#Smart Search Solutions

[aistartincome]

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[gales-boyfriend]

i am not even halfway done with my stupid clinical judgment plan rough draft… 😑

[sam120684]

Answered Questions of GRAY MINDS

[illum1z]

confess to me

counselor!song mingi x f!reader

tags: sensitive topics on religion, coercion, praise, loss of innocence, pet names (pretty baby, lamb, love, etc.) corruption, unprotected sex(yikes), religious guilt, pleasure dom mingi, oral (f! receiving), cheating, eye contact, mentions of breeding, talking you through it, NOT PROOFREAD. (Like at all, sorry for any spelling mistakes)

summary: You would do anything to relieve this dark, invasive feeling in your soul. absolutely anything.

wc: 7.3k

notes: former Christian here and expressing her issues with her religious experience through smut (Hello?)

“in the crooks of your body, I find my religion.”

track list- gibson girl, glory box, the death of peace of mind

Frankly, from the beginning, you thought it was out of the ordinary. And you had to give yourself credit for the fact that this was indeed your last resort.

For the past 10 years, you’ve struggled with a deep-seated shame in yourself. Growing up sheltered and with a family that valued innocence and chastity. Basically, celibacy was the only way to live your life without sin. While being raised that way was damaging on its own, after having left the church once you got out on your own, it followed you. The guilt...

It was instilled at a young age that anything along the lines of adultery is sinful and is to be utterly ashamed of. And even though those ideals are not ones you wholeheartedly live by anymore, ideas that you lived with for such a long time tend to stick. Old habits die hard, you guess.

So when you had your very first boyfriend, a young, kind, smart guy you had met in your public speaking class, you thought this was your chance. To break through and not let the chains of the past hold you back from experiencing new things.

When you guys had your first kiss, it went fine. He respected your boundaries, made sure to understand that you were kind of fragile. To be careful with you. You can't ask for better. But one issue is that he never ever tried anything further than kissing. You two could make out for hours, and it never progressed any further than that. On one hand, you were relieved that you didn't have to put yourself out there like that so soon, but at the same time, you wondered if you just didn't see yourself in that way. Maybe he didn’t find you pretty enough for sex. Or maybe intimacy just wasn't his thing. You came up with every excuse in the book. Some for yourself on why you won’t just ask him, and some for him as to why he never initiated. This went on for a year. A whole year of dating and not once touching each other.

You felt disgusting. Something must be wrong with you. Your boyfriend never even once suggested anything sexual. It felt like it was all you. You felt perverted, like all you were thinking about was sex. You’d touch yourself at night while he was on his computer, working in the other room. Your pillow in your mouth as you bit to muffle your noises while your fingers explored your body. Every time after you were done, a strong and hot feeling of dirtiness and guilt washed over you as you realized what you had done. Touching the rosary on your neck as you stared into the ceiling, breathing heavily, a prayer in the back of your mind raced by as you tried to calm yourself. The sacred jewelry on your neck was a gift from your mother. Something that even though held sick memories and painful reminders, it was just too familiar, and you wouldn't dare part with it.

“I'm not doing anything wrong. This is normal. I'm okay. It's okay. “ But you became addicted, touching yourself until it hurt. Until it burned, but it was never enough. Lust was becoming a drug, and each dose you amped it up, but it never was the high you were searching for.

You decided that after this had been going on for too long, you needed help. You could never tell your boyfriend. You’d be humiliated, and he’d find you repulsive. You searched all over online for a solution to this problem. Sex counselors were a thing, maybe they could help.

Nothing online was helping, article after article. Website after website. It was feeding you all the same redundant information, and none of it was settling the constant disturbance in your gut. You'd find yourself twirling your necklace again, leg bouncing from anxiety. You needed to be somewhere familiar. Somewhere that might ease you.

Slipping on some clothes and gathering your things, you walked out of your room, walking to your boyfriend as he sat at his desk, like always, typing away. You pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead and smiled.

“I'm going out for a little. I’ll be home later.” He gripped your hand a kissed the back of it, squeezing it gently.

“See you later, hun, love you.” He smiled up at you. It felt mocking, even though he meant completely well. He let go, and you walked out the front door. Making your way to your car.

You didn’t know where you were driving, but you were going somewhere. It was like your mind was on autopilot. Your brain clocked out, and your body took you where you wanted to go.

You blinked and found yourself parked at the cathedral you had frequented your whole life. Standing tall and sharp against the stark contrast of the orange and purples that littered the sky as the sun descended behind the steeple. The wind blew softly, and the streets seemed oddly empty for a Sunday night. The stained glass windows called out a whispering “welcome home” as you stepped out of your car and stared at the beautiful building in front of you. The wind started to become harsher nd began to bite at your skin with the cold. You walked up to the front entrance, purpose in your step as you ascended the stairs and slipped past the doors as quietly as you could.

Immediately, the comfort of silence enveloped you like a warm blanket. The tall ceilings with beautiful murals scrawled on them. Giant glass windows with depictions of different moments in history cast blue, green, and red lights from the setting sun on the altar. And next to it, tucked away in a dark corner in the front of the room. The confessional. An all too familiar space to you. You forced yourself to drag your eyes away from it as you stepped further into the space, heading for the very first row of pews. You looked around, the church completely empty and the definition of quiet. Just the soft blow of the wind outside. You sat in the first row of pews, taking a moment to just take it all in. You felt safe, clean, and forgiven in here. You sat in that pew for what felt like hours, just basking in the quiet. When you looked around again, you noticed it had gotten dark outside. The moon shone through the windows. The candles by the altar were the only light in the whole building, casting an eerie orange glow about the church.

And there was one candle in the confessional. It shone like a quiet soul inside that wooden box, seeping through the intricate carved designs on the door. You felt a small tug on your heart, like it was asking to go, to unload all the thoughts and emotions plaguing you. Let them spill free, unabashedly, somewhere to feel forgiven.

So you followed it and walked to the confessional, opening the door with a creak and sitting on the bench. You shut the door behind you, and it seemed like the world around you faded away, within the quietness of the booth. You immediately had the urge to just start talking. To get these things off your chest.

You talked about your guilt. You talked about your sadness. You talked about your lust, how it was plaguing you all the time. How you felt like your boyfriend didn’t actually love you, and how you felt like a pervert for always wanting to feel good. How it hurts to not feel good. Another 30 minutes spent in the booth trickled by before you decided you needed to head home. You stood, before bowing your head. Old habits die hard, like you said. A prayer you remembered began to flow past your lips with the ease of muscle memory. Hands clasped around the rosary and eyes shut tight.

“Merciful Lord, I come before You seeking forgiveness and healing for the sin of lust that dwells within me. I confess my weakness in giving in to impure desires and indulging in lustful thoughts and actions that offend You. Purify my heart, renew my mind, and sanctify my body as Your temple.”

You continued until the prayer was finished. You dropped your hands and turned, opening the door and stepping out.

But as soon as you did, you looked up from the knob and locked eyes with someone. A chill tickled down your spine as you stared past the altar, at a man sitting in the first pew, exactly where you sat for hours before. Wearing a tight, barely fitting sheer white button-up shirt, black pants, and sharp black shoes. His hair was slightly tousled yet still professional in a way. He was hunched over, elbows resting on knees as his hands came up, pressed together like he was praying, the tips of his fingers pressed against his lips. His head was tilted slightly down, while his eyes stayed up, locked directly onto yours.

Your breath hitched, and he didn’t move a muscle. His eyes bore into yours, the orange glow of the candlelight flickered across his features beautifully, and you couldn't look away. You felt small under his gaze as he pinned you down with his stare effortlessly.

Who is that? Why is he here? How long has he been here? Did he somehow hear me?

His hand twitched, then he moved it down, before fully turning his head. He narrowed his eyes. He smiled. He waved.

You felt a lurch in your stomach. He was unbelievably handsome, with the mole under his eye. The charming way his crooked teeth formed the most beautiful smile. The borderline [predatory look in his eyes. He stood and began to walk towards you.

Immediately, you stood up straight and made sure you took a couple of steps away from the confessional, as if you were too close, you would start spilling secrets.

He was right in front of you now, smiling down as the closer got, the smaller you felt.

“Evenin’, I'm sorry, thought I was the only one here tonight, I hope I wasn’t bothering you.” He had a deep, baritone drawl in his voice that felt like ice on your brain. This was not good. Not good at all.

“No, no, you’re completely fine, it's not like I own the place, I was just… visiting.” You smiled nervously, your palms sweating. Even though you were just conversing with one person, you felt like you had millions of eyes on you in the dark, empty church. His gaze alone was already so intense, the ghosts of former church goers seemed to stare at you as if you moved, the floor would cave underneath you.

His eyes traced your body, just for a flicker of a second, you didn’t catch. He caught your gaze again, taking a small barley there step closer to you. His hand rested lazily in his pants pocket. His other hand reached forward to offer a handshake.

“Song Mingi. I'm a counselor at the cathedral. It's a pleasure to meet you, sweet thing.” You smiled as you hesitated, but ultimately brought your hand up to shake his.

“(Name), nice to meet you, Mingi sir.” His hand wrapped around yours, easily swallowing your entire hand up as he shook it firmly, lingering just a little too long.

“So what brings you here so late at night (Name)? Can’t be anything good, right?” He laughs and nudges your shoulder playfully, a little glint of joy in his eyes. While mostly an overwhelming and intense presence, he sure knew how to soften the atmosphere.

You smiled softly and shook your head. “Just… feeling a little weird lately, just thought maybe a visit to somewhere familiar might ease me a little.”

He tilted his head, and his eyes softened as he tsked. “What's going on, if you don’t mind me asking. I am a counselor after all, maybe I can give you some advice.” His smile was genuine, and he seemed like he really just wanted to lift your spirits.

“Well..” You bit your bottom lip, worried, before sitting on the red velvet stairs, resting your forehead on your knees as you hugged them. Mingi followed, sitting on the step a couple below yours, looking up at your face with genuine curiosity all over his face. You took note of the clunky rosary wrapped around his neck, the crucifix sitting directly between his rather protruding pecs that pressed through the thin fabric of his shirt. You tried not to stare too much.

“Its, hard… for me to talk about. I had just been feeling strange lately. Like I can't find rest within myself. I thought maybe coming by my childhood church and just spilling my guts in the confessional would help, but it's just made me realize that what I'm feeling and thinking is REAL. And not just… I don’t know. I feel like there's some kind of animal in me that just won't sleep. I can't even sleep. I'm always anxious, always guilty, and I somehow can’t even get my boyfriend to validate me when I’m feeling-” Imedicualty, your eyes widened, and you slapped a palm over your mouth in embarrassment, a heat trickling up the back of your neck.

“Sorry.” You whispered. “I started rambling..” You were too out of it to notice that Mingi’s hand had been silently and ever so softly grazing up and down your calf, as if trying to soothe you through this confession.

“You’re perfectly fine, sweetheart. Thank you for feeling alright with telling me.” His hand gave your calf a small squeeze before slipping away from your leg, back on the stairs.

“It sounds like you’re going through a lot right now. You sound tired, so let me tell you something.” You were still looking down from shame, and he softly brought his hand up and tilted your chin upward so he could look into your eyes. That intense stare of his pinning you down like a fawn in headlights, you felt like you were covered in a warm, heavy weighted blanket, like even if you tried to run away, your wouldn’t be able to.

“My doors are always open to counseling sessions.” He points to a door behind the altar. “Over there is a door to my office. By the confessional. I’m here every Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday from 4 to 10, accepting walk ins. If you’d like you can come back and we can try to explore these feelings deeper and see if we can work on getting you some well needed relief.”

You felt a flutter in your stomach at his kindness, but also at the seemingly suggestive way he chose to express his words. Maybe you were really in need of professional help, he was trying to help you, for God’s sake. You nodded, and your eyes flicked to his nose, to his lips, to his chest, back up to his eyes. You felt like you had been caught, a small flicker of something in his eyes, his body shifted slightly, a small pink tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“That sound alright princess?” You took a second, mulling over your thoughts. This could really benefit you. This could fix the unrest in your heart. Fix your relationship with your boyfriend, with yourself.

“I'll stop by.” You smiled, nodding your head once as if in confirmation. “Thank you for listening to me.”

His grin widened and he dropped his voice down to a low whisper, coming a little closer to where you could feel his breath on your ear, his warm, woodsy scent wrapping around you, filling you with him.

“It's my job, sweetheart, no need to thank me.” Now, you may not know too much about people, but one thing you just barely caught was a slight twitch in his soft smile, like his lips wanted to smile wider, but he stopped himself. A look in his eyes that held a secret. A desire. It was odd, you felt so safe and comforted in his presence, it was almost eerie how easy it was to get you to spill to him like that.

I mean, you walked out of the confessional, and he was sitting in your spot, staring at you like he was going to eat you. That should have unnerved you from the beginning, which it did. But something was so alluring. So tantalizing and bewitching about him. Just a few words from his pretty plump lips, and if he had asked for your soul, you’re sure you would have given it to him.

You left, turning around to look at the church. The steeple seemed sharper against the stark black sky. The streets were even quieter, the air colder. The building seemed more haunted than holy now, but before you psyched yourself out, you got back in your car and drove home.

It had been a week since your visit to a church. If you weren’t going to hell before, you were certainly going now. Every night, the same routine continued, but this time, you were imagining him. Mingi, tracing your curves and kissing your skin. Mingi, reaching inside you and caressing your insides in a way so invasive it should be considered immoral. You wanted him pressing his body into yours, his warmth soaking into your skin as he pleasured you in ways you imagined heaven should feel like.

Just sick in the head.

There was no way you could go see him now, with these images of him squeezing your body and rolling his hips, mouth agape and eyes rolling and boring into yours in a fashion that felt like he knew your entire being.

You slept next to your boyfriend every night, not even daring to cuddle with him in fear that even just by touching, he could feel the want and the lust seeping from your skin.

And that's how you found yourself in your car, back at the church. The streets are empty again. The sky had opened on your way there, the clouds angry and dark, fat droplets of rain pouring fast on the streets.

Your hands gripped the steering wheel so hard it began to burn, but you didn’t let go. You were trying to ground yourself before you walked into the church and saw him. You needed to get a hold of yourself. With a couple of bites to your palm and a cold sip of water. You rushed out of your car and walked with purpose to the church quickly as not to give yourself time to chicken out and go back home.

You entered the church, albeit soaked to the bone from the rain. It felt darker and colder now. The candles cast flickering, dark shadows on the walls. Behind the altar was his office door. Standing tall and mocking, you pinched your necklace and took a deep breath before making your way to his door.

The carpet swallowed your footsteps as you walked to his door, past the confessional, the urge to tell secrets welling up in your chest again. You stopped in front of his door, a soft light emanating from the crack at the bottom. Your hand hovered over the knob.

“Come in.” The muffled voice beckoned behind the door. You obeyed.

Twisting the knob you opened the door with a quiet creak. Inside was a broad, beautiful mahogany desk, littered with papers, candles, and an assortment of Bibles. A large painting of Mother Mary was mounted on the wall directly behind the chair behind the desk, where Mingi sat. The first 2 buttons of his shirt were undone, and he leaned back lazily as his foot rested on his knee. His hand was on the table, his fingers resting in between stacks of paper, caressing the edge of the paper ever so slowly, occasionally slipping between sheets.

His eyes caught yours immediately, smiling as he gestured to the chair in front of him. A large velvety red and blue couch was against the left wall, and tall, gold-plated mirror was on the right. His eyes were darker tonight. Narrowed. Filled with… intention. 3 candles lit up the room, providing minimal light to properly see his face.

