#Flame Lecture Series

[eternalguk]

Pink Hearts & Black Clouds || jjk. — 01

Love me at my lowest, I’ll love you when you’re barely holding on

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of a brooding grunge. Moody, distant, and always a little too sarcastic. A grumpy, tattooed college student who barely tolerates anyone… except you. Somehow, the girl who’s a whirlwind of pink hearts and strawberry lipgloss is the one who keeps dear Jungkook on his toes.

But you must admit… behind that gruff exterior, there’s a side of him only you get to see—gentle, caring, and ready to spoil you in his own way. Everyone else may see him as the tough guy with a permanent scowl, but you know better. Jungkook’s heart? It’s all yours.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, college au, grunge!bf x bimbo!gf, angst, fluff & smut

↠ Word count : 3.8K

↠ Warnings : swearing, making out, teasing, exhibitionism (sex in a lecture theatre), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, rough sex, slight dumbification, dirty talk, begging, oral sex (m. receiving), ass smacking, scratching, dom!jungkook x sub!reader, use of pet names, sex on a desk (he hits it from the back at one point), a very moody but flirtatious Jungkook paired with bimbo!oc deserves its own warning :) - I think that’s about it?

↠ A/n : Hi there ; here it is! Chapter 01 of my first series, ‘pink hearts and black clouds’ which I am so excited to share. This story means a lot to me as it explores two completely different personalities finding their way together. With bimbo, sunshine!reader and grunge, grumpy!jk, I hope you enjoy exploring this world as much as I loved creating it. It’s messy, it’s fun, it’s emotional, it’s steamy (at times 👀) and it’s absolutely everything I could ask for! I’d love to hear what you think - your reactions, favourite part, or even anything you’d like to see from them in the future! Feedback / comments are always appreciated. Thank you for giving my story a chance & happy reading 🦢.

↠ Song : ‘Closer’ by Jungkook / ‘Good for you’ by Selena G

❧ Chapter 01 : Lipgloss & Leather

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A stream of light filters through the wooden, venetian blinds of the lecture theatre windows, slicing through the warm, cinnamon-scented air.

God bless Ms. Choi for her diffusers.

The ambience of the empty theatre is a sharp contrast to the wintry chill that is dancing around outside. The time of season where it bites at your cheeks and refuses to let go. Inside though, the warmth feels like a holiday cocoon, the kind that makes you shed layers and forget the frost clinging to the world beyond your surrounding.

Unfortunately, despite the serene atmosphere, you don’t feel any less distracted.

You are perched in a chair at the back of the theatre, mindlessly playing with your pink glitter gel pen while Jungkook sits on the desk in front of you, legs spread arrogantly, one boot perched on the seat beside yours. The light catches on the silver chain hanging from his neck, a stark contrast to his black t-shirt and ripped dry-denim jeans.

You should be focusing on taking notes for the upcoming midterm, like he told you to do, but instead, your eyes keep wandering back to the powerful man in front of you.

Powerful because he consumes your entire being.

You pout as you swirl a strand of your hair around your finger, oblivious to the smirk curling on Jungkook’s lips as he catches onto your little daydream.

“Not taking notes, princess?” he asks, tone dripping with mockery.

“Erm…” you blink at him, momentarily caught off guard. “I was… thinking?”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Thinking. Right. About the syllabus or about how good I look right now?”

Your cheeks flame as he leans forward, chin propped lazily on his tattooed hand. His dark hair falls messily over his face, making him look even more impossibly cocky.

“Both?” you meekly offer, putting down the glitter pen and propping your chin onto your soft hands.

His grin stretches wider. “You’re cute when you lie.”

You smile at the compliment as Jungkook reaches out and grabs the gel pen from the desk, inspecting it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. The sight of his tattooed fingers gripping the sparkly pink plastic makes your heart race.

“Why do you even need this?” he teases, holding the pen just out of reach when you try to grab it back. “It’s ugly, you definitely don’t use it to write anything down and it’s pink.”

Jungkook grimaces, observing the pen as though it’s a foreign object.

You huff and pout harder, crossing your arms. “You said you’d help me study, but all you’re doing is being mean!”

“Mean?” Jungkook cackles, the sound low and gravelly. “Doll, I’m just keeping it real. Someone has to be with you.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst!” you whine, trying again to snatch the pen, but Jungkook is faster. He swiftly moves it behind his back, staring you down with his usual, conceited smirk.

“And yet, here you are. With me.”

“Because you don’t let me leave,” you shoot back, a small huff escaping as you try your best to appear annoyed.

But you aren’t. Not even a little bit.

Especially when Jungkook leans in even closer, his dark eyes scanning your face like he is trying to memorise every detail.

“C’mere,” he says softly, contrasting his suddenly serious expression.

You blink up at him, your heart fluttering. “Why?”

“Just come here, doll. Trust me.”

You hesitate for half a second before leaning forward, and that is all the invitation Jungkook needs to grab your chair and yank you forward, placing you between his legs. Your breath hitches as he cups your face in his hands, the rough pads of his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“You’re too fucking pretty, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice so low and intimate that it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Jungkook…” You trail off, feeling utterly flustered and ridiculously warm under his intense gaze.

“What?” he questions, cocking his head playfully. “You don’t like compliments? Want me to call you dumb instead? You like that, huh?”

“N-no!” you stutter, and the way he leans in closer makes your head spin.

“That’s what I thought,” he says with a smirk, brushing his nose against yours. “My good girl likes being told she’s pretty.”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest as his lips find yours, the kiss starting soft but quickly turning hungrier. Jungkook kicks your chair back before tugging you impossibly closer, his hands sliding down to your waist.

“Fuck, you taste sweet,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Strawberry lip gloss,” you utter, still fairly dazed.

He hums appreciatively, a smile now evident on his face. “My favourite.”

Jungkook’s hands slides lower, squeezing your hips as he deepens the kiss. You moan softly when he nips at your bottom lip, his pierced tongue sweeping over it a second later.

The sound of the theatre door creaking open in the distance makes you freeze.

The wind.

“Jungkook!” you hiss, pulling back slightly. “What if someone comes in?”

Jungkook grins, completely unbothered. “Free show?”

“You’re impossible!”

“You love it,” he teases, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. His hands tug at the hem of your short pink skirt, hiking it up higher as his fingers toy with the edge of your lace underwear.

“Ahh, is this the pair I got you the other day?”

“Jungkook…” you mewl, voice barely above a whisper. You manage a quick nod, before falling to rest your head on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“My doll is always so needy,” he grumbles, his dark eyes locking with yours. “But I don’t mind.”

Jungkook continues to fiddle with your underwear, his hand slipping inside to cup your now soaked sex in his rough hands. “Nice and wet.”

You squirm in his grasp, your cheeks burning as he presses another kiss to your neck, nipping the sensitive skin until you gasp.

