#i love him and i hate him and i want to study him like a bug | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joshujihan23 · 3 days ago

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Hello!! May I request Woozi, having a girlfriend she is still in college while he’s an idol producing everyone knew her from who se is and wh she’s with, she starting getting bully from her college, getting hate by people randomly for first time, she went to woozi’s studio but there where reporters outside so she went in fast and scared and panicked when she got to Woozi she was crying, and he hug her but then she got a panicked attack and then Woozi wanted to to take a break to help her get better and stuff like that. I think this is too much and am sorry for this being so much but I feel like you will write the best plot or stuff with this!!! Love your writing and hope you don’t pressure yoursel!!

Believe In Me

☆ pairing: woozi x 14th member!reader

☆ genre: angst, tons of angst, tons of tons of angst

☆ trigger warning: verbal insults, ONE curse word

☆ word count: 3.3k

☆ synopsis: as the 14th member, you are always criticised for being the only woman in the group. however, one misunderstanding has brought your reputation to a standstill, affecting the relationship between you and jihoon..

author’s note: thank you for this request<3 i changed the storyline for some parts, hope you still like it!

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it has been years since you debut. after gruelling hours of practicing, and endless nights trying to convince your parents that you were made to follow your dream as an idol, your parents reluctantly agree, but on one condition.

you had to complete your studies. and you could do whatever you want if you did so.

your yearn to achieve your dreams as a superstar was strong enough, and to just complete university? easy enough.

spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

pledis scheduling you to debut with 13 other guys was far-fetched. being the only woman, you were afraid of the remarks of the public. however, you knew the guys well, well maybe because you have been training with them since you were 14.

it was all normal, especially because you were the same age as chan, so you could rely on him whenever you could. the both of you went to the same high school, woke up early together, and spent hours trying to cram for exams. he was your other half.

not forgetting the other members, because of them, idol life seems to be an exciting one.

vocal sessions with seokmin and seungkwan were a blast, belting out the high notes of your favourite songs and them adding random ad-libs.

practicing choreography with hoshi and minghao (even though minghao sat the side from exhaustion most of the time), your passion out of the roof.

random bilingual conversations with joshua, vernon and jun, which none of you understood each other.

coffee dates with mingyu and wonwoo (or you third-wheeling them)

and midnight talks with jeonghan and seungcheol, one that you truly need after a long day of work.

saving the best for the last, jihoon, the one whom you’d always staying hours in the production room, just to watch him brew a new piece of music within hours at hand.

it wasn’t a surprise if you said you were staying over at his studio for the night, all the members were used to it.

you greatly appreciated it, especially because you adored those moments between the both of you: late night dinners, where you would always force him to eat, sitting beside him while he teaches you the technical details about composing (which you didn’t understand) and one to one talks when things have gotten too heavy.

jihoon was a pillar of strength to you. you have always seen him as the most reliable figure in your group. and that admiration had turn into adoration, where you began noticing the little things about him:

how his eyes always stared at the ceiling when he was trying to come up with new ideas, or how he would always put you to sleep despite his busyness.

and true enough, he felt the same way, causing your relationship to turn from late night buddies to a lovey-dovey couple, one which people didn’t expect.

because a few years after you debut, in your second year of university, it was announced by the company that you and jihoon were in a relationship. fans were not surprised, knowing how close the both of you were, and how both of you enjoyed each others’ presence.

but to non-carats? that piece of news blew the internet up within seconds.

even though you have been in the group for quite some time, the public still had some mixed reactions. which includes your schoolmates in your university.

you had amazing friends. friends who supported you through your idol journey, updating you on lectures, or giving you a heads-up on an upcoming project.

on the other hand, there were some people who can’t seem to comprehend the fact that you were in a relationship with THE woozi from seventeen.

until one day, you were on the way to the campus, when you noticed news spreading on social media, about some carats posting photos of you and jihoon at a cafe, talking and laughing with one another while waiting for the drinks.

you remembered that day vividly. it was dance practice for the comeback. the members gathered to play a round of hongsam, and the first 2 to be out of the game would need to buy coffee for the staff and the members.

but some of the comments twisted the story, mentioning how a few days ago, you were seen with another man, who was wearing a navy hoodie, and a person that doesn’t resemble any of the members.

those comments blew up, and eye-witnesses came to flood your feed with many photos, with an aggregating number of remarks.

‘isn’t she dating jihoon, and she’s outright cheating on him with another man??’

‘poor jihoon. he made her entire career successful, and now she’s stabbing him in the back, he deserves better!’

‘y/n is a traitor! just leave the group, she didn’t deserve to be part of them anyway.’

those comments hit your like the tides of the waves, the weight of their words crashing down one by one.

you continued scrolling, until you saw the trending hashtags:

top in trending:

#SVTIS13

#LEAVEY/N

#SVTDESERVESBETTER

you didn’t know what to do. you were already on the way to campus, there were definitely people that would talk about this. until you saw a notification appear on the top of your screen.

hoon🤍: i know you’re reading them, and i suggest you to stop. when you’re done with classes. come to the studio.

his message, stoic and cold, stung right at your heart. you patted your chest, trying to reassure yourself that he knows the truth, and that you, in fact, would never cheat on him.

you would never risk your image like that.

you would not risk your career with SEVENTEEN like that.

and most importantly, you would never risk your relationship with jihoon like that.

and before you know it, the moment you stepped into the building, you could hear murmuring from the people around you. pointing fingers, giving disgusted faces, and laughing mockingly at you.

the moment your eyes landed on your friends, they immediately walked up to you, surrounding you while trying to bring you into the lecture hall.

“are you alright, y/n? have you eaten?” yoonji asked, a hint of worry lingering in her tone

“don’t think about it, don’t listen to them. you know the truth and you would not have done that.” jiyeon whispered, patting your back gently.

“i’d never cheat on him, i love him too much to cheat.” you mumbled, your voice firm, but your throat continued to tighten. your head hung low, your hands clasped against the cold wood of the table in the lecture hall.

“you should get to the studio right after this class. i’m sure you need some time with him, right?” haesol suggested, her smile reassuring, like always.

you nodded, your mind beginning to flood with the image of jihoon, probably disappointed, or maybe disapproving.

would he believe those rumors?

no he wouldn’t. he trusts me, right?

the lecture hall began to flood with students, some of them turning to your direction and whisper amongst themselves, letting out giggles and disgusted looks.

you tried, you tried your hardest to ignore them, and focus on the lecture instead.

their words shouldn’t get to you. it’s just a rumor.

during the lecture, you felt your phone vibrate in your bag. confused, you took it out, to see a message from chan.

twinstar⭐️: y/n-ah, not to scare you, but during practice today, the members were talking about what happen. you know already, right? but jihoon hyung has been quiet. he didn’t talk much. just.. observing. i thought i should let you know first, because vernon hyung and i are worried.

you sighed. the worry in you escalating. you quickly typed a respond back, your fingers shaking slightly from fear.

you: i’ll be there. my lecture is ending shortly.

at that moment, your lecturer concluded the lesson, and left the hall. that led to the rest of the students to start packing up, talking and laughing while walking out.

you packed your things swiftly, waving your friends goodbye before practically sprinting out of the hall.

on your way to the exit, you heard even more whispers. this time, they were louder, almost as if they were trying to force you to hear them.

until one of them shouted.

“hey! isn’t that the cheater? where is she running off to, her side kick?”

and that sent the people around in a series of loud laughter, mockingly and filled with bad intentions.

you couldn’t take it anymore. it felt more humiliating that it should, given the fact that you were so well-known. you rummaged through your bag, digging out a cap that you stole from hoshi, before flagging a cab to the HYBE building.

you were texting chan, trying to get any possible updates; about the company’s reactions, to the situation between the members, and especially how jihoon was acting. and when you looked up, you saw the crowd.

photographers, reporters, fans, or just people passing by, trying to catch a glimpse of you.

you told the driver to stop at the side, so that you could rush over without the people swarming the cab like a bunch of bees. but when you stepped out, everyone came rushing over, hovering over you to get a glimpse of you, and with some underlying motives.

“is it true that you are in another relationship except for woozi?”

“who is that male? and how is he related to you?”

“unnie, why would you do this to him.”

“woozi deserves better!”

you shifted the cap to cover your face more, your breath getting more staggered. you clenched onto the sleeve of your jacket, trying to catch your breath while focusing on what’s in front of you. there were cameras shoved in your face, light flashing from all the clicking, and people screaming into your ear.

the more you tried to move, the more people began to dig into your skin.

“leave the group, y/n!”

“you b!tch, how could you do this??”

you couldn’t take it anymore. you didn’t even realise that tear streaks started to form on your cheeks. your mind was clouded, with so many thoughts, and was just so overwhelmed by what was going on around you.

you shoved yourself through the crowd, the voices around you beginning to muffle as you clenched your fists tighter. and before you knew it, you felt someone tug on your arm firmly, pulling you into the building.

you yelped in surprise, thinking that it was another reporter, but when you looked up, the familiarity began to fall into its place.

mingyu.

“shit.” he mumbled under his breath, pulling you into his arms and escorted you further into the building. you felt something hover over you, almost as if to cover you. you glanced to the side, to see dokyeom following beside, with a concerned look on his face.

you heard the security screaming outside, telling everyone to disperse and leave the building.

mingyu’s arm still stayed around you, while dokyeom just stayed behind, making sure no fans or reporters could reach any of you.

but you heard another familiar voice, whispering, as if he was talking to someone.

“it’s bad… panic… taking her… there…” and you couldn’t hear anymore of it.

mingyu leaned his head closer to your ear, talking to you in the most gentle way.

“would you like us to take you to woozi hyung’s studio? i’m sure you don’t want to be swarmed by the members, right?”

you nodded, your fists tightening further as you did so.

“hoshi hyung, woozi hyung’s studio.” mingyu said, turning around to face the guy, who was on the phone at the time.

“coups hyung just called. the security are dealing with the crowd, and the company are going to release a statement soon.” hoshi replied.

mingyu nodded, tapping the key code to enter the next part of the building, one which screams familiarity.

on the third door along the hallway, purple lights peaked out of the creaks of the door — your favourite colour. and your ost, one that you sang for a drama that was recently released, can be heard from where you’re standing.

standing at the front of the door, hoshi knocked on the door. the music stopped abruptly, paused at the climax, where you have belted out your high note, which jihoon absolutely adored. the wheels of the chair began to roll, as footsteps started to approach. dokyeom patted your back, giving you a reassuring rub, making sure that you were fine.

your heart thumped. you didn’t know what to expect. you were bracing yourself, hoping that seeing jihoon’s stern expression wouldn’t break you down immediately. rubbing your hands together, you tried to catch your breath, still trying to recover from the effects of the moment.

the door creaked open, the purple LED light spilling out of the room. a man, familiar yet distant, stood before you. your breath hitched, the tensions of the atmosphere heightening. you fixed the cap, facing it lower so you couldn’t look at him at the eye.

jihoon stared for a moment, exchanging glances with the 3 men around you, before mouthing a ‘thank you’.

mingyu let go of you, dokyeom patted your head gently, while hoshi whispered “whatever happens, we’re here for you.” into your ear before moving away.

jihoon opened the door slightly wider, welcoming you to enter, but you stood there, still hesitant, almost afraid that you would cross any boundaries if you did so.

he let out a sigh. he wasn’t usually a guy filled with expression, and isn’t keen on expressing acts of love with people around him. but this time, he took your arm, so gently that it felt like if he wasn’t careful, you would break. he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss on your head, whispering, “don’t be scared, we’ll talk when you’re ready.”

that triggered you to take a step forward, scared but determined. you entered the room, while jihoon nodded the rest goodbye, giving them the signal to leave.

the studio, the one that you used to call your comfort place, was feeling so distant, so cold, and something with a lingering sense of discomfort.