“(Name), it's good to see you again.” You sat in the chair, feeling his voice rumble in your chest as a roll of thunder sounded in the distance. He laughed gently before flashing that charming grin of his at you.

“Guess you got caught in the rain, huh?” The teasing lilt in his voice sent a little shock wave through your head, suddenly aware that you were still, in fact, soaking wet.

“Yeah it just started pouring as soon as I left, I considered d turning around.” You smiled in an attempt to hide your nervousness, before he reached across and took your hand in his, squeezing it gently.

“Well, for what its worth, I’m glad you wanted to be here so bad you came anyway.” Confusion shot through tou but before you could even react he pulled away and cleared his throat.

“Now then, let's start unpacking this, yeah?” He waves his hand at you and smiles.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me everything that's on your mind.” You blinked. Once. Twice.

Oh god…

“Well..” You shifted in your seat. This was it. You were here for a reason. No time to be shy, this is how you get the help you’ve been needing. But his presence is so heavy… it was overwhelming your senses. The whole office smelled like him. The air was thick, and the atmosphere was dark. It felt like the painting was watching you. He was watching you. Picking you apart with his eyes, carefully.

“I’ve got this suffocating guilt that's been following me for what seems like years. As a kid, I was sheltered, being part of the church kept me away from much outside influence, and frankly, I feel like it's messed me up a bit, in a way… I don't know how to explain it. Anyway, so I get out, right? Out in the world by myself. I’m doing okay, learning new things and trying to work the world without the influence of the church holding me back.” You stop and smile, a little lost in your thoughts as you think about old memories.

“Then I meet my first boyfriend. Hes really sweet, smart, kind. Kind of the complete package kind of guy.” Too busy lost in your story, you failed to see how Mingi’s grip on his knee tightens, how his jaw clenches and how his eyes rove over you like you’ll disappear if he looks away for one second, enamoured.

“How’s that going?” Mingi asks softly, “Sounds like a pretty awesome guy.” There it is. He sees the change in your demeanor. The way your shoulder slumps, the burning shame in your eyes. The slight readjustment of your posture.

“Well, that's just the thing. He's great and all, a really good guy. But, he doesn’t seem… interested…” You refuse eye contact as you trail off, beginning to close up again. You can feel the heat crawling up your back as you know in a second the conversation is about to take an incredibly inappropriate and soul-baring turn.

“Interested in what love? Cmon, talk to me.” he comes over from behind the desk and squats down in front of you as you stay sitting in the chair, so he can look at you eye level. His hands rested on his knees, and he spoke even softer now that he was closer. “You can trust me. Let me help you.”

Mingi was so close now, and he was making it so hard for you not to just straight up start acting like an animal in heat with that look he was giving you. He was trying to pull the secrets from your throat with his eyes. Like a fish hook in your mouth, he was prying you open to him, and you just simply couldn’t resist

“I… fuck okay. Fine. I feel so gross because he won’t make any sexual advances towards me, and it's been over a year of dating. Yes, it's unbecoming, and it makes me feel so sick that all I seem to crave is for him to touch me. I'm so ashamed it's all I think of every day and every night, and we’ve never gone any farther than kissing. I feel like I'm missing out on so much because of my lack of knowledge, but I also feel like it's better for me to just never know. It's sick and it's hurting! It–it hurts me to know that it's not okay to feel good like.. That..” Silence fell, your eyes glued to your lap.

You slowly raise your eyes, ready to see the disappointment in Mingi’s face at your shameful confession.

Instead, a small smile, barely there, tilts up the corners of his lips. You glue your eyes to the rosary on his chest as you feel the deep, baritone chuckle that slips past his lips. The shame burned. You won’t look at him.

“Y’know. I’m going to tell you a secret, okay?” You felt a finger pinch your chin gently, before he directed your gaze at his, dropping them before they landed on your knees.

“What you are feeling? Is okay. I promise.” His voice was soft and promising, words dripping in sugar as he began to drag his big, calloused palms up and down… up and down… your thighs soothingly through your pencil skirt.

Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him. “Your boyfriend, not touching you, has nothing to do with you physically. You’re beautiful, I can promise you that.” You felt that warmth envelop you again from when he whispered in your ear. That deeep pull in your lower stomach that burned.

“In fact, I could even go as far as to say you’re very alluring. So small, soft, like a lamb.” Daringly, his hands slipped further up, now resting on your hips, like they were made to fit there.

He knew what he was doing. The dangerous look in his eyes swelling as he watched you slowly melt as his words sat in your skull.

“I’ll confess it now, I heard everything you said in the booth last week.” his voice was now a whisper, gentle like he would scare you off. He felt your body jolt like you’d run from him, and his hands held your hips tighter, holding you down onto the chair only slightly, like it was a suggestion that you should stay, his thumbs rubbing slow, soft circles into your stomach.

“I heard every word. Every cry. Every plea. Every prayer that this feeling could be relieved for you. You were so pretty coming out of the booth. Little tear droplets on your lashes and embarrassment all over your body. I knew you needed help.”

Mingi sank to his knees, so close to your body you could feel and smell every inch of him all over you. His hands moved up and gently cupped your face, guiding your head down so he could mumble in your ear.

He breathed quietly for a second before blowing a cold gust of air on your ear, making you shiver. “Let me help you, precious. Let's drag that feeling out. Let me drag it out of you.”

“If anyone can make you feel good in a way that’ll satiate the craving inside of you, it’s me. I can take care of you. Treat you like the angel you are. Does that sound good.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your hair, his hand mindlessly massaging your leg. “I promise.” He was whispering now, barely contained desire seeping from his gentle, coaxing words. “Don’t you trust me?”

Your brain was so fuzzy. Was this happening? Was he offering to take care of you in the way you’ve been crazy about? The one your boyfriend won’t give you. Maybe it’ll clear the nasty thoughts out of your head. Make the hysteria go away.

“Cmon baby…” He was all over you now, standing, towering over you as he leaned down, one hand on either side of your chair. You followed his gaze up and stared into his eyes. His rosary dangled right above your chest, almost touching it. It swung back and forth back and forth, hypnotically. His hand gripped the armrests tightly, like he was stopping himself from ripping you apart with his bare hands.

You looked so good, so delicious, so pure. He’d love to be the one to introduce you to the wonderfully sinful world of pleasure, to drown you in the feeling himself. To give himself to you.

“Let's get it out of your system, yeah? I can fix you, angel.”

Testing the waters, he leaned further down, his breaths mixing with yours, keeping you caged in, his eyes never leaving yours. It felt like you stayed like that forever. Lips millimeters from touching, tension in the air crackling.

You had never felt this way before. Your body ached, and your lower stomach throbbed with what could only be described as need.

All it took was the small, slight parting of your lips before Mingi finally pressed into you. His plushy lips sinking into yours like they were meant to be there. His eyes stayed on you, watching and guaging your reaction to the touch, only when your eyes fluttered close and you whined softly into his mouth did he really let himself go.

Pressing himself impossibly closer against you, his hands left the arm rests and threaded through your hair before gripping gently and completely swallowing you whole with his mouth. His tongue delved deep, tracing patterns in your mouth and moving against you in ways that had you groaning deep into him.

He swallowed your sounds gratefully, a loud crack of thunder nearly shaking the room. One candle blew out.

It wasn’t enough. He needed more of you. He needed to consume you. Even though it hurt, he pulled away from your mouth, panting softly as he watched the trail of saliva snap between you. He stared at your glassy eyes and pink lips, groaning to himself as he stood up and started to undo his tie.

“Alright, princess, I need you to take off your skirt and go lie on your back on that couch over there, okay? Can you do that for me?” Taking a second to break out of your stupor, you nodded and stood up, slipping the skirt and pantyhose off your legs before complying and lying on the couch. Mingi strode over, his tie gone and his shirt completely unbuttoned, a filthy, hungry look in his eyes. Rosary hanging proudly around his neck.

Gently, like he was still afraid to scare you. He laid between your legs on the couch. He planted his head directly between your thighs, his big hands slipping under your thighs and guiding them upward around his head, before spreading his big hand directly over your lower abdomen. His other hand slipped down and teased your soaking wet cunt through your panties.

Mingi stared into your eyes from between your legs and breathed in your scent deeply.

“You’re gonna taste so sweet fa me, aren't you angel?” Your head lolled at the sweet words, he just knew how to break you down and turn you into a puddle in his hands.

“All for me…” he mumbled completely to himself as he dragged your panties down your thighs and off your legs. He couldnt pull his eyes away from your pretty pussy. You felt so bare, so exposed, shying away, you tried to close your legs, but of course, his head was in the way.

“Don’t be ashamed, pretty girl.” He rubbed gentle circles on your thighs again before letting out a quick, quiet whistle. “Look at me, {Name}.”

Your head snapped to him, eyes locked with his, his gaze so intense you felt your eyes water, and a whimper bubbles up from your chest. He kisses your thighs softly, before hovering his mouth over your cunt, letting his breath fan over her gently.

“I want your eyes on me while I eat, okay? I need to see what you like, baby.” He’s going to read your body. You shivered and moaned softly at his words as you kept your eyes on him.

“Good. Keep those pretty eyes on me.” Slowly, tortorously slow, he brought his mouth down, licking a slow, wide strip up your cunt, kissing your clit at the end of its journey. The switch in Mingi was quick. Too quick. He became addicted immediately.

His eyes clouded over and buried his tongue inside of you, his nose grinding against your clit. You felt like you were going to die. It was so good. It felt so fucking good. You brought your hand up and bit your finger to keep yourself quiet. It felt so wrong. Doing something like this in a church, of all places. You felt judged and watched, but it felt like heaven. Mingi’s tongue felt like heaven.

“Yeah, yeah, that's it. Feeling good, pretty baby?” You nodded frantically, whimpering out broken “yes’s” and cries of his name. His hand snuck up and pulled your hand away from your mouth, grabbing both of your wrists in one hand, keeping a firm grip on them, holding them down in front of your tummy.

He groaned LOUD into your pussy, the vibrations reaching deep inside and making your back arch. He closed his eyes for a second, lost in the taste of you. “I have to hear you, don’t be shy.”

The knot in your stomach tightened, that familiar feeling from the nights you explored your body, but this time tenfold in strength. Mingi truly was drawing a kind of pleasure out of you that you’ve never felt before.

“Oh mmff… Min-! Feels good.” You whined, feeling that climax building deep in your gut.

“Oh, baby, I feel you. You bout to cum?” He smiled and latched onto your clit, sucking and slipping one long, slender finger deep in your snug cunt. You nod again, moans breaking when he curls his finger upward inside, pressing against a spot you’ve never been able to reach yourself.

“Yeah.. yes yes yes..” You panted out, focusing on the feeling of Mingi all over you. He let out deep staccato moans around your clit before he slipped a second finger inside, coaxing inside even deeper.

“I’m gonna get you there, sweetheart. I’m gonna fuck you right through it and spread you on my cock. I'll have you seeing stars, baby, I promise.”

Before you could react he slipped his fingers out and moved up, caging you against the couch, in split second he removed your shirt and his pants, his cock, hot and heavy laid on your stomach as his hand came up and snaked behind the back of your head.

Pressing all his body weight down on you, he nudged your legs up to wrap around his waist.

His other hand slipped down and adjusted the fat head of his cock against the slick entrance of your pussy, before moving to hold your waist tighly, his thumb sinking and pressing hard against your stomach.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good. Such a good girl like you deserves to feel good, right?” Mingi’s lips came down and swallowed your whines again, increasingly desperate and sloppy like his tongue was trying to drag noises from deep in your throat.

“You deserve it.” He groans into your mouth, keeping his eyes on yours as he slowly, slowly sinks into your cunt.

Already you felt so full, tears spilled from the corners of your eyes, falling apart as his eyes stripped you down to your soul and his curved, thick cock splits you open. He bottoms out with a deep groan.

Your legs shake as his head sits snugly against your G-spot perfectly. He stays there for a moment, sinking his teeth into your plush bottom lip.

“Shh, yeah… that's it. So filthy. You feel how deep I am? So warm and so perfect.” Mingi rolled his hips into you, not quite thrusting, but he dragged his tip against that spot, and you came just like that, convulsing and whining into his mouth.

‘“Oh angel, you just came?” His whole body shivered at the amount of control he had over how good you felt. Like clay, he could shape and mold you to fit him perfectly. Make you his pretty little doll.

Your hands wrapped around his neck as he pulled himself out of you, dragging deliciously against your insides before thrusting back into you.

“Oh, you're so good. So good for me…” Ming sucked and licked dark purple marks into the flesh of your collarbones, drooling on your neck before leaving wet, open mouth kisses against the shell of your ear.

“You’re perfect, there’s nothing wrong with you, pretty baby. So responsive. So easy to please.” Mingi words floated around in your empty brain as he fucked you deep, and heavy. Your moans and cries egged him on. He wanted more from you, he wanted you to come on his cock again.

“You’re gonna give me another one (Name). I’m gonna make you come on my cock again, okay baby?” Mingi took the rosary that was swinging in your face off and flipped you over so you were on your stomach now. Wrapping the chain around your wrists, he brought them down behind your back, bound tight.

His hand massaged from your neck, down your shoulders, along your back, and down to your hips. Without warning he slid his cock back inside of you, the new prone angle making your pussy suck him even deeper. He bends over, lips pressed directly against your ear, one hand around the back of your neck and the other snaked between your stomach and the couch, drawing slow, rough circles against your clit. He fucked you deep and hard, feeling him in your stomach.

“This is what heaven feels like, baby. Like it? I know you do, your voice and your wet cunt is telling me everything. Every dirty thought you’ve been having. I’m giving you what you need. I can always give you what you need…”

The knot was building again, the drag of him against your walls stretching you so perfectly, the feeling of his body overtaking yours.

“My dirty, dirty girl. Would you like me to take you out and fuck you stupid in the altar? All whiny and sensitive, I can breed you like an animal, would you like that?”

Grinding his hips into yours without mercy, Mingi relished in the feeling of you giving yourself up to him. He was obsessed with the way you twitched and squirmed, completely at his mercy.

He loved that he was the one to rip this abstinence away from you, drag you down further into sin.

“See, this isn’t so bad, no need to feel guilty about it baby, it feels good, nothing that feels this good— fffuckkk… could ever be so bad…”

Mingi must be right. It feels so good, it’s impossible for this to be so bad right?

You weren’t going to last much longer, and he could feel you clench around him as your impending orgasm was reaching its height. Mingi licked and bit all along your back, dragging his open mouth along the length of your shoulder blades. His hand continued to rub slow, pressured circles on your clit.

“Almost there sweet girl,” he murmured against your bruised skin, chasing his own high with your body.

“You sin so beautifully for me, you’re to tempting, as soon as I saw you I wanted to shove you back in that confessional and eat you out so good you’d beg me to stop. A sweaty overstimulated mess for me in a place meant for repentance.” He kept whispering in your ear, the deep rolls of his hips making your stomach feel like it was sinking.

“Ooh I wanna cum in you so badly. But that’d be so wrong of me. So bad..” Mingi’s hips began to stutter as he buried his face deep in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and lazily kissing every inch of your throat.

“Cum for me baby, it’s okay to feel good, feel good under me, feel good while I strip your purity from you, give it to me, let me have it. I want it please honey please..”

Who were you to ignore such sweet prayer to you as he worshipped your body, practically melting into your flesh and becoming one.