“Relax, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you, I promise.”

And with that, you give in - like you always do with your lover boy.

“Get on the desk.”

Your heart races as you turn toward the heavy, wooden desk behind you. It feels cold beneath your palms as you hoist yourself up, the sound of your skirt rustling loud in the quiet space. Jungkook watches you intently, his eyes darkening as you settle onto the surface, your legs dangling over the edge.

He steps closer, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the hem of your skirt higher.

“Look at you,” Jungkook whispers, his voice dripping with approval. “So pretty. So perfect for me.”

You shiver, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as his fingers trace patterns on your skin. Jungkook’s touch feels electric, sending sparks shooting through your veins.

“J-Jungkook—” you stutter, your voice shaky.

“Shh,” he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Your boyfriend's words send a wave of warmth washing over you, and you let your body sink into the desk as he leans in, his breath hot against your neck. You feel the stubble on his jaw brushing against your skin, the faint scent of his woody cologne filling your senses.

“The way you give in,” he begins, his lips grazing your ear, “is fucking beautiful.”

A soft whimper escapes your glossy lips as his hands move higher, pushing your skirt up to your waist. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and you gasp as he tugs them down, leaving you exposed.

Jungkook is quick to toss them onto his discarded leather jacket draped over the chair beside him. The delicate blush of your pink panties against the rugged, worn leather is a stark contrast that sends your mind spiraling.

“Stunning,” he utters to himself, eyes roaming over your body with a hunger that quickens your pulse.

Why the fuck is this man so hot?

You squirm, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but Jungkook doesn’t give you time to think. Not that there was much going on up there anyway.

His hands grips your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk. He wraps your delicate legs around him, engulfing you in his embrace.

“As beautiful as you look like this,” Jungkook mutters, caressing your cheek, “I need you on your knees.”

You’re quick to comply, gently shoving Jungkook away. He cackles at your eagerness, but deep inside his brooding heart, he feels at awe.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, quick to change personas, voice rough with desire.

Again, you obey without hesitation, your lips parting as he unzips his jeans. His cock springs free, already hard and straining, and your eyes widen as he steps closer, the tip brushing against your lips.

“Suck,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate for only a second before leaning forward, taking him into your mouth. His taste is salty and masculine, making you moan softly as you begin to move your tongue, your lips wrapping tightly around his girthy member.

Jungkook groans, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides your head up and down. “That’s it, doll,” he encourages, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take all of me.”

You sink deeper, gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t stop, determined to please him.

“Such a good girl,” Jungkook effortlessly praises, his grip tightening in your hair. “You were fucking made for this.”

The words send a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you moan around him, the vibrations making him shudder.

“Fuck,” he curses, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “I’ll be painting your face with cum if you keep that up.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Isn’t that what you like?”

Jungkook chuckles darkly, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “Not yet, baby. I have other plans for you first.”

Before you can even think of a response, Jungkook pulls you off the floor, spinning you around so your back is pressed against his chest. His hands roam over your body, cupping your breasts through your satin blouse as he nips at your earlobe.

“You’re turn, princess,” he whispers, voice sending shivers down your spine for the umpteenth time this afternoon.

You gasp as his cold fingers find their way between your legs, exploring your already soaked folds. He teases you mercilessly, touch light yet maddening enough that it has you writhing in his bulky arms.

“Please,” you beg, voice trembling with need.

You try to grind against him, but Jungkook’s firm grip stops you from doing so.

“Please what?” he taunts, feigning confusion, breath hot against your neck.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, the words spilling out effortlessly.

Jungkook grins, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “What my pretty doll wants, my pretty doll gets.”

In one swift motion, he lifts you onto the desk, positioning himself between your legs. Jungkook’s cock presses against your entrance, and you yelp as he thrusts into you in one smooth, powerful movement.

”God, why are you so tight?” Jungkook groans, his hands gripping your hips as he begins to move. “I fucked you this morning.”

The sensation, along with the reminder of your earlier shenanigans, is overwhelming and both the stretch and burn send waves of pleasure through you.

You wrap your legs around Jungkook’s slim waist, urging him deeper as he pounds into you relentlessly.

“Harder,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “More.”

Jungkook obliges, slamming into you with a force that has the desk rocking against the floor. The sound echoes through the lecture theatre, mingling with your desperate moans and his guttural grunts.

“Could fuck this cunt all day,” Jungkook growls, his pace increasing as he mercilessly hammers his thick cock into you.

You cling to him, body trembling on the edge of release. But just as you’re about to let go, Jungkook pulls out, leaving you gasping and empty.

“No!” you cry, your eyes snapping open to meet his smug grin.

“Not yet,” he warns, voice firm. “You’re not cumming until I say so.”

You whimper, your body aching with need, but Jungkook isn’t done. He flips you over onto your stomach, hoisting your hips up so your ass is in the air.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice muffled by the desk.

“Giving you what you wanted,” he replies casually, his hands spreading your cheeks apart.

And then Jungkook is inside you again, filling you completely as he drives into you with a ferocity that leaves you utterly breathless.

Your sopping pussy lewdly squelches around Jungkook, completely soaking him. The sound turns the pair of you on further.

“Right there!” You mewl, pushing yourself back onto Jungkook, the pressure making you moan uncontrollably.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice rough with exertion. “Tell me who fucks you this good.”

“Y-you,” you stutter, your voice breaking as he hits your g-spot deep inside you. “This drenched pussy is yours.”

“And who do you belong to?” Your boyfriend growls, his hand coming down on your plump ass with a sharp smack.

“I’m yours!” you cry, the pain mixing with pleasure in the most delicious way. “Love the way you fuck me.”

Jungkook smirks, his pace slowing as he leans over you, lips brushing against your ear. “Good girl. Now come for me.”

As soon as the words leave his filthy mouth, your body convulses, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you as you come undone. Jungkook isn’t far behind, his own release hitting him with a force that leaves him trembling.

The feeling of his cum oozing into you has you wanting to turn around and ride the fuck out of your lover boy.

Jungkook collapses on top of you, his breath hot against your skin as you both struggle to catch your breath.

“You okay, doll?” he asks, his voice softening as he turns you around and carefully seats you on the desk.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah. I’m- wow.”

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re amazing.”

“And you, Bakugo,” you reply, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

Your lover boy grins, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “Round two after lunch?”

The cafeteria hums with energy, alive with the noise of lively chatter and the sporadic clatter of trays hitting tables.

You’re perched on the bench beside Jungkook, a tray of half-eaten chips and an unopened can of Samjin Mango Soda sitting in front of you.

Across the table, Taehyung and Jimin are engaged in a heated debate about Haikyu, their hands waving dramatically as they try to outtalk each other about the anime the two of them are currently rewatching.

Well, truthfully speaking, all of you have been rewatching, but only the two of them are so deeply interested. Maybe Jungkook, but he’d never admit it.