closing the door behind you, he guided you over to his table. the screens were black, none of them option, except for one, showing your ost, the one which he paused.

he sat you down on the couch beside him, his hand never leaving yours.

that couch, the one where you slept on when he worked wee hours, and the one where you and him talked and laughed about anything in the world.

but now, it was anything but comfort.

sensing your discomfort, he pulled you by your waist, inching closer to him. you were surprised. he rarely initiated any forms of love, but today was different.

that was when you felt his arms wrap around you, hugging you tightly, like he was protecting you from the vast world.

you stayed there, surprised, but immediately crumbled under his touch. the tears you have been holding onto started to fall uncontrollably, as you let out sob after sob. you buried your head into his shoulders, trying to stifle the cries.

the both of you stayed there for a few moments, jihoon remained silent, like he was trying to comprehend the fact that you were crying in his arms.

something that you did rarely, even to him.

to him, you are the strongest figure that he has ever seen. so firm in your decisions, so quick to pick up something new, and the first person that people go to when they need people to talk to.

you are so admirable to him.

and the fact that not everyone sees it breaks his heart.

he could feel every single emotion of yours, like his heart was connected with yours.

or maybe it was.

he inhaled a sharp breath, whispering gently into your ear:

“that ost you sang. ‘strength’. you expressed the complicated emotions that a woman live with. writing that song, i was so conflicted. i wasn’t clear about what a woman was facing, but when i see you. how you live like it’s your last day, how you bottle your emotions, caring too much about everyone, you are the inspiration to my music. you are my star, y/n. i don’t know how to explain this feeling, but i trust you. i know you would never do such thing, and it hurts to see the media hate on you like that.”

he was silent for a moment, seeming like he was trying to process his inner thoughts. he pulled apart from you, holding your hand as if he was afraid to let go. he stared into your eyes, the eyes he wished he never had to see tears covering.

you were just so precious to him.

“i know you better than anyone, you know that right? although dino may be my competitor, you are the only reason i continue to smile, the reason why i continue to do what i love today.”

you just stared at him, his words hitting harder than it should. although the members had always supported you, and had been your constant cheerleaders since the beginning, hearing it from jihoon always pulls heartstrings that you could never find.

“i just wanted to live my life. you know i would never cheat on you, right? i-i just wanted to have some sibling time with my brother, but people always twist stories to make me look like a bad person. i’m not, i’ll never do that to you, you know that right?”

“i know that, i know that too well god it hurts. it hurts to see you so broken, and so afraid of the world because the universe is against you. i’ll help you through it. i swear by it. do you believe in me, love?”

and that broke you. he usually calls you by your name, and never by a nickname. you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

“always, i have always believed in you, no matter what.”

you could feel a smile forming on your forehead, his lips pressing against your temple now, placing a gentle kiss on it. he began landing a kiss each of your facial features.

“i’ll protect you.” a kiss on your left eye, kissing the tear away.

“i’ll help you get through this.” a kiss on your cheek, a place where he always does it to ‘play safe’.

“i trust you so much,” a kiss on the tip of your nose, the place where he would always wipe when you get a dot of ice cream right there.

“i love you.” he mumbled, before gently placing a soft kiss on your lips, almost like he was trying to memorise your movements, how you react, and how you would return it right back.

the moment lasted for some time, letting the both of you savour each other.

pulling away, he gave you a soft smile, leaning his forehead against yours, his gaze still glued onto yours.

“we’ll clear the rumours, we will always stand by you.” he whispered against, like a promise he would never break.

you placed your hand on his arm, finally smiling after a long day of distress.

“i love you hoonie, so much.” you said, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek.

“i love you too.” he responded, his arm circling around your waist.

the rumours may still be spiralling across the internet.

but right now, that was not any of your concern.

as long as you have him, the world would stop spiralling anyway.

#joshujihan23 #seventeen #svt x reader #svt #svt imagines #svt fluff #woozi #svt woozi #woozi fluff #seventeen woozi #jihoon #lee jihoon #jihoon fluff #woozi fic #svt fic #seventeen x reader #woozi x reader

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liahaslosthermind · 9 hours ago

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𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞! [PT 2]

Summary: The Inner Circle is still oblivious to Azriel and his mate’s bond. Will the couple’s agreement to forgo secrecy open their eyes? Or will they just remain obtuse? Read Part 1! Work Count: 4.5k+ Warnings: Very suggestive, Timeline? What timeline?, Inner Circle are idiots, Historiography, I put too much detail into things that probably didn’t need it but oh well. A/N: I’ll be honest, writing this took so much out of me that I kind of hate it. Now the reader’s job has more to do with the plot, though it really was me just getting a little too into the historical study of a fictitious fantasy world. HISTORIOGRAPHY ROCKS. (If anyone finds the 30 Rock reference in here I’ll kiss you with tongue)

Her head pounded as she stared at the documents. After years immersed in the historical field- starting with historical study, then historiography- her work had become too… stagnant for her. She loved what she did, of course, but her job had become less about discovering great historical finds and more like gathering fractured accounts.

She was happy, she truly was, but being with Azriel these past few months made her greedy. She wanted more. Maybe it was the Spymaster rubbing off on her, but she was itching for something big, something that would shake her field.

The library had quieted around her. Hours ago it had buzzed with soft voices and rustling of robes. Now, it was still and deathly quiet, with the priestesses away at evening service. The hours had slipped away unnoticed.

She sighed as she closed the 3 books scattered in front of her. She’d sworn to Azriel that she would leave before the priestesses even left for last service. Though the shadows circling her seemed content to let her stay, she knew better than to test her mate’s patience.

Just as she began to rise, she heard the familiar rhythm of Azriel’s footsteps.

“Yes, I know Az,” she called before even looking back at him. “Don’t worry, I am pissed at myself too. Didn’t even get to the work I had wanted done today,” she groaned as he entered the reading nook she had settled herself into early that morning.

He laughed quietly as he brought his hands to cradle her face, brushing his thumbs along her cheekbones as he kissed her forehead. He laughed a little harder when she whined before finally kissing her on the lips.

Footsteps echoed nearby. She pulled back quickly, but Azriel only grinned before tugging her back in. His arms locked around her waist as he kissed her, reminding his mate of their agreement: no more hiding.

As the sounds of the priestesses’ footsteps disappeared, along with a few shocked gasps and giggles, the two of them broke apart. She looked at him in confusion.

“We made a deal, did we not?” He asked.

“Yes, but that was only in front of your family-”

“And what do you think will happen when a few priestesses stumble upon us like this? While their gossiping is mostly harmless, it is rampant. I’d kind of like to see how quickly it makes it to Nesta, and whether or not she tries to say anything.” Azriel reasoned.

She narrowed her eyes at her mate but didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong. The library might be sacred, but it was also a pressure cooker of whispered scandal. One that no one escaped unscathed.

As the two walked back out of the library, Clotho beckoned the two to her desk.

At least have the decency to pretend you are trying to hide any dalliances in the library. Her pen scribbled.

Azriel’s face lit up in amusement, while his mate’s was cast in embarrassment. As the latter began to apologize profusely, Clotho waved her hand in dismissal before her pen began to write again.

The priestesses needed something new to discuss, many find comfort in silly gossip. By dinner they will be making lists of baby names.

The couple blushed a deep crimson at that. Azriel inclined his head in a silent goodbye, taking his mate’s hand and squeezing it tightly before the two walked back to the House of Wind proper.

The sitting room in the House of Wind was light and buzzing, alive with laughter and heated by the well fed hearth.

Like the rest of the room’s occupants, the Night Court’s historiographer and her Spymaster mate were drunk.

Neither were big drinkers typically. Azriel claimed growing up alongside Rhysand and Cassian had meant he had consumed more alcohol before the age of 200 than most fae did in a lifetime. These days, he preferred to keep his wits about him more often than the rest of his family. His mate shared similar sentiments, only getting drunk for special occasions.

But tonight had in fact been a special occasion.

Mor had returned from a month-long stint in Hewn City. While Rhysand typically never encouraged her to stay more than a few days at a time, the two had recently launched quite the campaign to uproot the rot embedded in the Court of Nightmares, a feat that warranted longer and longer visits each time. When she’d come home that very afternoon, the exhaustion and haunted look etched into her face had worried her family.

What had begun as “just a nightcap” had quickly spiraled into a full-blown celebration.

After several bottles of expensive wine and a few decanters of something suspiciously strong and equally as vile tasting, the entire Inner Circle was comfortably drunk.

Azriel’s mate had curled into the corner of one of the plush couches with a wine glass in hand, her cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, the room spinning at borderline nauseating speeds. Next to her, Azriel slouched lower than anyone had ever seen him, his normally rigid frame nonexistent as he melted into the cushions. He was dressed in loose linen pants and a button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, an elegant but far more relaxed departure from his usual Illyrian leathers. Even his shadows seemed drowsy, coiling like cats around his ankles

“She then told him to fuck off,” Cassian howled, halfway through a story that had been going on for far too long, “after he complimented her speech!”

Azriel’s mate snorted into her drink, too inebriated to be embarrassed, “He sounded surprised that a speech on the importance of historiographical methodology could be interesting,” she protested. “It was rude of him to think otherwise!”

Azriel’s low laugh warmed her insides, “Always the peacekeeper,” he murmured, teasing.

“Oh please, you know you love it,” she shot back, nudging his shoulder with her own.

Mor raised an eyebrow at the interaction. “Az, is that a blush on your face?”

“How drunk are you, Azriel?” Feyre added, her tone steeped in amusement.

Azriel swirled the amber liquid in his glass as he drawled, “Somewhere between a lot and very.”

Everyone chuckled, but their eyes soon zeroed in on the look he gave the female tucked against his side. The way their hands brushed one another, the way Azriel leaned in every time she laughed, closing his eyes as if to savor the sound, even the way his shadows curled protectively around them both.

Cassian rolled his eyes dramatically at the pair, “Mother above, the tension between you two makes me sexually frustrated.” He groaned

Azriel didn’t flinch. Based on the absolute torture he’d endured every night in his bedroom in the House of Wind, unable to sleep because of the noises Cassian and Nesta had been making, he knew that to be a lie, so the Shadowsinger didn’t dignify his brother’s words with a response.

“Not everyone has to be as vocal about their feelings as you are, Cassian. Don’t force Azriel to be what he is not.” Nesta said coolly.

Azriel gave her a look of mock offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m very vocal about my feelings. It’s not my fault you’re all too dense to notice.”

His mate dissolved into a fit of giggles she tried to hide with her wine glass, only to end up amplifying the noise with the action. “Oh yes Azriel,” she gasped, “you are so vocal about your feelings, especially last night: ‘Oh Gods, fuck, your mouth feels so good on my-”

A scarred hand clamped over her mouth with lighting speed.

Azriel looked mortified- for all of two seconds- before both of them collapsed into wheezing giggles on the couch.

Soon the laughs were the only sound that could be heard in the room as the rest of the Inner Circle fell into shocked silence.

Mor blinked, “Did she just-”

“Oh she definitely just-” Feyre whispered.

“Are you two…” Rhysand began, also unable to finish his sentence.

“Inside joke.” Azriel said halfheartedly. The pair agreed they wouldn’t outright say anything, nor outright deny their relationship, but they hadn’t actually been asked a question.

His mate nodded, face beet red but grinning wickedly, “Very inside.”

The two descended into wheezing laughter once more, the rest of the room soon joining in, albeit confused.

Amren was the only one who didn’t laugh, watching the pair carefully over the rim of her glass.

While the conversation attempted to pick back up, nothing stuck. The rest of the Inner Circle watched the secretly mated pair, hovering around the edges of realization, circling it like buzzards but never quite landing on the truth.

Through it all, Azriel’s shadows curled protectively around him and his mate as their bond remained hidden in plain sight.

