#this is a fun question and you are the first one to ask it ever

[gotta-winwin]

nana tour seungcheol x reader

a/n: this was a request asking for seungcheol during nana tour - it deviates slightly but i hope it'll still satisfy the itch! we love ourselves a loyal man who knows what's up.

(1)

You supposed Seungcheol not being able to follow his group mates to Italy was a blessing in disguise. Of course, you knew how disappointed he was, watching as he bid farewell to them as they boarded the bus, waving goodbye with a melancholic look on his face. 

“I’m sorry you can’t go.” You mumbled against his shoulder as you leaned against him, looping your arms around his waist, careful not to knock against the crutches on either side of him. “Italy sounds fun.”

Seungcheol had always been the sacrificing type. “It’s okay.” He assured you, pressing his lips against the top of your head as he spoke. “It means I get to spend two weeks concentrated solely on you.” 

(2)

You could tell Seungcheol was taking full advantage of his two week break, trying to do anything and everything he couldn’t with his busy schedule. Lounging on the bed as you watched him game, you couldn’t help but snap a few photos to commemorate the moment. It was rare to see Seungcheol this relaxed, with nowhere to be and nothing pressing to do. He was purely just Seungcheol, your gentle giant of a lover and protector of your heart. 

(3)

Seungcheol makes it his own personal mission to complete your checklist of places you’ve never been with your boyfriend. It doesn’t matter if the two of you will be recognized in public, he’ll rent the damn museum if he has to. The two of you spend the two weeks doing every cringey couple activity Seoul has to offer, as he tries to make up for all the times he’s had to choose work over you.

(4)

You find it hilarious when Na PD calls you instead of Seungcheol for one of his quiz games, quietly shushing the boys on the other line as you flip the camera, Seungcheol asleep with his arms draped over your stomach. He’s snoring away without a care in the world as his members laugh through the screen. You answer whatever silly question they had been given to guess, thanking Na PD for bringing the boys on their first real vacation since debut. 

(5)

You’ve always said that your boyfriend also had a boyfriend. Since you had ever known him, Seungcheol and Jeonghan had always come as a pair. One could not exist or function without the other, this being evident as you would often walk into Seungcheol facetiming his other other half. Jeonghan had also cheekily given you the job of sending him what he deemed as a ‘Cheol selfie’ per day, claiming that it wasn’t fair you get him all to yourself and that he deserves compensation. 

(6)

The night before his members were due to return to Korea, Seungcheol had pulled you aside, distracting you from your book as the two of you laid in bed, the sky outside already a dark shade of blue. 

“You know I love you, right?” He whispered, snaking his arms around your waist like second nature. 

Of course you knew. He never once gave you even a moment to forget. 

“You know I love you more than anything, right?” Seungcheol nosed against your stomach, his face pressed against the bare skin of your waist. “And that I’d quit this job in a heartbeat if you ever asked.”

He knew you’d never ask that of him though. “I started loving you knowing that your job and its odd hours came with you.” You reminded him. “I know what I signed up for.”

“These past two weeks made me realize I want more.” He mumbled. “I don’t want to never be home when we start a family.” 

Your lips curled into a smile, looping your fingers through his hair. “You’ve thought of that?”

Seungcheol nodded against you, tugging you closer. The vows you had made each other, even silently, echoed soundlessly around the two of you. 

Seungcheol would choose you over anything in the world. 

[celestiamour]

hi again i rlly liked ur headcanons for choi su-bong x shy fem reader and i was wondering if u could pls write headcanons of him x foreigner fem reader? ty and have a good day 🫶

ft. choi su-bong x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧foreign! reader┊0.5k words

contains: headcanons!! reader’s native country is unspecified but she speaks her native language and english while studying korean! 

➤ author's note: alright, this is the last for the short specific reader headcanons, the next thanos fic will be an actual one-shot <3 

╰₊✧ notices you immediately both because you’re a cute girl and because you stand out in a crowd like he does. korea has a very homogeneous population, so people tend to take notice of you quickly. he probably greets you with a casual “what’s up” and decides right then and there that you’re going to be friends or maybe something more, you don’t really have a choice in the matter because people who stick out like you should stick together! he doesn’t mind if you’re shy because of your broken korean, he’s a master of language and wordplay and will gladly help you out!

╰₊✧ because he’s teaching you stuff he already knows and isn’t learning anything, he’s actually a lot of fun to study with. he always finds a way to make it fun and easy to remember with high-fives each time you get a question right. i feel like he was an awful student who went through a lot of tutors (only during exam season when he needed to get his grades up to pass the class though), so he knows all the best tips and tricks that worked on him when he was younger. 

╰₊✧ is probably one of those guys who asks what the swear words are and what cultural insults there are. he wants to use them other people so that he can get away with saying shit to their faces without getting caught, something that he already does in english but would like to know more

╰₊✧ even if you may not fit traditional korean beauty standards, he thinks you’re so hot. might use the term “exotic” because he doesn’t know better, but he won’t use it again once you tell him that it’s objectifying. 

╰₊✧ once you two start dating, he will seriously want to learn your native language. i can see him as someone who appreciates linguistics and admires multilingual people, loving to listen to music of all genres around the world and having a pretty diverse set of favorite artists. he might pout and bitch that it’s too difficult at first, but he’s surprisingly smart when he wants to be and will be conversationally fluent in about a year (it would be shorter if he was more consistent in his studies but alas).

╰₊✧ really looks forward to visiting your home country! he’ll try his best to be as respectful as his obnoxious ass can be, although i see him being accidentally offensive a few times because he can be a bit ignorant. loves to meet fans there and would probably go out of his way to make at least one appearance there if he ever had a worldwide concert tour no matter how off-course it may be. 

╰₊✧ when it comes to meeting your family, he puts all of his knowledge to the test to win their approval (god knows he needs all the help he can get when he looks the way he does, especially if you have a conservative family). however, he doesn’t really care if they don’t approve of him as he finds it to be more of a bonus than a requirement. 

╰₊✧ 100% wants to come back during your honeymoon, maybe even have a second wedding to adhere to your traditions if you so desire it. don’t worry about finances, he’s got it all covered!

[burningcheese-merchant]

A Thought About Shadow Milk Cookie

I actually meant to make this post months ago, but I sort of let it fall to the wayside for the sake of other things. Now Blue Gatorade Cookie is coming out tomorrow and I'm like "ahhh shit I'm late" lol. Consider this a sequel/accompanying piece to the Burning Spice Cookie post

Shadow Milk always gave me a bit of the impression of being a Victor Frankenstein type. If you haven't read the book (please do, it's fantastic), then this quote sums up both the character, the story, and my perception of Shadow Milk pretty well:

"Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow."

Knowledge is power. Knowledge is freedom. Equally so, perhaps even MORE so, knowledge is fun. It's fun to learn new things. And with all of this in mind, Shadow Milk did his best to pursue the knowledge he so championed, and share it with the world, whatever it was. You give a man a fish and he eats for a day; you teach a man to fish and he eats for a lifetime. So Shadow Milk made it his mission to teach all men to fish. To teach them to read, to cook, to sew. To teach them magic, to teach them science, to teach them whatever filled the gap between. Perhaps he even went so far as to become a close associate of a certain academy, if not outright being its founder (Blueberry Yogurt Academy theorists, where you at lol). Anything to achieve the ultimate goal of inspiring others to learn and thrive as he does.

But as I said, knowledge is fun. There doesn't necessarily need to be a reason for it. Maybe Shadow Milk never actually needed one; even if there was no one left to teach, he could always teach himself, for he was always his own greatest student. And so whenever he had time, he read every book he could get his hands on. Practiced every spell. Sang every song, recited every poem, memorized every bit of meaningless trivia. Anything and everything to feed his endless hunger for more knowledge. Because it was... fun. It was freeing, to have those little burdens of doubt lifted from his shoulders, however inconsequential they actually were. And - however much he was able to admit it, to himself or to others - it made him feel powerful.

Until he started learning things no one else had before. That no one else could. That no one else should.

Maybe he learned how to peek into people's minds, and saw exactly how vapid, selfish, stupid and cruel so many of us really are beneath the façades we wear. Maybe he uncovered secrets that accidentally tore apart families, scandals that threw governments into chaos, acts of betrayal that may have started wars. Maybe one day, he learned the ultimate truth of the world; who and what cookies were really supposed to be, and what their makers really thought of them. (Not too far off from White Lily, really.)

In his desperation for solutions as well as some semblance of self-comfort, Shadow Milk just kept on learning. Kept searching for answers. Kept acquiring more and more knowledge. Because it was all he ever knew how to do. It was all he believed himself to be good for. But it was never enough. Not only did he never truly find the answers he sought - whether it be because they never existed in the first place, or because whatever he found only made him ask even more questions than before - but he just kept going down more and more rabbit holes. And he couldn't stop himself-

No. That's not true. Of course he could. He just didn't want to. Because knowledge is power, and deep down inside, he was always power-hungry. And besides that, he was just so curious. Morbid curiosity can be a terrible sin. Perhaps a small part of him, one he never wanted to give credence to, relished in being smarter than everyone else. And maybe that same part of him was also hubristic enough to believe he could learn whatever he wanted to, whenever he wanted to, just because he could.

Perhaps Shadow Milk tried to sound the alarm, so to speak. Share those great and terrible truths he uncovered with the world. But nobody listened, no matter how much they believed in and respected him otherwise. Because the truth is stranger than fiction, more often than not, and there's only so much strangeness people can tolerate. Knowing this - knowing how foolish people can really be, how quick they are to shun the truth to protect their own feelings - he looked for another answer, like he always does. Shadow Milk always had a fondness for theatrics; he wasn't just a scholar, he was a poet, a playwright, an artist. And thus, it was with these talents and loves of his that he tried to teach people what he knew. He wrote stageplays that became famous. Fantasy novels that became bestsellers. Poems and essays that were read aloud in classrooms. Everything he could throw at the wall with as much panache as possible. Because that's who he is, and that's what people are more likely to listen to. People like bread and circuses, so he gave them a whole bakery and performed every circus act himself.

But it was never enough. Those threads of truth he so carefully wove into the tapestries of his work; no one felt them. Those easter eggs he hid; no one found them. Nobody ever saw what he saw, whether he snuck it into the picture or plastered it right in the center. And so Shadow Milk came to realize that no one ever actually wanted to know the truth, no one ever actually wanted to learn anything, no one ever actually valued knowledge. All people cared about was what they could personally gain from it and nothing more. No higher purpose of any kind. Just what conveniences and inconveniences them.

And what's the point in helping people like that? How do you teach the unteachable?

Shadow Milk likely became bitter (or sour, because lol milk). Maybe he slowly began turning truths against people. Hoarding people's secrets and spilling them randomly, just out of spite (and discreetly, because he wasn't looking to be caught, and nobody was smart enough to catch him anyway). Making puppets and plays depicting people at their absolute worst, and watching them all smile and clap because they fell for it. They fell for his jokes. For his ruse. They didn't notice he was mocking them without a shred of irony or remorse. The only art Shadow Milk became interested in after he succumbed to despair was telling cruel jokes at others' expense and painting pictures for all the Dorian Grays of the world so they can keep lying and pretending they're good and that they're worth something. Because lies are all people really want to hear, right? Because it makes them feel better about their miserable lives?

I'm sure Shadow Milk tried to turn back, even if only once, for just a minute. He's smart, he's wise, he knew what the end of that road looked like. Maybe he sat up all night just arguing with himself about it. About the nature of his work. The meaning of the knowledge he acquired. The meaning of knowledge itself. What was he doing this for, really? What has he EVER done this for? Was it really for others, or for himself? What if he gained all the knowledge in the universe, then what? What would he do after that? What if he did manage to convince people, what then? What if they panic? Turn on each other? Turn on him? Were they really better off not knowing?