His arms came around and wrapped around your torso like you were a body pillow, locking his hands together around your arms and your chest, effectively caging you against him and the couch, you couldn’t budge if you tried. He held you in a vice like hold, so tight you almost couldn’t breathe.

Your vision blacked, for just a second, as your orgasm came crashing down on you in STRONG periodic waves that felt like your insides were being battered, again and again and again and-

Mingi slowed his pace inside of you, opting for deep, deliberate rolls of his hips to move you through your orgasm, fucking his cum into you in the process.

His grip on your body turned softer, more like he was trying to hold you together rather than prevent you from moving. He ran his hands up and down your body so slowly and gently, like he was mapping you out and finding every curve, every mole or scar, every stretch mark and every sensitive spot.

“Yeah good girl. Let me fuck you through it mkay? Should I fuck you to sleep too huh? Would you like that pretty baby?” His voice was low and soft, his lips kissing along the top of your head, soothing and gentle. Your eyes lids fluttered at his softness, your cunt giving one last clench before you fully realized he had run you ragged.

Your body slumped under his own, face smushed in the pillow as you caught your breath. Mingi stood up and slipped on his pants, before gently turning you over on your back again. He pulled a pack of baby wipes out of his desk drawer and began gently cleaning between your thighs and all over your body.

His eyes followed trails of marks and bruises he left on you from his kisses and his grip on your flesh, a flash of possession hit his heart as you traced the dark marks on your neck and collar bone. “Did so good, love. Bet your boyfriend wouldn’t be able to have you praying for me like that huh?” He laughed to himself before reaching up and untying his rosary from your wrists.

He turned to the mirror and began putting it back on him. With his back turned you stared at the scratches on his back. He made you feel so good… and then it hit you.

Your boyfriend.

Your eyes widened and panic quietly began to set it. But before you could really process anything, Mingi turned back around, that stupid smile on his face as he gestures you to stand up.

“Come on lamb, we have to go visit the confessional.”

The puzzled look on your face formed and he laughed, almost condescendingly at your pitiful appearance.

He leaned down to your ear and gently bit the lobe, tugging with a low, quiet hum.

“You’ve got some sins to get off your chest.”

[takaraphoenix]

Also, I'm sorry, I am so fucking gleeful about how smart Stiles is.

I've seen it in other fandoms where the special little guy gets elevated far beyond canon by the fandom, so it's incredibly satisfying to see that nah, Stiles is the smartest person on this damn show and that's just canon.

Continuously, all the time, he gets to be the one to figure shit out. He solves the problems. He pushes the others into the directions of solutions. Over and over again. Regardless of what the context is, he gets to be the one to figure things out.

Weaponized?

When there is a whole damn army of CDC people on school ground? Stiles takes one look at Coach, questions why he was the only adult infected, immediately goes to his office that has apparently not been searched by the adults and then quickly figures out how they all had been infected. None of the actual professional adult investigators involved figure this out, even though Coach being Patient Zero is known and even though the clues are right there. This was solvable for humans, this was not a supernatural problem he could only solve due to his supernatural knowledge.

And when they need to isolate somewhere, it's Stiles who remembers the Hale Vault, it's Stiles who finds the entrance to the Hale Vault.

Sure, he is not the only one who figures out solutions on the show. But he is the one who figures out the majority of problems. He really is the clever one. And I love that so, so, so much.

We don't need to blow his intelligence or abilities out of proportion. Canon is serving us good fucking food all the time in this one regard.

[niwaart]

Doctor! Male! Reader X Batfam ( part1, part2, part3, part4, part5, part6..)

----------------------------------------------------

Part 2

When Damian finds out he has a brother... a half-brother... and that his brother is older than him, he feels threatened. Why is he threatened? For two reasons. The first is that his position as Robin might be stolen, and the second is that his father will pay more attention to his older brother... and he's not proud to call him his brother. So the day after Bruce visits the hospital where Y/N works, Damian decides to observe and test his new brother. Is he strong? Is he smart? How many villains has he fought? Does he have a sad past? That's what Damian will discover.

In the evening before midnight, Y/N was roaming the hospital corridors, making sure the kids returned to his office where he was sleeping. Since Gotham never sleeps, that means a lot of emergencies, a lot of injured people, and a lot of busy doctors. So the best solution for Y/N is to sleep in his office instead of going to his apartment and returning to the hospital in case of an emergency. So when Y/N opened the door to his office, he let out a cry of fear when he saw little Robin searching through his things with papers scattered everywhere. Y/N looked at Robin who didn’t care about Y/N’s presence and continued searching. Y/N remained silent for a moment trying to understand what was going on. “You… Robin?”

"Yes... you are doctor Y/N Wayne?" Robin said when he sat on the Y/N seat after giving up from find anything except the lollipops.

Y/n looked at little Robin in confusion "How I can help you, little Robin?"

"Don't call me little! I'm not a little!" Y/N had a wry smile on his face After seeing little Robin's reaction.

"Oh?... then... tiny Robin?" Damian's face turned red with anger.

"I'm not a tiny!!" Y/N burst out laughing as he pointed his finger up and down at Damian.

Damian's dignity as Robin was at stake from Y/N's laughing so he jumped out of the chair trying to grab Y/N who ran away into the empty hallways with little Robin chasing after him.

"And I thought the Robins can fly!" Y/N said as he continued to run away from little Robin until he reached the back garden of the hospital.

Y/N is used to running away, after all he is a doctor who took care of Gotham's homeless children. But the person he's running from isn't just any ordinary kid in Gotham, it's Batman's son Robin. Damian jumps over Y/N and Y/N falls face down on the ground.

"I got you! You won't escape me! Now take back what you said!" Little Robin said as he put his weight on top of the helpless Y/N beneath him.

Y/N grabbed his poor nose and said in a written voice "I've said a lot in my life, so I don't know what I'm supposed to take back."

"You definitely know! Take back everything you said about me! Now!" Little Robin said impatiently. While Y/N smiled broadly.

"Okay, okay, I will take my words back.... Robin isn't strong... happy?" Y/N moved his head slightly to see Little Robin's expression and smiled in satisfaction when he saw Little Robin's teeth chattering in anger, but he was surprised when Robin got up from above him and walked away from him.

"You are not worth my precious time." Little Robin said surprisingly calmly.

Y/N laughed as he got up from the ground and cleaned his clothes from the fall in the garden. "aww, i pull my words back, Robins is so cute."

Robin turned to Y/N angrily but eventually sighed and walked back into the hospital to Y/N's office. Y/N happily followed him, "So, little Robin, tell me why you were in my office earlier? Am I a criminal? Could it be that I'm a sleepwalker? Oh my god that's creepy."

Damian mumbled incomprehensible words in Arabic in annoyance as Y/N chattered over his head. When they arrived at Y/N's office, Y/N sat in his chair tiredly, the chase between him and Damian was fun but tiring.

" I came here because I want to know about you, how strong you are and what your weakness is..." Y/N looked at little Robin in surprise. About him? His strength? His weakness? What?

"Ahh... I don't understand what do you mean, little Robin, but here all I can give is that." Y/N handed little Robin a strawberry lollipop. Damian looked at the lollipop in disbelief, Really? Is he a child to Y/N?

"I don't want it.." Damian looked at Y/N angrily. “I want you to tell me about yourself! What is your use in life! Prove yourself!”

"huh?... well, I'm a doctor?.. is that satisfying you?" Damian almost screamed in frustration as he felt his mind tear apart with anger and resignation. As he tried to calm himself down, Y/N unwrapped the lollipop and placed it in Robin's little mouth who was surprised by the gesture. But he gave in and kept it in his mouth. "you are annoying."

"I know that" Y/N winked at Damian In enjoyment. "I like your company, little Robin, but you have to go home now. It's the middle of the night and I want to sleep."

Little Robin looked at Y/N for a few moments before turning and walking to the window to leave. "I will back. And I will find about you.." With these words, little Robin disappeared as Y/N laid his head on his desk to sleep with a smile on his face.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

"So, Robin? What did you find?" Bruce said in a hoarse voice from exhaustion as he searched the bat's computer for a new case.

"Nothing interesting, he is boring, just a doctor... annoying doctor.." Damian groaned as he remembered the nickname Y/N had given him... Little Robin.

Bruce looked at his son with a raised eyebrow. "I didn't know you liked lollipops.." before Bruce could continue Damian ran inside the manor. Bruce sighed and then turned his focus back to the computer in front of him. "Kids are weird... but do I look old?"

----------------------------------------------------

That was funny 🤣🤣 we are at the beginning of making Damian a real yandere!

@roxy776699

@missmannequin

[heesmiles]

HOW TO HEX A HEART k.th

೨౿ ⠀  ׅ ⠀   ̇  7.5K ⸝⸝ . ‌ ׅ ⸺ word count.

pairing s𝜗𝜚 ravenclaw ! taehyun ៹ hufflepuff ! reader ᧁ; angst ˒ fantasy ˒ hogwarts au

warnings ⊹₊ ⋆ angst hogwarts au grumpy x sunshine academic rivals to lovers yearning characters are aged up set in a college like hogwarts setting ft sunoo (enhypen)

in which୨୧ ㅤִ Love was sacred, love was rare, love was fleeting...but Taehyun wanted none of it. Instead searching for a fullfilling life in the pages of texts books and viles filled with potions, your cheery personality and natural smarts did little for his ego and too much damage to his high standings in all of Hogwarts academics. He must put a stop to it...if he wished to stay on top.

★ !rain's mic is on ⋆ ͘ . chat I'm so excited!! This is apart of a collab I'm doing with my fellow writers and friends: the nine and three quarters collab. I hope ya'll enjoy. guys I actually hate how rushed this is. I'm sorry!! i wrote it ages ago for our event and it’s been siting in the drafts for a while now, i can honestly say….its not even nearly close to my best work. i wish it was better because taehyun deserve better! i’ll be writing my coraline fic soon as a redemption arc for tae, i swear by it!

The dungeon was alive with a symphony of simmering cauldrons and chattering students, the air thick with the sharp tang of fluxweed and the earthy musk of powdered root of asphodel. Candles floated above the stone tables, flickering with a lazy indifference, casting golden halos across glass vials and worn parchment. You sat hunched over your cauldron, stirring clockwise; then counterclockwise, exactly as the textbook instructed, though you liked to think you added a little flair to your technique. Beside you, Sunoo leaned over to check your progress, his face drawn in a mix of admiration and mild panic. 

“I swear mine’s more brown than bronze,” he whispered, frowning at his own mixture. 

“It’s because you’re overthinking it again,” you giggled, nudging him gently. “You have to let the potion speak to you. Feel the ingredients. Make a little magic of your own, y’know?” He rolled his eyes but smiled, accustomed to your blend of mysticism and mischief. You were sunshine in a bottle, golden, glowing, maybe a little overwhelming on days like this, but endlessly kind, brimming with a passion for the craft that made even the most monotonous ingredients feel like keys to a hidden kingdom. You adored Potions. It was alchemy and artistry, mystery and discipline, all bubbling into something beautiful. 

“Alright, ingredients table, now!” barked Professor Oakenhart from the front of the class, his robes flaring dramatically as he paced. “Step carefully. If you spill the unicorn hair again, Nott, I will make you polish the cauldrons with your tears.” You perked up immediately, hand shooting into the air before anyone else could even blink. “I’ll go!” you chimed, hopping up from your stool and bouncing toward the table with a spring in your step.

But in your unbridled enthusiasm, you didn’t see him. Kang Taehyun. Towering. Silent. Cold as the dungeons themselves and twice as sharp. He was the kind of student who didn’t just read the textbook — he memorized the footnotes, corrected the professor’s misquotes, and brewed potions with the precision of a seasoned apothecary. And he hated you. Not in the way someone hates a rainstorm or a bad meal; no, he hated you with purpose. Your effortless charm, your laughter echoing across the corridors, the way professors smiled just a little too brightly when you answered questions correctly. Worst of all, you matched him. In test scores, potion grades, practicals. You were sunshine to his storm cloud. And it infuriated him. 

So when you turned and smacked straight into his chest, your half-filled vial of brewed Knotgrass solution flying from your hand and splattering all across the front of his pristine uniform, it was more than an accident. It was an act of war. “Oh—oh my god—I didn’t see you—! I’m so sorry!” you gasped, hands fluttering uselessly in the air, unsure whether to mop it up or vanish into the floor. “It was an accident, really, I didn’t—” 

“Obviously it was an accident,” Taehyun cut in, voice cold and clipped, The potion dripped from his vest in sluggish streaks, soaking into the ravenclaw blue. “Next time, try looking where you're going instead of skipping around like some deranged fairy” You blinked, momentarily stunned by the venom in his tone.

“I—” But he was already striding off toward Professor Oakenhart, presumably to report the offense and extract his revenge in the form of docked house points or an extra essay. The silence he left in his wake felt oddly loud, like someone had extinguished the warmth in the room. You returned to your seat with what you hoped was dignity, though your cheeks burned and your heart thudded a little too loudly in your chest. Sunoo was watching you, eyes wide.

“That was brutal,” he whispered. “Are you alright?” You forced a bright smile, even though the potion fumes still clung to your nose and your pride felt a bit bruised. “Just peachy!” you chirped, plopping back onto your stool and picking up your ladle. “Besides, a little Knotgrass never hurt anyone. Except maybe his ego.”

Sunoo snorted into his sleeve. Somewhere behind you, you swore you could feel Taehyun’s glare like a knife to your spine. 

Professor Oakenhart clapped his hands for silence, the crystalline ting-ting-ting of his silver rings against his wand echoing through the vaulted stone. Bubbling cauldrons fell obediently to a hush, the once-lively chatter collapsing into a hush so complete you could hear the delicate pop of fluxweed bladders bursting in the brew. Oakenhart let the hush linger, he enjoyed suspense the way a sphinx savors riddles; before letting his voice pour down like cold mountain water. 

“Next year’s class prefect,” he announced, letting the words hang, “will be chosen in three weeks’ time. The badge will go”, his dark eyes skimmed the room, “to the student who best embodies the virtues that keep this ancient castle alive: scholarly excellence, unwavering helpfulness, and the kind of leadership that does not require howling at those beneath you.” His gaze flicked, ever so briefly, toward the Ravenclaw benches, then to you in your Hufflepuff yellow, where you sat up straighter on reflex. A hush of anticipation prickled through the air, sparking like powdered moonstone hitting hot embers. 

It took no more than a heartbeat for both your hands and Taehyun’s to shoot skyward, mirror images of ambition in two very different skins. Your arm rose with sunshine optimism, sleeve fluttering like a pennant above a castle tower; Taehyun’s lifted with predatory precision, elbow locked, fingers slicing the air as if claiming rightful territory. Two comets on intersecting orbits. “Questions?” Oakenhart invited, his thin smile hinting that questions were only respectable if they tasted of genuine curiosity and not vanity.

Taehyun noticed you first, noticed the way your fingertips wiggled for attention as though determined to catch falling starlight, and a quiet scuff of disapproval hissed past his teeth. “Little miss perfect,” he muttered under his breath, the phrase delivered like a curse brewed from nettle and spite. But the professor’s nod landed on you, not him. You stood, straightening your robes with a soft brush of palms, and the dungeon’s torchlight caught the hopeful glimmer in your eyes. “Professor,” you began, voice warm as summer rain, “will academic collaboration — tutoring students outside one’s own house, for example; count toward the leadership criterion, or is it measured strictly by individual achievement?” The question sailed across the room, thoughtful and earnest, carrying the faint scent of cinnamon from the potion still clinging to your cuffs. 