The next morning Cassian groaned as he unceremoniously dropped into the chair across from Rhysand in the High Lord’s home office, rubbing his temples and whining with the drama of a dying male.

“Whatever was in those decanters tasted like regret and death,” Cassian muttered.

Rhysand, who looked only marginally more functional, snorted without lifting his gaze from the reports in front of him. “And yet you drank 5 whole glasses.” he replied dryly.

“I was recouperating from a day of torture,” Cassian justified, “Nyx has been weaponizing flowers, spreading their poisen throughout my own home. I am not safe anywhere thanks to that child.”

Footsteps sounded down the hall, halting the two’s conversation. Azriel had traded in his relaxed attire from the night before for his usual leathers. While his High Lord and general looked like they felt everybit of the alcohol they consumed last night, Azriel remained composed and unbothered, every inch the formidable Spymaster.

“Its not fair he gets to look like that.” Cassian groaned.

Azriel raided an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Good morning to you as well, Cas.”

Rhysand finally glanced up, a curious expression on his face. “You’re up early. I didn’t think I’d see you till tonight when I found these reports on my desk. I figured you’d be occupied nursing a hangover.”

“I had things to take care of.” Azriel responded.

Both Cassian and Rhysand perked up.

“Like what?” Cassian asked with the subtlety of a battering ram.

“Moving out.” Azriel glanced between them, trying to read their expressions. When the two didn’t say anything, Azriel gave in, “I bought a house.”

Rhysand dropped the reports he had been shuffling in his hands. “You… what?”

Azriel leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “It's on the outskirts of Velaris… quiet, private, beautiful views.”

Cassian sat up straighter. “Wait- you bought a house? You don’t even like decorating your own room.”

Azriel gave him a look. “I like silence, and hate paper-thin walls.”

“This is slander,” Cassian said turning to Rhys in defense, “Nesta and I have been extremely respectful-”

“You cracked the plaster above my bed.”

Rhysand snorted.

Cassian gaped. “So you dropped a fortune to move out just because of us?”

“I also value my own space, and privacy.” Azriel’s tone was mild, but firm. He was starting to get irritated at the endless questions.

“You are barely home as it is,” Rhys said, narrowing his eyes. “What’s the point of buying an entire house, unless…” he trailed off, eyes sharpening. A beat passed, then another. Rhysand’s eyes flicked towards Azriel’s face. He tried to read his Spymaster’s microexpressions as he had done for centuries.

“You’re not living alone,” he finished. Not a question.

So Azriel didn’t answer.

Cassian and Rhysand looked at each other, then back at Azriel. Cassian’s face lit up when he realized exactly who his brother’s new “roommate” was.

“So that's where all the ‘inside jokes’ came from, why you two were so comfortable last night.” The general reasoned. Azriel had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. They were so close and yet so far.

The High Lord’s face became ashen as he looked at his brother, as if realizing all too late that something had shifted beneath his feet without him even noticing.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” He asked, not hiding the hurt from his tone.

Azriel didn’t miss a beat, “You don’t listen.”

This time, the silence was deafening.

As the tension became a bit too unbearable, Azriel coolly shrugged his shoulders, “You may all come by in about two months. Give us time to finish some things.”

“Are you hosting a housewarming party, Azriel?” Rhysand asked incredulously, choosing to push the lingering sting of Azriel’s silence down.

“Something like that.” Az responded.

She had been working all night on her research paper. Originally, it had been pretty straightforward as far as these things went, that was until she stumbled upon two drastically different accounts of the same battle documented by two soldiers on the same side, not far from the other on the front lines.

And yet every modern interpretation she could find blindly aligned with one or the other. No one questioned the contradiction. Not historians, not theorists, nor any other scholars who had lended their two cents.

Sighing, she realized she wasn’t going to finish the project anytime soon, though she had to admit the thrill of such a discovery had brought enough motivation to continue working until dawn. Azriel, her mate of many months now, was away on a mission and wasn’t due back until dinner the next day anyway.

I should probably ask Rhysand about this, she thought. But it was late and while he most likely would have been up at this time a year ago, Nyx had ruled the High Lord and Lady’s schedules, constantly requiring all their attention just to make sure he hadn’t shifted into the form of a beast or rearranged Velaris’ stars… again. Though they loved their prince, the Dreamers of the Night Court hadn’t appreciated the impromptu redecorating of their beloved skies.

She also simply didn’t want to see Rhysand, still bitter about how he treated Azriel at family dinner those few months before when the Shadowsinger had tried to tell his family about his mating bond.

So instead, the Night Court’s beloved historiographer called someone else.

While late night calls weren’t usually welcomed from the ancient fae female, nor were any calls at any time of day for that matter, Amren was rather thankful for the chance to leave the River House. Ever since Nyx had crowned his Aunt Amren as his favorite person ever, she had been borderline imprisoned at Rhysand and Feyre’s home just so they could get a few hours of work done, or (and this was far more vital for the sake of their court) shower.

Still, in typical Amren fashion, she couldn’t let her gratitude be known.

“You called me away from a glass of very old and very, very expensive wine while I watched the latest episode of The Toddler Tyrant.” Amren teased.

“Nyx sprouted daisies again?”

“Out of Cassian’s ears this time,” Amren answered, breezing past her into the study. Cassian’s suffering at the hands of a toddler had been entertaining at first, but after a while his torment went from hilarious to pathetic.

The historiographer gestured to the scrolls spread across her desk, “These are accounts of the same battle, the same side, same front, yet completely different outcomes. And yet every major historical interpretation aligns with one or the other, like no one bothered to question the discrepancies.”

Though she displayed disinterest, Amren slinked closer to the papers. “That’s war, girl. No one remembers it the same way. Memory makes fools of us all.”

“Except these accounts were written during the war. Not years later. They were created mere hours after the battle in question. The first account claimed the general abandoned his troops, choosing to flee like a coward. The second swore he died protecting them. Both can’t be true.”

“Both could certainly be true, or rather, true to the writers. Maybe what one saw as a cowardly flee from the battle, the other saw end in a valiant death. Personal bias that led both to arriving at their own differing yet truthful conclusions.”

The more she thought about it, the more Amren’s words rang true. While this was a huge oversight in the historical field, it did lend itself to the widespread pattern of historical memory corrupted by the silent biases of the narratives they choose to listen to. “Everyone’s so caught up in what they want to see, they can’t recognize truth, even when it’s parading around in plain sight.”

Amren smirked, “History repeats itself.” Before she stalked off.

As she watched Amren leave, her words echoed in her head.

History repeats itself.

She thought of the different accounts of the battle again: two soldiers, one truth fractured into two. Everyone so caught up in their own perspective they were blind to what was marching right in front of them.

Just like them. Just like her and Azriel.

She looked down at the scattered scrolls on her desk and saw something else for the first time. Not confusion. Not contradictions. Just… love, interpreted differently by each witness.

She thought of the soldiers. One grieving, one bitter, both clinging to their own truths. Both were so sure they knew what happened.

Just like Cassian, swearing she and Azriel were dancing around their feelings.

Just like Nesta, insisting Azriel wasn’t the type to share what he felt.

Just like Rhysand, who couldn’t see beyond the brother he used to know.

She sat back down and wrote one sentence, one that would jump start her greatest project yet.

“We mustn’t only question the historical accounts we see, but our reasons for believing them.”

She dipped her quill in ink, turned to a fresh new page and wrote her new working title.

The Battle for Truth: Perception, Memory, and What We Choose to See

Azriel had been nonchalant about it.

When he and his mate arrived at dinner, he oh-so-casually mentioned the two were hosting a party at their home. A housewarming party, as his family had assumed it was, and a party to celebrate the historiographer’s finished project, one she hadn’t even let Azriel know the details of.

Not one of them had suspected a mating ceremony at the center of it.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the Sidra as the Inner Circle arrived at the couple’s home.

The house was nothing like they had expected. Elegant, but also warm in a way only a home that was truly lived in, truly cared for, could be. The group stopped their various conversations as they tried to take in every detail they could.

The first sign something was… different came when they made their way to the garden. Dozens of candles flickered to life, illuminating the stone walkway. Golden lanterns swayed gently in the trees. A long table stretched beneath the stars, draped in silver and blue linens and set with the finest of dishes. At the end of the garden stood an archway, draped in silk, glowing with candlelight, and unmistakably ceremonial.

"Are we… early?" Feyre asked, glancing around in search of the hosts.

Before anyone could answer, the sound of footsteps came from behind them. As they turned, the Inner Circle was met with a surprising sight.

Azriel caught their attention first, dressed in an elegant navy suit softened by silver detailing. No armour, nor shadows to be seen, just… Azriel.

But it was the female next to him that stole their breath.

She stood beside him in a gown of lighter blue, embroidered with constellations that seemed to shift when she moved. Her eyes scanned the space, looking at the faces of her family, and for a moment, her nerves were evident.

It was only then, when the two walked to the center of the garden and faced their friends, not hiding the ribbon that laced their hands together, deliberate and unmistakable, that realization struck.

“Oh-” Mor breathed.

“-my gods,” Cassian finished, slack-jawed.

Feyre blinked rapidly. “Wait. This is—?”

“You two are—?” Rhysand’s voice cracked mid-sentence.

“Mated,” Azriel confirmed, his voice clear and calm, his hand wrapped tightly around hers. “The priestess left just before you all arrived.”

There was a long pause, almost comically long, but long enough for the couple to start to sweat as they awaited further reactions.

Then Mor let out a loud, disbelieving sound and clutched her chest as if she had been physically wounded. “You traitors! You beautiful, deceiving traitors! How long have you both been…” she trailed off before finding her words, “When did the bond snap?”

The two turned to each other, smiling, before replying in unison, “A while ago.”

“Around half a year.” Azriel added.

Cassian’s head slowly turned from Azriel to his mate and back again. “Are you kidding me?” he said, scandalized. “How come none of us knew? How come I didn’t know? What kind of brother am I?”

“A dramatic one,” Amren deadpanned. “And apparently, an oblivious one.”

Feyre looked between them, mouth parted in shock. Then a slow, radiant smile bloomed on her face. “You’re mated,” she whispered to herself, trying to register the words. “You’re both actually mated.”

At that, Feyre launched herself at the couple, hugging Azriel’s mate first, then Azriel, her eyes glinting with tears. “I’m so happy for you,” she said, breathless. “You both look… I don’t know… lighter, happier.”

Nesta crossed her arms and raised a brow. “Well,” she said coolly, “that explains why the priestesses keep asking me questions about you two and giggling when I looked at them like they were crazy. They asked if you were pregnant last week. I thought they had been hexed.” Though her tone was cool and indifferent, her eyes betrayed her affection.

That earned laughter from the rest as the couple looked at each other with deep blushes on their faces.

It was only Rhysand had remained quiet, far too quiet, his violet eyes fixed on the two of them. And then, without a word, he walked forward.

Azriel’s body went rigid, ever so slightly. But his mate didn’t flinch, didn’t look away.

Rhysand stopped just short of them, looking between the pair.

“I missed it,” he said finally, voice low. “I pride myself on seeing everything, knowing everything, but I completely missed this.”

There was no accusation in his words, but something raw in his tone. No anger, nor judgment. Just the sad realization he hadn’t known his brother as much as he thought.

He looked at Azriel’s mate then, and whatever tension had been between them for the past few months softened. “I’m sorry,” Rhysand said. “To both of you. I was too busy thinking I knew everything that I missed what was right in front of me.”

Azriel’s mate gave him a gentle nod, filled with forgiveness and understanding.

There was a moment of anxious silence, till Amren smirked behind her wine glass and muttered, “Finally.”

The tension shattered.

Laughter rippled across the garden, followed by a chorus of overlapping questions, but Azriel only looked at his mate.