Speaking of Jungkook, he is slouched against the table, one elbow propped up as his thumb scrolls lazily through your phone, staring at pictures you had taken of yourself today.

And he says he isn’t obsessed.

As usual, he hasn’t said much, just the occasional grunt when someone asks him a question. He looks effortlessly intimidating, his black hoodie (that you finally returned) pulled low over his forehead, his iconic silver chain around his neck catching the light and his usual scowl that is always imprinted on his beautiful face.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more of a contrast. You’re in your own world, a makeshift beauty station spread out in front of you, next to yours and Jungkook’s shared meal. Your compact mirror is propped against the soda can, brushes and glosses neatly scattered around it.

A soft pout forms on your lips as you reapply a coat of your signature lip gloss, the sticky sheen glistening in the light. You’re blissfully focused, tilting your head to inspect your work like an artist perfecting their masterpiece.

“You’re so wrong,” Jimin says, leaning forward with a look of betrayal. “There’s no way Seijoh vs. Karasuno is better than Shiratorizawa vs. Karasuno.”

“It’s about the emotional stakes, Jimin,” Taehyung replies, sipping his iced tea as though he is a certified anime critic. “Oikawa’s genius mind versus Kageyama’s raw talent? That’s art.”

“Art?” Jimin scoffs. “Bro, real art is Ushijima annihilating them with a spike.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Oikawa’s smugness had more impact than any spike ever could.”

“Who’s Kageyama again?” you pipe up, tilting your head.

Jungkook’s phone, well your phone, lowers an inch as he glances at you, his expression blank. “You can’t be serious. We literally watched an episode yesterday.”

You shrug, completely unbothered by the disbelief in his tone. “I don’t remember the boring ones.”

Jimin nearly chokes on his drink, eyes wide in horror. “Boring?! He’s literally the King of the Court!”

“Don’t,” Jungkook says flatly, cutting off Jimin’s impending rant. “She’ll just start listing the hot ones.”

You grin, batting your lashes at him. “Is that a problem, Koo?”

Taehyung leans back in his seat, smirking. “You’ve got your hands full, don’t you, Koo?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Jungkook mutters, though his ears tinge pink. “And don’t fucking call me that.”

Taehyung catches it immediately, raising his brows. “Is that a blush I see, Jungkook? The same guy who nearly broke someone’s nose in basketball last week?”

“Fuck off,” Jungkook grumbles, sliding your phone over to you.

“Bro, you’re whipped,” Jimin adds, his laugh practically echoing across the room.

“No I’m not-”

“You are,” Taehyung interrupts, pointing a chip at him. “It’s so obvious. You’ve got that whole, ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ thing going on, but this one over here bats her fake lashes and you’re folding fast.”

“Hey! They’re real,” you protest, leaning forward and resting your chin in your palms.

You study Jungkook with a teasing smile. “Is that true? Am I your kryptonite?”

His eyes flick to yours, dark and unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something - amusement, maybe, or fond exasperation. Jungkook simply doesn’t answer, just grabbing a chip from the tray and popping it into his mouth.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say, your smile widening.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but it’s half-hearted. He leans back in his seat, stretching his long legs out under the table, and you notice the way his fingers tap rhythmically against his knee. He looks relaxed, but you know him well enough to recognise the effort it takes to hold back a snarky comment.

“He doesn’t even deny it,” Jimin continues, grinning like he’s won something. “You know what? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you’re good for him.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees, though his tone is far more mischievous. “You’re like the sunshine to his thundercloud.”

“Lipgloss to his cigarette,” Jimin chimes in.

“Or the idiot to his genius,” Jungkook finishes off, his voice dry as ever.

You gasp, smacking his muscular arm lightly. “I’ll have you know I’m very smart!”

“Name the capital of the United States,” he challenges, barely hiding the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Easy,” you say confidently, shrugging your shoulders. “Hollywood.”

Taehyung and Jimin dissolve into laughter, and even Jungkook can’t hold back the small shake of his shoulders.

“Christ,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re unbelievable.”

You pout, confused why the boys are laughing. But, the sight of Jungkook joining in with them has you leaning into his side, grinning up at him. “You still like me, right?”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, but his hand moves to casually rest against the small of your back, his fingers caressing the exposed skin.

And that?

That’s the only answer you need.

You busy yourself with dabbing some extra Dior blush onto your cheeks, the sunlight streaming through the window catching the shimmer within it. Jimin plays with your Ilia mascara, shaking his head as he takes in the rest of your makeup that is scattered around.

Taehyung sees that you’re occupied and smirks, leaning closer to Jungkook. “You defo love it, you’re just too much of a moody shit to admit it.”

“Love what?” Jungkook asks, deadpan, though the tightening of his jaw gives him away.

“Having someone fuss over you,” his best friend teases, motioning his thumb towards you with a grin. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, looking down at the now empty takeaway container in front of him like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. “You have nothing better to talk about?”

Your eyes dart to him, catching the faintest hint of red creeping up his neck.

Smiling to yourself, you lean your chin on your palm. “It’s okay, Jungkookie,” you coo softly. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

He glares at you, but there’s no real bite to it. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” you ask, pouting in innocence. “You love it when I call you that.”

Taehyung and Jimin burst into laughter once again at your audacity.

Jungkook narrows his eyes at them before turning to you. For a split second, his fingers twitch on the table, like he’s about to pull you closer. His gaze softens as it lingers on you - like he’s on autopilot, already halfway to pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

But then he stops.

Clearing his throat, he leans back in his chair instead, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head like armour. “You’re insufferable and annoying.”

You blink, caught between surprise and amusement. “You almost- you almost did it!”

“What?” he grunts, refusing to look at you.

“You were going to kiss my head.” Your voice is laced with a playful lilt, but there’s a flicker of something tender beneath it. “Don’t worry, Kookie. Next time, you’ll follow through.”

His tongue pokes against his cheek, a telltale sign of his rising frustration - or embarrassment, you can’t quite tell. “Shut up and eat,” he mutters, tugging his hood lower before he shoves a packet of crisps your way.

Jimin and Taehyung howl in laughter, and you can’t help but join them, even as Jungkook mumbles curses under his breath.

Somewhere beneath the gruffness, there’s the faintest quirk of his lips - a fleeting smile that only you seem to notice.

And in small moments like this you conclude that while Jungkook doesn’t give you flowers or grace you with love letters, he gives you something that is endless - pieces of himself: his time, his trust, his unwavering presence, and a love so consuming it feels like forever.