Taehyun’s scoff was immediate, a low, velvety sound of contempt. “It’s hardly rocket science,” he drawled, loud enough for the nearest cauldrons to tremble. “Prefects inspire excellence, they don’t spoon-feed it. Obviously individual performance weighs heaviest.” His sarcasm slithered through the air like a smoky serpent, confident that everyone would see the answer as plain as daylight. 

Instead of bristling, you turned to him with the brightness of a heliotrope bending toward dawn. You dipped your head, just a fraction and let a beatific smile unfurl, soft and sincere. “Thank you, Taehyun,” you replied, voice edged with honeyed cordiality. “But I find that shining your light helps others see where they’re going, and what’s leadership if not lighting the path?” Your gentle retort glimmered with the audacity of grace, and the dungeon seemed to flicker brighter for a heartbeat. The sight of your tilted head and unconquerable optimism struck Taehyun like a spell gone awry. A low, involuntary snarl rasped from his throat, a feral sound quickly smothered behind a pursed line of lips, but not before you caught it, not before half the class saw the flash of winter in his eyes. The tension between you twanged like a harp string wound too tight: one pluck away from music, one tug away from breaking.  

Professor Oakenhart cleared his throat, once, sharply, expelling the storm before it could fully gather. “An astute question, Miss, Yes, mentorship and cross-house assistance will be tallied.” He inclined his head toward you with a hint of approval, then pivoted to Taehyun. “Mr. Kang, if you have a different inquiry, do raise your hand properly rather than providing commentary mid-air.” A ripple of muted laughter swept the benches, but your gaze held steady on Taehyun’s. Where his irises turned to flint, yours softened to amber, and in that quiet, smoldering stalemate something unspoken sparked, an ember that might turn to wildfire or to warmth, given time and care. For now, though, it merely glowed, pulsing in the shadowed dungeon like a promise you both refused to name. 

Sunoo nudged your elbow the moment you sat, wide-eyed and whispering, “I think you just poked a Hungarian Horntail.” You responded with an easy grin, quill poised to continue your notes. “Better a Horntail awake,” you murmured, “than a dragon who never learns how bright fire can be.” Across the aisle, Taehyun pressed a palm flat to the cool desk, steadying himself against the tremor of unfamiliar emotion. His quill scratched furious strokes into his parchment; ink as dark as midnight vows, but beneath that practiced scowl, a new question brewed in secret: How does one extinguish sunshine…without first stepping into its light? 

After the classroom became a quiet hush, everyone working silently alongside their partners, Professor Oakenheart instructs Taehyun and yourself to rise and follow him to his desk. “You will both report to the potion storeroom tonight. Seven o’clock. No excuses. And no magic.” He says with a sigh. “I cannot have students arguing in class, it’s unsavory.” 

“Yes, Mr. Oakenheart.” You say with the downward tilt of your head. Taehyun didn’t say a word. His robes still glistened from your accidental splash, the potion drying in uneven patches across his sleeve. He glanced at you once, briefly, with all the warmth of a midwinter frost, then turned away. 

You walk back to your seat next to Sunoo solemnly, sitting down next to him silently. Sunoo whispered, “You’re cursed,” under his breath as you sat back down. You grinned and whispered back, “Just peachy.” 

–

Seven o’clock arrived like a tolling bell, and the potion storeroom, usually locked, usually silent, opened with a low groan as Professor Oakenhart wordlessly ushered you both inside. The room was narrow and cluttered, lit by a handful of enchanted lanterns that hovered in lazy loops, casting golden light onto rows of old wooden shelves. Vials of powdered roots and dried wings lined the walls, their labels yellowed and curling at the edges. The air was rich with the scent of earth and time; rosehips, wolfsbane, peppermint, and mildew. “You’ll sort and organize all of this,” the professor said, gesturing to a chaotic pile of unbottled ingredients and stained glassware stacked across the center table. “Without the use of wands. You leave when it’s done.” 

Then he left, the heavy door clicking shut behind him with an ominous finality. You turned to Taehyun with a sheepish smile. “Well… could be worse.”

Taehyun didn’t even glance at you. “Could be over faster if you stopped talking.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, grabbing a jar of shriveled billywig stingers. “You act like I spilled that potion on purpose.”

“You didn’t not spill it,” he muttered, picking through a box of dried dittany leaves with the care of a jeweler inspecting glass. “You’re always fluttering around like a butterfly with no sense of direction. No wonder you can’t stay upright.” You rolled your eyes and tossed your hair back defiantly. “You’re so dramatic. One splash of Dreamless Sleep on your sleeve and you act like I’ve ruined your career.”

“That potion was for me, actually,” he snapped. “A concentration tonic. For my study schedule. Unlike you, I don’t need to flirt my way through classes.” The words hit like a slap; sharp, misplaced, and far too personal. 

You blinked. “I wasn’t flirting, Taehyun.” He didn’t reply. Just turned, his fingers tight around the neck of a decanter filled with bluebell essence. The silence stretched long and brittle. You turned back to the shelves, trying to focus on alphabetizing vials instead of the heat rising to your cheeks. You hated that he could twist your sunshine into something shallow. You hated that it hurt a little, even if you knew better. It was when you were climbing a rickety step stool to reach a jar of flobberworm mucus that it happened, your foot caught on a crooked rung, and the world tilted sharply. You yelped, arms flailing for balance, but gravity was faster. 

And Taehyun; curse him, was there. He caught you by the waist in a startled breath, your chest nearly colliding with his, both of you frozen in a strange, suspended heartbeat. For one unbearable second, the air was different. He smelled like cloves and parchment and the faint memory of apples. His hands were warm through the fabric of your robes. Your face was tilted up to his, and his jaw tightened like he was holding back a thought that tasted too much like truth. Then he let go. 

You stumbled back with a startled gasp, catching yourself against a shelf just in time to stop an entire row of beetle eyes from toppling to the floor. “You—!” you started.

“I’m not your babysitter,” he snapped, brushing his hands down his robes like your presence had scorched him. “You’re so dramatic,” you said again, this time with venom. “One second you’re catching me, the next you act like I’ve hexed you.”

“And you’re unbearable,” he bit out, his voice low and dangerous. “Always smiling, always talking, always pretending the world is sugar and stars. It’s exhausting.” You stared at him, chest heaving, the light from the lanterns catching the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the irritated furrow in his brow. But underneath all that anger; buried like a secret, was something else.

You exhaled slowly. “Maybe it’s not pretend.” Taehyun said nothing. Just turned back to his work, jaw clenched, knuckles white where they gripped a jar of valerian root. 

You returned to the pile of unsorted ingredients with a huff, brushing the dust from your skirt and refusing to meet his eyes. The silence between you wasn’t peaceful, it was brittle, strained, the kind of silence that creaked like a staircase in an old manor, aching to be broken. Taehyun was the one who cracked first. “Maybe if you focused half as much on your work as you do on being liked, you wouldn’t be in detention.”

You turned sharply, a vial of crushed lovage seeds in one hand. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh, I did. I’m just stunned you think being liked is a flaw.”

He scoffed, not looking up from the set of empty phials he was aligning by size. “Popularity isn’t the same as talent.”

“And coldness isn’t the same as intelligence,” you snapped. “Just because you glare through every lecture doesn’t make you smarter than everyone else.” He finally turned to face you, eyes flashing like lightning behind stormcloud lashes. “I’m not cold. I’m focused. There’s a difference.”

You stepped closer, your arms crossed now, potion dust glittering faintly on your sleeves like constellation flecks. “You’re so scared someone else might outshine you that you treat everyone like competition.” 

“No one has outshined me,” he replied, voice like steel. “Until you.” 

The silence that followed was a strange one. Thicker. Quieter. Like the world had taken a step back to let those words hang between you — taunting, trembling, true. You blinked. “What?”

He looked away too fast. “Forget it.”

“No, you said—” You took a step closer, your heart thudding, not from the argument, but from the accidental confession strung beneath it. “You said until me. You think I’ve outshined you?” 

“I think you’re exhausting,” he muttered, back to organizing now with unnecessary force, placing bottles like they’d offended him personally. “You breeze through everything like it’s easy. People like you. Professors praise you. And somehow, despite all your little smiles and your sunshine-and-daisies attitude, you’re still top of the class.” You stared at him, stunned. “You think I haven’t worked for this?”

“I think you’ve never needed to work as hard,” he hissed, not cruel but bitter, like it was a wound he’d carried for too long. “You show up and everyone adores you. I have to fight for everything.”

Your voice softened. “That’s not my fault, Taehyun.” He paused, a jar of dried mint frozen in his hand.

“No,” he said, after a breath. “It’s not. But it still feels like I’m running a race you get to skip the hurdles for.” You didn’t know what to say to that. The space between you wasn’t so wide now. Just one potion-stained table and a pile of unsaid things.

“I don’t try to make you feel that way,” you said, quieter now. “I just… I like being here. I like learning. I like this world. It’s not about beating you.” Taehyun exhaled, slowly. “It’s always been about beating me.” You looked at him then; really looked. The precision of his posture. The tension in his shoulders. The fury not just with you, but with himself. With his need to win. And buried beneath that, the fear of what it might mean to lose to someone like you.

“Maybe,” you said gently, “it doesn’t have to be a race.” He looked up, and for the first time, he didn’t seem angry. Just tired. And quietly, painfully aware of you in a way that went far deeper than rivalry ever could. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he said, but his voice had lost its edge.

You tilted your head and smiled; not mockingly, but softly. “Maybe I would.” He didn’t smile back.

–

The sky was ink-blue, bruised with stars. The Astronomy Tower stood quiet, wind whispering through the slits in the stone as if the castle itself was holding its breath. The hour was late enough that most students had turned in, their dormitories dim with drowsy candlelight and dreams. But you couldn’t sleep. Something in the air tonight felt unsettled. Heavy. Like the prelude to a storm, but not one outside. 

A strange instinct tugged at you; soft and insistent. So you wandered, slippers padding across stone, drawn not by sound but by silence. You found him there. Taehyun. Perched on the low ledge of the Astronomy Tower with his knees pulled up and his arms resting on them, his robes dark against the greystone, face upturned toward a sky he didn’t seem to be seeing. There was something wrong in the stillness of him.

He was always sharp in class, always stiff with pride, always holding himself like a blade; ready to cut, ready to be cut. But here, under the stars, he looked… tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix. The kind that came from being measured too often. From being whittled down into something small and perfect and hollow. You approached gently, your footsteps careful. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you at all. Just kept his gaze fixed forward, eyes unreadable, expression carved from stone.

But you saw the parchment clutched in one hand, wrinkled and shaking slightly in the wind. You didn’t ask what it said. You didn’t need to. The way his shoulders curled inward, the way his mouth pressed into a thin, unfeeling line; it told you enough. So you sat beside him. You didn’t speak. Didn’t press. Just opened your satchel and wordlessly held out a Chocolate Frog, your last one. You kept it for exam days and rainy Sundays, but tonight, it felt like he needed it more than you. For a second, he didn’t move. Then, without looking at you, he took it. His fingers brushed yours. Cold. Tense. But real.

You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease. You just sat beside him in silence, letting the stars be the only witnesses. Letting the wind pass between you like breath. Letting kindness be quiet and simple and soft. And when you left, he still hadn’t spoken. Still hadn’t looked at you. But the Chocolate Frog wrapper sat folded neatly on the ledge when you returned the next day.

The next morning in Potions, everything feels almost normal. Almost. You and Sunoo arrive late, breathless from a stairwell that decided halfway through to rotate in the wrong direction. Professor Oakenhart levels you both with a tired glare, but waves you in without comment. You settle into your seat and reach for your ingredients; belladonna, porcupine quills, armadillo bile, your fingers moving on instinct while your mind drifts elsewhere.

To the Astronomy Tower. To the letter he never spoke of. To the way he never thanked you. To the way you hadn’t needed him to. It happens so fast you barely register it. A soft pop. A hiss. The sharp crack of glass. And then, boom. Your cauldron erupts in a bloom of green smoke and sparks, a chemical chaos that splashes up in a hot rush of steam and acrid potion. You flinch, arms flying up to protect your face, heart hammering in your throat. But nothing touches you.

Because in the heartbeat before the blast, a shield spell snaps into place; silver and curved like a falling star, held firm by a voice you know too well. “Protego.” When the smoke clears, you’re blinking through tears, more from shock than anything and coughing through the haze. Your cauldron is scorched, bubbling like a wounded beast, and Sunoo is somewhere under the table muttering prayers. 

But all you can see is Taehyun. Standing across the aisle. His wand still raised. His hair mussed slightly from the force of the blast. His robes dusted with soot and powdered nettle. He says nothing. Just looks at you for one long, unreadable moment. Then lowers his wand, turns on his heel, and walks back to his seat like nothing happened. You stare after him, stunned. Because it wasn’t like him to help. It wasn’t like him to notice. But he had. And something in your chest warms like sunlight over frost. 

The Professor grumbles something about careless brewing, assigns a week’s worth of clean-up duties, and moves on. But you don’t care. You’re still staring at the back of Taehyun’s head, and the words you didn’t say last night echo louder now than ever: Maybe it doesn’t have to be a race.

– 

Snow had draped itself over the castle like a dream.

Hogwarts shimmered under winter’s enchantment, its towers crowned with frost, its courtyards glowing gold with fairy lights. Students bustled about in robes lined with velvet, their laughter rising with each breath like smoke into the star-splattered sky. Tonight wasn’t the Yule Ball, not exactly, it was something smaller, softer. A midwinter celebration organized by the Prefects and Professors: music in the Great Hall, warm drinks passed from student to student, and the magic of December clinging to every flickering candle. You arrived with Sunoo, cheeks flushed, hair kissed with snow. Laughter danced on your lips before you even crossed the threshold, Sunoo telling a joke that made your sides ache, your friends gathering around like stars drawn to your gravity. You were radiant in your winter robes, something golden in your grin. You loved nights like this. Nights full of warmth and wonder. Nights where the world felt like it belonged to you.

He was already there. Taehyun stood on the far edge of the room, near the refreshment table but untouched by it. Alone. Always alone. His Ravenclaw blue scarf hung loose around his neck, frost still clinging to the hems of his sleeves, and his expression unreadable, carved from cool stone.You didn’t notice him at first. Not really. Not until someone asked you to dance.

It was a boy from Gryffindor, tall, smiling, a little shy. He offered you his hand and you, ever the sun, said yes without hesitation. Your friends cheered. Sunoo nudged you playfully. And soon, the two of you were spinning between floating candles, the music lifting your steps, your laughter like honey and light. Taehyun noticed. He noticed the way your head tipped back when you laughed. The way your hands fit so easily into someone else’s. The way you looked, joyful, unguarded, lovely, and not at all like the girl who once gave him her last Chocolate Frog in silence.

He didn’t stay. He turned before he could think better of it, his footsteps soundless on the marble. The corridor outside the Great Hall was quiet, save for the distant hum of music and the soft hush of falling snow through an open window. He didn’t know why he left. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t have the words for it. He just knew he hated watching someone else hold your smile. So he left. And you followed. 

You found him near the foot of the grand staircase, his back to you, the golden candlelight brushing against his shoulders, setting soft fire to the edges of his silhouette. “Taehyun.”

He didn’t turn. You stepped closer. “You left early.” 

“I wasn’t enjoying myself.”

“Why not?”

A beat. Then: “You looked like you were.”

There was something sharp in the way he said it. Something jealous. Something that trembled beneath the surface, unwilling to admit what it truly was. You folded your arms. “So you were watching me.” He turned to you then, slowly. His expression unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes were thunderclouds.