They had decided to do the ceremony part alone, just the two of them, a priestess, and Clotho acting as witness, under the promise she was allowed to give any and all details to the other priestesses to gossip over.

But the celebration was for their family who had, however obliviously, been with them for their entire relationship.

That night, the Inner Circle celebrated under lantern light. The house echoed with laughter, shadows trailing around the garden and dancing to the music.

When the guests had finally gone, after having to be forcibly kicked out, Azriel and his mate sat on the floor in their study.

She sat nervously next to her mate, looking down at their hands still bound together with ribbon. She had promised they would get to that part of the night after she showed him one last thing.

She turned to the coffee table and picked up a leather-bound book. The cover was a dark blue and as she turned to the first page, Azriel recognized her handwriting. She handed the book to her mate who took it in his free hand.

The page was opened to the dedication, written in her neat script, reading:

To the ones who taught me that truth is rarely singular, that memory can be messy, and love, like the historical work I dedicate my life to, can often be found hidden in plain sight.

To Azriel, who saw the truest version of me and waited until I was ready to see her too.

Azriel stared down at the page, tears lining his eyes. His shadows brushed the edges of the paper, like they too were reading it.

“It’s not about us,” she quickly murmured, “not technically. It’s about conflicting battle accounts, probably less exciting but-”

She tried to swallow down her nerves, looking to their joined hands for strength.

“But it’s always been about us, in a way. About how people miss things that are right in front of them, because they’re too busy holding onto the story they think they already know. That’s what those accounts taught me. Two people, on the same side, in the same moment, seeing two completely different truths. They can both be wrong and right. Just like some others we know.” She teased.

Azriel leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. “You’re brilliant,” he whispered against her skin. “And I love you.”

“I know,” she whispered back, angling her head till her lips were just a breath away from his, “but you should say it again.”

“I love you.” He answered before kissing her deeply.

While the bond between them hummed, everything around them grew silent and still, like the shadows and stars themselves had stopped to listen.

Taglist: @happyxdayxbitch, @kksbookstuff, @firefly-forest-blog, @marigold-morelli, @yourenothingbutnottome, @triangleshapewinner, @honk4emoboyz, @i-am-infinite, @dreaming-softly-in-the-night, @fuckingsimp4azriel,

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel fluff #acotar fic #azriel acotar #inner circle x reader

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imaginedreamwrite · 2 days ago

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Fluff Friday : HR reader first kiss with John?

Seeing the light still on in his office had made you pause. You had debated simply walking by Captain Price’s office to make your way home but something held you up. You were on base late in the admin building anyway due to some HR meetings, and had finally been released. Everyone else had left, all offices were shut and closed, except his.

“Can’t have an office with my men? Have to be shoved into the admin building with the rest of ‘em?” Captain Price had complained about the move, and initially disregarded the decision. The base commanders wanted all the offices for their high ranking soldiers to be in one place, contained to one area.

“Captain Price?” You knocked on the door and entered when he told you to, pausing to close the door behind you. “You’re working late.”

“So are you.” There was the subtle glow from his cigar that was perched between his lips, and a glass of bourbon on the desk—you’d come to learn that Captain Price liked bourbon, scotch and whiskey but hated tequila.

“HR meetings, they wanted to go over some new policies.” You shrug off the statement like it’s just another day, and try not to let him know how tired you are. “I was about to head home when I saw your light on.”

“Long drive for you, isn’t it? Should talk to base command, get yourself a room here.” John let his cigar rest on the ashtray, and then lifted his glass. “Less driving, yeah?”

“Be on base with all these soldiers all the time?” You scoffed and approached the couch he had resting against the wall, sitting on the comfortable cushion. “I think I’d lose my mind.”

“You’re stronger than that, love.” He finishes his drink and sets the glass down before he stands, he rises to his feet and groans under his breath. “Put up with us lot, Simon and Johnny make ya want to pull your hair out.”

“You’re bad,” you admit to his claim that they all cause you trouble, “but not the worst.”

“A compliment,” Captain Price’s lips twitch in a partial smirk, and then he comes to sit next to you, “I’ll take it.”

You feel the couch dip as he sits next to you, and you feel his hands trailing along the back of your soft cardigan. He studies you, those pretty blue eyes sweeping over your face while you become transfixed by the scent of his cologne. He’s handsome, all of the 141 is, but there’s something about Captain Price that just…seems different.

“Could stay here, got a nice bed for ya.” It’s not a lewd offer, it’s genuine, and clearly he’s making the offer because you look like you’re going to fall over. “Even got clothes for ya.”

“Clothes for me?” You turn your head, looking over him in the same manner that he’s looked at you. “Really?”

“What, are you really that surprised? We’ve all been dating what, few weeks?” John leans in, dropping the hand from your sweater to your arm, as he gently pulls you in. “Haven’t even kissed ya yet.”

“And yet you have clothes for me.” You mumble, crashing into his chest as your heart begins to race, your palms begin sweating. “Getting ahead of yourself?”

“Stay tonight,” he uses his other hand to cup your chin, thumb stroking your flesh, “it’s late. Stay.”

You almost resist the urge; almost. You’re weaker than you think when it comes to them, to all of them, and you draw yourself closer. You slate your lips against his, the first rendering of lips against lips. John’s gentle, he’s softly slipping a hand around to the back of your neck, holding you in place.

Though there’s room for growth, for the intensifying nature of the kiss to bloom, it remains tender. He remains where he is, with you pinned to his chest and a hand on the back of your neck. Only when you feel the need to breathe does he pull away, and even then there’s minimal space between you two.

“Stay tonight.” He says it again but this time you don’t will yourself to argue. Rather you simply nod and allow him to help you to your feet, his hand reaching for your own.

#John price x HR!Reader #captain John price x HR!Reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader

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xylatox · 12 hours ago

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how to hex a heart || kth

Taehyun fic, taehyun fic, taehyun fic!! Hehe super duper excited to read this because taehyun <3 and its rain’s writing :)

I still no nothing about hogwarts (sue me) but I will enjoy and love it anyways.

Already love that Sunoo and mc are friends :) He is the cutest and sassiest boy ever

“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”

I have no reason to be giggle but I cant like I love it when Tyun is so blunt and straight to the point (and maybe a little mean :3) ahh

Also her personality really is the sweetest, God bless her soul I want to protect her. I also love though that she has a bite to her

“Besides, a little Knotgrass never hurt anyone. Except maybe his ego.”

Makes me super happy to see that despite her cheeriness she’s able to bite back ugh

I fear I was Taehyun on the inside in uni😭😭BUT I SWEAR I HAD VALID REASON </3

Their dynamic is so cute despite all the tension, ugh I love them so much

“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.”

I take it back I cant be that mean😭😭😭 I just say slightly mean words when things were common sense </3

I think Taehyun’s jealously is honestly, kind of cute </3 Maybe I am just down bad (I really am) but I understand his sentiments and hers too. I much prefer having a colder demeanour opposed to the cherriness of mc but her personality isnt a problem because it isnt forced like a lot of people and shes genuinely just the sweetest thing ever

But here, under the stars, he looked… tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix.

Ah I love this :( Like, theres something so difficult about being tired that no matter how much sleep you get youre always exhausted. Its like your brain has no where else to release the energy so you just, try to fix it with sleep but it never works and just makes you more tired instead </3

Also its sososo cute she give him her Chocolate Frog which is basically her pick me up

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

This line took me back to Love The Way You Lie by Eminem and Rihanna and omg I feel nostalgic

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

SCREAMING AND THE KISS???? Rain ugh, Im so obsessed with your words.

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.

Rain I swear I will love your words till the day I die

Also not Taehyun acting like nothing happened :( Thats too mean. I know hes pushing her away (for some good reason?) but ugh it hurts no :(

The extent of his meanness breaks me so much oh my god. I feel embarrassed hello?? Like she genuinely tries so hard despite everything and hes still so cold and ugh her reaction breaks him too when he realized he went too far

“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.

I loved this line. Theres something about trying to live up to someone else’s expectation that literally just makes things so much harder and being cold just somehow makes that easier, but mc has it so naturally so I get where Taehyun comes from. I also understand mc, and my heart just goes to her because of how sweet she is

The letter in the epilogue is so sweet oh my god😭😭 Tyun is such a tsundere and Im obsessed with it.

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.

I cant believe Im tearing up. This was so beautiful Rain :( I genuinely love them so much. They mean so much to me, I love that mc was Taehyun’s person who tore down his walls and ugh :( wishing everyone to find this.

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—”

“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

#xylatox fics recs #kang taehyun imagines #taehyun imagines #tomorrow x together x reader #tomorrow x together imagines #tomorrow x together #txt taehyun #kang taehyun imagine #kang taehyun #kang taehyun x reader #kang taehyun fluff

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chronicallyonlin3 · 23 hours ago

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( ˶°ㅁ°)The Winchesters as yandere big brothers...

(Yandere!Winchester Brothers x Little Sibling!Reader)

((I used to watch this show with my mom all the time so it has a special place in my heart, especially the boys(and Bobby)))

Yandere!Winchester Brothers who hates letting you on hunts, but somehow you always get roped into it.

It's never on purpose to. You just somehow find your way into their mess. From flirting with vampires to befriending shapeshifter. You always get caught up in their hunting, the Winchester curse or something like that.

"Fucking hell! Y/N! Why are you here?!" Dean yelled. Him and Sam were just about to storm a vampire nest when they found you, their little sibling, hanging around it. They were sure they'd left you at the motel in the nearby town. But knowing you, you snuck out without their permission, and somehow ended up here. So of course, Dean had Sam take you back to the Impala and ACTUALLY make sure you stayed.

The ride back was not a fun one.(ᵕ—ᴗ—)

Yandere!Winchester Brothers who use you as a mediator when they argue over stuff.

They usually fight over dumb stuff. Not figuring out what type of monster they're fighting, helping out other hunters, honestly just trying keep each other (and you) alive.

"Sam, you know you can't just jump into a whole group of them! And definitely not by freaking yourself!"

"I could handle it, I mean it's done right?"

They'd keep this going until they both go to sleep or out somewhere, the former definitely resulting in some tension. But they can never stay mad for long if there precious baby sibling is there to get them to make up.

Yandere!Winchester Brothers who would never let anything happen to you, whether that be you getting injured, or dying.

I mean do you see the way they treat the other dying? Yeah, they would never let you go, like ever. You could be possessed, dead, infected, anything, they would never let you go. They already resurrected each other more than enough times so why would it be any different for you? Family is all they have and they'll be damned if they lose another.

Yandere!Sam who stays up late with you. studying different monsters and creatures.

Since they don't let you go on the actuals hunts they, mostly Sam, thought it would be best for you to be on research duty. It lets them do less work, and you still get to be prepared if something ever comes for you.

Sam would see you desperately trying to stay away with a mountain of books around. He's tell you to get to bed, but being stubborn you say no. So, he stays with you, and goes through all the books and weird online forums with you. And when you eventually fall asleep, book in hand and head on his shoulder, he falls asleep with you.

Yandere!Dean who would sabotage any chance of you being in a relationship.

It's not like he never wants you to find love or anything. He just thinks relationships are stupid in your line of work, and no, he doesn't see how hypocritical that is. You, his little sibling, younger then him, younger then damn Sammy. Why would you ever need a partner when you have your older brother(s) there for you? Besides, they'd probably get themselves killed or put you in danger with not knowing about all the monster and such out there, better to just never date at all!ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)

And with him being protective to the max, he would be so nosy if you did actually get with someone. Asking you about them 24/7, how they're treating you, if he needs to 'set them straight'. Which is just him beating the shit out of them.