And there we have it! Please do let me know your thoughts ; the support I receive means the world to me 🫶🏻

↠ Taglist : @bangchanwantsmesobad @rklvez @doulcha @starlight-1010 @mimi1097 @khadeeeeej @jkslvsnella @royalguk @gaebestie @iamstilljk @myjungkookthighs @jungshaking @kookiesgiggles @minimoninini @lovejkmilitarywife @pplongoing @pokolunolino @dontcallmeelle @taeisbae13 @ronyiboniyy @nerdycheol @onlyforyoukook @ukandtwme @morosisxx @smwhrinthehaze @thebluegoddess @ramyun-h @remgeolli @minniejim @cherricherryy @avawants2havefun @fr0ggieth1nk @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeeykey @ficluvr613 @deeznutkooks @kookienooki (names in italics could not be tagged).

[witheredwritings]

Hello, I am wondering if u take request for a Tony Stark x female reader, who is also best friend of Tony Stark before he came Iron Man but she has been by his side through everything as well. But it’s a fluff one shot as at the end where they both reveal their feelings for each other which they had from the moment they met and they have their first kiss between them as well.

Ofcoursee, here it is! Hope you like it :)

Virtual Insanity

Summary: In which the infamous line "make love not war" isn't well-respected by this pair of friends. When cyberbullying at Stark industries level develops into a game between these two collegues and friends, something more begins to unravel between the two.

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: none except Tony's unsufferable ego (all jokes)

A/N: This is a short oneshot. Might turn into more. I'm also still working on the "Soft in the right hands" series for bucky so stay tuned!

You’d known Tony Stark long enough to remember when he didn’t wear the suit — physically or emotionally.

Back then, he was all sharp smiles and sharper intellect, more interested in building arc reactors with cocktail napkin schematics than charming investors. Reckless with nearly everything except the way he treated you. Somehow, against all odds, you’d slipped past the velvet rope that guarded the real him — the sleepless inventor who showed up on your fire escape at 3AM with a bottle of Scotch and a theory about thermal diffusion that couldn’t wait till morning.

You were best friends before Afghanistan. Before Iron Man. Before Stark Tower had its own AI department and a floor reserved just for “Tony’s regrets, part I through XXV.”

And none of that stopped him from hacking your firewall during lunch.

You were approximately three minutes into a well-deserved lunch break — grilled cheese in hand, Spotify playlist on shuffle, and the sanctity of a lab entirely free of explosions — when your firewall went up in flames.

Digitally speaking.

The code on your main monitor began to twitch. Literally twitch. Then twist. And then it smiled at you. A little pixelated smiley face blinked up from the line of code you’d just written, followed by a dancing ASCII cat wearing sunglasses.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, setting your sandwich down like it had betrayed you.

You knew that coding style.

You knew exactly who was responsible.

With the patience of a saint and the energy of someone who was one click away from snapping, you launched into the system’s backend, pulling apart the layers of the digital graffiti with expert ease, unraveling each line of smug Stark-ware. And sure enough, right at the root folder, embedded in a hidden command string, was a line of text:

"Nice firewall, sweetheart. 7/10. Would hack again. - T.S."

Your eye twitched. Your soul twitched.

He didn’t just breach your system. He decorated it. That wasn’t a hack — it was a housewarming party in enemy territory.

The man had billions of dollars, a global tech empire, multiple Iron Man suits, and — apparently — nothing better to do than hack into your secure files during his downtime like a caffeinated raccoon with a superiority complex.

You were going to kill him. Slowly. Or worse — give him a lecture so long and boring it could be classified as psychological warfare.

And thus, the war began.

With your jaw clenched and your heart pounding in that very specific, very annoying way it only ever did around Tony, you stormed out of your lab and stomped down the hallway of Stark Tower.

You bypassed three interns and a mildly offended elevator AI before slamming open his door like righteous judgment. Finally, you flung open the doors to his R&D suite without knocking.

Tony didn’t flinch.

Sleeves rolled up, arc reactor glowing, fingers dancing across a holographic interface. He looked up. Grinned.

“Hey, sunshine,” Tony said lazily from behind a table cluttered with open panels, a half-dismantled drone, and at least three coffee cups. “I was just thinking about you."

“You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He finally looked up, dark eyes glinting with amusement. “But usually by people who didn’t bother updating their encryption protocols.”

You crossed your arms. “You hacked into my system during lunch, Stark. That’s below the belt. I was eating grilled cheese.”

“Maybe next time add some brie and fig jam. Class it up a little.” He grinned. “You’re welcome, by the way. I just gave you a free security audit.”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Did your ego eat your moral compass for breakfast?”

He stood, sauntering over like confidence incarnate in a Henley and jeans, and leaned against the edge of the workbench — arms crossed, smirk fully loaded.

“I’d argue my ego is my moral compass. And it always points due north to: mess with you.”

“You hacked my system,” you repeated.

He tilted his head. “If I can break in, so can Hydra. I’m doing you a favor.”

You crossed your arms. “This is the third time this month you've done something like this. Last week, you turned my digital assistant into a sassy version of yourself. I had to argue with my microwave for twenty minutes before it would heat my soup.”

He beamed. “He’s got a personality now! Named him Toasty.”

“I’m going to rewrite your DNA.”

“Only if we cuddle after.”

You were going to scream. Or kiss him. It was a very fine line these days.

“I’m going to kill you,” you said conversationally.

He grinned wider. “You’re going to miss me.”

So instead, you narrowed your eyes and said, “I hope you like Shakespeare just as much as JARVIS does.”

He blinked. “What?”

You pulled your phone from your pocket, already typing."Your little AI pet seems to have brushed up on his Shakespeare, because he’s about to speak exclusively in iambic pentameter for the next twenty-four hours."

“Wait. No—”

“And make all puns food-themed.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “You’re a monster.”

You shrugged, already walking toward the door. “Some people bake sourdough for fun. I emotionally sabotage billionaire AIs.”

Tony groaned. “JARVIS

, don’t you dare—”

“Verily, sir,” JARVIS chimed in serenely from the overhead speaker, “I find thy attitude rather cheesy, like brie upon a croissant most greasy.”

Tony’s head hit the desk.

You smirked. “Toasty says hi.”

It went on like that for weeks.

Tony retaliated by installing a movement sensor in your lab. Every time you entered, SexyBack blared at full volume. FRIDAY wouldn’t let you disable it. She said it was “legally classified as a morale booster.”.

It was a war.

You replaced his AI’s voice with Gilbert Gottfried reading Twilight.

Tony responded by having your smartwatch shout hourly affirmations about his hair.

You hacked his suit’s startup sequence. Now it greeted him with:

“Iron Man: The Human Hot Pocket. Online.”

It didn’t stop there.

He replaced your screensaver with a live feed of himself winking, finger guns included.

You programmed his coffee maker to scream “INCOMING!” every time it dispensed espresso.

Naturally, collateral damage was inevitable.

Bruce’s tablet was cursed to play Baby Shark whenever opened. He developed a twitch.

Sam’s Falcon gear announced all takeoffs with: “I’m a little teapot, short and stout.”

