27AM jinnie❤️ “We have to cancel today’s concert.”

7:28AM jinnie❤️ “There have been multiple threats made against you overnight after that rumor broke out, so we believe this is the safest thing to do.”

7:31AM Y/N “at least now i have more time to spend with my boyfriend park jimin~”

7:32AM Y/N “(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻”

7:33AM jinnie❤️ “Y/N, just take it easy today, okay? I’ll keep you updated on everything.”

7:35AM jinnie❤️ “Let me know if you want to talk.”

7:40AM Y/N “can you come over now?”

7:41AM Y/N “and can you bring another album please?”

You roll out of bed much earlier than expected to change out of your pink penguin pajamas and into sweats. Usually, you’d kill time by scrolling through Twitter, but since you aren’t in the mood to see all of the death threats, you decide to check up on that jk.seagull blog instead. You’re delighted to see that there’s a new post waiting for you. It’s a comic of some sort.

The first thing you see is a cute drawing of a pouty magic girl with bright blue eyes and a tiny snowflake in her palms. You’ve never seen fanart of Snow before, but you’re pleasantly surprised by the amount of detail and effort put into the drawing. It looks a lot like you, except cuter.

What impresses you even more is the storyline of the comic. Snow is a powerful ice witch who wishes to protect the world from evil. The only problem is that the world fears her and bans her from using magic. Rather than shunning the world that has shunned her, she decides to find new ways to be a positive light for others without the use of magic. She decides there are other ways to be a hero.

You want to keep reading, but there’s a knock at your door.

“Ooh, pancakes~” you sniff the plastic bag of sweets that your manager hands to you as you sit him down on your couch. “Thanks, Jin~”

“You’re in a rather good mood, despite all the shit that’s been going on,” Seokjin says, putting a warm hand against your forehead to make sure you’re not sick.

“I just read an interesting fanfic.”

“You read fanfics?”

“Not usually, but this one was super cute by this funny person named jk.seagull.”

“jk.seagull? He’s a pretty popular writer and artist for Snow fanfiction, you know.”

“How would you know that? Are you saying you read smutty fanfics about me, Kim Seokjin?” you smirk.

“I never said anything about smut!” He gets overly dramatic whenever you tease him, but you always find it adorable.

“So anyway, has anyone addressed the dating rumors yet?”

“Jimin apologized for the misunderstanding, but that’s all so far.”

“We shouldn’t have to apologize.” You take an angry bite of the pancakes. “I’ll deny the rumor, but I’m not going to apologize for something that didn’t happen.”

“Look Y/N, I understand, okay? But you should at least relay a statement to PR so you can clear things up on your end.”

“Just tell them I’m sorry for interacting with another human and I’ll never do it again.”

“Y/N…”

“What, Jin? It’s bullshit. I can’t do anything without it being twisted into something scandalous and getting a shit ton of hate for it. And the company isn’t even trying to help. The only reason they want me to apologize is to save their own asses, not mine.”

“Then what do you want to do?” Seokjin speaks in his calm voice.

“I want a break,” you sigh. What’s the point of being an idol if you’re doing more harm than good?

“I’ll ask the CEO on your behalf,” Seokjin pinches your cheek. “So cheer up.” He hands you the album you requested before heading out to give you some space to think.

The rest of the day is spent being a sad potato. You honestly don’t mind the threats or rumors by themselves, but what irks you is the fact that you’re not the idol you hoped to be. You’re not a light that people look to when they’re feeling down. You’re not someone who’s made a positive impact on the world. You’re no one’s hero.

You pick up your phone and go back to jk.seagull’s comic and reread everything that’s posted so far. You’re not sure why, but it’s as if this comic understands you—not just you as Snow, but also you as Y/N. The only difference is that the Snow portrayed in the comic is a much better version of yourself; a version you’re not sure you can achieve.

One other thing you don’t yet comprehend about the comic is the title: Witch Hazel. Who would ever name a story after skincare products? Then again, who would ever name himself jk.seagull?

After looking over Witch Hazel once more, you’re finally done being a sad potato and log back onto Twitter. You link the comic to tweet and post it out to the world. No caption is attached to the tweet. You want the comic to speak for itself.