Was he just slowly talking himself through that door until it was closed and locked? Did he do so knowingly? Did he delay the inevitable for... for what? Did he even know that?

All the knowledge in the world didn't save Shadow Milk from falling to darkness, nor did it save anyone from the chaos he chose to wreak afterwards. Maybe knowledge never saved anyone from anything. What is knowledge, anyway? What is truth? What is deceit? The more you know, the more you realize you don't know anything at all. Maybe truth and deceit are one and the same. Maybe reality is only what you perceive it to be. Maybe life is a joke. Maybe people should just have fun. Lie all you want. Tell truths just to drive wedges and shatter hopes and dreams. It doesn't matter. It's all the same. There's no way out.

TL;DR: Knowledge is power, but power corrupts. Perhaps not all truths are worth knowing, after all. Be careful with what you learn, and what you know. And be careful not to believe yourself to be smart enough to dictate what truth and lies and knowledge are to others, for no one truly is. That kind of hubris will only lead to disaster.

(I'm sorry if some of this sounds weird or doesn't make full sense. I wanted to get my thoughts out before the update to see if it turns out that anything I say has official merit lol)

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 4.

viktorxfemale!reader mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 5,4K

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: Plot thickens! From now on, I will be dipping more into Viktor's POV from time to time. Anyways, there is a party, and you know what happens at parties.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

“One fucking evening this entire month we have free, and we have to do this,” Sue scoffed, emptying the lab bin into a giant rubbish bag. It was your turn for weekend prep, and unfortunately, there was no malicious intent behind it—the schedule spoke the truth. It just happened to land on the Friday Mel had invited you to a theatre department party.

“Which one do you want? Washing the glassware or laundry?” you asked, your mind elsewhere for the past week. Not that you needed a reminder of the night of your performance, but people greeting you with “Aaron Burr, sir” more often than you wished for certainly didn’t help you forget.

“I’m sorry, is there really not one offended bone in your body? This is gross,” Sue hissed, grimacing at the chewing gum she had to scrape from underneath the workbench.

You shrugged, offering her an apologetic glance. “I think my soul fled my body a long time ago, Sue. Also—if we do this fast, we’ll only be fashionably late.”

Sue grunted in defeat. “Fine. But! Can we at least have a little fun with it?” She dramatically pulled a small speaker out of her handbag and started the Hamilton soundtrack.

You responded with an exaggerated eye roll and a sigh, but you didn’t stop her.

At first, you were determined to focus on the task and finish as quickly as possible. But by the third song, your resolve wavered. Soon enough, you were screaming your lungs out while furiously washing beakers, joined by Sue, who was waving lab coats theatrically before hanging them out to dry.

You were so absorbed in your performance that you didn’t notice Jayce peeking through the little window in the TA’s office.

“Uh… do you think they know we’re here?” Jayce whispered into the quiet space of their tiny room, as if you and Sue could somehow hear him over the clamour you were making.

“I doubt it,” Viktor replied with a subtle smile, not lifting his eyes from the notes he and Jayce were preparing.

“Well, should we tell them?” Jayce asked, glancing at his partner, but he couldn’t suppress a giggle. When their eyes met, they both burst into laughter, snorting at the chaotic spectacle unfolding in front of them—you and Sue wreaking havoc with what had to be the worst version of Hamilton the world had ever seen.

“Definitely not,” Viktor said, shaking his head as he rose from behind the desk. He stepped up to the window beside Jayce, stealing a brief, inquisitive look at the scene before him.

Jayce shot him a questioning glance, an incredulous smile playing on his lips. “Viktor, you’re evil,” he whispered loudly, his tone equal parts amused and scandalized. When Viktor didn’t reply, Jayce hesitated before adding, a little shyly, “Should we… record this?”

“Definitely yes,” Viktor said without missing a beat, nodding a few too many times. An evil smirk spread across his face, his sharp features illuminated with mischief.

Jayce laughed quietly, pulling out his phone. They leaned closer to the window, trying to stifle their giggles as they recorded your exaggerated tap dances and overly dramatic singing. You belted out all the roles at once, seamlessly switching from one caricatured voice to another. Sue, meanwhile, danced around you, waving lab coats like pompoms in a cheerleader’s routine.

“Viktor, we kind of need to leave, though,” Jayce whispered, glancing at the clock on the wall. His expression grew worried. “I promised Mel we wouldn’t be late.”

“Well, we can’t leave now, can we?” Viktor replied, still peeking through the small glass window, the smile never leaving his face. “They would eat us alive if they knew we were here.”

Jayce groaned softly, torn between his promise to Mel and his unwillingness to interrupt the chaos before him.

“Besides,” Viktor added, nudging Jayce lightly with his elbow, “I think this… experience might come in handy one day.”

Jayce turned to him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “What are you planning in that evil head of yours?”

“Ah, nothing too harmful,” Viktor said with an innocent shrug, though his amused tone betrayed him.

You and Sue carried on with your impromptu performance, finishing triumphantly with the last song of the first act. You spun theatrically, slapping the autoclave door shut with a loud clang, while Sue hefted a giant rubbish bag—now roughly the size of an adult human—over her shoulder with an exaggerated grunt.

Still laughing and singing, you exited the room, your voices and footsteps echoing loudly through the corridors.

Viktor let out a satisfied hum as the sound faded. “Well,” he murmured, stepping back from the window, “that was thoroughly entertaining.”

Jayce shook his head, pocketing his phone. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” Viktor said with a grin, “it’s your phone that now has the priceless recording on it.”

***

The party was already in full swing when Sue and you arrived. The soft buzz of laughter and conversation drifted out through the open doors of one of the theatre department's scene rooms, spilling into the dimly lit hallway. Inside, strings of fairy lights crisscrossed the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the modest but well-decorated space. Students from various years and departments milled about, sipping drinks from mismatched glasses and occasionally breaking into animated conversations. The party felt exclusive but relaxed, an invite-only gathering of the social and the curious.

“Okay, this is cute,” Sue said, surveying the scene as she adjusted the strap of her bag.

“Yeah,” you replied absently, your eyes scanning the room. You didn’t exactly feel like you belonged among the artsy crowd, but Sue’s excitement was contagious enough to keep you from bolting. Also, Alice was going to be there.

Before you could venture further, a familiar figure waved at you. Mel. She was stationed near a small bar set up at the far end of the room, looking as effortlessly glamorous as ever in a sleek black dress. Her smile was wide as she approached, holding a glass of wine.

“You made it!” Mel greeted, pulling both of you into a quick hug. “Sue, Y/N—I was starting to think you’d bailed.”

“Not a chance,” Sue said with a grin. “Though you can thank lab duty for making us late.”

You chuckled lightly. “Yeah, but we brought the energy of ‘cleaning under duress.’”

Mel raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want to know. Just grab a drink, mingle, and enjoy yourselves. Theatre kids know how to party.”

Before long, another commotion near the entrance caught your attention. Viktor and Jayce had arrived. Viktor looked sharp as ever in his typical understated style, though there was a slight flush to his cheeks, as if the cold night air had left its mark. Jayce, on the other hand, was already waving enthusiastically to familiar faces.

“Speak of the devils,” Mel said with a smirk, watching the pair approach.

Sue elbowed you. “You think they followed us here?”

You snorted. “What, and crash an artsy party? Highly unlikely.”

As Viktor and Jayce joined your group, you couldn’t help but notice how both men exchanged glances and smothered giggles.

“What?” you finally asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” Jayce said, failing spectacularly at looking innocent. His grin widened as he glanced at Viktor, who was suspiciously quiet but equally amused.

“Seriously,” Sue added, crossing her arms. “What’s so funny?”

Viktor tilted his head, the barest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, nothing of importance.”

You and Sue exchanged confused looks but decided to drop it, instead dispersing into the party. Sue quickly made a beeline for the bar, striking up a conversation with Alice and a couple of theatre students. You, however, drifted aimlessly for a while, chatting briefly with a few familiar faces.

It wasn’t long before you spotted Ambrose. He was leaning casually against a wall, his drink in hand, wearing the same easy confidence he’d had when you first met. The warmth in his eyes made it slightly worse. You had completely forgotten about him.

“Y/N!” he called, weaving through the crowd toward you. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

“Hey, Ambrose,” you replied, keeping your tone polite but guarded.

“So,” he said, a small grin playing on his lips, “you never reached out. I thought we had a connection at that party.” He looked at you expectantly, making your stomach twist.

You shifted uncomfortably, your grip tightening slightly on your glass. “Yeah, sorry about that. Things got busy; you know how it is.” You scolded yourself for how weak your response was. You’d once gotten this kind of response from a boy, and it had hurt you deeply. Now, you suddenly understood why people didn’t bother taking that extra step to soften the blow.

Ambrose’s smile faltered for a moment before he recovered. “Sure. Maybe next time, then?”

“Maybe,” you replied, your tone dismissive but still polite.

As soon as Ambrose turned his attention elsewhere, you exhaled deeply, needing a moment to yourself. You were hoping to find Hale, but before that could happen, you slipped away from the main party area and into the adjoining dressing rooms. The lights above the vanities cast a softer, more diffused glow, and the quiet felt like a balm. You scrambled up to sit on top of one of the vanities, stealing a quick glance at your own reflection before turning away from it, letting your gaze wander across the room. Your mind raced, jumping from Ambrose to Sue and her new girlfriend—and, reluctantly, to Viktor. He looked nice today, but the glances you caught from him were, at the very least, unnerving.

“Ah, there you are,” came a familiar voice from the doorway.

You turned, startled, to see Viktor leaning casually against the frame. His posture betrayed the alcohol in his system, a slight sway giving him away. His cheeks were flushed, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and—your gaze caught on a detail that immediately soured your mood—a faint lipstick stain marked his cheek.

You raised an eyebrow, a wry smile creeping onto your lips. “Well, well. Someone’s been busy.” The words felt bitter on your tongue, and you forced a smile to stop yourself from hopping off the table and walking out. What was this reaction?

Viktor blinked, momentarily confused, before following your gesture to his cheek. His hand flew to the spot, his fingers brushing the stain as realization dawned. “It’s nothing,” he said dismissively, though the redness in his face deepened.

Your tone was light, but Viktor caught the stiffness in your smile, the way your eyes darted briefly to his cheek and then away. Was it bothering you? The idea made his heart lurch in a way he wasn’t ready to unpack. He didn’t think of himself as someone who inspired jealousy—especially not from you. Yet, the way you teased him now, your words just a shade too sharp to be entirely playful, sent a quiet thrill through him.

“Oh, sure. Just your typical party accessory,” you teased, though you couldn’t entirely mask the twinge of hurt you felt. Your stomach twisted itself into an even tighter knot as the fake smile glued itself painfully to your face.

Viktor stepped closer, his usual sharpness softened by the haze of alcohol. As he leaned in, he couldn’t help but notice how the soft light cast shadows on your face, emphasizing the curve of your lips. Lips he had stolen too many glances at tonight. How many times had he caught himself doing it now? Five? Six? More? It didn’t matter. The alcohol had stripped away the discipline that normally kept his thoughts in line.

“You seem… preoccupied,” he noted, his voice steady despite the warmth in his chest and the growing fog in his thoughts. He took a few wobbly steps toward you, his cane resting inches away from your knees, which dangled from the vanity table.

You quirked an eyebrow, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Do I? Maybe I’m just wondering if you’re collecting lipstick prints as a hobby now.”