Steve’s toaster quoted Pride and Prejudice in Cher’s voice.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” it belted one morning, “that a single man in possession of breakfast must be in want of jam.”

He punched a wall. You both got fined.

Even Clint, ever the stealthy one, wasn’t spared. Every time he drew an arrow, it whispered “pew pew” in Tony’s voice.

The tower teetered on the brink of chaos.

Pepper threatened to move to Dubai.

It was late.

The Tower was asleep, mostly. Except for Tony, who you found in the R&D lounge, hoodie on, arc reactor glowing soft under worn fabric. He looked… still. A rare moment for a man who moved like his thoughts could outrun time.

“You gonna yell at me for the coffee pot thing?” he asked, not looking up.

“I should,” you said, easing into the seat beside him. “FRIDAY tried to launch a counterstrike when I made a cappuccino.”

“She’s passionate.”

Silence fell. He just stared at you like he was debating something he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head.

You blinked. “What?”

Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, “Do you want me to stop?”

You frowned. “Stop what?”

“The pranks. The hacking. I mean, I know it’s probably childish and annoying and… I don’t know. Maybe I just like having a reason to see you all worked up, to just see you more.”

You sat back, heart thudding.

“That,” you said slowly, “is the least emotionally articulate confession I’ve ever heard.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. I build flying suits, not feelings.”

You stood and walked over, stopping inches from him. His breath hitched, and yours did too.

“For the record,” you said, “I love your flying suits. But I also kind of love… this.”

He blinked. “The chaos?”

“The banter. The sabotage. The way your face lights up when you think you’ve outsmarted me, even though I’m always two steps ahead.”

“Debatable,” he muttered.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“And I love the way you look at me like I’m the only firewall you’ve never wanted to break.”

He stilled.

Then: “I’ve been in love with you since the day you fried that Russian botnet and called it ‘a poorly coded insult to my intelligence.’”

You smiled.

And then, you kissed him.

It was messy and hot and gloriously overdue. His hands cupped your face like he’d been dying to do it for years, and your fingers curled into his shirt like gravity had given up and he was your anchor now.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he whispered, “I should have hacked you sooner.”

You smacked his shoulder. “Shut up and kiss me again.”

He did.

And that night, neither of you changed each other’s passwords.

You called a truce.

Sort of.

Now your prank war has a rulebook and a scoreboard. Nat is the referee. Bruce runs support (begrudgingly). Steve is still in therapy.

JARVIS still speaks in sonnets during thunderstorms. Toasty hosts a podcast. FRIDAY hosts a revenge fund.

A year later, Tony proposed via custom hologram code embedded in your firewall — romantic, glitchy, and absolutely extra.

You said yes.

And now, sometimes, late at night, you’ll find yourselves coding side-by-side, teasing each other like always — except now, there’s no more pretending.

Just love. Loud, messy, sarcastic love. With bad lighting, too much coffee, and more happiness than either of you thought you’d ever deserve.

And every morning, when you walk into the lab, “SexyBack” still plays.

You don’t stop it anymore.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Don't hesitate to leave a comment behind <3

[reixona]

Yuu's Daily Life: B***boozled Ace

This is the second story for this little series of mine!!!

Hope you guys like this!

Happy Reading!!! or not

============

The bell’s final ring echoed through the halls of Night Raven College, signaling the end of yet another grueling day of classes. Yuu stretched their arms above their head, sighing as they shut their textbook with a satisfying thud.

“Finally!” Ace groaned beside them, dramatically slumping onto his desk. “I thought Professor Trein was never gonna let us go. I swear he just enjoys the sound of his own voice.”

Yuu chuckled, sliding their notebook into their bag. “Could be worse. He could’ve given us another essay.”

“Don’t jinx it!” Ace shot them a playful glare before hopping up from his seat. “Alright, partner-in-crime, what’s the plan? Please tell me you’re not going straight back to your dorm to study.”

Yuu raised an eyebrow. “And if I am?”

Ace gasped, clutching his chest like they had just struck him. “The betrayal! The audacity! Don’t tell me you’ve been possessed by Riddle’s ghost.”

Yuu rolled their eyes. “Riddle’s not dead.”

“He might as well be, with how much he lectures us.” Ace smirked before slinging an arm around Yuu’s shoulders. “C’mon, let’s do something fun. I deserve a reward for surviving Trein’s monologue.”

“You deserve a reward?” Yuu echoed. “For sitting in class?”

“Yes.” Ace nodded solemnly. “It was torture. Mental endurance training, even.”

Yuu sighed in mock exasperation but couldn’t deny that a break sounded nice. “Alright, fine. What do you have in mind?”

Ace’s grin widened. “I thought you’d never ask! How about a trip to the Mystery Shop? Sam’s got some new snacks in stock, and I’ve been dying to try them.”

“Your wallet is going to cry,” Yuu pointed out as they followed him out of the classroom and down the corridor.

Ace waved them off. “Eh, it cries all the time. What’s a few more tears?”

The two made their way across campus, dodging stray spell bolts from a few reckless first-years attempting to practice magic outside. Yuu barely managed to sidestep a rogue fireball. “I think you jinxed us earlier.”

Ace snorted. “That’s not on me. That’s just first-years being first-years.”

The Mystery Shop was lively as usual, students shuffling in and out, browsing shelves stacked with goods from all over the world. The scent of spices, candy, and something vaguely magical filled the air. Sam, ever the charismatic salesman, greeted them with his usual wide grin. “Ah, if it isn’t my favorite customers! What can I do for you today?”

Ace leaned against the counter. “Got anything new that won’t empty my wallet?”

Sam chuckled, reaching behind the counter and pulling out a small bag of colorful candies. “These little guys just came in. Poppin’ Elemental Candies. Each one’s got a different magic effect when you eat ‘em. A little burst of fire, maybe a breeze, or even a tiny raincloud. But no refunds if you get zapped!”

Ace’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “We’re getting these.”

Yuu eyed the bag warily. “You just want to use them to mess with people.”

Ace feigned offense. “What? Me? Perish the thought!”

“Uh-huh.” Yuu crossed their arms but sighed. “Fine. But if we get detention for causing chaos, I’m blaming you.”

“Acceptable.” Ace happily handed over the thaumarks before tearing the bag open as soon as they stepped outside. “Alright, let’s see what we got.” He popped a red one into his mouth.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then suddenly, a tiny flame shot from his mouth like he was a malfunctioning dragon. Ace yelped, coughing, while Yuu burst into laughter.

“Dude, you’re a fire hazard!” Yuu wheezed, wiping tears from their eyes.

Ace fanned his mouth, cheeks puffed. “Okay - ow - spicy, but also kinda cool.” He shoved the bag toward Yuu. “Your turn.”

Yuu hesitated before picking out a blue candy. The moment they ate it, a tiny raincloud popped into existence above their head and immediately started drizzling.