#honestly some of these just feel like things theyd do in the actual show #they are so canonical yanderes #yandere platonic #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #fluff #Supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #yandere brother #AngelSpeaks 𓆝

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seokminfilm · 5 hours ago

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healing ☆ lee seokmin

☆, pairing: lee seokmin x reader ☆, description: cuddling with your boyfriend could heal any ache. ☆, warnings/tropes: non-idol au, short, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, boyfriend seokmin, mentions of period cramps (reader is assumed to be female), kissing, skinship (specifically cuddling), pet names: seok (his), love (reader's) ☆, lyr's footnotes: period cramps are not fun. i hate them. anyways dedicated to dawn (@realmofclouds) because she actually inspired me to do something productive today <3 thank you dawn ily ☆, now playing: healing — seventeen ☆, word count: 451 ☆, written for: @kstrucknet

"can we cuddle?"

you're falling into the plush sheets of you and seokmin's shared bed, dull pain in your body ebbing for a split second before it comes rushing back, nearly knocking you out. a groan escapes your lips, and seokmin already knows what's happening, phone discarded as he pulls you close to his chest.

"of course we can cuddle, love." seokmin's arms are wrapping around your body like it's second nature, spooning you in his arms as you lay on his lap. his thighs are firm under you, grounding you in a way that keeps the nausea from biting at your back.

"you started?" seokmin asks softly, stroking your hair away from your face as he traces your jawline. you nod, sighing in content as seokmin presses a hand to your lower body, applying pressure on the spot he knows you need it.

"i'm so sorry, love. i wish it wasn't so hard on you." seokmin really did hate seeing you like this, sluggish and pale as you lounged on his lap.

it hurt him, knowing he couldn't take the cramps away from you. seokmin would take it, if he could. he told you that every time you asked him to be the big spoon in bed.

"do you need me to get you anything? water, a snack, an extra blanket?" seokmin's pressing kisses to your clammy forehead, watching you as you slowly shake your head.

"just...need to stay here for a while. that's all," a small smile comes on your face as seokmin presses a kiss to your soft lips, nodding in response.

"of course. we'll stay in bed as long as you want to stay, love." seokmin's nodding without a second thought, and you say a quick thank you, finally finding enough comfort to stop tossing and turning.

as you allow your eyes to close, he stares down at you, a smile on his features as he studies your now pain-free face. you look like you're resting peacefully, cheek slightly pressed into seokmin's thigh as your breath tickles his skin.

"are you feeling sleepy? i can lay you down and tuck you in if you want me to," seokmin's already ready to do something for you, but you shake your head, patting his leg in reassurance.

"no, no, seok. i wanna stay right here. on your lap. with you." you smile, and seokmin nods, tension leaving both of your bodies as the two of you relax together for the first time in what feels like forever. you could feel the healing from seokmin's touch and smile already spreading through your body, and you knew it was just a matter of time before you were up and running again.

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ballsandbabes · 13 hours ago

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Harder than I thought

authors note: Hi everyone, this is the first time I've done an illustration for one of my stories. I draw under the tag ‘D.Mon’. I hope you like it. // y/n = your name// not proof read// GIF not mine // Have fun <3

pairing: michael kaiser x fem!reader

summary: What if youd swapped duties with Kaiser, after nagging him forever about how hard your job was. So when he decides to drag you onto the pitch, its not the only reason your heart begins to race ;)

genre: romance, enemies to lovers I guess

word count: 6.2k

You just got your bachelor's degree in marketing and management. Happy to have finally done it, you were faced with the next challenge: What now? You hadn't really thought much about what you wanted to do with your degree during your studies.

A good friend of your mother's, Anrei Teieri, had a job with a football programme and suggested that you try the sports industry during a visit. You had always been sporty and were particularly interested in basketball and swimming.

For lack of alternatives, you decided to give it a try. And now you were here. For a year now. But this wasn't how you had imagined your very first job. Because you were pretty sure you had the hardest job in all of Bastard München—not because it was technically demanding, but because your job involved him.

Michael Kaiser.

Football’s golden brat. Germany’s arrogant "crown prince". And the absolute bane of your sanity. You were his personal assistant. Emphasis on personal, which, as it turned out, meant "do everything short of breathing for him."

And right now, that meant sprinting across the training grounds with his cleats in one hand, his protein bar clenched between your teeth, and your phone buzzing in your pocket with overlapping meeting notifications. It was stressful, although that is probably an understatement. It was as if you were living two lives. You had to think about everything, his diet, appointments, press, even his private appointments like dates, were managed by you.

“Kaiser!” you shouted, skidding to a stop near the pitch, sarcasm dripping from your voice,“Your royal shoes, Your Highness.”

He didn’t even glance at you at first. He was stretched out like a cat in the sun, all smug smiles and silky hair that glinted gold in the light.

“I didn’t forget them,” he said lazily,“You’re supposed to bring them.”

“I’m your assistant, not your maid,” you grumbled, tossing the cleats next to him.

“Semantics,” he replied, finally turning his smug, beautiful face toward you, “You look winded, Schatz. You should start training with us.”

He loved calling you that. It started when you asked him for his passport for the game in seville. While you were busy giving his details to the team's airline, he'd got hold of your passport, which you'd left on the table. It turned out that you were also German. Knowing that you would also know what this nickname meant, he now always called you that. You hated it. You weren't his ‘treasure’, you were his servant. At least that's how it felt when you had to run errands at six in the morning.

“Oh, you mean actually collapse instead of just feeling like I will?,” You plopped down on the bench nearby and took a long sip from your water thermos, “If I knew this job meant babysitting a full-grown toddler with a God complex, I’d have picked something easier. Like working in a marketing agency or something.”

“You love it,” he said with that annoying lilt of arrogance,“You’d be bored without me.”

“You left your phone in the fridge yesterday,” you said flatly,“I had to defrost it to get to your text messages.”

“That was a creative decision. Cold calls, you know?,” he smirked. You snorted, shaking your head,“You’re impossible. I hope you know that.”

He grinned wider,“And yet, you’re still here.”

You opened your mouth to argue—but the smirk he shot you made your heart betray you for a beat.

Damn it. It wasn’t that you didn’t like your job. It was just that Michael Kaiser made it very difficult to focus on anything except the way his shirt clung to his abs, or the way he always seemed to know just how to fluster you.

So you’d developed a strategy over time: complain about everything. Constantly. Loudly. He thought it was funny. You told yourself it wasn’t flirting. (But it was definitely flirting :)

___ _ _ _

It was one of those days, the mountain of work barely manageable. yes, and then there was kaiser, an active blockade that prevented you from going about your tasks. You would have liked to nail the door to his office shut. Unfortunately, you couldn't. Which is why you've been standing in the playing booth for the last ten minutes or so, having what you think is a much-needed conversation. you didn't want to admit it, but inside you loved these little random moments.

“Michael,” you said flatly, “you cannot keep texting me ‘important question’ and then follow it up with a selfie and ‘do I look hotter in blue or black?’ That’s not urgent. That’s narcissism. I got actual work to do...”

Michael leaned back in the locker room bench, one leg lazily draped over the other, spinning his phone between his fingers. His eyes sparkled with the kind of smug mischief that usually preceded international incidents. You had actually called him about the press appointment for the game at the weekend, but then it had once again slipped into a lecture from your side, when you had to actually step into the locker room, because he didnt want to come to you to discuss the matter.

“I’m cultivating my brand, Schatz,” he replied without shame, “You’re the keeper of my empire. You should care.”

You crossed your arms,“Your "empire" is built on ego, dry shampoo, and late-night calls to ask whether your features look too sharp in certain lighting. Like fans could die from you looking to good...”

He tilted his head,“You said they were devastating.”

“That’s not a compliment, it’s a warning. People trip over them,” you replied with annoyance. Michael chuckled, a low, warm sound that always made your stomach do backflips. He leaned in, elbow resting on his knee, eyes locked on yours.

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed,” his face displaying a smirk.

“I’m always annoyed,” you deadpanned.

“Exactly.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to your tablet. You were trying to update his schedule, but it was difficult when he kept staring at you with that smug little smile—like he was watching a show only he understood the punchline to.

“I’m filing a report,” you muttered, “Personal assistant verbally abused by narcissistic striker. Emotional damages include migraines, sarcasm fatigue, and... chronic exposure to shirtless selfies.”

Michael smirked, “You save those selfies.”

“Because I need evidence for HR,” you explained.

He stood, stepping close, just close enough to loom—annoyingly tall, annoyingly confident, annoyingly aware of the effect he had on you.

“You could just admit you like me, you know,” he said casually, brushing a golden strand out of his face. “It’d save you all this dramatic whining.”

You looked up at him, unimpressed,“I don’t like you. I tolerate you. The same way people tolerate reality TV. It's chaotic, it lowers brain cells, but it’s weirdly addictive.”

“Ouch,” He clutched his chest,“Brutal.”

“You love it,” you now teased him.

“I do,” he said, that cocky grin softening just slightly, “Especially when you get all flustered trying not to smile.”

You refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, you turned back to your iPad screen and said, “If you’re done stroking your ego for five minutes, you have training in twenty. And you still haven’t filled out the media request forms for the pre-game interviews.”

“I thought you were handling that,” he said.

You glared, “I’m your assistant, not your secretary, Kaiser. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” he said, moving toward the exit, hands in his pockets,“You’re the girl who yells at me every day and still brings me my favorite protein bar.”

You called after him,“That’s because if I don’t feed you, you might collapse mid-backflip and sue the club.”

He turned around with a wink,“Or maybe it’s because you care.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Damn him. You hated how he made teasing sound like confession. How every throwaway flirtation felt like a test—and how badly you wanted to fail it.

“Stop looking at my mouth, Kaiser!,” you snapped.

“I was looking at your lips, actually,” he said, backing out the door. “There’s a difference. They are pretty.”

And with that, he vanished down the hallway, leaving you with a heart pounding far too fast and a very dangerous thought:

If you didn’t do something soon, this entire job was going to turn into one big, unavoidable, steamy disaster.

___ _ _ _

You dramatically flopped into his chair in the team lounge one morning and announced, “I deserve a raise or a Nobel Prize.”. He barely looked up.

“What now?” he asked, sipping an energy drink that absolutely wasn’t approved by his nutritionist.

“You had three interviews booked at the same time yesterday,” you said. “Three. I had to call your sponsors, your agent, and your mother to fix it. Also, you’re scheduled for two different hair stylists today. At the same time.”

“I like variety,” he said with a shrug.

“You’re a menace. It was a total disaster to rebuild your calendar so everything would work just fine,” you muttered. He set his drink down, leaned back in the chair like a king on his throne, and raised an eyebrow,“You know what, if it’s so hard, how about we trade?”

You blinked,“Excuse me?”

“You join me in training. For a month. Full schedule. And I’ll take care of my own life. No assistant. Total independence. More free time for you.”

Your jaw dropped,“You’d forget your own name after three days.”

He grinned, “Then prove it. If you last a month on the pitch, and I keep my life together, the loser buys dinner.”

“And the winner picks the outfit,” you added, smirking.

He gave a low laugh,“You’re cruel. Deal.”

___ _ _ _

Training was hell. Cardio at 6 a.m., tactical drills that made your legs feel like jelly, ice baths that nearly made you cry. The team, of course, found it hilarious. Raichi gave you a supportive thumbs up. Ness tried not to laugh every time you tripped over a cone. The boys were very pleased that you were now part of the training programme. And then there was Kaiser?

Kaiser was having the time of his life.

“You’re sweating,” he teased one afternoon, tossing you a towel,“Cute.”

“I’m plotting your murder,” you muttered. He leaned in, breath warm against your ear,“Do it after dinner. I already made reservations.”

And meanwhile, his life without your help?

An absolute disaster. He missed two interviews, forgot to reply to three sponsors, got his hair cut wrong (a national emergency), and was late to practice twice.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped when you smugly handed him a crumpled fan letter he’d forgotten to answer.