The smirk that tugged at Viktor’s lips was faint but maddeningly confident. He could feel your gaze flicker to the stain again. Did it bother you that much? Your discomfort struck a chord in him—half guilt, half triumph. It was petty, but knowing you cared, even in this small way, sent an odd sense of satisfaction curling in his chest.

“Jealous, are we?” he asked, his tone teasing but quieter now, his accent rolling heavier as the alcohol loosened him further.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Please. I’m just concerned about your… hygiene standards.” You waved your hand around him dismissively.

He chuckled, low and warm, the sound lingering between you. His eyes darted back to your lips before he caught himself. He shouldn’t be doing this—thinking like this. Somehow, whatever this was between you had already gone beyond the possibility of remaining casual. But the distance between you felt too small, the air too charged.

“I’ll have you know it was entirely unsolicited,” he said, his smirk growing despite the twinge of nervousness fluttering in his chest.

“Mm-hmm,” you replied, narrowing your eyes playfully. “And yet, you didn’t wipe it off.”

“Perhaps I forgot,” Viktor said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “Or perhaps it’s a memento.”

Your laugh was light, but Viktor swore he saw a flicker of something else in your expression. Were you embarrassed? Amused? Hurt? He couldn’t tell, and it frustrated him more than he cared to admit.

You shook your head, fighting back a smile. “You’re impossible.” You let your head drop for a second, seeking a brief reprieve from your forced expressions, from his eyes on you. The wine burned in your stomach, and your fingers clutched the edge of the table a bit too tightly.

You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, willing your thoughts to steady. Viktor’s chuckle echoed faintly in your ears. You didn’t register the moment his hands moved to your ribs, pulling you in as he collided with your lips in a clumsy kiss. Instinctively, you spread your knees to let him closer, and he immediately obliged. One hand slid to cradle your waist, while the other kept your face close to his by your neck, his grip tight—on the border of pain.

He was hot beneath your lips, his body uncertain, his mouth greedy as if he expected you to push him away. You felt his urgency, and as your palms travelled to his hips to pull him closer, he took the invitation instantly. When your soft body pressed against his chest, he couldn’t hold back a groan that reverberated down your throat. You gave in to the kiss completely, tangling your fingers into his hair as he held you tightly, his grip on your neck unrelenting.

He wanted the kiss to be rough, rushed, and meaningless. No, he didn’t want the kiss to happen. But as it unfolded, he wanted it more and more, finding himself melting under your touch, gentle and welcoming, as if you wanted it just as much as he did. The jealousy in your eyes made him want to reassure you that the lipstick stain was nothing—just a clumsy, patronising kiss from Mel for finally accepting her invitation to something. His thoughts clattered drunkenly in his head as he poured himself into you, your body rocking underneath him, his trousers tightening, your scent assaulting his senses.

He almost told you how he had wanted to kiss you instead of handing you the phone back in his office, or during the cigarette you shared, how he had taken it from you to place his lips where yours had been seconds ago, how much you pissed him off in class, and how he had no idea what to do about it. Instead, he groaned painfully at the pressure between his legs and muttered only, “Wait,” as he pushed himself away from you.

Viktor's breath was heavy, and his chest rose and fell rapidly with the frantic rhythm of his heart. He felt the warmth of your body still pressed against his, the softness of your touch still lingering on his skin, and yet the moment he pulled back, a cold weight settled in the pit of his stomach. His hands were still trembling slightly, a mixture of desire and something darker, something unsure, gnawing at him.

You looked up at him, confusion clouding your expression. “What’s wrong?”

His mouth went dry. He didn’t have an answer—didn’t know how to explain what was happening inside him and that it was ugly. His mind was a chaotic mess of tangled thoughts that all fought each other, hurting his brain. He had kissed you, wanted you, he felt you, and the feeling was stupid, it was silly, and it was great. But now, in the aftermath, the thrill of the kiss was quickly replaced by the terror of his own compulsion.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, too quickly, trying to mask the truth. “I just… sorry, I got carried away.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked at him, almost searching for some kind of explanation. “Um, did I make you feel like I mind?”

“No,” he answered sharply, a little too sharp. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes flickered away from yours. He could still taste you on his lips, the feeling of your hands on his skin, and it made his heart beat harder, faster, but also painfully. He could feel the weight of his own indecision.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the rush of emotions made him feel dizzy. The pull to kiss you again was so strong, but so was the part of him that was terrified of what that meant. You made him feel amazing, and he scowled internally.

“Just don’t think much of it,” he said finally, his voice lower now, trying to make it sound casual, though it only made the moment heavier, dragging him lower and lower. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at you, seeing you still there, still waiting for some kind of explanation. The disappointment flickered in your eyes, and it made him want to reach for you again, to erase the distance he had just created. But fear held him back. He wasn’t used to this—wasn’t used to feeling this… exposed.

Viktor ran a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze. “I shouldn’t have—” He stopped himself, unsure of what to say next, unsure of how to make sense of what was happening inside him. “Forget it, I’m... drunk,” he muttered, almost to himself, trying to regain some semblance of control.

But the damage was done. The warmth that had enveloped you both now felt like a distant memory, replaced by an awkward silence that felt too heavy to bear.

You felt so many things at once. In the span of mere minutes, Viktor had managed to make you realise not only that Hale was right, but that you could accept it—and worse, that you wanted it. But you worked faster than Viktor. In the ten seconds it took for him to pull back and mumble his apologies, you had already played out five different scenarios of how this could end.

You were ready to pick the one where you confronted him immediately, demanded an explanation, but then Hale’s words came back to you: You were a king. And you bowed to no one.

So, you pushed your anger and hurt aside.

Sliding off the table with practised ease, you cleared your throat and left the room with a steady, measured pace, not sparing him a single glance. Back at the party, you slipped effortlessly into your role. You danced with Hale, smiled, and joked with Jayce. You had a heartwarming chat with Mel, kissed Sue goodnight as your friend fled the party with Alice, and laughed at things that, later, you wouldn’t remember.

And then, when you finally returned to your empty room, when the music and the laughter faded into silence—you cried your eyes out.

***

Sue abandoned you for the entire weekend. You didn’t mind—you completely understood the flutters of new love—but being left alone with your thoughts proved disastrous. Your ambitious plans to study for two days straight fell apart under the weight of anger, hurt, and disbelief swirling inside you. Instead of being productive, you did absolutely nothing.

You spent hours pacing up and down your room, practising scathing speeches you imagined delivering to Viktor, each one sharper and more damning than the last.

By the time Sunday evening rolled around, you decided you couldn’t stay cooped up any longer. You snuck into the lab, determined to practise the tedious exercises you’d be running through in class the next day. You were at the awkward stage of university where most students had a vague sense of the direction they wanted to take, but still had to slog through the general science classes to check them off the list.

You slouched over the lab bench, your notes scattered haphazardly under the dim overhead light. You hadn’t even bothered to change properly, opting for sweatpants pulled over your pyjama bottoms and a baggy hoodie that was far too warm for the room. Your hair was tied back messily, strands clinging to your face as you worked through a particularly mind-numbing formula. You scribbled furiously, the dull scratch of your pen filling the otherwise silent space.

When you finally set your pen down, stretching your arms above your head, the sound of the door creaking open startled you. You turned to see Viktor stepping in, his gait uneven, the weight clearly favouring his good leg. His usually composed figure looked gaunt and worn, exhaustion etched into his features.

He stopped when he saw you, his expression briefly flickering with something unreadable before he schooled it into indifference. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here this late,” he said, his voice calm but with a hint of weariness.

You said nothing, your gaze dropping back to your notes as if he hadn’t spoken at all. You ignored him entirely, scribbling a note in the margin of your paper.

Viktor’s lips twitched—whether in irritation or amusement, you couldn’t tell. He crossed the room slowly, setting his cane down carefully with each step. When he leaned against a bench across from you, the faint bruise on his lower lip caught the light, and your stomach twisted.

“I’ve decided not to trust Mel with invitations anymore,” Viktor said, a dry humour lacing his words. He gestured vaguely, his eyes skimming over the room rather than meeting yours. “After that party, I woke up feeling dreadful and can barely remember a thing from the evening.”

You froze mid-scribble. You set your pen down slowly, your head lifting to meet his gaze, your expression icy. “Tell me, Viktor,” you said, your tone sharper than broken glass. “Does Jayce breach some kind of university ethos by being friendly with us, or was it a conscious choice for you to become a wanker?”

Viktor blinked, visibly taken aback, though he quickly masked it. He leaned on his cane, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite your venomous tone. “Do you ever take prisoners?” he asked, his voice low and measured, though his eyes searched your face as though trying to unravel your fury.

“Never, it’s not in my nature,” you replied coldly, your gaze burning into his. “Especially not when someone can’t handle their shit and decides to take it out on me.”

Your words struck like a lash. Viktor’s smirk faltered, his posture stiffening. He stared at you for a moment, his tired features betraying a flicker of something raw—shame, frustration, or perhaps a mix of both. “Is it in your nature to be cruel?” he asked softly, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

He knew you were painfully right. He had completely lost control that night, panicked, and given you no chance to reconcile. He had made the decision for you. But he already knew what your decision would have been, surely. So why were you so angry?

Viktor’s hand tightened around the back of the chair he leaned on, his knuckles turning white. The room was oppressively quiet, so quiet he could hear the gears shifting in his head. You still hadn’t answered him, your jaw set tightly as if refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“Nothing to say?” he asked, his voice quieter now but edged with frustration. “It’s unlike you to hold back, Y/N.”

Your head jerked up at that, your eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m learning restraint.”

Your tone cut sharper than he expected, another small jab that landed too close to home. Viktor drew in a breath and forced himself to stay calm. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to close the gap between you or leave before this conversation spiralled even further out of control.

“Why are you like this?” he asked, almost to himself. He sounded tired, even to his own ears. “You won’t even try to understand—”

“Understand what?” you snapped, your voice rising suddenly. “That you can’t handle it? That you’d rather pretend nothing happened than admit you actually wanted it? Even though you walk around with a fucking bruise on your mouth that I left there?”

Your words hit him like a slap. Viktor stiffened, his brow furrowing as he looked away, searching for some invisible anchor to steady himself. Of course, he remembered everything. He had spent around half an hour staring at himself in the mirror on Saturday morning, ghosting his fingers over the bruise.

“You’re wrong,” he said finally, though the words came out slower, more hesitant than he intended.

“Am I?” you stepped closer, your arms crossed over your chest as though shielding yourself from him. “Then explain it to me, Viktor. Why did you do it?”

The question caught him off guard, your voice cracking just slightly at the end, and he hated how it made his chest tighten. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. Because the truth was too dangerous and too stupid simultaneously.

He shifted, leaning against the table, his head tilting as if to dismiss the gravity of your question. “Do what?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

Your expression darkened. “The kiss,” you said slowly, enunciating each syllable as though daring him to dodge the question again. “Why did you kiss me, Viktor?”

He hesitated, the silence stretching between you like a chasm. His lips parted, a dozen half-truths swirling in his mind before he finally settled on the one that felt safest.

“Because I was drunk,” he said, the words coming out more clipped than he’d intended. “It was a mistake. I let myself get… carried away.”

Your eyes flickered, just for a moment, and he forced himself to look at you, even though guilt burned behind his ribs. “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea,” he added, his voice softening.

You stared at him, your jaw tightening as if physically holding back your reaction. For a moment, he thought you might yell at him, hurl something cutting and sharp his way. But you didn’t.

Instead, you shook your head, a bitter laugh slipping out. “Right. Of course. A mistake.” Your voice wavered, just enough for him to catch it, though you quickly composed yourself.