“You always want people to look at you,” he said, low and quiet. “So don’t act surprised when they do.”

Your breath caught, more from the venom than the words themselves. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you always have to be seen, don’t you? Always the center of the room. Always dancing, laughing, shining — like you need everyone’s attention to survive.” You flinched. But you stood your ground. “And you push everyone away because you’re afraid they’ll see something you’re hiding.”

“Better than parading around like you have nothing to hide.”

“At least I’m not cruel about it.” You quip back, hurt. 

“Oh?” he snapped. “You think I’m cruel because I don’t fawn over your every word? Because I don’t melt under your smiles like everyone else does?”

“No,” you said, stepping closer now, your voice trembling not with fear but with fury. “I think you’re cruel because you can’t stand that someone else might be your equal.” His jaw clenched.

“And because you’re angry,” you whispered, “that I make you feel something you can’t control.” Silence. Thick, aching silence. 

“You’re insufferable,” he breathed.

“And you’re impossible.”

“I hate the way you laugh.”

“I hate the way you lie.” A pause. A breath.

“I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you.” Your breath catches in your throat. Your mouth suddenly like cotton. 

Then, like a flicker of a flame Taehyun was kissing you. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire meeting fire, snow melting on burning skin. His mouth met yours with all the tension of months pressed into a single, trembling heartbeat. He kissed you like he was trying to erase every insult, every rivalry, every bitter word. You kissed him like you’d been waiting for him to stop running. When you pulled apart, breathless, your hands still clutched his robes. He stared at you, stunned. Like he hadn’t meant to do it. Like he wanted to do it again.

You smirked, the corner of your mouth curling just so. “Still hate me?”

His lips twitched. “More than ever.” But his voice was hoarse. And his fingers didn’t let go.

Morning broke cold and silver, the kind of pale light that softened the snow but sharpened the air. In the Great Hall, everything looked the same. Students chattered over toast and pumpkin juice, scarves half-tangled around their necks, steam curling from mugs like the remnants of dreams. The enchanted ceiling swirled with drifting snowflakes and a pale winter sky. But something was off-kilter in the space around you. Something missing You scanned the tables without thinking, eyes flickering past familiar faces. Sunoo noticed, you could feel his gaze as you forced a too-bright smile, buttered your toast with robotic precision.

“Did something happen last night?” he asked, voice soft, careful.

You shrugged, looking down at your plate. “Nothing.” But your hands trembled. And Taehyun wasn’t at his usual place near the end of the Ravenclaw table. Not that you were watching. Not that you were waiting. But still. You saw him again outside the library, later that morning. His robes were immaculate as always, scarf draped neatly over one shoulder, a book in his hand he wasn’t reading. You approached him cautiously, your heart fluttering like a sparrow trapped in your ribs. 

“Taehyun,” you said, gently, like the name itself might break if you spoke it too loud. His eyes flicked up. Cold. Unbothered. Your smile faltered. 

“Can we talk?” you asked, hands twisting in the hem of your sweater.

“No.” Just like that. Clipped. Sharp.

You blinked. “What?” 

“I said no.” Something inside you shrank, just a little. “Taehyun… what happened last night—”

“Was a mistake.” The words hit like a slap. You felt the breath leave your lungs, staggered by the sudden, cruel distance of him. “You kissed me,” you said, voice small, cracking. “You said—” 

“I got caught up in the moment.” His tone was flat, practiced. Like he’d already rehearsed these lines. Like he’d spent the whole night scrubbing every softness out of himself. “It didn’t mean anything.” The world tilted. Your lips parted, your voice caught in your throat. You could feel the sting building in your chest, behind your eyes. He didn’t look at you, wouldn’t. His gaze stayed fixed on the spines of books he wasn’t reading, as if pretending you weren’t there would erase what happened.

“I thought you—” You bit your lip, hard. Swallowed. “I thought you cared.”

“I don’t.” It was brutal, how easy he made it sound. And that was what broke you.

You turned before he could see the tears spill, before your voice could crumble entirely. You ran, not caring who saw, not caring where you were going, just needing to escape the weight of that hallway, of his voice still echoing inside you like the last note of a song gone wrong. Snow flurried around you as you burst outside, not feeling the cold through the heat in your cheeks. The castle loomed behind you, windows glowing warm with light you couldn’t bear to be near.

You collapsed beneath the shadow of a tree near the lake, the frost crunching beneath your knees, and let yourself cry. Quietly, messily. Like the sky had fallen only for you. You hated how much you’d hoped. Hated that one kiss had unraveled you. Hated that even now, even with his cruelty still ringing in your ears… You still wanted to believe he didn’t mean it.

The next morning came like a betrayal. Sunlight poured through the dormitory windows, golden and gentle, but it felt wrong against your skin. The castle still breathed with its usual rhythm, owls cooing in the distance, portraits murmuring, fireplaces crackling softly, but none of it reached you. It was as though something inside you had gone still. Quiet in a way that even your cheer couldn’t touch. You sat beside Sunoo in the Great Hall, picking at your breakfast with no real interest. Your usual glow was gone, dulled into something shadowed and quiet.

Sunoo nudged you gently with his shoulder. “You didn’t say much last night.” You didn’t meet his eyes. “There wasn’t much to say.”

He watched you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “This is about Taehyun, isn’t it?” Your fingers curled tighter around your spoon.

“We kissed, ” you whispered, barely audible. “And then he said it was a mistake.”

Sunoo’s brows lifted, and then quickly drew together in concern. “What?” 

“I thought it meant something,” you said, voice cracking. “But he shut me out. Said it didn’t mean anything. Like I was just… a moment to him. A mistake to be scrubbed out.”

Sunoo’s expression darkened. “What a bloody idiot.” You gave a weak laugh, one that didn’t reach your eyes. He reached across the table and covered your hand with his. “Look, I know you like to see the good in everyone, even in jerks who don’t deserve it, but maybe it’s time you started putting that heart of yours somewhere safer. Someone who’ll actually protect it.”

You nodded, lips pressed tight. “You’re right.” But the ache didn’t lift. Later that day, you filed into Potions class with the rest of the students, your bag slung over one shoulder. The scent of crushed herbs and simmering roots clung thick to the dungeon air. You walked with your head high, shoulders back, smile forced into place like armor. He was already seated when you walked in. Taehyun.

Sitting at his usual spot near the front, posture rigid, jaw tight. His fingers tapped soundlessly against his textbook. He didn’t look up when you entered. Didn’t so much as flinch. But you felt the chill in the room anyway, the weight of all that was unspoken crackling between you like a live wire. Still, you were you. Still sunshine, even with cracks in your light. You walked over, careful steps echoing softly, and perched on the edge of the desk beside his. “Hi, Taehyun,” you said, your voice light, as if your heart wasn’t twisting. “I was wondering if you finished the reading for today. The part about powdered asphodel, wasn’t that fascinating? I thought—”

“Can you just shut up for once?” His voice cut through the room like a blade. The entire class went still. You froze. “I’m trying to concentrate,” he said, still not looking at you. “And I don’t need your insipid, cheery commentary. Merlin knows it’s exhausting enough seeing you parade around like everyone’s personal ray of sunshine.” 

A few people snorted with laughter. Someone whispered behind their hand. You felt every eye in the room swing toward you, your face, your smile, your frozen stance. And Taehyun finally looked up, and his expression was cold, clipped, composed. But your world cracked. You swallowed the lump in your throat, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. You looked around, saw the amusement on their faces, the mockery, the disbelief that anyone as soft as you could’ve tried to reach someone as sharp-edged as him. And then your gaze landed back on Taehyun.

“All I’ve done,” you said, voice trembling, “is try to be nice to you. To care for you. Even when you were cruel. Even when you didn’t deserve it.” He said nothing. Your voice dropped to a whisper. “But I’m done.”

You didn’t wait for his reaction. Didn’t want to see if there was even a flicker of regret in those storm-grey eyes. You turned on your heel, your shoes tapping hard against the stone, and fled the classroom. Again. But this time… you didn’t cry. This time, your chest burned with something else. This time, you were done being soft for someone who only knew how to bruise.

Taehyun sat frozen in the aftermath. The laughter had faded. The stares had drifted away. But the silence that followed your exit rang louder than anything else in the room. He stared at the empty space where you’d stood, chest hollow and knotted, something sour rising in his throat. The words he’d thrown at you echoed back in his ears; sharp, venom-laced things forged in fear, insecurity, and pride. And regret, thick and immediate, curled in his gut like poison. “Taehyun?” the professor called. But he didn’t answer. He stood up abruptly, chair scraping back, and bolted.

His shoes struck stone as he ran through the corridor, breath tight, wand forgotten. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he needed to find you. That he had to. His heart beat painfully against his ribs. The hallways blurred past him, students turned their heads as he passed, but he didn’t stop. He found you in the greenhouses, your favorite place, tucked behind the castle where the air smelled of earth and mint, where your emotions could breathe. You stood alone beneath the arching glass dome, surrounded by sleeping winter blooms. The late afternoon light spilled through the frosted windows in ribbons of gold. You had your arms crossed, head bowed, lips pressed tightly together. When you heard the door open, you stiffened.

“What do you want?” you said, voice hoarse, but strong.

Taehyun’s breath hitched. “I’m sorry.”

You laughed, bitter and soft. “You’re always sorry.”

“I know.” He took a step closer. “I know I keep ruining things. I know I keep hurting you. But I don’t—” His voice broke. “I don’t mean to.”

“Then why do you?” you snapped, eyes glassy, anger trembling under your skin. “Why do you keep pushing me away? Every time I try to be kind, every time I try to care about you — you throw it back in my face.” Taehyun looked down at his hands, curling them into fists. “Because you make it hard to pretend I don’t feel anything.” You stared at him. 

He looked up, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes were wide, vulnerable, raw. “You’re always happy. You shine so damn much it hurts. And I... I’ve spent my whole life trying to be perfect, trying to be what everyone expects. And then you walk in, and you’re better than me, and kinder, and I didn’t know what to do with that. So I lashed out. Because it was easier than admitting I—” He swallowed. “I like you.” Silence bloomed between you. Quiet. Fragile.

“You’re such a bloody idiot,” you muttered.

Taehyun blinked, startled. “What?” And then you stepped forward. Fast. Sure. Your hands came up to grab the collar of his robes, tugging him down before he could react. Your mouth crashed into his with a force that knocked the air out of both of you. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was furious, raw, earned. Taehyun made a soft, strangled noise in the back of his throat, his hands fluttering for a moment before settling; one on your waist, the other braced against the table behind you. But you didn’t wait for him. You deepened the kiss, teeth and warmth and heat and something frantic behind it all. You poured your anger and your longing into him, tasting the apology on his tongue, daring him to mean it.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your eyes burned into his. “I’ve liked you for ages, you emotionally constipated genius,” you whispered, chest heaving. “But I’m not going to keep running after you if you’re going to keep running from yourself.” His mouth parted. He didn’t speak. He only nodded, once, reverent. 

“I won’t break for you again, Taehyun,” you said, softer now. “So if you’re going to kiss me back next time… mean it.”

“I will,” he breathed, eyes wide, lips swollen, still stunned by the hurricane of you. “I swear.” And this time, when you kissed him again, it was slower. Sweeter. The first page of a new chapter written in ink instead of fire. And for once, he let himself feel it.

–

The announcement came quietly, a simple flick of parchment and a name spoken with no ceremony. At breakfast, the Great Hall was humming; spoons clinking against porridge bowls, owls flapping in with the morning post, low chatter weaving between house tables like mist. Professor McGonagall stood at the podium, spectacles glinting as she unrolled the scroll of student appointments. Her voice carried with its usual sharpness, precise and unyielding. “The Prefect position for next term,” she said, “has been awarded to Miss Eliza Rowe of Gryffindor.” 

A polite smattering of applause followed. Nothing loud, nothing triumphant, just the rustle of hands clapping out of obligation more than celebration. Eliza, three seats down from the golden trio’s old haunt, blinked, then straightened her back and nodded once, the picture of composed satisfaction. She’d dotted her i’s with logic, crossed her t’s with ruthlessness, built her empire from timetables and perfectly executed essays. And she deserved it. You blinked, mid-sip of pumpkin juice. Across the table, Taehyun paused, one hand wrapped around a buttered scone. For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other. And then, like a shared secret, you both burst into soft, startled laughter.

No bitterness curled on your tongues. No resentment twisted in your chests. There was no sting to the loss, only the warm realization that you hadn’t even noticed the stakes anymore. Taehyun leaned forward, elbows brushing the edge of his plate, eyes gleaming in the slanted morning light. “You know, I think this might be the first time I’ve lost anything and not wanted to hex someone about it.” You smirked. “Wow. Character development.” 

He grinned, actually grinned, the corners of his mouth curling like sunlight creeping through storm clouds. “Don’t push it.” You looked down at your plate, then back up at him. “I mean, we both lost, technically. And yet…”

“And yet,” he echoed, voice low and warm, gaze lingering. His fingers brushed yours under the table, just a whisper of contact, but it said everything. You glanced around at the bustle of the Hall. No one was paying attention to you anymore. The spotlight had shifted elsewhere. You and Taehyun were no longer the top contenders, the academic titans vying for dominance. And you didn’t care.

The rivalry had sharpened you both, carved out the edges where you met, but now, here, in this quiet moment between spoonfuls of marmalade and melted butter, it felt like something new was blooming. Not softer, exactly. But truer. Less about pride. More about presence. “I think,” you said slowly, “I’d rather have this.”

He tilted his head. “This?”

You shrugged, fighting a smile. “Us. Whatever we are now.” For a moment, Taehyun didn’t answer. Just looked at you, like you were the only person in the castle worth watching. Like maybe, in some unspoken way, he’d already chosen this over everything else. Then he said, “Me too.”

Epilogue 

The letter arrives on a Tuesday. It isn’t sent with an owl, or folded with formal corners. It’s slipped into your Potions textbook, tucked between a page on amortentia and the properties of powdered moonstone. You find it when your fingers brush against the soft, familiar parchment, sealed with nothing more than a pressed flower. A heliotrope. His favorite. And yours. Your name is scrawled across the front in his ever-meticulous handwriting, slanted and confident and just a touch dramatic. But inside; it’s him, wholly and undeniably.

Meet me at the Astronomy Tower. Tonight. Midnight. Don’t bring Sunoo, or I swear. 

Stop asking questions you already know the answer to, Little Miss Perfect. It makes me want to kiss you. Which is inconvenient. Because I hate you.

—T.K.

You laugh, soft, delighted, head shaking in disbelief. The paper crinkles in your hand as your fingers clutch it tighter, your stomach blooming with something golden and giddy. You press the letter against your lips, a half-suppressed giggle escaping. He still says he hates you. You roll your eyes, slip the letter into your sleeve, and go anyway.

The Astronomy Tower is quiet when you arrive, the air tinged with cold and the faint, fragrant echo of spring pushing through winter’s shadow. Snow clings in delicate lace to the ramparts, the sky a deep indigo velvet scattered with stars. Hogwarts sleeps below, its windows glowing faintly, warm and distant. You find him leaning against the parapet, robes fluttering slightly in the breeze, curls tousled and dark against the moonlight. He doesn’t turn as you approach, but you know he hears you. He always does. “You’re late,” Taehyun murmurs, without looking.

“You’re impossible,” you reply, stepping beside him, shoulder brushing his.

He finally glances at you. “And yet, here you are.”

You smile. It’s soft, easy. “What’s the occasion?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks up, at the moon, at the stars, at anything but you. When he finally speaks, it’s quieter. “I used to come here to get away from people. To think. Sometimes just to breathe.” You say nothing. You let him unravel in his own time.