“Oh, c’mon!” Yuu groaned, pulling their hood up as Ace doubled over in laughter.

“Oh man!!! this is the best purchase I’ve ever made,” Ace cackled.

Yuu flicked water at him. “I hope you get zapped next.”

Ace grinned. “Only one way to find out.” He grabbed a yellow candy, popped it into his mouth, and—

ZAP!

A tiny spark shot from his fingers, making his hair stand on end. Yuu nearly collapsed from laughing too hard as Ace flailed, shaking his hand.

“Okay - ow - note to self, yellow ones are danger!” Ace muttered, shaking off the static. “Ugh, my hair better not stay like this.”

Yuu pulled out their phone and snapped a picture before he could stop them. “Too late. I’m keeping this forever.”

“You’re evil.”

“I learn from the best.” Yuu smirked.

Ace huffed but couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “Alright, I’ll give you that one. But I’m getting revenge, just so you know.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

And with that, the two continued their walk across campus, a bag of questionable candies in hand, their laughter echoing through the halls of Night Raven College.

=======

Follow the tag #Yuu's Daily Life for updates...

[currently-exsisting]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁Alchemy and Anarchy . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

(Jinx x Fem!Reader)

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: So we all know Jinx is a genius. Even without school she is able to engineer such high tech things. Making her own bombs, fixing broken things, creating a mechanical arm for Sevika, etc etc. Well what if she runs into the reader who is an alchemist from Piltover who has come to Zaun to get some illegal ingredients for her experiments. But their first encounter isn’t a particularly pleasant one… nor is their second or even third. One day Jinx realizes she hasn’t seen the reader in a while and is bored- definitely not missing the banter she would have with reader- so Jinx sneaks up to topside only to find reader isn’t home- or anywhere for that matter.

Warnings: minor talk of sedatives, explosion, mentions of deadly material (bombs, potions, poisonous plants, etc). lmk if there's anything I missed!

Note: This is my first Jinx fic so please be nice! The reader identifies as a female and she/her pronouns will be used. Also, this is part 1 of a multipart series (I’m thinking between 3-5 parts but we’ll see how it goes). 

Word count: 1.6K

You were absolutely exhausted by the mundane, lackluster lectures of the Piltover Academy’s alchemical department. The professors had a knack for making you study for hours just to grasp the most basic concepts in the most roundabout way. On top of that, your time in the actual lab was painfully sparse. When you finally got lab access—once every two weeks—the experiments were excruciatingly slow and yielded results so obvious that they felt like an insult to your intelligence. Sitting through those endless three-hour lectures, you often questioned why you had chosen this field in the first place.

That frustration was the catalyst for your decision to take matters into your own hands. You found an abandoned classroom and transformed it into your personal lab, a space where you could tinker with your own concoctions, free from the constant scrutiny and prying eyes of the professors. This turned out to be one of the best decisions you’d made since coming to the academy. Your independent research allowed you to take scientific liberties that were otherwise forbidden. At first, you limited yourself to ransacking the chemical cabinets in the student labs, careful not to disturb the order of the vials or take more than you could conceal. But even the academy’s supplies soon proved too rudimentary for the ambitious experiments you wanted to pursue.

Potions that erupted into bursts of flame with just a pinch of powder, sedatives potent enough to render a person unconscious within seconds, and vials of liquid smoke that blanketed entire rooms in seconds—these were the kinds of alchemical creations you aspired to make. But the university wasn’t equipped to support your level of innovation. So, you made the decision to venture into the Undercity.

Every student at Piltover Academy had heard the cautionary tale of Jayce Talis. The former student had sourced materials for his experiments from the Undercity and paid the price—expelled for his illegal activities, despite his so-called “good” intentions. His story was the kind parents used to scare their children into obedience. But you weren’t Jayce. You had no intention of getting caught.

You packed your bags and threw on some ragged, worn-down clothes in hopes of not standing out in the undercity. As you stepped off the lift and into Zaun, however, you realized how naive you had been. To be a Zaunite wasn’t the clothes or the avoidance of eye contact- the undercity had imprinted itself on the very souls of its citizens. It was evident in how they held themselves, always with an air of caution and skepticism, everyone around you had been living in the closest place to hell and it was damn clear to see that there was no way you were fitting in.

Yet, you still attempted to, just wanting to get your business finished and head back to your lab. You were itching to complete this potion meant to cause temporary blindness to those who breathed in its fumes. The final chemical you needed was sold in a small shop at the back end of an ally in Zaun. How did you hear of this secret location? Let’s just say some professors, frustrated by the academy's limited chemical stock, had been less discreet in their private grumblings—and you knew how to listen. 

Keeping your head low and your heart pounding like a drum, you navigated the narrow, dimly lit alleyways until you reached the shop. By some miracle, you managed to purchase the outrageously overpriced chemical without incident. Relieved, you thought the hardest part was over. Now, all you had to do was retrace your steps to the lift and head back home. It seemed simple enough. The shopkeeper had been stingy, but the Undercity itself wasn’t as terrifying as you’d imagined. Less than ideal, sure, but manageable. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.

Lost in your thoughts, your mind wandered to the experiments waiting for you back at your lab. You were so preoccupied that you didn’t notice where you were going. Without realizing it, you walked straight into something very sturdy. 

Looking up, you saw the figure turn around, long blue braids swaying as her sharp pink eyes locked onto yours. “Hey! Watch where you’re going, asshat!” she snapped, her voice brimming with annoyance. Clearly, she’d had enough, and you were just the unfortunate straw that broke the camel’s back.

You attempt stuttering out an apology, but you too were caught off guard by the interaction, “oh- uh sorry- my bad.” You keep your head down and try to maneuver your way around her. But she was faster, sidestepping to block your path.

“Well, well, well you’re not from around here are you?” she said, her tone laced with suspicion. Shit. She found you out. Was it that obvious? She leaned forward slightly, arms tucked behind her back as she assessed you. “Soooo… whatcha doing here?”

Realizing there was no way out of this, you decided to meet her gaze. “Nothing much, just on an errand for, uh… deadly ingredients.” You said this with such a deadpan expression that the blue-haired girl took a moment to process what you said and then laughed. She laughed in your face. You were so over this city. The disgusting streets, the terrifying atmosphere, and now the crazy people. You shook your head and tried to go on your way back to Piltover, back to your cozy lab- to finally continue your experiments. Shaking your head, you tried to sidestep her again. “Whatever. I’ve got stuff to do,” you muttered, heading for the lift.

“Well shit toots, you won’t find anything deadly in some plants and dirt,” she called after you. 

“If you want deadly, I’ll show you deadly.” You stop at her words but by the time you’re halfway turned back around to face her, she had pulled out one of her bombs and disengaged it. She nonchalantly tosses the bomb off to her right. The explosion sent a rush of heat and wind that caused her long blue braids to whip dramatically in the air.