“Y/N—” he started, but you cut him off with a raised hand.

“Don’t,” you said, stepping back from him. “Just don’t. You don’t want to give me the wrong idea? Fine. Message received.”

Your words were laced with venom, but there was something fragile beneath them. You turned away from him, picking up your bag from the desk and slinging it over your shoulder. Viktor watched you, his stomach twisting as you headed for the door.

You paused just before leaving, your hand resting on the frame. “You know,” you said without looking back, “you’re not as good at lying as you think you are.” And with that, you were gone.

The door clicked shut, leaving Viktor alone in the silence of the room. He exhaled shakily, his hand running through his hair as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. None of it. And yet, deep down, he knew he’d only made things worse.

[sapphicseasapphire]

Hi!

How do Time and Malon’s children react to the chain arriving at Lon Lon Ranch?

<3

Okayokay SO!!

Time and Malon have twin daughters named Raine and River that are approximately five years old by the time the Cryptid Adventure TM starts. Time talks a bit about his family with the Chain, but he generally keeps quiet about it. He’s worked hard to get where he is, and his life was already ruined, he doesn’t want any of this hero business poisoning his little girls. His children stay OUT OF THIS.

So the Chain know very little about them by the time they reach Lon Lon.

And the twins no absolutely nothing about the Cryptids, either.

They run out and just jump right at Time, because they missed him when he was away!!! And Malon, who is pregnant, rushes over to hug him, and everyone stares in wide eyed shock (except Wild, who is NOT paying attention). Sky, specifically, has never seen this side of Time. He’s so gentle with his daughters, so loving.

And I think that the twins adore Sky. While Malon fawns over Twilight, Raine and River will want to see Sky’s wings up close. And Sky’s so kind! He knows well enough to separate his complicated opinions of Time from these precious children. He’ll sit with them in the sun and let them feel his feathers and he’ll tell them stories about Skyloft.

And… guys, this is a side of Sky that Time has not seen before. The mighty Godkiller playing with his daughters so happily. Telling soft stories and giving them his feathers as gifts.

Raine and River can only be entertained by Sky for so long. Eventually they’d run off to bother another Cryptid. Wind is especially cool, with his orange scales and blue fins. Plus, he’s SUCH a big brother. He recounts exciting tales of pirates and a great sea! He’s so ANIMATED when he tells his stories. Spirit even joins in and helps them find cool sticks to ‘duel’ with.

With their new cool ‘swords’ they’d run around a wreak havoc on the ranch, terrorizing the poor cows. Legend would scoff at the noise, retreating into the house with the COOLEST SWORD THE TWINS HAVE EVER SEEN. So of course they follow him. (He’s so exhausted).

And here’s what you must know about the Hero of Warriors: he SUCKS with kids. He is a Sword Spirit and he’s been trained for battle. He can predict an enemy’s move ten steps ahead of when they make it, he can analyze a conversation and know exactly what to say and when in order to get a desirable outcome, he can command armies.

But children. Are unpredictable. He hasn’t learned how to intersect with them.

So when Legend inevitably has Wars entertain the twins for him, the Sword Spirit flounders. Children do not care to discuss battle tactics. They do not care for his numbers or probabilities. He’s. Really struggling.

But he learns some valuable data! Raine’s favorite color is green, which is apparently very important. River tells him very seriously that a horse goes ‘neigh.’ Which is inaccurate. A Hylian mouth cannot properly whinny. But he stores this data regardless.

Twilight comes to the rescue before Warriors can further embarrass himself. (Does he even have the capacity to feel embarrassed? He shouldn’t). The shape shifter entertains them for HOURS, turning into any animal they can name. Which is a REALLY fun game, actually. Twilight is also a big brother, he’s so good with kids. Wars takes notes.

The whole time, Malon, Wild, Four, and Time have been in the kitchen. And FIRST OF ALL. How weird is it that Wild is inside? He’s just holding all the silverware to the light and sneaking some of the shinier forks into his hair when he thinks no one is looking. It’s not until he smells the food cooking that he actually goes to help. I swear, by the time they all leave, Wild’s got half of that house stuffed into his hair. The menace.

Four’s asking Malon One Million Questions as they cook. The more embarrassing, the better. They want to know everything about Time, mostly in a teasing manner. But also… they’re a pretty analytic type of person. Their eyes flash a striking violet as they eye their leader, asking Malon how they met, how he got so… Like That. Malon knows what they’re doing, she’s no fool. And she entertains them for a bit, but shuts down the more probing questions, often answering sarcastically and deflecting.

They have a big family dinner outside, since Sky can’t fit indoors. Raine sits on Time’s knee but River is like. Climbing up Sky’s wing. (Which is not epic, it pulls at his feathers, but he lets her because she’s cute). Hyrule, who’s been too shy to really interact much with anyone, finally comes out of his shell and offers to braid River’s hair, if only to get her off of Sky. They tell stories until the sun sets and the girls start to nod off, and then Time and Malon take them off to bed while the rest of the Chain think on what they’ve learned.

It’s… a pleasant night. Lon Lon Ranch has a way of easing their stresses. Time’s family is wonderful. If only this moment could last forever…

[brighttears]

Stranger Chapter 1

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description

Summary: Joel has just arrived in Jackson, and immediately finds out that you’re here, too, forcing him to face his former actions, speak to you again after he split 6 years ago. The ensuing argument shows a fire within you that you didn’t have when he knew you before, and he’s left reeling. 

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Angst!!! Argument, yelling, harsh words are exchanged. Joel hates himself.

A/n: chapter one lets goooo, I love writing arguments tbh so this was fun. 

series masterlist

—

Joel shifts his feet in the snow, blinking. He’s still reeling, eyes still adjusting to seeing his brother’s face for the first time in years, his heart having not ceased pounding since the group of riders circled him, still trying to breath again after the wooden gates of Jackson creaked open, when Tommy drops this second bomb on him, within about twenty minutes of conversation.

“She’s here?” Joel makes his voice work to ask, a mix of relief and dread swirling in his gut.

Grinning, Tommy nods. “You wanna see her?” 

Joel pauses, nerves needling him as the question instantly tugs at him of if you’ll want to see him. But he can’t stop himself from nodding. 

It’s been six years now since he saw your face. Six years since he left you. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever see you again, at times he wasn’t even sure if he ever wanted to again. He left because you’re better off without him. It wasn’t a pretty picture, the way he shut the door on you and walked out, leaving you all alone, to fend for yourself. He's been force feeding himself that idea to himself ever since, that he was right, that he was protecting you, but, he’s had six years to reflect, and over that time, regret has been a incessant case of the fleas. Now, he’s being thrust into its maw, about to be going toe to toe with the consequences of those actions, moments away from being face to face with you. And he has no idea what he’ll see. 

He was ready to see Tommy, he was expecting, counting on, relying on him being here. But you? It hadn’t even occurred to him, and now he has to figure out what in the hell he’s going to say as his feet carry him to follow his brother through Jackson, not even having the space to fully register the new environment around him, with its lights and intact buildings and people wearing clean coats and smiles. 

As the houses come into view and start to pass—two stories, with basically fresh paint jobs, porches with sturdy wood, some with snow dusted chairs and wicker benches, lights on in windows, real fucking houses—Joel’s hart rate spikes, each step heavier than the last as Tommy veers towards a door that must be yours. 

Your house. You have a house. 

“How long has she been here?” Joel asks, the sudden question stopping Tommy before he actually knocks and forces Joel to confront you. 

“About 9 months now.” He answers, “Actually found her in a pretty similar fashion as we did you, wanderin’ around outside, some people on patrol took her in.” 

Joel hums. So you beat him to it, huh? “Did she know you were here?” 

Tommy shakes his head. “Had no idea this place even existed. Pure coincidence. How about that, huh?” He replies with a smile, and Joel hums again, a sound deep in his throat. 

Questions start to flood his mind, of how you ended up across the fucking country, all the way from that little cabin in Pennsylvania. Maybe you just decided to go as far in the opposite direction of where you knew he was going. Is that why? Because of him? Were you thinking about him as much as he was thinking about you? He said you were alone—how long have you been alone for? 

Joel’s urgent ponderings are interrupted by the sound of Tommy’s knuckles rapping against the door, and a shot of panic bolts through his chest. 

Fuck. Shit. He still hasn’t figured out how in the hell to handle this. All he manages to do in the moment before the door opens is brace himself for a righteous blow to his face. 

When you finally show through a narrow crack of the door, wearing a wary expression, the sight knocks the breath out of his lungs. By the way your face drops, it’s fair to say you feel about the same. 

There’s a pause, the only sound a gentle whip of cold wind, and it’s the only thing that tells Joel time itself hasn’t stopped. It’s as if he’s seeing a ghost—after years of not knowing if you were even still alive… here you are. And here he is. Right in front of you. 

Joel’s heart thuds and churns and squeezes, and he swallows, willing your name out, for the first time in six years. 

There’s another pause, your lips almost mouthing his name before a sound finally comes out, quiet as you say it, “Joel.”

He almost gets chills, hearing his name in your voice again, and he’s frozen in place. But when he sees your eyes glancing around, he turns, and finds Tommy to have disappeared. Fuck. 

After a beat, you ask, tone tight, “Do you… do you want to come in?” At the obligation in it, Joel’s stomach drops. But, once again, he can’t stop himself from nodding, letting out a breathy, “Yeah.” 

When you step aside and open the door for him, Joel hesitates, the act of stepping through the threshold feeling like a step into a new reality. One where you’re back in his life. You’re alive, and you’re here. And you have a fucking house, and you’re an established part of Jackson, your jacket is hung on a rack beside the door, boots wetting the floor beside it, and you’re physically here, watching him. 

Completely lost, and cringing before the words even leave his mouth, Joel decides to make small talk. 

“Nice place.” He murmurs, though he can barely tear his eyes away from you long enough to really look around. 

“Thanks.” You mutter back, folding your arms over your chest. Once again, his heart tightens at how stiffly you address him. 

You traveled together for almost eight years. He’d met you with Tommy, at the tail end of the banding of the small group that didn’t stay intact for very long, as that usually goes. You stuck with him after Tommy left for the Fireflies, and the plan was to get to the Boston QZ, stay there for a little while, catch your bearings. It wasn’t how he expected things to go. In fact, he didn’t like you very much when you first met. You were young. Good with a knife and gun, but too hesitant to pull the trigger. Too kind. And too god damn quiet, you were always sneaking up on him. And, once you got comfortable, a bit of a buffoon. 

But you grew on him. Like a weed, like a flower that just wouldn’t fucking die, despite the fact that he didn’t think there was enough nutrients in his heart to sustain any kind of life; at least, he didn’t want there to be. He had his brother, and that was it. That was all he could afford to care about, really care about. But, when Tommy left, all of his attention turned onto you, and it made him realize how attached he’d become. How indisputably, agonizingly attached he’d become. 

By then, you made a good team. You could have life or death determining conversations through only your eyes, could read each other aggravatingly well, had traded mannerisms like baseball cards, and even cried to each other a couple of times. Being around each other 24/7 for eight years will do that to you. Something else it’ll do, too, is make Joel feel his heart is poked and prodded with needles and spikes and repeatedly hit with a bat. 

There were also, however, moments of profound softness and warmth, ones where for a moment or two, he could forget, everything other than your smile, or your laugh, or the shifting colors of your hair as the sun would shine on it, or the quiet sound of your voice, carrying a tune in the dead of night. Short moments, where everything was just, alright. Moments where he felt safe, happy, at home.