He exhales, long and slow. “Now all I think about is how badly I want you here. All the time. Even when you’re babbling. Even when you’re winning at things I swore I needed to beat you at.” You glance at him, heart beating like a drum beneath your ribs. He turns to face you fully now, the night making a poem of his profile, sharp lines, soft edges, eyes full of unspoken things.

“You ruined my solitude,” he whispers. 

You tilt your head, teasing. “You’re welcome.” 

His lips twitch. “I should hate you for it.”

“And yet?”

“And yet,” he says, stepping closer, “you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to be wrong with.” You reach for him first this time, fingers brushing his, pulling him into your gravity. He meets you halfway. The kiss is quiet. Slow. Like a confession. Like a wish. Above, the stars burn steady. Below, the castle dreams. And somewhere between the heavens and the earth, a boy who built walls and a girl who tore them down find something far sweeter than victory. Not perfection. But something better. Home

(♬) - @beomiracles @biteyoubiteme @hyukascampfire @dawngyu @izzyy-stuff @1-800-jewon @xylatox

[aventoru]

hihi !! can i request phainon, jing yuan, and mydei with a reader who has a cat, and is extremely attached to it and their cat ends up missing and it leads them to having a breakdown? basically how they would comfort reader… 😞😞

WHEN YOUR CAT GOES MISSING

ft. phainon, jing yuan, mydei

tags : missing cat:(, reader is sad/having a breakdown, basically everyone is scrambling to find the cat, hurt/comfort

a/n : and to anyone whose cat is missing i really really hope u find it 😭 or i hope u receive some kind of comfort from these hcs at least<3 also i know close to nothing about finding missing cats so pls correct me if i'm wrong!!

PHAINON

he will do ANYTHING to get the cat back for you because he misses it too

tells you to rest at home while he scours all of okhema and puts up missing posters when he has time, basically a pet detective by day and your caretaker by night

every time he returns after another failed attempt at finding your cat, he’ll give you cuddles and stay by your side, whispering comforting words to help ease the pain

after a week goes by, he starts resorting to more obscure methods to attract your cat

such as putting your belongings, the cat’s favorite toy, and cat food outside (which attracts a bunch of strays help)

tbh the cat will most likely turn up on its own looking all nonchalant when you both are on the brink of giving up

like phainon’s just hugging you in his arms when you tell him you’re missing your cat again and it just appears out of nowhere LOL

“OMG BABY!!” “hmm? i’m here??” “NO I MEANT (CAT’S NAME)!! I MISSED YOU!!” phainon’s so relieved 😭

if he still doesn’t find your cat, rest assured because that man is NEVER giving up this search whether it be for months or years

JING YUAN

he lowkey gets flashbacks of mimi’s death (💔) and understands exactly how you feel

assigns a cloud knight the sole job of going to search for your cat and tells all luofu citizens to look out for the cat

gets you out and about to distract you from the pain

“how about we go on a date right now? do you want to watch a movie tonight?”

he knows it’s not going to do much but he wants to help you however he can while the search is ongoing

he also uses this as an excuse to get off work (lazy ass 😑) “i need to take care of my s/o” he says to fu xuan on his way out

and he does. he cooks for you, buys you treats, and stays by your side 24/7 until you eventually feel better

if the cat gets found, congratulations ❤️‍🔥 the person who returned it to you probably received a crazy amount of reward money

if it doesn’t, he’ll offer to buy you another cat/pet or anything to make you feel better for that matter, but that depends on u

MYDEI

despite not saying it out loud, mydei actually cares more for your cat than you think

is the type to give practical solutions more than emotional comfort

literally makes a list of steps on how to find a missing cat so you two can follow

he’s a smart and efficient worker so if your cat is still somewhere near your home, he’ll be able to find it sooner or later

if it wanders off to some place too far away, he'll ask aglaea to use her threads to search for the cat (#smart #trust)

when he sees you too sad and desperate after a few weeks of tirelessly searching, he’ll resort to…interesting methods to try and comfort you

compiles a list of memories your cat left behind, from photos to toys and shows them all to you. he believes the best remedy is to release all your emotions before moving on.

even offers to be your cat instead???? “you can treat me like your cat then.” “what???” “you keep telling me i act like one anyway.”

if the cat comes back, then YAYY everything went as planned

if it’s still missing, he’ll try to give you a more optimistic look on the situation and help you move on with your daily life while the search continues

masterlist

[rowdyluv]

DAY OUT

summary: in which ellen and y/n spend the day together shopping.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: use of y/n, insecurities that may be triggering,

notes: i am not proud of this part. heavily debating on re-writing it but wanted to get something out :)

© property of rowdyluv ; do not copy and re-upload as your own - anywhere. do not place my work inside AI codes, do not translate.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the quiet downtown streets. Inside the car, Y/n sat unusually quiet, her gaze lost in the reflection of passing buildings and people on the window. Her thoughts swirled like leaves in the autumn wind, each one heavier than the last. Each store they had visited had been a letdown, a sea of fabric and lace that seemed to mock her rather than offer a solution to her dilemma. She had hoped that dress shopping would be an exciting adventure, a bonding experience with Jack's mom, but it had turned into a tiresome quest with no end in sight.

Ellen, noticing the weight of her silence, offered a gentle, "You okay, sweetie?"

Y/n sighed, "I don't think I'm going to find anything. Nothing seems to look right on me."

Ellen, with a knowing smile, reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "You've got to be positive about it, darling. If you go in thinking that way it’s going to be even harder. You’ll be stuck on negativity."

"But it's true," Y/n protested, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've tried on so many dresses, and none of them looked right." She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I knew if I wore any of those I would only embarrass Jack.”

Ellen's smile didn't falter. "You could wear a paper sack and Jack would still think you're the prettiest girl in the room," she said, her voice filled with the warmth of a mother's unconditional love. "Trust, my son is as smitten as a kitten with you. Has been from a young age. Learning that the two of you finally started dating was a celebration for Jim and I.” Ellen sighed.

Y/n felt guilty for lying to Ellen about her and Jack’s current relationship status but that was Jack’s provocative. If he wanted his family to be under the same impression as the public.

Ellen parked the car with a hopeful smile. "This is it," she said, pointing towards the last store on their list, a quaint little boutique nestled between a bakery and a bookstore. "I have a good feeling about this one."

Before they could even step out of the car, she turned to Y/n with a sparkle in her eyes. "Listen to me," she began, her voice filled with a gentle authority. "Jack loves you for who you are, not what you wear. But I know how much you want to look amazing for him, and I'm here to tell you that you do. In every dress you've tried on today, you've looked beautiful. It's all about finding the one that makes you feel like the beauty you are, okay honey?”

She nodded and offered up a small smile towards Ellen.

Ellen could see the doubt still lingering in her eyes, so she took a moment before they got out of the car to speak from the heart. "You know," she began, "Jack's always had a way of seeing the best in people. And you, my dear, are the best he's ever seen, even when you two were little. You're smart, kind, and you have a spark that lights up any room you walk into."

Her eyes searched Y/n's, hoping her words would resonate. "Now, I know you're feeling down about the dresses, but let's go in there with an open mind, yes?" She offered her hand and led Y/n to the storefront entrance, her own excitement for the search not waning. The bell above the door jingled sweetly as they entered the boutique, and the scent of fresh flowers and fabric softener greeted them.

The store was a treasure trove of gowns, each one more exquisite than the last. Y/n felt the weight of her own inadequacies lift as they were greeted by a kind saleswoman who offered them individualized help. As they explained what they were looking for, the woman led them through racks of dresses, holding up each one with a hopeful smile.

Y/n's eyes scanned the rows of dresses, each one seemingly more beautiful than the last, but none of them seemed to be 'the one'. She felt her hope dwindling with every step they took, every dress that was deemed 'not quite right'. The pressure to find the perfect dress for devils event grew heavier with each passing moment.

Ellen noticed her growing discouragement and took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the store with renewed determination. "Let's try this," she said, leading Y/n to a secluded rack at the back of the store. "These are the last ones we're looking at."

Y/n's eyes fell upon a dress that was unlike any she had seen that day. It was a stunning blend of elegance and boldness, with the top half in black that flowed into a fiery red at the bottom. It was as if the dress had been painted by the very emotions she was feeling - the uncertainty of black meeting the passion of red. The irony of it being Devils colors too playing on the back burner.

Her heart skipped a beat as she whispered to Ellen, "Look at that one," pointing to the mannequin that held the captivating dress.

Ellen followed her gaze and nodded approvingly. "Ah, that's a unique choice," she murmured. "Let's see if it's available in your size."

“That’s the only one actually.” The sales rep says, having overhead the conversation. “We only received two of them and never got any more of them. A young lady came in two days ago purchased the other one for a charity event.”

Defeat tumbles into Y/n like a freight train. The unlikely chance there would only be two and the other would be purchased for a charity event too.

“But if you’re wanting a red dress, look at this one.” The sales rep says happily.

Y/n’s eyes followed over to where the sales lady had moved to, and fell upon a simple yet elegant red midi dress. It was modest yet held an undeniable charm that called to her. She walked over to it and gently touched the fabric, feeling the softness of it beneath her fingertips.

"This one," she murmured to herself.

The sales rep handed Y/n the red dress with a knowing smile, as if she had read her mind. Y/n slipped into the dressing room, her heart racing as she pulled the garment over her head. The fabric was like a second skin, hugging her in all the right places, the silky softness a comforting embrace. As she turned to look in the mirror, she gasped.

The dress was a vision of understated beauty, with a neckline that whispered sophistication and a fit that accentuated her figure without revealing too much. The way the fabric fell around her, it was as if it had been designed just for her. Y/n felt a surge of hope, the kind that lights up a room after a storm.

It was surprisingly comfortable, not a single pinch or tug. It was like the universe had conspired to put this dress in her path, a beacon of light in the sea of frills and lace she had been navigating. She stepped out of the dressing room, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

Ellen's eyes widened as she took in the transformation. The young girl she watched grow up entered the dressing room timidly but exited with confidence that exuded from her body like none other.

"Oh, honey," she breathed, "you look absolutely stunning."

Y/n twirled around, watching the fabric dance around her legs, the dress was perfect it was so right and so her it had letting out a small giggle.

The dress was simple, a compliment to her, yet it had a certain charm to it that seemed to call out to all who looked at her. It truly was, as if the universe was pulling them to this boutique for this moment.

The sales rep, a petite woman with a sharp eye for fashion, clapped her hands together in delight. "It's like it was made for you," she exclaimed. "The way it hugs your curves and makes your skin glow, it's absolutely divine!"

Y/n couldn't help but beam at the reflection in the mirror. "It is," she murmured, still in awe. “I’m sorry I’m just excited because I didn’t get to do this in high school. I feel like this my senior year moment.” She smiled.

Ellen's eyes twinkled as she stepped closer to her, wrapping her in a warm hug. "You deserve every bit of this, and more," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Jack's going to be absolutely speechless."

She flushed at the thought of when Jack sees her in a red dress. Especially when she is repeatedly thinking about how he said ‘my girl looks good in red’ It may have been for show but it’s still something on repeat in her mind.

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her chest as she looks back at Ellen, the kind that comes from knowing you're loved and supported. She nodded, her eyes misting over. "Thank you, Ellen. For everything, for coming when my mom couldn’t, for being there when he left, for this."

Ellen squeezed her shoulder. "It's what we do for family, or hopefully our future family," she said simply, her voice thick with emotion and a smile as she hands the cashier a card.

“No wait! I can pay. Don’t do that.” Y/n argued searching her bag for her wallet.

Ellen gently took her hand and held it in hers. “Jack insisted. He wanted me to use his card for anything we buy you. And right now, this is what we are buying you.” She said with a firmness that didn’t allow room for argument.

Y/n felt tears prick the corners of her eyes as she looked at the red midi dress in the clothing bag. It was more than just a piece of clothing; it was a symbol of the love and support she had found in Jack's family, even when Jack had left for the league. "Thank you," she whispered again, her voice thick and trembling with emotion.

[fictionismyreality3]

Take a Break

Warnings: hints at smut no actual smut, romance and everything that comes with it

Notes: every so often the need for this man will just suddenly pop up like gOD LET ME LIVE

The fingers you were clenching around your pen were beginning to hurt. Trying to write this essay was making you feel more like a wide eyed freshman than someone aiming to finish senior year at the top of their class. You stared aimlessly at your laptop, your eyes burning from how long you’d been looking over the work you had so far.

Which was only the title.

Just 2 more months. 2 months and then you could graduate, and you’d have your degree, and you could have your dream job and not be cramming book after book in your head, hoping you’d pick up the knowledge when really all it did was make you feel like punching your-

“Darlin’? You doing okay with your homework?” The honeyed voice of your boyfriend echoed around your dorm you, a light breeze the only warning you were given as he appeared randomly behind you.

“Yeah, Jasper. M’fine.” But just looking at his unfairly gorgeous face made you want to punch him instead of your TA.

It wasn’t fair. He got to be stupidly handsome and smart and he could easily ace your classes, probably finishing your degree in a few days with his stupid fucking vampire memory, and everything was so easy for him that you- “Honey, you’re frownin’ at me.” Jasper’s words drew you out of your little thought spiral.

“Yeah, I know, I know.. I’m sorry, I just..” You took a deep breath. “This is making want to rip my hair out.”

Jasper’s face now wore a frown mirroring your own, his gaze ever attentive, searching your face like he was looking for some hidden solution you couldn’t see. He ran his hand through your hair soothingly, his thumb brushing away the crease between your brows. The frustration and self-loathing that was radiating off you had hit him like a thick summer heat, pulling him up to your dorm in an instant.

He didn’t like to see his pretty little mate upset.

You were supposed to be happy. It was the last few months of school and he should have been feeling waves of glee and satisfaction dripping from your pores. Not this. And so, Jasper made up his mind. It wasn’t often that he used his abilities on you, it was something you’d discussed early into your relationship, something you insisted could only be a last resort kind of thing.

But the tears welling in your big eyes made his heart clench, and he found himself layering calm and relaxation over you like a blanket. “Why don’t you take a break, darlin’?”

Your head went all fuzzy, the cotton candy filling your skull making the words on your computer screen seem irrelevant. Blinking slowly, it took you a second to realize what was happening.

“No, no Jas, I have to finish this.” The words of protest sounded funny in your ears, the idea of doing anything but slumping back in your chair seemed exhausting. “No, you need to rest. You work so hard, honey.” Coaxing hands pushed you back in your seat, a sense of lethargy filling your bones as you hazily made out Jasper kneeling in front of you.

“Can’t.. I hav’to.. have..”

A Cheshire grin curled over Jaspers lips as he watched your body grow lax and pliant. Sure, adding little bouts of arousal between the relaxation would be breaking the rules you’d set, but he couldn’t have his mate overworking herself. Ghosting his hands up your legs, he pushed a little bit more bliss into you, enjoying the little whimper that slipped out.

“Don’t worry, darlin, I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

[unknownati]

x. bonnet

a/n: lost my bonnet (rip to my braids) and it inspired me

*a lil sum from my drafts while i force this christmas fic into existence and slooowly chip away at these reqs 😪 and i have since found it if you are wondering

warnings/tags: black!gn!reader, bonnet can be switched out for a durag, silk scarf, etc i js didnt know how to type that lol, ekko's kinda sassy 🤔, bickering but not arguing, fluff...question mark, what is this kind of thing called, rochelle and julius from everybody hates chris kinda relationship, shitty ending idc wrote this at 1am with a t-shirt on my head,

_______________________________________________

a cabinet door slams shut a few rooms over from ekko's workbench, his body jolting at the suddenness of the sound.