“I’m just impressed,” you said sweetly and full of sarcasm,“I didn’t think it was possible to double-book yourself with yourself.”

He groaned,“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You bet your smug ass I am,” you laughed as a reply. But somewhere between the playful bickering and the chaotic schedules, something shifted between the tow of you. What had begun as a serious hatred of his schedule and his person had now become something like an edge. something that belonged to him, without which he would not be himself. Something you tolerated, because of him.

It was no different on his side of the emotional world. He missed the sarcastic jokes you used to make when he messed up again. Or how you'd fall asleep cutely on the keyboard in his office because you couldn't take it anymore. The constant moaning and fussing about his inability had become music to his ears. So he started lingering near you after practice.

You on the other hand, started looking forward to his stupid texts.

You caught him watching you during drills, expression softer than usual. You’d both been dancing around it for weeks, really—like one long, drawn-out press conference of denial.

Until the final day of the bet: You were sprawled on the pitch, utterly exhausted. Sweat dripped from your forehead, your muscles screamed, and your lungs felt like they’d been lit on fire. Kaiser had given you two sets of his own tracksuit clothes to make it feel like his everyday life, he had said. that meant you were sitting there in the black shirt with the gold trim and the bugunder-red tracksuit bottoms with his initials and his match number. The others had made fun of it. They had said it was like a house number, so you knew who lived in the house together. It was an open secret that the others thought you were like an old married couple when you were together.

Kaiser dropped down beside you with a water bottle and that stupid grin,“You survived.”

“Barely,” your breath still unsteady.

“You win,” you gasped,“You’re… actually in shape. Who knew?”

He laughed,“And your schedule was a living nightmare. I missed three hair masks and I think Adidos is mad at me for not showing up to the shoe launch.”

You rolled your eyes,“Really??? The shoe release?? I worked so hard on that deal for you...You can’t function without me.”

He leaned closer,“I don’t want to.”

You froze. He was looking at you—really looking at you. No smugness. No jokes. Just something real.

“I’ve been flirting with you for months,” he said softly,“You’re not exactly subtle either.”

You blinked,“Was it that obvious?”

He grinned,“You called me a ‘walking migraine with abs.’ That’s basically German for ‘marry me.’”

You laughed—nervous and bright and maybe a little breathless.

“And now?,” you asked. He smirked, “Now I cash in on my prize.”

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, “Dinner. With me. No running around. No emails. Just you.”

You stared up at him, “And if I say no?”

“Then I’ll just have to keep booking back-to-back hair appointments until you give in,” he teased. You laughed again, eyes fluttering shut as you leaned into him.

“Fine,” you whispered,“But only if I get to pick the outfit.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling, “Deal.”

___ _ _ _

You sent the message an hour ago:

"Be ready at 7. Suit. Formal. I’m picking you up. Don’t ask questions. Just trust me." – Y/n 😘

No response. Just a single read receipt and a suspicious lack of follow-up sarcasm. You were wearing your favorite dress—dark red, sleek, perfectly sculpted to your figure. Modern lines, no frills, just class and edge. The matching lipstick had taken you three attempts and two makeup wipes to perfect. But one thing was for sure, the two hours of styling where totally worth it. It felt good to be able to really doll up. You weren’t even sure why you were this nervous.

It wasn’t a date...Okay, it was definitely date-coded.

But still.

You had pulled strings to get tickets to a private advance screening of your favorite old German film—one Michael had, in his words, “definitely pretended to have seen to impress someone once.”

You smiled just thinking about his face when he realized the theater was empty. He didn’t know you knew he had rented it out.

Of course he had.

___ _ _ _

You pulled up outside his place at 6:59 sharp. The building was sleek and modern—exactly the kind of penthouse palace you’d expect a Kaiser to inhabit. And then the door opened.

Your mouth went dry. Michael stood there in a deep navy-blue suit that somehow made his hair look even more golden than usual. A white shirt underneath, buttons half-done, tie in his hand. And he was staring at you like he had forgotten the entire German language.

“Wow,” he said finally.

You smirked, stepping inside,“That’s it? Just wow?”

“I’ve seen you in sweatpants, high ponytails, and with three pens stuck in your bun yelling at me for double-booking a photo shoot,” he murmured,“And I thought that was cute.”

He let his gaze travel down slowly, lingering just enough to make your skin feel too tight.

“But this?” he continued,“You’re trying to kill me.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking,“Then die quietly and put your tie on so we wont be late.”

He held it up,“You’re the assistant. Help me. Besides you were the one, who wanted to dress me...”

You rolled your eyes but stepped closer, taking the silk from his fingers. His scent hit you—clean cologne, a hint of mint, and something just inherently Kaiser. Warm and impossible to ignore. You looped the tie around his neck, fingers brushing his collarbone. He watched you the whole time, eyes flickering between your lips and your hands.

“You’re nervous,” he said quietly.

You huffed,“I’m not.”

“You’re breathing like I just made you run laps,” he stated the obvious.

“I’ve seen you run laps. That’s not impressive.”

He laughed under his breath, and you paused with the tie half-knotted. His hand came up, fingers brushing your wrist—lightly, casually.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice dropping.

You swallowed, “You’re stalling.”

“I’m enjoying the view,” he smirked. You stepped back, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks, “Shirt next. You’re barely decent.”

He smirked, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Michael.”

“Y/n,” he got back at you teasingly. You rolled your eyes again and reached for his waist, grabbing the button of his pants.

And then it happened. You looked up. He looked down.

A second stretched thin between you—his breath catching, your fingers frozen at his fly, the silence charged with something very different than before.

He was close. So close. And when your knuckles brushed against his abdomen, he tilted his head like he was already leaning in.

“Stop looking at my lips,” you whispered.

“I’m thinking about kissing them,” he whispered back.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

But when you finally buttoned the last piece, his hand slid gently to the back of your neck—and this time, there were no jokes. He kissed you like he'd been waiting all month. Like all the teasing and tension had finally found its spark.

And god, did it ignite. His mouth was warm, commanding but careful, like he didn’t want to rush but couldn’t stop himself either. Your hands curled into his jacket, pulling him closer, lips parting like second nature.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, breath shallow.

“That was... overdue,” he murmured. You licked your lips,“We’re late.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do,” you smirked, still flushed from the kiss.

“Fine,” he said, “But I’m kissing you again after the credits.”

___ _ _ _

You tried to play it cool when you arrived. Act surprised. Gasp a little. Look impressed. But the second you stepped into the dark velvet of the private theater and saw the single set table tucked to the side—candles, wine, catered food—you turned back and smacked his chest,“You rented the place.”

He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Didn’t want distractions. Or other people seeing me cry if the movie’s boring. I have an image to obtain.”

“You are ridiculous,” you said under a light laugh.

“You love it,” he said as he gave you one of his charming winks.

You glared,“A little.”

Dinner was incredible. The movie was even better. And through it all, Kaiser stayed close—but not in his usual arrogant way. He asked questions. Listened. Smiled when you quoted your favorite line before it happened. Let you grab his arm during the emotional parts.

It was the softest you’d ever seen him.

And the most honest you’d ever felt with him.

___ _ _ _

The city lights glowed below as the two of you stepped onto his terrace. It was late. Quiet. Cool wind brushing against your bare shoulders. You leaned on the railing. He stood behind you, his suit jacket draped over your arms.

“I had fun tonight,” you said softly.

“Me too,” he smiled, looking at you. You turned, meeting his gaze again in the silver-blue light.

This time, you didnt felt like teasing. Just the space between you, waiting to close.

He stepped in, cupped your face. You let him.

The kiss was slower this time. Deeper. More certain.

You curled into him, fingers in his hair, lips parting with soft sighs and lingering touches. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him, and it wasn’t just tension anymore—it was want. His mouth found your jaw, your neck, your smile as he placed a hickey onto it.

And when you kissed him back with a soft, breathless laugh, you finally admitted it to yourself:

You weren’t just falling for him.

You already had.

I hoped you liked the story and the illustration.

#kaiser michael #michael kaiser #bllk kaiser #bllk michael kaiser #bllk x you #bllk x reader #bllk #bluelock x you #blue lock #bllk fanart #blue lock fanart #kaiser x reader

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natp20 · 1 year ago

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asmodeus, rocking up to aeor as a cleric of the dawnfather just to spite his brother who is leaning hard on the youth pastor aspect of his divinity

#critical role #cr3 #cr downfall #cr spoilers #so funny #an absolute shit disturber #the lord of lies and a complete bitch #i love him and i hate him and i want to study him like a bug #brennan said what's funnier than an old priest?#an old priest who's secretly the devil and trying to fuck with his holier-than-thou brother

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magnuficent76 · 4 months ago

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—Sometimes it's an every night thing.

Summary : Lucio does his usual patrol for the night, but gets interrupted as he's wrapping up the routine.

Author's note: Lucio can be a good dad when he wants. He just usually Does Not want to </3

Warnings: Lucio is here and that sucks, but nothing bad happens.

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Quiet nights in Pandora are rare, worrying things. If you can't hear at least some ruckus in the distance, then something must be dreadfully wrong. Lucio knows this better than anyone. As he paces back and forth from the porch of his house to the outskirts of the yard, he envisions the danger closing in on his little house at the very end of his crossing. Thankfully, the entrance is always in his sights. Nothing and no one could get through so long as he is there standing guard. All he has to do is listen.

In the distance, gunshots go off, followed by the sound of cars revving up and driving top speed, dangerously close to the soft bodies that dared taunt such machines. There is a pause, and then a repeat in noise. Screams are added, tires burn against the floor, and then pause again. It's like that almost every night. Loud enough to be heard from where he stands, but faint enough to allow his family to rest. That was enough. You have to take the small victories and accept that sometimes they'll be all you get.

Eventually, he tires himself out. Patrolling around the plot of his land and away, to the very edge of where his territory ends and then back to where it starts, the exhaustion finally catches up to him, and with a satisfied humph, he lets himself in through the door...

But then.

Then he hears scurrying. Quiet little footsteps of a tiny creature, only barely heavy enough to cause the wood to creak. He doesn't let his shotgun down just yet, but he has a sneaking suspicion for what it is that's making noise. Lucio steps carefully around the house, the boots on his feet squeaking just slightly, surprisingly quiet for how unfathomably large the man wearing them is. His eyes are adjusted for the darkness, perfectly seeing into the hallway he was sure the little thing went into... but not the thing itself.

He stops to listen. There is still sound in the distance as expected, but nothing close by to indicate a presence. Until it comes from the kitchen, that is. A sniffle followed by water being dispensed from a mason filter, being poured into a glass cup while whoever holds it stays on his tippy toes to make sure it's not *too* loud out of courtesy.

Lucio relaxes, placing his gun back on the holster and double checking to make sure it's got its safety on, then stepping while going into the kitchen as quietly as he can. His presence goes unnoticed until the very moment it announces itself,

"Boy." Lucio speaks after a whole night of quiet, his voice booming and breaking the silence again. It makes the little boy in front of him jump surprised, almost dropping the cup he was filling. He turns around fearfully, small, before his eyes finally adjust enough to see his father was the shadow all along. Then, he seems to relax.

"Papa— 'm sorry," Archer scratches one of his eyes with a tiny closed fist, placing the cup on the edge of the balcony. He looks tired, still drowsy from the interrupted night of sleep. "M' eye was itchy, I don't feel good.. I wanted water," He looks down guiltily, as if having admitted to the most heinous crime of them all.

Lucio crouches down to his eye level, tilting his head back to face him with both his hands. He looks so small between his hands. So unbelievably small. A quick look around his face shows exactly what bothers him: One of his eyes is squinting and watering, little veins underneath it flared and red, matching red spots forming under the eye and on his cheek. Specifically the left one too— not good.

"Probably allergies. We don't got any medicine for that I don't think." He speaks again after a quiet moment inspecting his face, then hums. "D'ya eat anything different today?"