He cared much more than he ever intended, and had more than he felt like he deserved, having you by his side. His partner. His best friend. 

But now, your chest guarded, eyes wary, stance ready… you’re looking at him like he’s a stranger.

“Look… we… should talk.” He finally says. 

“Yeah.” You reply, scratching your head and shifting your weight, the near immediacy and curtness of your reply making Joel’s stomach turn. 

“Can we uh, sit down?” He motions towards the table by the stairs, almost trying to stall, because fuck, he still hasn’t figured out what the fuck he’s supposed to say to you. After a pause, you nod with a quiet, “Yeah,” going to the table and pulling out a chair, then watching him expectantly as he follows suit, feeling himself start to sweat. He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table and knitting his fingers, running his tongue over his teeth, inspecting the grain of the wood, trying to mentally piece this conversation together in his head, or at least find somewhere to start. But all he can think about is how god damn heavy the silence is getting, so he can only come up with the most obvious thing—“Look I’m, I’m sorry. For what I did.” He starts, feeling almost like he’s choking on the words. It’s easy to be sorry, hell, he’s been carrying the guilt ever since that day, hoping maybe, that somehow, someday, he’d get a chance to make it up to you, but now you’re here, and he feels like he’s drowning. Keeping your gaze no matter how much he wants to look away, he forces out, “I should’ve never… I never should’ve left you. I regret it, and I’m sorry.” 

Not even a beat goes by before you return, tone even, though he sees the way your jaw clenches, “Do you regret it because you feel guilty or because you were wrong?” 

“Both.” He answers, forcing his voice not to break as he looks back into the cold intensity of your fixed gaze. The guilt has been eating at him for six years, and though it’s always been an open debate, like a wound he’d never let the scab stick on, if what he did was wrong, he knows that at least the way he went about it, the way he spoke to you, treated you, the last time he saw you, was. 

At his response, you look down, nodding, a slight pinch between your brow, a certain tightness still present in your body language. “Alright.” 

Joel watches you for a moment, expecting more. Something, some kind of reaction, but you’re almost stoic. He can’t read you, like he always could, and it’s starting to make him feel like he’s going insane.

“Can you—” he shifts in his seat, “Can you tell me how you feel about all that?” He asks despite his fear that you might start screaming, or hit him, or just throw him out of your house, tell him you never want to see him again, because he knows that you have every right to, that he’d deserve it. 

You shift as well, eyes glued to the table. “Well… I’m glad you regret it, I guess…” The words are almost measured in a way that makes Joel’s skin itch. The air feels like static electricity. “I’m, um… glad you’re not dead. Glad you found Tommy” You add, finally looking back up at him, but that pinch is still between your brows, and that paired with your set jaw are the only things keeping your face from complete neutrality. It’s agonizingly obvious you’re holding something back, and at this point, he can’t stop himself from needling it loose. “But…?” He prods, practically on the edge of his seat. 

Looking back down, you sigh, a slight edge in your tone. “There’s no but. I’m glad you’re alive, glad you made it to Tommy.” 

Joel nods, but he can’t help but be irked by the plainness of your reply. “Y/n… I need you to be honest with me, alright? No bullshit.” He says, leaning further over the table, trying to catch your gaze. 

You sigh back, and he can tell you’re holding back from rolling your eyes. “I’m not bullshitting you, Joel—”

He holds his hand up, cutting you off. “I’m not saying you are.” He says matter-of-factly, gaze not leaving your face. “I just wanna know how you feel, how you actually feel. I know you’re glad I’m not dead, and you don’t have to say anything for me to know you think I shoulda done things differently, but—I’m not sure how else to ask,” he pauses, narrowing his eyes and knitting his brow, “You pissed at me?”

“Yeah, I’m pissed at you.” You answer instantly, expression almost offended at the question—the first spark of actual emotion he’s seen from you yet. “Of course I fucking am.”

Joel huffs, almost relieved at your directness, but he’s not satisfied yet. “How pissed?” 

There’s more bite in your words when you reply, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms, “Jesus, well I’m not about to maul you, so you can relax.”

Rubbing his hand over his face, irritation seeps into Joel’s tone. “Damnit, Y/n, I’m tryin’ to have a serious conversation here.” Immediately, he kicks himself for the way it comes out, sighing heavily. He knows he has no right to be irritated at you when he’s the one who started all of this, and that he deserves whatever reaction he’s going to get from you. “I am being serious.” You reply, “I could maul you, but I won’t.” Joel fights to keep himself from rolling his eyes this time. “Fine. Point taken. But would ya just tell me something other than you’re happy I’m not dead? Cause I can tell you’ve got more you want to say.”

“Yeah, well, it’s kinda fucking complicated.” You huff, turning your head away. 

Mirroring your stance, Joel leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Try me.” He’ll take anything at this point, he’s been thinking about this conversation for years, and he’s getting tired of the pussyfooting. 

There’s a sudden glare as you look back at him, but he still doesn’t look away, watching your jaw clench and unclench. The beat of silence only aggravates him further. “Come on, spit it out.” He insists, “Why won’t you just talk to me? Why can’t I get a straight answer outta you, Y/n?”

“Well can you give me a goddamn second to think, Joel?” You shoot back. “I wasn’t exactly prepared for you to show up at my fucking doorstep.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot I was supposed to be call ahead and schedule a fuckin’ meeting.” He returns sharply, actually rolling his eyes this time. 

“Don’t get fucking smart with me.” You nearly hiss. “You’re the one in my fucking house.” There’s a cold glower on your face now, and you might as well be baring your teeth as you press your finger into the table. 

“Oh, I’m well aware of whose house I’m in.” He replies lowly, eyes narrowing. He doesn't like how this conversation is going, doesn’t like the venom in your voice, doesn’t like how bristled he is by it—he knows he deserves it, and yet, he can’t get himself to back down. 

“Are you?” You say, eyes narrowing right back at him. “You’re in my fucking house. Mine. I fucking made it here. I know you think I’m some incompetent fucking weakling that can’t do anything for herself, and I’m sure you went through hell getting here, but so did I, and you’re the one who fucking left me, so don’t you dare disrespect me in my own fucking home.”

Joel’s expression hardens, jaw clenching as you speak. No, that’s not what he thinks, that's never been what he thinks of you! He came here to apologize to you, but you’ve twisted this into some sort of petty accusation, and he won’t have it. “I never said that. I don’t think you’re incompetent, I don’t think you’re weak, I’ve never thought that about you. I was just trying to protect you.” He shoots back, stamping his own finger into the table. 

“Oh, fuck you you were. Bull shit, Joel. You ‘protected’ me,” you air-quote, only piquing Joel further, “because you thought I was weak, that I needed you, and then you left, because you thought I was weak, because you thought that I needed you to survive, that I was just dead weight. You never respected me. And you know what? I’m glad you left, so I wouldn’t have to deal with that fucking bullshit anymore. I never fucking needed you. I hope you know that.”

“Oh no?” Joel returns, unable to keep the hurt from souring into venom, “You like handling everything on your own like a tough little soldier? Yeah, I’m sure you did great handling Infected by yourself, or the raiders, or the—”

“I did! Fuck you, Joel, I fucking did. I fucking have, by my fucking self. Don’t act like you’re the only fucking person who’s been through things.” 

Joel scoffs, raising his eyebrows. “Oh really? Is that what you’ve been doing? Surviving all by yourself?”

“Yes!” You let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “I’ve been alone ever since you left. Six fucking years, I did it alone.”

This takes Joel aback a little, anger faltering for a moment as the weight of your statement sinks in. You’ve been on your own, all this time? The realization is a little difficult to process, and it shows in his tone when he finally responds, his voice softer now than a moment ago. “…You’ve been alone? This whole time?”

“Yeah. I was.” You glare, losing no fire. “Believe it for fucking not. Who fucking cares. That’s how it fucking goes.”

Joel doesn’t like how easily you say the words, and he doesn’t like that you claim to not care. He never wanted you to be alone. Especially not for that long. Sure, he’s been alone for most of the journey to Wyoming, but he had someone in Boston. But you… ever since he left… you never let anyone in? A part of him wants to believe you’re lying, just to spite him, but he knows that’s not what this is. 

There's a pause before he speaks again, tone still much softer than yours. “You might not care. But I do.”

“Boo fucking hoo.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit.” He suddenly snaps, like your flippant, mocking response was only salt dumped onto his wound, shooting up from his seat, palms slamming on the table and chair screeching on the floor. You jump right up with him, slamming your own hand down and shoving the other out towards him, glare ablaze, and shout back, “Sit the fuck down.”

Joel fumes, clenching his jaw. He doesn’t like being talked to like this by anyone, but you… you’ve never been like this with him, even the times you have fought. There’s something about this that is completely brand new. Sure, he’s seen you pissed, hell, he's seen you fight and kill, dozens of times. But right now, you have this edge, this ferocity, and, it’s intimidating and near unnerving, but more than anything, it makes him feel sad. 

You’ve been fending from yourself for six years, and it’s changed you. 

He stays quiet, only slowly lowering back into his seat with a heavy huff. 

You sigh right back, glaring down at him for a moment more before sinking back down into your own chair. 

“I don’t care what you think about me.” You start, tone more even but no less bitter. “I don’t care if you think I’m weak, or strong, or a bitch, or a cunt, I don’t care. I’m fucking over it. Nothing you think will change a god damn thing.”

Joel runs a frustrated hand over his face, closing his eyes for a moment. Upon registering some of the effect of all those years all alone out there, seeing that there are things he doesn't know about, changes you’ve undergone, his tone is softer, though still firm. “I never thought that, Y/n. And I sure as hell don’t think you’re a bitch. Or a…what’d you say? A cunt?”

“Didn’t I just say I don’t care?” You reply immediately, still glaring, not taking the bait of the almost lighthearted tone he ends with. It’s something that would’ve made you laugh before, or at least crack a smile, but he can see that sort of approach is a lost cause at this point. He's not going to be able to jump start any sort of lightheartedness right now.

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Joel feels a wave of exhaustion, the long trek here, along with this conversation itself, has him worn out. All he wants right now is to have an honest talk with you, some sort of heart to heart, but you’re making that very difficult. So, he decides to approach it a different way, try to spark some familiarity, comfort, his eyes free from anger as he looks at you again, a soft concern written on his face instead. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

He should have expected it not to work. 

“Why the hell not?” He answers, dropping his hand from his face. Why can’t you calm down? Why can’t you see that he cares about you? That he never meant for things to go this way, to end up like this? That he’s just trying to apologize? He’s not giving up. He’s not backing down. If you’re going to keep glaring and giving sharp glares, he's going to keep trying to chip away at that facade you’ve built up over the years, find that friend he used to have. 

“Because I don’t want your fucking pity.” You spit, and now your face just looks fucking mean. 

Joel takes a deep, huffing breath, hurt shifting into irritation again, but he knows that losing his temper entirely will get him nowhere. “I’m not pitying you. I’m concerned. There's a difference.”

“I don’t need your concern. I’m fucking fine.”

“You really expect me to believe that?” He narrows his eyes, shocked that you would even try to pull that kind of bullshit.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you slap your forehead sarcastically, “I guess I shouldn’t have, I should have known that you’ll only ever view me as some baby bird with a broken wing, that I need worry and pity and a big strong man to keep me safe. Cause of course I can’t do that on my own. Jeez, I guess I forgot who I’m talking to for a second. Forgive me.”