"where is this bonnet!?" you shout, clad in your nighttime attire of a t-shirt and sweatpants. this isn't a question new to ekko, you have this problem once every couple of months.

to say you were tired was an understatement. but you'd be damned if you spent hours in that chair getting your hair done just to have it get messed up in one night just because you couldn't protect it. and you've been searching for this thing for 30 whole minutes.

your footsteps stomped around the place, items clattering as you toss them around in wild abandonment in search of this godforsaken bonnet.

"did you check the bathroom?" ekko calls, raising his glass of water to his lips as you pace by his room.

"yes! three times. and even then, i never leave it in there, i always leave it in the same—" a pillow gets thrown off of your bed. nothing. "—exact—" you toss the sheets up. nothing. "—place. i don't get it!"

"then i don't know, baby."

"well, i know i didn't just grow two legs and walk on up out of here!"

ekko scoffs, making a weak attempt at showing empathy. "you have so many bonnets, just wear a different one."

"i can't. that's the only one that doesn't fly off my head while i'm sleeping."

he's amazed at your ability to be so stubborn at the smallest situation. to him, this is nothing but a 'throw something else on your head and call it a day' type of solution.

"can you check your workroom?"

"do you sleep in my workroom?" words full of sarcasm that make your brows somehow furrow even deeper.

"ekko, don't get smart with me."

he sighs, making a half hearted peek around his area. nothing. a shrug. "nothing here."

you keep searching around, looking in the most nonsensical areas for this piece of fabric. under the kitchen sink, IN the kitchen sink, in the shower, in your shoes, ekko's laundry basket, nothing.

you're beginning to just accept defeat, sighing in frustration as you trudge your way back to bed. you pass by ekko's workroom, eyes peeking between the small crack in the door.

pink satin.

atop ekko's head.

"i know you fuckin' lying—"

you swing open the door, snatching it off of his head. white locs fall loose, framing his face. your hand clutches your hip as you wave the bonnet in his face. "ekko, what is this?" you interrogated, an obvious rhetorical question that he didn't have an answer to.

ekko bares his teeth, shoulders pulling into a shrug. he completely forgot that he just...threw it on his head a few hours ago before he started working since he couldn't find a hair tie. "...damn, how'd that get there?"

you close your eyes. two deep breaths. in, out. in out. the second one steadier than the first.

now, usually you were very patient. you understood; things happen. but this? this was your breaking point for the week.

your fingers find the shell of his ear. the sting shoots through the cartilage, skin at his temple pulled taut. he's wincing, sucking air in through his teeth.

"it's like you're trying to test me, huh?

"baby, i'm sorry—" he unintentionally tries giving you his signature puppy-dog eyes. you only tug harder.

"sorry does not cut it. i've been looking for this for 30 minutes, 30! i'm tired as hell, i'm tryna sleep, and here you are playing like shit is sweet!"

...ekko didn't touch that bonnet after that.

[muliwamm]

So Pretty

Summary: Takes place in Dr. Stone Season 2 episode 11 where Tsukasa is about to get put in the freezer by senku, but he wants to talk to you one last time.

Cw: use of y/n one time, angst, SPOILERS!! I think that's all

Pairings: Shishio Tsukasa x Fem!reader

A/n: um.... happy valentine's day 🤩🤩

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"...It's because Mario only thinks he's huge because he ate the mushroom," Senku laughs as he fiddles with tubes and cords connecting to the large freezer.

"He's tripping balls. Ten billion percent tripping," he says as his body tenses.

"Right?"

"Am I right?"

Silence.

"Am I right, Tsukasa?" Senku huffs with a tinge of hurt laced through his tone.

"Senku..." Tsukasa whispers from his resting place on the makeshift stretcher.

"Hm?" Senku hums with his back still facing Tsukasa.

"Can you... Can I talk to y/n? One last time?" Tsukasa mumbles hoarsly.

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Let me go get her," Senku walks out the cave but doesnt make it far because you were lurking around the corner anyway.

You couldn't walk away. You couldn't just leave him there. You had hoped that things could turn out differently. That maybe Senku was able to find a solution to quickly re-petrify Tsukasa so then you guys can easily revive him again.

You knew it wouldn't be that easy. Not in this world, no.

Senku was smart, but there was a ten billion percent chance that he couldn't find a way to turn Tsukasa back to stone in under 4 days. Additionally, no one in your relatively small congregation of people was a surgeon or had remotely any medical experience.

So here you were, sitting on your knees beside Tsukasa as his body slowly but surely gives out.

"So..." you mutter, failing to keep eye contact with him.

"So," he croaks, giving you a weak smile.

"We've officially been dating for 1 week, 14 hours, 17 minutes and... 35 seconds," you say, sounding defeated.

"Heh, you've been counting, pretty girl?" He let's out a faint laugh, not too hard as it physically pains him to let out anymore than that.

A tear falls down you cheek and lands onto the hard stone floor of the cold cave.

"C'mere," Tsukasa says, signaling you with his finger to lay next to him. You slot yourself in an open space next to him, laying on your side.

Tsukasa turns his head so it faces you. "You're so pretty," he smiles softly.

You eyes water even more at the sight of his drooping eyes and dark circles. You bring a hand up to gently cup his face and rest your forehead on his.

"Wish I told you sooner," you cry softly.

His features soften as he watches tears stream down your face.

"It was unavoidable," he whispers.

"But if I told you earlier then maybe we wouldn't be here. You would have never left and we could have all stayed together," you huff.

"You, me, Senku, Taiju and Yuzuriha. Us against the world," you search Tsukasa's eyes for something, half expecting him to jump up and say it was all some prank and he's actually okay. He doesn't.

You told Tsukasa you had feelings for him after the cease fire of the Stone Wars. You had known him before the entire world got turned to stone. He was your best friend and you stuck by him the entire time since his sister was in a coma.

You think you fell for him freshman year of high school but it could have been sooner. All you know is that you fell in love with Shishio Tsukasa and you dont think you could ever stop loving him.

"I know... but the time we did have together was great, no? And I trust..." Tsukasa starts, but pauses to take a breath.

"I trust that Senku will figure out what caused all this, and then I can be with you again." He says.

"I love you," you cry harder.

"I love you too, angel," he kisses your forehead.

"Dont loose yourself because of me, okay? Keep being the smart, amazing girl I've always known." He says.

"Promise?" Tsukasa asks.

"I promise."

You stroke his cheek softly as you bring your head closer to ever so gently kiss him. It was so passionate yet so soft and your head felt like it was floating as your conscience fades away from the world around you, only seeming to focus on him.

When you kissed him for the first time, it felt like romantic picnics in an open meadow. Like eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on a warm spring afternoon as you sit in the grass and watch the clouds pass by.

It felt like coffee shop dates and evening strolls in the park as you held hands and talked about anything and everything. It felt like life was finally just beginning.

It didn't feel like that now.

It feel like your suffocating but taking a breath of fresh air all at once. It felt like the walls were closing in and you were sinking deeper and deeper into the dark abyss of your brain.

You hated goodbyes.

You both finally parted, staring deeply into each others eyes.

"M'so tired," Tsukasa whispered.

"Just let it happen," you smile brokenly.

"M'gonna be right here when you wake up, okay?" You say as your body wracks in shivers.

"Y'so pretty," he whispers once again while smiling. Your heart seems to shatter all over again.

You watch his eyes slowly close, his puples slowly being shadowed by his eyelids.

"So, so pretty," He mumbles one last time before his eyes finally shut, and you feel his once slow but steady pulse come to a stop.

You lay there for a moment, staring at his lifeless face and internally beating yourself up for his death even though you know it wasn't your fault. He and Senku had a mutual agreement on this. And those two, as stubborn as they are, always keep their promises.

And now its your turn to keep yours.

You hear footsteps approach behind you before a voice says, "y'ready?"

You lay there for a few more beats before slowly sitting up, and bringing Tsukasa's arms to cross over his chest.

"I'm ready."

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Should Have Knocked

Wanda X Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary: When you barged into Natasha's room without any warning, your mouth parted at the scene in front of you. You certainly didn't expect to see Wanda grinding her hips unabashedly on Natasha's strap on, her red tendrils of magic wrapped securely around the assassin's hands that were pinned to the headboard.

Warnings/Tags: SMUT MDNI 18+, Threesome, Being Walked in on, Strap-ons, Fingering, Oral Sex, Face-Sitting, Dirty Talk, Sub Reader/Dom WandaNat, Aftercare

General Masterlist

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Staring intently at the knife in your hands, you deftly manoeuvred your fingers in a certain way to have the knife spin between them before letting the blade slip through your fingers to flip through the air before catching it via the handle. A sound of joy escaped you when you successfully caught the metal after flipping it, trying it once again and succeeding before deciding to find Natasha to show her the flip.

A few days ago, you asked the redhead to teach you how to do the trick, in awe of how her fingers skilfully let the knife move within her grasp. You watched her do it multiple times, a little embarrassed when you couldn't get the hang of it before the assassin had to leave you to go to her girlfriend. Now however, you had learnt how to do it and were extremely keen on showing her how well you could do it now.

Swiftly walking through the compound, you made your way to her room, hand reaching for the handle and practically barging right in before freezing on the spot.

Oh.

Oh fuck

Was the series of thoughts that entered your mind when you barged into Natasha's room without any warning as your mouth parted at the scene in front of you. You certainly didn't expect to see Wanda grinding her hips unabashedly on Natasha's strap on, her red tendrils of magic wrapped securely around the assassin's hands that were pinned to the headboard. Your gaze drifted across the exposed skin, Wanda's breasts moving each roll of her hips, Natasha's arms flexing as she tried to fight her girlfriend's magic, desperate to touch her skin and drive her mad with pleasure.

A soft moan that fell from Wanda's lips snapped you back to reality, knife falling to the floor. You had just walked in on Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, and Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, having sex. Two of the most powerful women in the world were having an intimate moment and you were currently staring at them.

Two sets of piercing green eyes then met yours, your face flushing with embarrassment while panic filled you. Your eyes widened as their lust-filled ones stared at you, your hand nervously going to cover your eyes while you other hand reached backwards in search of the door handle.

"I..uh..Iwillbegoingnowbye, sorry!" you blurted out, desperately trying to find this stupid door handle before turning around and trying to rush out of the room. God, you should have knocked.

"Wait Y/n," sinfully groaned one of the women, making your entire body freeze on the spot, arousal flooding through you at the tone of their voice, the way your name fell from their lips. Wait, did one of them actually say your name, or was your mind playing tricks on you? Maybe, just maybe, you had a very, very, very little crush on both of them, how could you not? Natasha was one of the fiercest women you had ever met but she was also kind and extremely smart when it came to thinking of quick solutions on missions. Wanda was also the sweetest woman you had ever met, bonding with you over the sitcoms you both watched whilst also being the most caring person ever, always keen on trying to make you laugh or happy.

"Y/n, come here," Wanda practically whined whilst rolling her hips down on Natasha's lap, her hands moving to grope at her chest while another small sigh left her lips.

Hesitantly, you made your way back to them, eyes firmly fixated on anything but the young Sokovian riding the assassin, the soft moans spilling from her. Whilst trying to think of an apology, you stumbled over an item as you walked over to their bed, eyes casting down to see a red set of lace panties scattered on the floor, a visible wet patch of arousal on them making you groan quietly. The sound, however, was not missed by Natasha who leaned up to Wanda with her signature smirk engraved onto her face, hands now free of the magic. The redhead murmured something lowly into the witch's ear, a guttural moan leaving Wanda's lips as she snapped her eyes back over to your shy and nervous form.

When you reached the bed, you kept your eyes on the floor, not wanting to meet the gaze of either intimidating woman and tried to still have some sort of respect for them. The room filled with a brief silence, you practically able to hear your heart pounding in your chest, ready for them to be angry or upset with you.

"So Y/n, how long did you think you could hide this from us?" taunted Wanda, a sly smirk taking over her face, eyes briefly flashing red while Natasha's gaze turned predatory. Confusion flashed across your face at the question until Natasha continued,

"The lingering looks? The squeezing of your thighs every time one of us would pin you in training? The look of want in your eyes as you practically undressed us with them?" The spy's face was stoic as she looked at you, panic flooding through your body at their words.

"I am so sorry, I didn't mean to be disrespectful-" a finger placed itself on your lips as you muffled the end of your rambling apology against their digit.

"Hush Detka," teased Wanda. "We haven't even gotten to the best bit yet," her accent wrapped around her words sultrily, adding a slight rasp as she let out a small whimper while climbing off Natasha's lap, desperate to feel full again. "There's something Natasha missed in that list, isn't there?" Her naked body came into view, finger pressing into your chin and guiding you to look at her. Your mouth parted as you saw the darkened look in her eyes, eyes raking over your body while her teeth subconsciously bit down on her bottom lip. "She missed those dirty little fantasies you have about us," Wanda purred, Natasha now at your side, strap on discarded, teeth nibbling softly on your earlobe while her fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt. You glance over to the assassin, your pupils dilating at the pure hunger in her eyes along with the silent question of taking your shirt off. You nod subtly, the item then being pulled off while Wanda then guides your face back to hers with her finger on your chin once again. "We want to make those fantasies real, is that ok?"

"Yes, please," you practically moaned, Wanda's lips then crashing against yours. You moan at the intensity of the kiss, her hands threading through your hair while Natasha removes the rest of your clothes till you're left in only your underwear in front of them. Your hands hesitantly go to Wanda's waist, her pulling back from the kiss with a smile while Natasha's mouth goes to your neck, littering it in open mouthed kisses making you groan.

"You're so beautiful Kotenok," the redhead husks out, biting down softly on your neck before pulling back to press a hungry kiss to your lips. Her hand turns your face to hers, a little rougher than Wanda did, making you whimper while she smirks into the messy but hot kiss.

Soon, you're guided onto their bed, chest rising and falling with anticipation as both women crawl to your sides, laying down next to you with softer looks in their eyes at your nervous state. Wanda's mouth places open mouthed kisses along your collar bones, fingertips dragging down till they meet your chest, eyes flickering to yours to gauge your reaction.

"Tell us to stop Detka and we'll stop," she tells you, her hand slipping to your back to unclasp your bra before pulling the item off you. Natasha's hand moves further down your body, mouth recapturing yours for a searing kiss, tongue sliding into your mouth and dominating it easily. It wasn't like you were putting up a fight.

"You're so wet for us Kotenok," Natasha sighs out against your lips, a small moan leaving you when she circles your clit through your soaked panties. "I bet you've been thinking about this happening for so long," you let out a shaky breath when she slides your panties to the side, Wanda's mouth kissing teasingly along your chest. "Tell me Dorogaya, who was fucking you? Whose fingers were buried deep inside you?" The moan you let out at her words was sinful, mind clouding with pleasure as Wanda finally took a nipple into her mouth, tongue swirling expertly around it.

"Fuck," you groan out, Natasha's fingers swiping through your folds, your arousal coating her fingers as she draws small and slow circles on your clit. "You," you sigh out, the redhead chuckling at your affected state before leaning in to capture your lips again, finger moving down to your entrance and sliding in. A guttural moan escapes you at her long slender digit stretching you open, her finger curling at your weak spots to have you losing yourself in the pleasure. Her fingers lazily stroke inside you, thumb moving to circle your clit while Wanda releases your chest from her mouth, a string of saliva connecting the two together before she pulls further away.