"Nnooooo," Archer places his little hands over his father's, somehow colder than them. He seems worried at the mention of not having medicine, features slightly squished from the small pressure being placed on the sides of his face. "Am I in troble?" He asks meekly, the word not quite coming out from his mouth right.

"What? No." Lucio grunts indignantly, almost a little offended. He is a fair man trying to help him here, why would he even be in trouble? Bah. Dramatic. "You're fine. It was probably dust in your room makin' you all red. Come on.." He lets go of his face, messing with his hair slightly before getting up again. He walks to the other side of the kitchen and reaches into several cabinets looking for something, grumbling curses under his breath while searching for something specific. The boy watches his movements, holding his hands together while he waits to see what's exactly being sought.

"Boy, turn the lights on for me. Now." He commands, and Archer complies with a little nod, reaching up to the light switch on his tippy toes and then sitting still again until something else is needed of him. Quiet takes over the kitchen again, aside from the buzzing of the yellow bulb above and the chaos outside as usual. It's interrupted by the occasional sneeze from Archer, who then wipes it off on the hem of his shirt without another way for him to clean himself. Finally, after minutes of searching and mumbling about where 'the damn thing' could be, there is an answer.

"Aha. There we go. C'mere," Lucio motions with his hand, then crouches back down to meet him. He pops the lid off the little container, then takes a small amount of the substance inside to dab on the underside of his eye. Archer winces from the immediate stinging sensation of the artificial mint, having it immediately working its way both to his clogged nose and into his eye, which now felt a little easier to open for some reason. "This stuff always worked for me when I was a lad. Ain't exactly meant for curing allergies but hey. Don't try explaining miracles..." His thumb carefully presses down on that spot, caressing the cream into it, then dabs a little more just under his nose. "Feel a little better?"

Archer sniffles, scratching his eye one more time and then blinking to make sure there was an effect. Sure enough, it feels easier to breathe and to blink. The itchiness doesn't bother as much anymore, even if there's still probably a bunch of mucus. "A lot! Thank you papa" He smiles, looking up to Lucio happily. "My nose feels way clearer now... how'd you know it would work?"

Lucio chuckles softly, "'Cuz I made this nose, dingus. And I know everythin' that happens to it." He shakes him by the nose gently, and giggles spill out of him like he just did the funniest thing ever. "Now go to sleep you little ruffian. Yer gonna wake up grumpy later."

"Heeheee, okay! I's cuz you're my papa, an' you know everythin'!" Archer parrots between little giggles, holding his nose. "And okayyy, I just wanna drink my water first, then I'll go bed. Promise."

"'S alright Archie. Take your time." He ruffles his hair again, watching as he grabs the cup full of water and sips its contents away, certainly bouncier than before. It's nice. He's glad he was able to help.

Archer makes him so angry sometimes. Be it with the incessant questions, or with his kiddy mannerisms that get under his skin, or with how cowardly he can be most of the time, or how he stares so much constantly, but god damnit, he's a good kid when he wants to be. Mostly. It's not his fault he gets annoyed, is it?... his eye stays on his direction while water depletes from the very full cup he's holding, but his mind is elsewhere. There are noises outside of gunshots and tires screeching, people screaming for their lives while they run away from consuming metal, trying to live a little while longer to get one more shot in. Elsewhere, a child cries after they skin their knee on the sidewalk, having to be soothed down amidst their overreactive tantrum, their parent scolding them for not being careful. Is it ever their fault.

Before he can catch himself becoming too sentimental, Lucio has already swaddled the little guy in his arms. Maybe it's just because he's tired too and wouldn't sleep well knowing he's up, but he feels the need to go tuck him in. Archer is saying something, he can probably decipher it if he really tries, but instinct is just running its course now.

Lucio opens the door to his bedroom with one hand while holding the kid with the other. He doesn't even notice the cup of water still in Archer's hands, jostling around until some of it spilling on his shirt. It's cold. He takes it out of his hands and places it on the ledge of the window.

"Keep the cup here. If you get thirsty again during the night you'll have somethin' to drink. Don't break that cup though, yer mama will be mad." He speaks more softly this time, laying his son down on his bed with his head on a deflated old pillow. Archer doesn't say anything in return, just staring at him with those big stupid eyes of his again. They're big and dark, just like his dad's. The right one is still a little red, and itll probably still be itchy during the night, but it'll go away by morning. He's not losing that. "Goodnight Boy." Lucio goes to leave, but a tiny hand grabs his own before he can, making him look back.

"Pa?"

"Yes Archie?"

"I love you," The words lock Lucio in place for a solid second, the intonation for how they're said almost tense, as if testing what the reaction for them will be. He doesn't know how to respond to it. He looks so small, illuminated by moonlight coming through his window and barely covered with frumpy fuzzy blankets. What does he say?

"...Yeah. I know. Go to sleep kid." He presses a kiss on his forehead, then leaves without another word. Archer is left in his room to think about what that meant until he lays his head back down in his pillow.

Lucio stands outside his door for a while longer, feeling rather restless again. There is screaming and gunshots and the sound of engines roaring. Unimaginable amounts of danger constantly. He has to be there to make sure it doesn't get close. He goes back outside, shotgun in hand, and stares at the road leading to his house, sitting on the porch. He'll go back inside eventually. For now, he has to make sure the next couple of hours are peaceful, if not all around the territory, then just here.

Just enough for one night of sleep.

#Magart #Magocs #Magwriting #txt #My writing #Caede Tales #my oc stuff #Society loss ! your father CAN be nice to you if he really wants to but he's just usually not exhausted enough to allow himself to do it !#oc: Lucio #oc: Archer #I wanted to try and explore Lucio's pov for once because even though I absolutely hate the cunt‚ I'd be lying if I said it wasn't at least #interesting to try and decipher what he means amidst his rambling thoughts. he's not a good dad and this is an exception not the norm #which is why Archer seemed to surprised when he went to tuck him in. he never does that and he got a little scared that it wasn't his dad #thankfully only the real Lucio is this emotionally unavailable so Archer was like you didnt say i love you back so you're definitely my dad #they make me insane !!!!!#character study #original character #oc #my ocs #fan character #fan oc

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mrmeepsmadmind · 6 months ago

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he drew the abs on with sharpie, don't fall for the gremlin's tricks

#giant gremlin wife #playing with a blitzy design i want a football player look #his body type is like muscular but kinda lean in the middle #and for astrotrain idk if i want him to be a fridge shape or chubky. either are sexy as fuck #im leaning more toward the chunky idea cus of the contrast #i love drawing duos that contrast each other (round shapes wide earnest eyes bee and sharp shifty serious cliff)#their friendship is so important to me #i love astro and blitz's friendship too #blitz has definitely rode astros train #huh who said th #tfa blitzwing is chubby in my eyes #g1 blitz tries to make fun of him but secretly wants to make out with himself so fucking bad it's not even funny #onceler selfcest has infected the germans #blitz is like the asshole star wide receiver going pro after college and astro is the big linebacker thats just playing cus the scholarship #hes an engineer major lol #blitz does one year then goes to pro then calls astro complaining and whining if he can beat these mfs up bcs now football is kinda hard #astro just listens to blitz's complaining on speakerphone for 25 hrs while studying #it's lowkey helpful with focusing for some reason.. forcing him to tune out everything to focus on his studies #or btw they are very much robots here lol going to robot college and robot nflLOL #oh um it looks bad bcs i dont line or color art bcs um im lazy lol but #he has a split tongue that can move separately. one side is all icy and one is flamey #he also has 3 separate sets of different styled teeth and can unhinge his jaw to show them #make cybertronians freaky again 2024 #transformers #tf g1 #transformers g1 #transformers generation one #i hate tag variations with my soul but alas i want to make friends #blitzwing #maccadam

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mayxo-hxh · 1 year ago

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I personally think that Kikyo would absolutely be thrilled that Illumi found himself a man he wants to marry as strong, handsome and fit to be Zoldyck as Hisoka.

Hisoka is strong enough to be considered an equal to a zoldyck, which means strength is no problem for him. And I don't know about you but the way he assassinated that terradin man that was threatening to reveal illumis identity at the end of the election arc? CHEFS. KISS. THATS A WHOLE ZOLDYCK WIFE RIGHT THERE. And Hisoka is a certain type of fucked up enough to be a Zoldyck, even if he is... mmm.. self aware. Even if he himself thinks zoldycks are a special kind of fucked up. He'd fit.

I always see people make silva and kikyo disagree with illumi marrying hisoka but i soooo heavily disagree. Like what is there NOT to be proud of in Illumi's marriage choice. There is not a single other character IN THE ENTIRE ANIME fit to be Zoldyck than Hisoka Morow and I will fight people on that.

Something a lot of people also don't realize is that the Zoldycks are not a family that discriminates in the slightest (this is a whole discussion on its own but examples are how Kikyo is from meteor city, the butlers are taken from anywhere as long as they have the skill to work and one of the people who attacked kukuroo mountain to hunt the zoldycks now works for them instead. The zoldycks didnt hesitate to hire that mf they fr dont gaf lmfao)

there are soooooooo many misconceptions about the zoldycks in general and i think thats what aids the whole "the zoldycks would HATE hisoka" thing but like. nah. they wouldnt.

I also think about how Kikyo found Silva at such a young age. I bet she was constantly nagging Illumi and asking when he'd get a partner himself. Now he's got it, Millukiiii ITS YOOOURRR TURRNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!

#some people would say “oh theyll hate him when they meet him!” but why though.#“the way he dresses!” ?? so what. have u seen the way the zoldycks dress lmfao. their son is literally twinning with that magician #“he'll make it weird” Ya Allah no he fucking wont 💀 people base this off a very fanon characterization of hisoka.#Like no he wont moan out of nowhere because theyre a powerful family he already knows that buddy.#hes kept it in multiple times before in a muted reaction please stop making it seem like hes a man with no self control i beg lmfao #Surprise surprise Hisoka acts weird on purpose when he puts on a show because thats how he wants to be percieved #but hes very self aware and knows whats considered weird and disrepectful and certainly wont fuck it all up for him and illumi for 0 reason #me when i finally get to marry the love of my life and i fuck it up because i decide itd be quirky and the fans want me to #hisoka is a much more calmer and quiet person when hes not purposely being weird and thats what people dont want to accept #anyways rant over #whewwww thats a rant and a half lmfao #I wish hisoka as a character was given more analysis and study than the 3 scenes that make him popular #anyways. rant TRULY over. here are the normal tags #hisoillu #hisoka x illumi #illumi #illumi zoldyck #hisoka #hisoka morow #hisoka zoldyck #hunter x hunter #hxh #my post #i feel like if i mentioned how hisoka has adhd on here id get thrown pitchforks at.#let alone the fact that hes very asexual coded #i dont really feel safe on this website at all to discuss any of this yet lmao #people literally laugh when you say hes shy when its literally??? a canon fact stated by hisoka himself?? and backed up by many scenes????#but i dont think i ever will feel safe here tbh. i just have to. do it. and fuck it whatever happens or whoever laughs at me.#just like ive done on twitter for years until ive finally created a complete safe space for myself #secret rant at the end because maybe nobody will look here

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dootznbootz · 1 year ago

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I think some folks MAY have gotten the wrong idea about how I feel about Circe with some of my posts. So, to clear the air...

Homies, I love that fucked up sorceress.

I love how we're never given a reason why she turns people into animals. That's so funny and so awful. And another potion-making magic gal?!?! I love that she's just basically vibing on an island doing whatever she wants. I even love the fact that she scares Odysseus shitless! She's morally gray and that's why she's FUN.

I just sincerely hate when people try to girlboss her or have her be a victim of SA when she never was Looking at you, Miller. Especially when she was actually the one who coerced Odysseus in exchange for his men being transformed back into humans. And even then, while he was clearly afraid of her, (it's in the language of the Odyssey) she likely meant him no harm after a certain point. He just didn't know that.