“God damn it, Y/n.” He grits out, eyes closing, heart panging in sorrow, anger, and hurt. He’s hit with an urge to grab you by your shoulders and shake you, make you see that he just cares, that he wants to be there for you. “Stop twistin’ my words. I already said that that’s not how I see you. It never has been, and it never will be. You’re strong, you’re smart, you're capable. But goddamn it, you’re different. Now I don’t know what exactly happened to you out there, but somethin’ did, and I know I shouldn’t have left you to fend for yourself, and now that I’m here, I just want to help, for Christ's sake!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You scoff. “That is pity. You still think I need you, because—“ Suddenly, you cut yourself off, almost shrinking back. 

“No. Tell me what you wanna say. Go on. Say it.” He replies, a sour frown on his face. He’s tired of this bullshit that's been pouring out of your mouth, dying for something real from you, and it’s starting to really piss him off that you won’t just fucking say what you mean. 

You pause, lips in a tight line, before sighing, looking to the side and wiping a hand over your brow as you grumble, “This is fucking pointless.”

“No.” He says, firmer this time, gesturing with his hand as he talks, poking the table with his finger. “You’ve been dancing around this conversation the entire time, and I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of it. So just tell me.”

“No, because I’m mature enough to know when I’m about to say something I’ll regret.”

“Mature?” He grimaces, eyes narrowed, irked hard by the jab. “You call this maturity? This is cowardice, Y/n. You’re bullshitting around while I’m trying to face this shit, head on, like a fucking adult. Talk to me, god damn it!”

“Fine.” You spit, a fierce frown on your face, eyes almost wide as you suddenly lean towards him over the table. “You wanna know what I think? What I know? You need someone to need you, you need to feel like you’re protecting someone, so you don’t feel like such a fucking failure, but you’ll never stop feeling like one, because you have some perverted relationship with guilt—all this bullshit that you refuse to deal with, because you feel like you need to punish yourself to make everything right. Can you even comprehend what a load of fucking shit it is?! How you fuck up every relationship because you won’t fucking fix the one you have with yourself?”

Joel falls silent, all the anger he had just a moment ago suddenly replaced by a sort of hollowness. You may have hit the nail on the head just then. He wants to argue, wants to shoot you with a read just as raw and unforgiving, but he can’t bring himself to. 

He wants to just get up and leave, walk away from this conversation and never reopen it again. But he can’t bring himself to. 

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

He’s quiet for another moment, heart thudding in his chest. 

“Yeah. I guess it was.” He finally speaks, voice gruff. 

“Great. Glad I could scratch that fucked up, masochistic itch of yours.” You clip. 

“Glad I could be your punching bag.” He shoots back. 

“Fuck you.” You spit, face splitting back into a harsh glower. That sudden animosity back in you catches him off guard, and his heart tightens and heavies. 

But at least you’re being honest. If aggression is what’s needed to finally get it out of you, so be it. He’ll pry it out of you, and he’ll take every punch, every sharp word, every wrathful look, just to have something from you. “You gonna cry about it?” He replies, a grimace on his face, his own words make his heart pound, immediately regretting it. He shouldn’t be talking to you like this, shouldn’t be trying to be cruel to you. But the words are already hanging in the air. 

Your eyes narrow, and there’s almost an electricity about you now. Hitting a nerve seems to be an understatement of what he's just done. “Fuck. You.” 

The freezing ferocity of your tone with the almost feral anger suddenly contorting your face causes a startling shoot of fear in Joel’s chest. He’s never seen you this sharp before in his life, this level of hostile, especially towards him. Never. You’ve never been this. It’s unsettling. 

He’s quiet for a long moment. 

“You’re different.” He finally says, a bitter acceptance in his tone. It’s an obvious observation, but he can’t help but air it anyway. You’ve been through hell these past few years, that much is clear; he's sure you have every right to be the way you are now. But he can’t help but think of the girl he used to know, the girl he now believes may be long gone. 

Slowly, you lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Yeah. I am.” You respond, tone dour and icey. “It’s been a while.”

Joel nods slowly, eyes glued to you, taking in this new version. The extreme guardedness of your posture, the stony look in your eyes, that tone of your voice reverberating through him. “Yeah. It has.” He replies, voice soft in reluctance.

Silence hangs in the air for a while as Joel tries to take it in, almost at a loss for words. You’re not just different, you seem to be almost a different person entirely.

Eventually, he rubs a hand over his face, a feeling of exhaustion washing over him again. He just wants to tell you that he misses you, that he wishes things could go back to the way that they were before, to have his friend back, that he’s sorry, so, so sorry, that he’ll do anything to make it right, tell you how much he regrets it, how it’s been eating him alive. But he knows that you won’t want to hear a word of it. That you’ll brush it off as pity, spew some more bullshit about how he just thinks you’re weak, that he views you as some helpless child. 

“Well,” you suddenly cut through the silence, voice full of icy sarcasm, “this has been great. You can go now.”

Irritation immediately flares back up in him at it, and he crosses his arms. “No.” He says, face hard and determined. “I’m not leaving. We are not done here.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.” You announce, almost before he’s even finished his sentence, nodding towards the door. That feral ferocity is back, and paired with the near monotone tone to your voice, Joel gets a bad feeling in his gut. But he brushes it off, doesn’t budge an inch, arms still crossed, gaze evenly on you, expression hard and determined. 

“No.”

Suddenly, you’re lunging towards him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, catching him completely off guard. His chair scrapes loudly on the floor as you drag him out of it, his boots scuffing as you push him back towards the door. Your teeth are bared, face right in his as you seethe through them, “Get the fuck out of my fucking house.” 

Joel’s eyes are wide, unable to fight back out of pure shock by your sudden belligerence. Every muscle of his body tenses, gripped by a sudden, almost primal fear. He’s strong enough to fight back, but the wildness in your eyes stops him from doing a god damn thing, and before he knows it, he’s being thrown through the threshold of your door and out into the cold, and the door is slammed in his face, hard. 

Joel is left standing there, huffing harsh puffs of white air, heart pounding, the only thing running through his mind being, who are you?

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Garden Kisses

Summary: As humanity's first year comes to a close, you spend the night watching the only two humans pass their time. The courtship of humans moved faster than that of angels but perhaps tonight the two of you could court at the speed of humans.

“Did you like the ducks?” Lucifer asked, bright blue eyes looking back at you as he fluttered his six pure white wings, floating suspended in the air easily. “I love when they’re still babies.” 

“They’re adorable,” you laughed, smile wide as you scooted toward the trunk of the tree, giving him room to settle next to you. “I loved them most.” 

“Oh, good.” Lucifer sat, reaching forward to rock the round fruit of the tree, where it was hanging from the branch. 

No matter the season, the fruits from the two sacred trees hung, ripe, tempting, and ready to eat. The fruit if neither the Tree of Life nor the Tree of Knowledge of Good And Evil held no temptation for either angel, though the two humans walking in the distance sometimes would look just a little too long at the trees. 

“Do you ever feel bad?” you asked, poking the fruit yourself. 

“For what?” Lucifer asked, watching a fruit fall to the ground where it would rot, untouched, as each fruit that fell had throughout the first year of humanity. 

“Putting these trees in the garden?” You ran your fingers reverently over the trunk of the tree. 

Within the fruits was the cognitive ability to weigh what was good or bad, the simple ability to question and think for one’s self. It was an ability you and Luci had, the angels had, but the divine father had decided that humanity could not be trusted with it. 

“Father wanted the trees here,” Lucifer said obediently. “So, I created them here.” 

“It seems…” you hesitated before continuing. “It seems like it’s setting them up for failure.” 

“My stars,” Lucifer’s wings fluttered as he slipped off the branch, hovering in front of you. “We must have faith. Our Father knows what is best. He created man and woman in His image. They’ve resisted thus far- a whole year!” 

“You’re right.” A bright smile spread onto your face, the shadows of questioning and doubt washed away. “The humans are doing well, yes?” 

“They are,” Lucifer nodded, looking back at the two figures in the distance. Long blond hair ran down the woman’s back, shimmering in the moonlight. “I think they’re still doing thier courtship dance.” 

“Oh!” You leaned forward, nearly slipping off the branch yourself. “What does human courtship look like?” 

You were well versed in the courtships of many of the animals Lucifer had created. There were things that sounded harsh at times, but each step of the different processes accomplished a task, ensuring the animal continued to reproduce as the Father wanted and as Lucifer designed. 

“I’m not sure.” Lucifer looked down, his own bright smile faltering before he pushed it back on his face. “Our Father saw to the designs alone.” 

“Really?” This news had your wings fluttering anew. 

Lucifer was the angel of creation. Everything he made was inspired, beautiful in its own way. He was the Father’s favorite son. Lucifer had been the architect of all you had seen in the living world. The very idea that something existed in this realm that his fingers had not touched had your mind spinning. 

“They are not your children, then?” Your eyes flickered between Lucifer and the woman, how she was pulling away from the man. They had been yelling at one another most of the night. 

“No,” Lucifer’s soft hair shifted as he shook his head. “They’re our brother and sister.” 

“Does it bother you?” you whispered, once again toeing the line you both knew existed. “That you didn’t get to make them?” 

“Oh, no!” Lucifer laughed, a bright, clear sound that always reminded you of heaven’s bells. Would humanity discover bells? “It’s been fun to watch them as they discover the world and how to court.” 

“Is it much different from us?” You and Lucifer had danced around the early stages of angelic courtship for decades now, though to beings like you that was hardly more than weeks. Soft touches, lingering smiles and the simple, godly act of sharing time together had dominated the stage the two of you were at. 

“They do things faster.” Lucifer spun around, dancing in the air with the simple joy of learning about a new creation. “Courtship that takes us decades- they do much faster. They’re more physical than much of my creations have been, too.” 

“Oh?” You danced through the air with him, robes brushing against his as you drew close but never touching him. Touching was far beyond what one did at the point of courtship that you and Lucifer were at. “How so?” 

“Well,” Lucifer reached out, taking your hand up in his. 

He was touching you. His hand wrapped around yours, warm and soft. Blood rushed to your face, casting your skin in a golden glow as you looked at where your bodies touched with wide eyes. “Luci?” 

His hand dropped yours as if something stung him. “I’m sorry-” His voice came out in a high pitched squeak, his face joining yours in the burning glow of embarrassment. “We’re not- we’re not there yet. It’s too soon, isn’t it?” 

You wanted to tell him he was wrong. You didn’t mind him grabbing your hand. It surprised you, that was all. Heat burned in your hand, driving you to rub it as you timidly looked up at the man, your mentor, and crush, as he did the same. 

“What if…” You took a long, slow breath in as you tried to will the next words to spill from your mouth. 

“What if what?” Lucifer prodded. 

“What if we were there?” Your voice came out in a soft whisper, face flushed golden as you looked everywhere but at Lucifer. “What if we courted the same the humans are, at their speed instead of…” 

“Oh,” Lucifer fluttered back, unsure. 

“I’m sorry,” you quickly settled back onto the branch. “I don’t know what I’m thinking.” 

“Do you want to…” Lucifer settled on the branch next to you again, eyes trained straight ahead as he looked at the two humans. “Do you want to court like the humans?” 

Your eyes flickered, darting between the moon and stealing glances at the angel next to you. What you wanted to say was ‘yes’. The word was stuck in your throat, like some gummy piece of dried fruit. You opened and closed your mouth, trying to dislodge the word from your throat while he kept his gaze pointedly on the two humans in the distance. 

After what feels like a lifetime, you give up on making the word come out. Instead, you inch your fingers closer and closer to his. He jumped, startled, as you initiate contact. Wide eyes, as blue as the oceans he had created for your Father, snapped to you. 

“What happens now?” you timidly asked. 

“I don’t know,” Lucifer admitted, mind working. “Adam… he kisses Lilith after he touches her hand.” 