“Oh my gods, what the hell are you doing? Are you trying to get us killed?” Your eyes were wide open in shock and you clutched your bags with your ingredients close to your chest. 

She shrugged, a smirk curling at the corner of her lips. “Relax. If I wanted to get you killed, you’d already be dead.”

You stared at her, dumbfounded. This girl was completely insane. “You call that deadly?” you said, exasperated. “That’s just… chaotic and uncontrolled! Chemicals can be deadly and precise. You can get them to do different things—different kinds of deadly.”

Her smirk turned into a pout, her entire posture slumping as she groaned. “Ugh, that’s so boringggg. Deadly is deadly, there’s nothing faster or funner than bombs.”

“First of all,  “funner” is not a word.” She rolled her eyes at your correction, but you couldn’t help the smirk tugging at your lips. The absurdity of arguing with someone so casually dangerous was almost entertaining, and you found yourself wondering if she always defended her bombs with such childlike stubbornness. “Secondly, potions are much more controllable, can you sedate someone with your bombs? I don’t think so.” you put your hand on your hips and gazed at her in a judgmental manner. She could insult you all she wanted but she wasn’t going to say anything bad about your life’s work.

She raised an eyebrow, her pink eyes gleaming with mischief.  “Why would you bother with “sedating” when you can just knock ‘em out cold with one of these?” She patted the satchel slung over her shoulder, the sound of clinking metal confirming it was loaded with explosives.

You roll your eyes. “Right, because bludgeoning someone with a bomb is so subtle. If you need to get out of a situation quietly, my potions are better. Or, do you enjoy being loud and drawing attention to yourself all the time?”

“Yeah, well duh. Subtle is boring. Loud is exciting! All those plants and concoctions, it’s all boring nerd shit.” Her blue braids swayed to one side as she tilted her head, to edge you one. She looked almost like a puppy. Almost-puppies aren’t as bothersome or volatile as this Zaunite was.

You noticed your shadow growing longer as the sun began to set and decided that your argument should be saved for another day on account of your safety. If the undercity was this hectic during the day, you didn’t want to stay around and discover what the nightlife entailed. “One day I’ll show you how awesome this “nerd shit” really is.” 

The blue-haired girl smirked at your words, clearly not taking you seriously. “Pfft. Sure, nerd. Maybe one day you’ll grow a spine and ditch those snooze-fest potions for something with a bang.”

You sighed, already regretting engaging her this much. The faint flicker of street lights turning on further contorted the shadows, the chaotic streets taking on an even more ominous feel.

“Yeah, well, I’m not sticking around here to debate with someone who thinks explosions solve everything.” You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, carefully avoiding her gaze. “Enjoy your bombs, loudmouth.”

She scoffed, leaning against the wall with a smug expression. “Enjoy your boring potions, nerd. Do yourself a favor and try not to spill anything and melt your face off.”

Without another word, you turned and walked away, forcing yourself to focus on retracing your steps. The weight of her gaze lingered on your back, but you didn’t look back. There was no way you’d let her see how much she’d gotten under your skin.

[utilitycaster]

A couple things before I do this as I said I would here

I’ve decided it’s more effective in the long term to bring up a handful of people than everyone who’s ever been obnoxious, mostly to maintain ongoing leverage, ie, maybe if people leave me alone they can get away with their lower-key shitty behavior, and if people don’t, then they won’t.

Do not harass nor send hate to the people I've mentioned; take the high ground. Blocking, vagueing and openly going “what the fuck is wrong with that guy (gn)” however is chill, but I won’t be taking anons personally that are pile-ons on these people because that is not the point of this exercise.

Similarly I just delete anon hate or post it if I have a funny enough response for it but it won’t elicit this kind of thing for various reasons I don’t care to get into right now.

If my good opinion is important to you, really, the quickest way to lose it is to treat me expressing my own opinions on my blog as a personal attack on you. I wasn’t specifically judging you until you decided I was; now, I will ruin your day or week and I won’t feel sorry.

Now, I’m going to be honest. The reason I haven’t done this earlier despite the shit I and many others have waded through all campaign is that the vast majority of people who engage in harassment, hate, or “how dare you exist and have opinions that aren’t mine, don’t you know the world revolves around me” will then immediately make a post like this, such as the loser who led to this: (rest below the cut)

source

To be clear I do hope they get whatever presumably important medical procedure this is and I too am in opposition to transphobia on an active political level, however, if you take your own shit out on me, a random woman on the internet, I will continue to fight for what I believe to be your fundamental human rights like gender expression and healthcare but there is no right you have that prevents me from calling you a stupid thin-skinned loser and that I feel sorry for anyone who has the misfortune to love you as I suspect you’re incapable of truly returning it, and also your blorbo still sucks. This has been: if you attempt to treat me even slightly like your punching bag, I punch back.

With that in mind let’s go to the people I’m talking about today. If you're not into this, skip the cut.

I think it goes without saying that warrior/inrecovery was an embarrassing blight on this fandom and imo/dna shippers’ steadfast laxity in taking out the trash is yet another reason why this ship ain’t it chief. I’m posting all of the aliases under which they attacked me and others, but they flamed out during the Laudna addiction metaphor and hopefully got help, though as you can see their blog for the past like, decade, is them attacking people over femslash ships, so idk if it’s gonna stick, pals. Anyway, they have a distinctive style so hopefully if they ever rear their ugly head again I’ll be able to get and post an IP address. I did have some suspicions about Tulsa OK but they are not sufficiently founded. Anyway: you can also find them under tlb/wc (they use that one to make death threats); thatguy/10592; clearcowboy/angel; screechingalpha/nightmare; and holysoul/enthusiast, all of which are still up and have the evidence as of posting

Honorable mention to the person who called me a hypocrite for checks notes liking callowmoore more than Imo/dna (series of asks from November 11th, 2023 in which they harassed not just me but many people who had simply interacted with my posts). I have my suspicions as to who it was [noted tar pit from Westphalia, Germany absintheheartbeat, who I also think sent this Dorym ask] but as I have no proof that’s really all there is. While we’re talking about generic tar pits disconnectedkat is a discourse blog that is just generally a piece of shit and is one of those people who clutches pearls about HOW DARE YOU TRY TO WIN AT FANDOM WITH LEFTIST CAUSES ignoring the big elephant in the room of “countless C3 fans lecturing incompetently about this being a revolutionary anticolonialist narrative and how we’re just status quo loving conservatives and then crying when we point out that they are being shitty in real life.” If you are one of those people reading this and finding yourself getting huffy, do take a look at the people mentioned throughout this and ask yourself: are you okay with them? Because if so, then your issue isn’t “it’s mean to call people stupid and attack them on a moral basis”; your issue is “it’s mean to call me stupid”, and you are part of the problem, and, moreover, I am in your walls.