"What was I doing Detka?" Wanda murmurs near your ear, Natasha moving to kiss your neck while Wanda claims your lips.

"You were..." you trail off for a moment, Natasha sliding in another finger effortlessly causing your mind to blank for a moment, "You were riding my face." You see Wanda's eyes widen at your words, Natasha groaning at the crook of your neck, fingers thrusting into you a little faster now. "Please," you practically beg while pleading with her to sit on your face with your eyes. She presses her lips to yours roughly, moaning at your words before pulling away and positioning herself above your face, Natasha's face now at yours.

"Be a good girl and make me come," Wanda husks out, fingers running through your hair as she slowly lowers herself onto your face. Both of you moan at the contact, her moaning at the way your tongue expertly swirls around her clit, hands gripping her thighs and pulling her closer while you moan at the taste of her, and the way Natasha starts to pepper kisses along your inner thighs. You thrust your tongue into the witch, groaning into her at the warm and wet feeling of her pussy clenching around you, moving your hands so that you can circle her clit.

Natasha moves to lick a stripe up your core, you moaning lewdly into Wanda as the assassin's tongue swipes over your clit, her mouth occasionally sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves to have you bucking against her face. Her fingers start to pump into you at a merciless pace, Wanda's hands tightening in your hair as she rolls her hips against your face. You decide to flatten your tongue, letting her rut against it while moans spill from her lips.

"Shit that's it Detka, right there," Wanda moans, lolling her head back and showing off her defined jawline and neck, a groan leaving you when you open your eyes to admire her body. Her hips frantically start to rock against your face, Natasha's fingers driving you delirious with pleasure as your orgasm nears. "I'm gonna come-" Wanda cuts herself off with a scream, hips stuttering as her cum drips onto your tongue, a guttural noise leaving you at the feeling and taste of her.

Natasha curls her fingers inside you at the perfect spot, your body tensing as your orgasm rips through your body, a loud moan being muffled by Wanda's thighs around your head. Your legs shake with the intensity of your orgasm, the spy fucking you through it and straight into a second making your mind completely clouded with pleasure. Your body trembles as she lets you ride out your aftershocks, Wanda climbing off your face and softly cupping your cheeks and pressing a kiss to your lips, moaning at the taste of herself while you whimper when Natasha pulls out.

"You did so good for us Detka," Wanda softly whispers, seeing how tired you were becoming after two powerful orgasms tearing through your body.

"We're so proud of you," Natasha adds after sliding one of her digits into her mouth, groaning at the taste of you before offering Wanda the other, a moan escaping her as she hollows her cheeks around her girlfriend's finger, cleaning your arousal off it. You watch with an awed expression, a groan leaving your mouth at the sight.

Before you can worry about whether they want you to stay or not, Wanda snakes her arm around your body, bringing you closer to her and letting your face rest at the crook of her neck, your gentle breaths tickling her skin. Your body jumps a little when you feel Natasha clean you off with a cloth, not wanting you to sleep without being washed a bit and helps her girlfriend before discarding the cloth in the bathroom and returning to the bed with you two in it. Her body slots in behind yours like the lost piece of a puzzle, one of her toned arms wrapping around your waist like Wanda's, her mouth pressing a soft kiss to the base of your neck. Wanda also places a soft kiss to your hair, your body drifting off to sleep in the safety and comfort of their arms while the other two women share a knowing look.

[call-me-kat-astrophe]

❛ deja vú ❜

The second he sees the bullet pierce through your chest, he knows.

He quickly finishes off the last remaining members of the gang that had ambushed you on the road, firing rounds of lead into them before throwing his gun down and running over toward your crumpled form on the ground.

Blood pools on the ground beneath you, steadily growing. Trembling hands slide under your head, raise you up, pull you into him. He rips his old worn jacket off, balls it up and presses it down against your wound, trying to stop the bleeding, desperately trying to think of a solution.

Hoping to reach camp in time is out of the question. It's too far, and moving you while you're bleeding this heavily isn't smart.

He's debating trying anyway when he notices your eyes have closed.

"Hey!" He barks, fear stabbing him sharply. "No, don't you dare - you better open those goddamn eyes, y'hear me?"

There's no response. No rise of your chest. No fluttering of your lashes.

Nothing.

Cold dread seeps into him, his heart denying what his mind already knows.

"No, no, no, no, no, c'mon, sweetheart, wake up." He takes your face in between his hands, thumbs brushing over your skin as his eyes search your face desperately, looking for anything, a twitch, a sign, anything.

But you're motionless. Still as a statue, frozen in time.

Something inside Arthur's chest fractures. He cradles you to him, rocks you back and forth, murmurs a string of desperate pleas to come back to him, to open your eyes, to breathe.

Eventually, Charles finds him, still kneeling down on the dirt, still holding your lifeless body, still unable to accept that you're gone.

Charles leaves and returns a time later with Hosea and John.

Hosea gently tries to reason with him until eventually, he let's the other two men pry your body from him, lifting you up and placing you on the wagon.

Arthur eyes follow the wagon until it disappears out of sight.

He still hasn't moved.

He can't.

It takes a long time before Hosea can coax him enough to get to his feet and mount his horse, following him back to camp.

That night, Arthur sits with his back resting against the tree, nursing a bottle of whiskey as he stares at the patch of fresh, raised dirt where Charles and John had buried you earlier, a makeshift cross stuck into the earth with your name carved onto the wood.

He raises the bottle to his lips and takes a long drink, swallowing the mouthful and revelling in how it burns his throat on the way down. He wishes it would burn him alive, devour him wholly, make it so he could be free of this gnawing hollowness inside his chest.

Eventually his eyes droop, lids closing as he succumbs to a drunken slumber.

When he wakes, his eyes find yours.

He lets out a shout of surprise and scrambles back, falling off the cot and onto the tent floor.

He hears you laugh, sees you peering down at him with amusement dancing in your eyes. "You alright there?"

"You - you're - you're not - how -"

"Easy there, cowboy. I think you had a bad dream."

A dream.

Was that all it had been?

But it felt so real. He could still clearly see your still form, your pale face, the blood that pooled under you -

He scrubbed a hand down his face, exhaustion and relief warring inside him. Just a dream, a bad dream. It wasn't real.

Only, as the day goes on, he's hit time and time again with a growing sense of deja vú.

Going to get his morning coffee and overhearing another argument between Molly and Dutch. Being asked to do a supply run by Pearson. Getting the wagon ready as you find him and ask to accompany him, wanting to get some personal items in town too.

During the ride into town, his hands on the reins controlling the turns the horses take and the speed they gallop at, he can't help but sneak a glance at you, watching the way you smile, basking in the sunlight and fresh air, always so happy any time you get to take a break from the crowded camp.

And then - shots ring out, the horses rear up, braying in fright.

You immediately jump down off the wagon, finding cover behind the nearest, largest rock. Arthur follows suit behind a tree trunk as bullets continue to rain down on you.

He fires off a few rounds at your attackers, hitting two of them. Beside him, you're wielding your own gun.

And then, like slow motion, he watches as a bullet pierces your chest.

Arthur takes care of the last two men. He goes to you, falls to his feet, tries to stop the bleeding but knows it won't make a difference because you're already gone, dead before you hit the ground.

Grief, all consuming and soul crushing, devours him whole.

That night, he drinks himself into a drunken slumber, and when he opens his eyes, he finds yours staring back.

No matter how much he tries to do things differently, no matter how many changes he makes, the days always start and end the same.

He wakes up with you and then, later that day, you die.

It's like the gramophone Dutch takes out of his tent sometimes and plays obnoxiously loudly, the sound blaring across the camp as he plays the same tune over and over and over again.

It's as if the day is stuck on an endless loop and Arthur is destined to watch you die again and again and again, forced to relieve the horror and grief and trauma.

It is his own personal hell.

He wonders if it's some form of divine punishment for all the wrongs he's done, all the sins he's committed, all the blood that stains his hands. Maybe this is what happens to bad men like him. Maybe watching the woman he loves get killed in an endless loop is retribution.

He wishes he'd taken those preachers seriously when they warned him of punishment and rapture and sin. He wishes he'd led a different life, been a better man, not let himself be guided down the path of an outlaw.

In a way, a part of him feels like he deserves this; to feel the pain of the countless victims he's murdered, the lives he's ruined, the husbands he's ripped away from wives. It's fitting really, to be forced to endure such a torture when he's done nothing but dole out pain and suffering almost all his life.

Having given up long ago and accepted his fate, he grudgingly agrees to go pick up supplies for Pearson, heads over to the wagon knowing you'll follow and ask to come along, blissfully unaware of the doom that awaits you.

As you ride toward town, he's tense, hands so tight around the reins his knuckles are white.

You notice. "You alright there, Arthur?"

No, he's not alright, he wants to shout. How could you be alright when you have to watch the love of your life be murdered in front of you endlessly?

Instead, he simply grunts out, "Fine."

He can feel your eyes on him, curious and concerned, but he pays you no mind as he comes up to the spot where he knows all hell is going to break loose, body tensing as he anticipates the rain of bullets -

And the wagon rolls on past, up the road and across the small bridge, still ambling toward town.

Arthur looks around, bewildered. Where's the bullets? Where's the men lying in wait to attack? Where's the ambush?

You place a hand on his arm, frowning. "Arthur, are you sure you're alright?"

For a long moment, he doesn't respond. He listens to the sounds of the wagon rolling on, the birds singing, the trees rustling, and best of all - you, breathing beside him, alive and still here, still by his side.

He inhales it all, let's himself soak in it, the relief so sweet it almost rots his teeth. And then, he smiles. "I'm more than alright, darlin'."

requested ♡ hope you enjoyed, anon!

[ pics in collage do not belong to me - all were found on pinterest ]

[twilightofthesandwiches]

Okay, so, I know this is kind of a Stupid Thing to Focus on but… I’ve been rewatching ‘Friends Forever’ (still one of my favorite and most complex and most heart-wrenching Ice King episodes) and I’ve been thinking about the bit where Ice King tries to research how to be smart…

We can see him reads from what very much seems to be part of Simon Petrikov's journals. Considering that it details the aftermath of the Mushroom War.

In addition, while the shelves are made of ice, much like the bookshelves Ice King has in his throne room, this is clearly a much... robust archive

which much more resembles Simon Petrikov’s library/research room.

The table IK uses also seems to be a match to the one in the research room. At least in terms of colors

So, it might be a different Room Full of Books that Simon placed in his Castle before he truly 100% lost it, or it might be the same one we see in 'Betty' but with a minor continuity error when it comes to what the shelves are made from. Either way, from the aforementioned journal, we know this library probably contains books Simon had personally written

But considering the Amount, probably not all of them. (Especially if you assume there are two separate library rooms). Maybe he came back to his old house to gather up all the prewar academic books he owned, but that still seems like an Unusually High Amount of Books. I think he probably kept gathering and writing books as he was slowly turning into Ice King. Like, by the time the show started he was basically totally gone - but a couple hundred years ago he’d have brief moments of lucidity and start writing again or searching books that could help him deal with the curse.

Which makes me wonder about this book.

I know that it’s just a silly funny joke, but…

Like, a Big Undertone of ‘Friends Forever’ is Ice King’s insecurities and frustrations with his own stupidity and lack of maturity. And with Simon’s library showing up in the middle of the episode like it did, it’s hard to forget that Simon used to have the intelligence and maturity needed to speak with all of these living furniture on equal terms, but his mental facilities have been eroded by the madness of the Crown and now he can’t and these frustrations manifest even though Ice King isn’t fully aware of that fact.

And this book, I know that the title just playing directly into Ice King’s insecurities is just the Joke but also…

I’m thinking about Ice King/Simon when he was a bit more lucid. Aware that he’s going mad and it's getting harder and harder for him to think clearly and that makes it so much harder to find a solution and expressing a lot of that same anger that Ice King expresses outwards towards the Living Furniture - inwards.

I’m wondering if Simon specifically sought out that book because he felt like he was ‘turning dumb’.

I’m wondering if Simon could’ve written this book. Some sort of last final act of impotent rage against the person he was turning into, frustration at his growing inability to think like he used to, even though he couldn't even remember his own name anymore - only that he was the 'Smarty McBrainypants' part of his old identity.

That would explain why it’s such a worn and rugged book...

[brunchable]

As I am writing the ending chapters of Winter King. . . Something else came up.

Okay, hear me out. . .

This POPPED in my head out of nowhere and I had to WRITE IT DOWN. What if we had a fantasy AU titled The Witch's Vessel [ Knight!Bucky x Witch's Vessel Reader ] that brings together the drama of period kingdoms, the terror of unchecked magic, and a sprinkle of forbidden romance?

Here's the pitch:

The story starts at Wundagore Mountain, where the Scarlet Witch faces her ultimate defeat against Doctor Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme. But here’s the twist—she’s not truly vanquished. Instead, the larger part of her fractured soul escapes, seeking refuge.

Enter Y/N, a girl on the verge of death from typhoid fever. She’s lying on her deathbed, with her aunt praying beside her for a miracle. The Scarlet Witch's soul, in a desperate act of self-preservation, enters Y/N’s body, granting her life—but at a cost. Now, Y/N is caught in a dangerous game: to reclaim the rest of the Witch’s soul fragments scattered across the land, she must kill the other vessels before they kill her.

Sounds intense, right? Well, it gets worse. The Sorcerer knows the Witch wasn’t truly defeated, and he’s warned the King about her lingering presence. This sparks a royal decree to find the vessels before they can regain their full power. Cue the royal guards sweeping across the land to bring every suspected vessel to justice.

Here’s where Captain James “Bucky” Barnes comes in. He’s the leader of the Wolf Division, a formidable faction of the royal army known for their unmatched tracking skills. He’s ordered to raid every house with daughters and drag them to the town center for inspection.

The kicker? The Sorcerer Supreme has a method to identify the vessels. He claims there’s always a giveaway. A sweetness in the air that lingers in their presence. A sharp, almost metallic taste on the tongue. And for rare individuals like Bucky, a tingle in the air—a living aura of magic, as if the Witch herself is watching through the fragments.

Now imagine this: Y/N’s aunt is frantic as Bucky arrives to search their home. She knows Y/N’s secret but pleads with him, hoping against hope that he’ll remember their past. "Please, Bucky," she begs. "Remember her. Y/N is your childhood friend, your betrothed. You haven’t seen her because she’s been gravely ill, but she’s recovering now. Please, don’t hurt her."

Bucky doesn’t know Y/N is the vessel(yet). He sees a frail girl, his memories of her tugging at his heart. The stakes are already so high, but as the story unfolds, Bucky’s loyalty to the crown will collide with his growing suspicion, his childhood bond with Y/N, and his role in uncovering the truth.

After Y/N’s aunt’s desperate plea, Bucky is put in an impossible situation. He’s loyal to the crown, sworn to uphold his duties, but the aunt’s argument hits a practical nerve: marrying Y/N would ensure her safety while conveniently bringing her under the watchful eyes of the Sorcerer Supreme.

The aunt plays it smart, tugging on Bucky’s sense of honor and his lingering childhood bond with Y/N. She says something like, “If she’s your wife, she’ll live closer to the city, under the protection of the guards and away from harm. She’s recovering, Bucky—think of the advantages. You can keep her safe.”

The idea plants itself in Bucky’s head. His division is actively hunting vessels, and while he doesn’t know for sure if Y/N carries the Scarlet Witch’s soul, the suggestion of marrying her feels like a way to keep her alive without directly defying the royal decree. It’s a temporary solution... or so he convinces himself.