“Oh,” you couldn’t help giggling. “It takes angels a century to consider such a display.” 

“Right?” Lucifer laughed. 

“Luci?” You chewed on your lips, not really sure if you were brave enough to ask what you wanted to ask.

“Yes?” He answered simply, fingers wiggling under yours, not resting until both yours and his weaved together. 

“Have you- have you ever kissed anyone?” You kept your eyes on where your hands touched, where his fingers and yours wove into a small fleshy fabric. 

“I haven’t,” Lucifer admitted. “I’ve never even courted another before you.” 

“Never?” You breathed the word out. He was the Morningstar, the oldest among his kind. He was the Father’s favorite. How could he have not courted at least once?

“Why not?” You prepared your heart to break, to be told that none were good enough, though you knew full well that what the both of you had been doing was courting. 

“Never wanted to before.” Lucifer looked down, taking in the perfect vegetation below for a few long heartbeats. Then he looked at where your hand was intertwined with his. “How long do you think is left, until humanity’s first year ends and thier second begins?” 

“Oh.” The change in subject left you feeling off kilter. Looking up at the moon and stars above, you walked through the calculation to determine the time- not that time particularly mattered for humanity just yet. It was little more than one of the many ways the angels logged and cataloged the events of the universe. “It’s just a minute or two, maybe less, I’d say.” 

“I know what I want out of the next year of humanity.” Lucifer ran his thumb softly along your hand. 

“What do mean?”

“I want to experience live as they do,” Lucifer nodded his head toward the humans in the distance. “I want to experience the things they do. I want to court like they do.” 

“Does that mean you want to be them?” 

“I want to do the things they do. Sometimes, I want to do the things how they do it.” Lucifer was making no more sense the more he talked. 

“Are you saying you want to kiss… someone?” You finally forced the words out, sending a prayer to your Father that you were not making an incorrect assumption.

“No,” Lucifer said quickly, crushing your heart without a moment of hesitation. 

“Oh-” you tried to take your hand from his, only to have his fingers tighten. 

“No, no- that’s not what I meant.” Words flowed from Lucifer’s lips quickly. Each word blended into the other, threatening to lose their meaning. “I don’t want to kiss just anyone. I don’t want meaningless kisses. I don’t- I don’t know if kisses can be meaningless but.. I don’t want to throw them away.” 

“Then who-?” 

“You!” Lucifer rushed to answer, turning to face you with his face a bright, radiant gold. “I want to kiss you. I mean, can I kiss you? Will you let me kiss you? Oh, golly- that’s too much. I’m asking for too much.” 

“Yes,” you said simply, face glowing hot and heart pounding against your chest. “You can.” 

“I can?” Lucifer asked one last time. “Are you sure- we’ve only been in early courting for- for three years and I just touched you- things, it’s too fast for you.” 

“Please?” you asked sweetly. “You wanted to do things like the humans are. I’m in. I- I want to too. Please, kiss me?” 

“You’re sure?” He asked one more time, eyes dipping down to look at your lips. 

“I am,” you promised. 

Lucifer leaned forward, both your and his body twisting to face each other. Your eyes fluttered shut as Lucifer’s did the same. It felt like it took forever for his lips to softly press against yours. 

The kiss was short, a sweet, chaste moment shared between two innocent souls. Though you didn’t know it at the time, the kiss had started the man you loved onto the path of learning, exploring, and experiencing things through the eyes of humanity. It was a path that would lead him away from you and to his damnation. 

What you didn’t know at the moment, had no power to hurt you. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[woozinhos]

hi! I saw that you don't have that much woozi requests so I'm sending in one! 📩

i was thinking of thigh fckng with woozi (that is if you're comfortable writing it!)

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .:

You were lying in bed, feeling warm and cozy under the covers. You turned to Jihoon, who was lying beside you with his eyes closed.

"Hey," you whispered, gently nudging him. "Are you awake?"

Jihoon's eyes slowly opened, and he smiled at you sleepily. "Yeah, I'm awake," he replied, his voice still rough from sleep. "What's up?"

You smirked at him, an idea forming in your mind. "I was just thinking," you said, moving closer to him. "Maybe we could have a little fun before we go back to sleep."

Jihoon's eyes widened as he realized what you were suggesting. He smirked back at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Oh really?" he said, rolling onto his side to face you. "And what kind of fun are you thinking of?"

You leaned in closer, your lips hovering just above his ear. "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about," you whispered, your breath tickling his skin.

Jihoon's smirk widened, and he let out a low growl. "You're a little minx, you know that?" he said, his hand sliding down your body to rest on your hip.

You let out a soft moan as his hand moved lower, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"You're driving me crazy," he whispered, his lips moving down to your neck. "You always know exactly what to do to get me worked up."

"Hey, can I try something?" Jihoon asked, his lips still against your neck.

You nodded, curious about what he had in mind. "Of course," you replied, your voice slightly breathless. "What is it?"

Jihoon pulled away from your neck and looked at you with a sly smile. "Have you ever heard of thigh fucking?" he asked, his hand still resting on your hip.

Your eyes widened at his question, and you felt a rush of excitement run through you. "I have," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've always wanted to try it."

Jihoon's smile widened at your response. "Good," he said, his hand slowly moving between your legs. "Because I want to try it with you right now."

He gently spread your legs apart, his eyes roaming over your body hungrily.

You let out a soft gasp as Jihoon moved between your legs, his body hovering over yours. He leaned down to kiss you, his lips moving slowly against yours.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your lips, his hand tracing a path up your inner thigh.

Jihoon's hand stopped just before it reached your core, and he looked at you with a question in his eyes. "Can I put it close to your pussy?" he repeated, his voice rough with desire. "Just enough to tease you."

You nodded, your body already starting to respond to his touch. "Yes," you breathed, arching your back slightly. "Please."

Jihoon smirked at your response and moved his hand closer to your core, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin.

You gasped as you felt the warmth of his cock pressed against your thighs, just inches away from your pussy.

"Fuck," Jihoon groaned, his eyes closing in pleasure. "You feel so good already."

He began to move his hips, slowly at first, his cock sliding against your thighs as he created a rhythm. You moaned at the sensation, your body arching up to meet his thrusts.

"You're so wet already," he growled, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "You're making me crazy."

Jihoon groaned again, feeling the slickness of your thighs against his cock. He thrust harder, the sensation driving him wild.

"You're so wet for me," he panted, his eyes locked on yours. "You're driving me insane, baby."

Jihoon's moans grew louder and more desperate as he continued to thrust between your thighs. His hands roamed over your body, his fingers digging into your skin as he tried to control himself.

"I can't take it," he gasped, his eyes dark with desire. "You feel too good."

You could feel him getting close, his thrusts becoming more erratic and uncontrolled. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face contorted in pleasure.

"I'm gonna come," he groaned, his voice strained. "I'm so close."

Jihoon's eyes opened and he saw the smile on your face. He smirked, his movements growing even more frantic.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he panted, his voice rough. "You like seeing me fall apart just from fucking your thighs."

You nodded, your own arousal growing with every thrust of his hips. "Yes," you breathed, your hands reaching up to grip his shoulders. "I love seeing you like this."

Jihoon growled and thrust harder, his cock sliding easily between your thighs. "I'm gonna come all over your thighs," he warned, his voice strained.

He groaned loudly, his body tensing as he reached his climax. You felt his hot cum spilling onto your thighs, his cock twitching against your skin.

"Fuck," he gasped, collapsing onto the bed beside you.

You smiled, still feeling the warmth of his cum on your thighs. You turned to look at him, a satisfied smirk on your face.

"I told you I'd enjoy it," you teased, running your fingers through his hair.

[anxietycroissant]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤️

Ooh this is a fun question, thanks to @ambeauty and @erins-quinn for asking me. Truth be told, I have only ever written fan fic for The Bear, so that makes this pretty easy:

1. One night in bed, Sydney has an idea for a shared tattoo. Unsurprisingly, it’s not difficult to convince Carmy. For her it’s just an idea, but Carmy can’t wait to get started.

a tiny bit spicy 🌶️

2. and who doesn’t love a good sick fic?

What if Sydney took Shapiro’s offer and left The Bear? My timeline is shit but let’s say the new restaurant is already open and she hasn’t seen Carmy in months. Of course they reach for the same box of Nyquil under the harsh lighting at Walgreen’s when they both have Covid. What else do you even need to know?

3. What if Syd and Carmy met in the 90’s? Specifically 1997 in a suburban shopping mall just outside Chicago. Carmy’s running a second location of The Beef, and Syd is working at the bookstore. Mikey is still alive, so it’s the same but not fueled by trauma. Enjoy the fluff!!

4. Can I just say that at first glance, this story seems like it’s just gonna be super smutty and maybe hard for you to get through? But give it a chance because I promise you, it’s not really about that. 🤣 So if you’ve seen this pop up on AO3 and thought that maybe it’s just going to be an out of control sex story and skipped it, this story is for you.

Ok, to the actual summary part now: Syd has never been what you'd call a great sleeper. But lately, she's been having increasingly wild sex dreams about her business partner. She begins keeping a diary about it to gather her thoughts and courage. If she doesn't tell Carmy soon, she's going to lose her mind.

5. It’s Halloween and let’s just pretend the restaurant is closed, ok? Syd visits her mom at the cemetery. And whose grave is near Syd’s mom’s? Yeah. Mikey’s.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60208780

*I’m also in the middle of my elevator story and a longer story I’m writing with @turbulenthandholding , but I’ve been posting about those separately!

Tagging my mutuals to hopefully do the same, or if you don’t write, to share your faves!

turbulenthandholding @devisrina @sydneys-adamu @angelica4equity @doubleappled @sydneys-adamu @amieraisposting @meemalee @ambeauty @thoughtfulchaos773 @unbeweavvveable @imliterallyjustablackgirl @imbarelysorry @fpink202 @alwaysshipping1 @emilybrontay @inalltheirgorgeouscolors @moodyeucalyptus @purposechef @yourhonorthatismycoworker @falllpoutboy @hiengatheart @sillygoose375 @bioloyg @thehouseofevangelista @tvfanatic8787 @alwaysrunningoutoftime @buckybarnesowl @ppmkatie @kdbleu @mitocamdria @ciaomarie @laviejaguardia

[adult-kinda]

Obsessed

Warnings: Black reader because we’re in a drought, tooth rotting fluff, can yall tell I’m having a fun time with these cutesy little wips?

In which Jake is absolutely enthralled with you…

From the moment Jake laid eyes on you he was a goner. Your pretty brown skin caught his eye first. It wasn’t common in Korea to see someone who looked like you yet there you were in all your beauty at the convenience store. One you had turned around Jake was thrown. He swore you had the most perfect smile he had ever seen in his life. He was lucky you had the courage to ask him for an Instagram because he didn’t think he’d be able to.

Months later he finally got you to be his girlfriend after many dates and talking. Sure it was a longer talking stage but Jake didn’t know anything about you besides the fact that you were drop dead gorgeous.

When he asked you it wasn’t an elaborate thing, but he included a lot of small things about you. To be loved is to be seen and Jake analyzed you. He had all of your favorites written down in his phone ready to treat you whenever he felt like it. He didn’t care what it would cost him, Jake would bend to your will every single time.

Your courage and his down-bad antics lead you both to the present.

You were sitting on the couch finishing the book you were reading as Jake counted quietly on your lap. What he was counting, you had no clue. But he was calm so you let him be.

What finally broke you out of your concentration was the sound of some of the guys entering the dorm. Sunghoon and Jay came in laughing about something before they saw you.

“Oh hi Y/N!” Jay greeted.