Why does she need a reason to do awful things? Why can't she just be a goddess who does whatever she wants? That's the reason why I love her!!! She's fucked up!!! :D

I hate what the Telegony did to her as well! >:( You're telling me, this sorceress goddess, who makes potions (!!!) wouldn't have magic contraceptives??? Would WANT CHILDREN?!?! WITH THE PATHETIC WIFEMAN?! No. Fuck no. Eugammon of Cyrene, I have beef with you 🤬

Anyways!!! Understand all the "#anti circe" I have is simply Anti "Girlboss Circe" or the book. I genuinely think she's neat af as her morally gray, fucked up sorceress self and just get frustrated with...everything :'D

#I have these same feelings with Medea and Medusa and so many others. Penelope too. Let them do something fucked up just to be fucked up #I'm a “god forbid women do anything” in the sense of 'she did a fucked up thing. That's why she's fascinating. Don't take her awfulness #away from her!!! please! I wanna study her under a microscope!'😭#PLEASE #...I actually kind of don't like the idea of her actually caring about her nymphs :P maybe she “protects them” but like...#I see her as a “Why are all of you dancing? Oh. it's a birthday? hm okay. Just make sure your duties are done.” while not caring #whose birthday it is. She's not really shown to be close to them during the Odyssey and idk just seems in character for her to not give af #save me morally gray circe #<-making that a tag now because...yeah. She absolutely wouldn't save me though.#Mad rambles #shot by odysseus #anti madeline miller #anti circe #<-THE BOOK! I HATE THE BOOK! LET HER BE AWFUL YOU COWARDS #Why do women need to be SA'ed to be strong Miller?! >:(#...Ima say it. The pathetic wifeman is more relatable to me than Hot Snake Monster Lady when it comes to this stuff.😤#I just sincerely hate the fact that people erase what happened to him you know? It's silly but it means a lot to me.#Also I think she got bored of him immediately and simply let him chill at her place.#She's a goddess. She's got better things to do and she absolutely doesn't love him and he absolutely doesn't want her.#I don't have with Eugammon btw. He's dead and I'm exaggerating but I STILL hate the Telegony >:(#tw sa #kind of??? idk #barely mentioned but yeah #Calypso though?? Yeah. I hate her in practically everything except Pirates of the Caribbean because that's not Odyssey Calypso

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the-way-astray · 9 months ago

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Hi! This is the meta anon here (as I'll take to calling myself). I have read your response to the meta and I agree that Keefe doesn't actually do things like apologizing or self-reflection without external consequences to motivate him. This was a regrettable oversight on my part since I confess that I don't spend many hours of my KOTLC fandom exploits specifically loving or hating Keefe.

HOWEVER, I do believe that your hatred could set him on the path to self-reflection. My justification is that he doesn't particularly enjoy being hated. He will try to make you fall in love with him. You'll keep on hating him. Somewhere along the way he may have a good long think about himself because of the consequences.

Justification for the justification: Keefe despises being hated. He (obviously) isn't comfortable being hated by his parents even though he works to make him hate them because they're despicable people to varying but undeniable degrees. There's still a 'popular boy' who's actually a friendless (except for Fitz) kid who feels like he needs to keep up the humor and his trademark smirking (and so forth) to make people like him. The idea that someone hates him so vehemently may even make him take it as a side-project-challenge to make you like him. Cue the self-reflection.

Allow me to explain with a fic (sadly no strieefe for the strieefe enjoyers but. gen). Inspired by Alayda and the Never Change anon. Sincere apologies for probably mischaracterizing you (and Katie).

hate your lover, love your hater, and be studied by her friend: pt.1

When on a pleasant Friday evening in September Stria received a message from an unknown number, she blocked the number, posted some fascinating thoughts about Aldella on her Tumblr blog, and then proceeded to go to sleep.

The next morning, she had another message on her phone. In her half-asleep daze she opened the message and read the following:

Hey!! This is Keefe 'Lord Hunky-hair' [last name redacted for annoying-daddy-dearest reasons]. I saw that you blocked my human number yesterday, which was a little mean of you, so I had a Technopath friend of mine unblock it on your phone. It was brought to my attention that you put a lot of effort into hating my guts. Could we maybe fix that up and become friends?

Stria almost deleted the message. But then she saw that the number it was from had been the same number as last night.

Keefe Sencen. The real Keefe Sencen? she thought. Can't be. But she was, after all, the person who had written a seventy-five-page anti Keefe rant essay. She could easily convince an anonymous prankster into hating Keefe right along with her. Even if they had friends who were terrifyingly good at manipulating technology.

Let's play at this game, she decided, and typed: Sure. If you're actually Keefe Sencen, meet me at 12:30pm today, my time zone, at the main entrance of this mall. She dropped a link to a mall reasonably far from her house (which had, by all accounts, a reasonably efficient security team), and then called her good friend Katie to bring some backup with her. She didn't want to take chances with a fun joke turning into a terrible kidnap plot.

'You know it could be the real Keefe, right?' Katie pointed out to her. 'It's not completely impossible.'

Stria told her that it was most certainly not possible enough, and proceeded to pack her bags with necessary weapons (things to throw and a nice stout stick) before setting off.

She arrived at the mall at 12:20pm. Katie arrived at 12:30pm. 'Keefe' arrived, fashionably late, at 12:45pm. Not by car, but by what appeared to be light-leaping.

And it also appeared that the person was Keefe, mussed hair and smirk and all. Or at least this was someone in an incredibly convincing Keefe Sencen cosplay.

'Ohhh,' gasped Katie. 'It IS him! Are you Keefe Sencen? Oh, I can't believe it's you, and I love you so much! I want to examine you under a little microscope! Have I ever told you that I wanted to study you?'

He blinked. 'You're not the hater?'

Katie pointed to Stria, who was sitting on the steps of the mall in full view of the public, staring into the middle distance and trying to wrap her head around the fact that based on what she had just seen, both the Lost Cities and Keefe Sencen were real.

She was going to track Shannon Messenger down and have some strong words with her.

But questioning human existence could come later. For now, she simply stood up and looked Keefe straight in his hex-code-ice-blue eyes.

'It's me,' Stria said. 'I'm the hater.'

Then she pulled out a photocopied and spiral-bound version of her seventy-five-page rant on why she hated Keefe, and slapped it into Keefe's chest. It made an incredibly satisfying thunk. 'If you want to know why I hate you, then read this, and never talk to me again. Or if you do, you'd better have read this entire document.' And with that, she turned on her heel and stormed off.

Katie spent an extra five minutes getting Keefe's number, so as to have better access to him and his fascinating 'himselfness', and then followed Stria home.

Pt.2 on request; you are welcome to take stabs at my identity but kindly don't take stabs at me because I am small, frail, and weak <3

context here

wahoo!!!! i converted someone. everybody clap and cheer.

i think if i continued to hate keefe, it would not set him on a path of self-reflection, because he wouldn't care enough about my opinion to try to change his ways. heck, he cares about sophie, and he's not even trying to really change for her. he just says whatever he needs to say to appease her, then carries on. so what's going to motivate him to change himself for me, someone who doesn't even like him in the slightest? i would say he's generally indifferent to being hated, unless the person hating him is sophie. think about tam. he doesn't make any effort to try to make tam like him, though he generally knows tam doesn't really like him that much. so there's that.

i don't think keefe does any of that to make people like him . . . it's more of a cover for what's going on at home. everyone falls into the sense of "keefe is this cool, popular kid", and that's all they see of him, so why would they bother trying to think about what his home life must be like? i genuinely don't think keefe cares about being liked. he cares about attention, which is not the same thing. but i doubt he cares whether people like him or not. i think keefe would maybe, at the most, try to try to talk to me to figure out what my problem is with him. it might intrigue him that far. but once he realizes how far my hatred of him goes, i doubt he'd want to interact with me much anymore. and the feeling would certainly be mutual.

alright notes on your fic:

"hate your lover, love your hater, and be studied by her friend" first part is me i guess, second part is keefe i think, and third part is katie????

"[ . . . ] posted some fascinating thoughts about Aldella on her Tumblr blog, and then proceeded to go to sleep." ooooh, you think my thoughts about aldella are fascinating? thank you so much, anon. very much appreciated.

"Hey!! This is Keefe 'Lord Hunky-hair' [last name redacted for annoying-daddy-dearest reasons]. I saw that you blocked my human number yesterday, which was a little mean of you, so I had a Technopath friend of mine unblock it on your phone. It was brought to my attention that you put a lot of effort into hating my guts. Could we maybe fix that up and become friends?" and then stria died. the end. just kidding.

wondering how the fuck keefe knows i hate him. all these fics just have him like. somehow mysterious know that i hate him. did the power of my hatred magically implant that information into his head?

"She could easily convince an anonymous prankster into hating Keefe right along with her." terrifying accurate representation of my thought process. good job, anon.

"[ . . . ] then called her good friend Katie to bring some backup with her. She didn't want to take chances with a fun joke turning into a terrible kidnap plot." i love how i'm convinced that one extra teenage girl will stop a kidnapping plot if it happens. this is hysterical.

"'You know it could be the real Keefe, right?' Katie pointed out to her. 'It's not completely impossible.' Stria told her that it was most certainly not possible enough, and proceeded to pack her bags with necessary weapons (things to throw and a nice stout stick) before setting off." ah, katie. unfortunately, it is completely impossib- *gets shot* also me packing weapons . . . goodbye.

"Or at least this was someone in an incredibly convincing Keefe Sencen cosplay." not the keefe cosplay . . .

"'Ohhh,' gasped Katie. 'It IS him! Are you Keefe Sencen? Oh, I can't believe it's you, and I love you so much! I want to examine you under a little microscope! Have I ever told you that I wanted to study you?'" what do you mean. this is literally such an accurate katie. anon, you've crawled inside her head (/j katie don't kill me).

"He blinked. 'You're not the hater?'" I'M DEAD IN A DITCH.

"Katie pointed to Stria, who was sitting on the steps of the mall in full view of the public, staring into the middle distance and trying to wrap her head around the fact that based on what she had just seen, both the Lost Cities and Keefe Sencen were real." and then she shrugged and started tearing him (verbally) to shreds. keefe then fainted. stria had to then bury him in a ditch while katie verbally dissecting him. placing a good amount of dirt on him in case he woke up, she made katie swear not to come back and dig him up. katie, predictably, did not listen.

"She was going to track Shannon Messenger down and have some strong words with her." fun fact: i've never met shannon.

"For now, she simply stood up and looked Keefe straight in his hex-code-ice-blue eyes." NOT THE HEX CODE ICE BLUE EYES.

"Then she pulled out a photocopied and spiral-bound version of her seventy-five-page rant on why she hated Keefe, and slapped it into Keefe's chest. It made an incredibly satisfying thunk. 'If you want to know why I hate you, then read this, and never talk to me again. Or if you do, you'd better have read this entire document.' And with that, she turned on her heel and stormed off." *sniffs* anon has me down so well . . . this is what i say to people who wanna pick a fight with me over my keefe opinions. also what did i tell you all about the trope of me having a fucking. physical copy of my rant. which i apparently carry around and can afford to just toss at keefe.

"Katie spent an extra five minutes getting Keefe's number, so as to have better access to him and his fascinating 'himselfness', and then followed Stria home." you have katie locked down. to a science, maybe even.

i'm roughly 92% sure you're @worldsunlikemyown but if you're not this is going to be so embarrassing. part two would be interesting . . .

@myfairkatiecat come look at this anon's interpretation of you

#asks #anon #meta anon #keefe would not like me and i don't like him #i should tag this fic in case people want more #hate your lover love your hater and be studied by her friend #mine

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