You smiled and waved before returning to your book.

“Jake what’re you doing?” Sunghoon asked.

You glanced down curiously. What had Jake been doing the whole hour you were reading?

The boy on your lap didn’t bother to respond, still in deep concentration. You smiled and brought your hands to his hair.

“Baby boy, Sunghoon asked you a question.” You said.

Jake smiled at you as blush painted his cheeks.

“Nothing…” he finally answered (more or less).

“Nothing? Bro you’re clearly locked in on something! You didn’t even hear us when we came in.” Jay said.

You looked at Jake expectantly. “Go ahead, baby.”

Jake but his lip deciding if he wanted to answer. But knowing that you were genuinely curious, he wasn’t going to deny you of all people! Sunghoon, sure, Jay, yeah. But you? He always said yes to you.

“I was counting the freckles on your face.” He said.

Now it was your turn to blush. Jake’s little habits of adoration always managed to fluster you. Everything from his video game character designs to resemble you, to him mentioning you every five seconds to the guys. Jake was all about you.

“Ew they’re all in love.” Sunghoon said with disgust.

Jay laughed. “Oh so he’s down bad!”

You smiled at your boy. He was looking at you with the most innocent puppy eyes you had ever seen.

“How many did you count, baby?”

“209. They’re just so pretty! You should color them in or put rhinestones on them.” He said.

You chuckled and ran your fingers through his hair again. “Why thank you, baby.”

The other two guys left the room making dramatic gagging and kissing noises. But Jake didn’t care. He had nothing to be embarrassed of when it came to loving you. He would put up with all the teasing in the world if it meant he could spend his time adoring you.

“You’re so pretty. You’re like an angel or something.” He said breathlessly.

You motioned for him to move up and when he did you pulled him in for a gentle kiss. Jake swore that every time you kissed him he reacted the same way he did the first time. His heart always raced a little more, his hands got all clammy, and his knees buckled. He was lucky that you were sitting down or else he would’ve fallen to your feet.

Once you pulled away Jake was beat red with the brightest smile. He may not understand it but he had the same impact on you. He was too cute, too handsome for his own good.

“I love you, Jakey. And I love how you love me.” You admitted with a smile.

Jake giggled. “I love loving you! It makes me so happy to see your beautiful face.”

He curled up into your side with his hands wrapped around your waist.

In the other room Sunghoon was teasing Jake for his lovestruck antics.

“Oh hush, Sunghoon. You wish you were in love like that.” Jay said with a smirk.

Sunghoon shook his head as he logged onto his game. “I don’t know what he’s got going on but that shit is more than love. He’s obsessed with her.”

Love, obsession, call it what you want. Jake would do it all and you would take in every drop of it. All he knew in that moment is he could spend eternity counting the freckles on your face.

[blushingdread]

((Thank you for answering! I love your take on Oppy and Hero. Adorable!!! 🥰))

Ok, one more question, and I'm done! Promise!

Now, Cold is, of course, deeply detached from emotions. But emotions are sticky confusing things. Cold (I believe) absolutely does care for the others and LQ. He doesn't care about dying because it doesn't really matter to him, and they seem to come back again anyway. It's a non-issue.

But what if the voices were all separate? What if death is permanent? And, what if it was someone he was close to?

Would he morn them? Would he pretend that it doesn't matter and sweep it under the rug with all other emotions he feels? Would he miss their presence in his life?

((This might be a bit disjointed, and I don't know if it even makes sense. I just like to think that Cold is low-key protective over the things and people he considers *his*))

No problem! I love rambling about my headcanons!! You can send me as many asks as you'd like, though I probably won't answer them quickly like I'm doing rn

I agree that Cold cares about the others, in Molment of Clarity when they were all saying things exactly opposite to how they usually are (I'm done fighting, my heart feels quiet, the fear is gone, ect) Cold says "I'll be free of all of you." Which implies that he usually likes them. Peek fiction. You get confirmation that he cares when he gets sick of them

I think the main reason he likes them so much despite... being himself is connected to the fact that Cold is most in tune with TLQ's godly nature. Something about that connection makes him loyal to them. The other reason is their free enrichment and amusing

Side headcanons, but think Cold would be the only one who would be like okay after getting his own body. Everyone else would kinda hate it. They're all so unused to being alone that I think it would freak them out. However, perma death would fuck him up. You mean to tell him that he has his own body and he can't even have some nice alone time with a hacksaw for fun?? There are so many things he can't try out now because they would kill him. He'd still be invested in trying a bunch of new things, but would be deeply annoyed at the limitation

As for the actual question. Would he mourn them? Show deep sorrow or regret for their deaths? No. I feel like he'd process death in a similar way that I do. When they first die, he skips straight to acceptance. I can see him saying something like, "They're gone. If we can die, then we eventually will. You should make peace with this fact." It's not like he doesn't care at all. He doesn't like the fact that one of them are gone, but death is final, its already over. At most you'd get a "What a shame." Out of him

Then, years later, and I don't mean like two closer to four, when he least expects it, he thinks something like, "Oh, they would have liked this." And it all hits him. He wouldn't cry or anything, hell I don't even think he'd really be sad, more like the absence of whoever died would suddenly become glaring and obvious, and it would annoy him. Primarily, he'd be annoyed that they're gone and annoyed at himself for being annoyed. Eventually, he'd settle back into acceptance, but this time, he's actually processed the fact that their gone and how he doesn't like that

(I think Cold would only get protective in situations like tMoC levels of trauma on the line. He doesn't want them to be that ever again. It makes them more annoying than usual and makes him feel powerless. -10/10, doesn't like it)

[silly-string-guitar]

"Not at all! I love talking! Finally being able to put my thoughts into words and actually being heard and understood is probably the best thing that has ever happened to me! Well I guess it was a little bit frustrating at first trying to communicate and not being understood but talking to people is so much fun!"

Seiya looks pretty proud after offering his vegan ass solution to Jo's stigma dilemma and stops manspreaading after she decides to sit next to him on the couch.

He flinches slightly in surprise when Jo takes his hand and asks about the nail polish, but smiles in response. "One of my friends from work did it for me! She's into like nail art and stuff and wanted to practice on me." He shifts his fingers, the light reflecting off the heart design, making it appear to grow and shrink. "She used like... micro magnets or somethin' in this one. Cool right?"

His smile stiffens a little, definitely having forgotten that Jo was from Frostheim. "Ha, funny you say that..." a sigh, "Alright, yeah, not a big fan of the Frostheim general students. I remember visiting some time last year since I wanted to explore campus and the place reeks of privilege and judgement. I leave one button of my shirt open and suddenly everyone's giving me nasty looks for being a whore or whatever. The ghouls seem fine, though," he nudges her playfully. "Like you~! And also really cold. And your captain kinda fell off. I agree with your take on Mortkraken, too. Reminds of me of childhood hospital trauma. It smells... distinct..."

Seiya nearly forgot to ask another question, also getting lost in conversation. However he pauses for a moment, suddenly being aware of people's attention on them. Lowering his voice he asks his next question, "Favorite song?"

"Oookay." Jo carefully dodges the grunts milling about in the Vagastrom garage as she clutches her skateboard closer to her chest. "Don't mind me, I'm just— oh!"

She's bumped into Seiya and looks up, flushing. "Er, sorry about that. Could you maybe help me? I can't get an R&R permit approved at the moment and I've broken my skateboard's back wheels. You know somebody here that might be able to fix it?"

@coastalwatch

"Oh? Don't worry about it! Yeah you can probably talk to the captain about the R&R permit stuff, he also fixes cars so a skateboard should be no problem." Seiya turns his head to scan the room for a second. "Uhh, not totally sure if he's here at the moment though.."

He turned back to Jo and leaned down a bit, "If you want, I could take a look at it? Can't promise any results, though."

[downsteepy]

i am very grateful that im not someone that has to deal with daily seizures but it is evil when it takes like a week and a half's worth of business days to recover from a seizure

[scoringeffects]

.

[icharchivist]

was refreshing myself on some old myth for a bit and i read the french and english wiki page for the Charybdis' mythos, and i'm noticing something that i don't know if it's just the wiki being inaccurate or an actual difference (from the linguistic page it seems to be an actual difference) but

In English there's this expression about choosing between two equally bad horrible situations by saying "choosing between Scylla and Charybdis"

But in French the expression is "to fall from Charybdis to Scylla" and instead of a choice it's about managing to get out of a horrible situation only to get thrown into an even worse situation (the equivalent of the English's expression ""falling out of the frying pan into the fire")

if i believe the linguistic page there was a bit of borrowing around and technically both expressions are used in both language, but you're more likely to find the first one in English and the second one in French (very likely because Victor Hugo popularized "to fall from Charybdis to Scylla" with Les Misérables) (does not mean it started in French the origin of the expression is still Greek anyway, just talking about why the saying is more popular in French with weirdos like me)

idk i think it's cool on a sort of metatextual perspective that English People saw this myth and when "oof imagine picking between those two" while French people just chugged a bottle of wine and went "And it's a BINGO and LIFE SUCKS and it NEVER GETS EASIER you get BOTH OF THEM BABEYYY"

[theroseredreaper]

I've decided to gush about Pokemon cuz I can <3

I've absolutely loved Pokemon since I was 9! My first game was Leaf Green for GameBoy Advance, cuz my big brother was getting rid of his games and he wanted to see if I'd be interested. Up 'til that point, I just knew it vaguely as some show I was interested in. Then I played the game and was hooked for the rest of time!

My first pokemon I ever picked was squirtle! I had no idea at the time that pokemon could evolve though, so I ended up nicknaming him Squirt lmao.

I've played through basically every region, although the newer games past Shield, I haven't finished them.

In each game, I tend to only really use 4 out of the 6 slots for the most part, as I only really need 4 main damage dealers. My strategy is offense, offense, one-hit K.O. when possible!

The pokemon I remember most from my various journeys include:

Squirt the Blastoise (my first starter and the reason why I almost always choose water starters, from Leaf Green)

Blue the Dragonair (a powerhouse, from my original Leaf Green team. the reason why dratini and dragonair remain some of my favorite pokemon!)

Meep the Ampharos (basically carried me my entire Black 2 playthrough and the reason I will always choose mareep if I ever need an electric type if a game offers it. if you know why he's named Meep. ily <3)

Sol the Espeon (Sol was an accidental team member in my original X playthrough! I was going for an umbreon, but got an espeon. Espeon has become one of my favorites since!)

Ace the Sylveon (I've had 3 seperate games where I use a sylveon in my team, and I usually default to a moveset of Draining Kiss, Iron Tail, Psyshock, and Moonblast or Fairy Wind. My strongest Sylveon is from my Shield playthrough, but the other two I used a sylveon was for Legends Arceus and Ultra Moon.)

Centi the Centiskorch (I don't normally use fire types in my playthroughs, but Centi is one of my two exceptions! Centi carried the majority of my Shield playthrough <3)

Pichi the Alolan Raichu (a powerhouse cutie who carried majority of my Ultra Moon playthrough! she's cutie patootie and her psychic-electric dual type is why I kept her on, as I don't normally use electric types when playing pokemon games)

Flare the Blaziken (normally I'm a water starter all the way, but after getting the torchic as a gift for the Pokemon XY preorder, a new friendship was born)

I've not finished Legends Arceus, or Violet, or even Shining Pearl yet, but Dachsbund and Fidough have grown on me. To be honest, I love pokemon so much, that every time I see pokemon just...casually living in domestic, happy bliss in the world of a game, I just start crying. Complete, incomprehensible sobs. If you've made it this far, please enjoy this screenshot of me posing with my son Pansito the Dachsbun <3