Theshepardshuffle deactivated but I do want to point them out here just to note that I have in fact suffered more than Job and been more steadfast than any US Marine at the hands of imo/dna shippers for the sin of saying “this ship isn’t very good.” I’d also want to point out that they are why I started checking on people I’ve blocked. See, this is a side blog, so if you block me I cannot interact with you, but I can still see you, and our buddy shep joined tumblr, blocked me, and then posted discourse about me constantly not realizing I could literally see it (and to be clear. I know people I have blocked can see this. I hope they do.)

Anyway, the main event: let’s talk about noted racist idiot hecate astralley/wright (main blog bone/heat), to my knowledge a white American cultural Christian, seen here (archive link if they delete it) mocking someone who found Bells Hells’ behavior justifyingly reminiscent of a conquering colonialist army as their family experienced, and horrifying for it (note: this mention is made with everypigeondeserveslove’s knowledge and permission; they are well aware of this bullshit). Hecate decided it was a good time to be a truly unfeeling piece of shit about this in the service of checks notes convincing people that Bells Hells was an anticolonialist narrative. They did, to be fair, just start reading Wretched of the Earth, so they do know who they’re talking over. I mean about. They also accused me of, when I pointed out this article’s discussion of history and whether it was written by the victors, Godwin’s law, which is not really what that means (saying ‘this phrase has its origins in a lot of hateful groups who used it to evade their responsibility in historical events, and also even if history is written by the victors, that doesn’t mean every alternate viewpoint is automatically wrong’ is simply factual), then turned around and claimed, in a truly stunningly insolent case of putting words in someone’s mouths, that criticism of Imogen and Laudna on the basis of their unkind actions was akin to calling them degenerates (archive)to the point that people were confused. This is an ongoing pattern with that circle; you’ll see it with cringefae/compilation too of just. Making shit up. 

What you need to know about them is in the end they’re mostly just a hypocrite and a loser. They’re really into 9/11 jokes, which to be clear I’m not personally squeamish about, but I also don’t go around screaming about how cruel the fandom is to Aeor, a city that is entirely pretend, while joking about real-life civilian deaths. Absolutely terminal case of caring more about pretend people than real ones. As for the idiot part, interesting to claim at one point that Orym would be saved by the Wild Mother and should, and this is a direct quote from someone who, again, is only now reading the first book listed the “Notable Theoreticians And Theories” list on the Postcolonialism wikipedia page, that he should “read theory” and then claim to have Gotten It From Hearthdell after spending much of the intervening time, as discussed, arguing for the deaths of the gods. In fact, I recommend looking back through their blog in depth for a combination of tiktok-brained politics, an utter lack of empathy, and Consistently Getting It Wrong And Lying And Pretending They Didn’t. 

Second person is cringefae/compilation. When they’re not throwing tantrums interspersed with gifs of the pink My Little Pony, or throwing different tantrums about Kipperlily Copperkettle, or throwing different tantrums about Essek and Verin Thelyss existing within the narrative, you can find them throwing tantrums about how everyone but them is a bigot, often in the main tag. This has been commented on by the general fandom, and it is notable that even others in their circle often won’t touch their vent posts (also many of said posts directly attack others in their circle, which is funny to me). Now I’ll just keep it very basic: I think what’s going on is that cringefae does not think they are a very good person, deep down, but is trying to project an image of being a very good person, and so they have decided that people in the fandom, of which I was public enemy number one before they seemingly discovered the native text block function, are the Real Bad People, and don’t seem to have the ability to process. Now the thing about cringefae is that if you dislike a character OR like but would enjoy them experiencing some fictional horrors and that character is not Essek Thelyss; the Briarwoods; a character I personally like such as Fjord when they are on the warpath (they actually seem to personally really like Fjord and I think high key hate that I like him because they have basically no consistent identity other than contrarianism; they do not seem to like anything, really, other than possibly the pink My Little Pony); or a white cis straight man that they do not headcanon as not that, then they will call you a bigot. Now: you may notice, with a quick perusal of their blog, that they believe Ludinus Da’leth to be a racist who started a race war, which would imply Essek Thelyss is nonwhite, but they have definitely argued against this as well, and recently argued both in favor of Ludinus having a redemption arc and also that they don’t believe in zero-effort redemption arcs, because again, there is zero logical coherence other than attacking people they don’t like for whatever reason. I don’t even have links; just scroll down their blog for a few minutes and you’ll get the vibe (bad). They too have a tendency to make up a guy and get mad at that guy (and have to clarify they're just making shit up in the notes); possibly to assume the worst of the fandom in order to feel better about themself. And whereas I think astralley/wright might know deep down they're attacking real people to defend pretend people and hoping no one will notice and call them on it, cringefae seems to be genuinely too stupid to understand the concept of "it can be interesting for a story to be tragic." They also tend to frequently insult the positions of people in their circle and conflate everything they don't like into one person; again, horse-immorality (deactivated) was one of the loudest "bor'dor is a dog" people and cringefae liked them and now is like IT'S SUPER RACIST TO SAY BOR'DOR WAS A DOG because again, it's not about any position, it's just about finding some arbitrary scapegoat and attacking them so that you can feel righteous, and in doing so, they become a cesspit of a person.

I think the kindest thing you could say about cringefae is that in their incoherence it all kind of cancels out, and absolutely no one really seems to take them seriously. They seem entirely unaware of the concept of crying wolf and how maybe if you say that a woman who checks notes happens to openly prefer the canon art of Jester, Yasha, and Imogen to fan redesigns, canon art that was checks notes designed by women and checks notes drawn by women is a “soft MRA” you might be wildly irresponsible in your accusations to the point of eroding an ability in the fandom to actually point out misogynistic views (also, hanging out with astrall/eywright does kind of fuck your image as caring about the oppressed). It’s accusations as a tool against the people they’ve decided are The Bad Ones. And really that’s the thing. I know we’re all online here, this is explicitly my fandom sideblog and I try to keep it light on politics not because they’re not vitally important but because I do see Tumblr largely as an escape and not as a news source, but I would bet good money this is someone who doesn’t like, do anything other than post. Anyway, just kind of a stream of nonstop constantly shifting incoherent bile worth a block. One of those cases where you're like "have people...just put up with this person in their fandom spaces forever? why? don't fandoms deserve to not have a missing stair like this?"

[atsro-slut]

I have too many ideas and too little inspiration to write them myself so thank you so much for your sacrifice 🙏

But how about a fic where it's Christmas holiday at hogwarts, with reader staying at hogwarts, so Remus decides to stay as well to keep her company. It's not that her family is abus!ve or anything. She just argues a lot with them, and they get so loud that she prefers to stay with Rem? (Am I projecting? Maaaybe) Thank you again so so so much!!! ❤️

The Coziest Christmas

Omg my fav!! I hope you like this lovey!!

Remus Lupin x female!reader

Christmas at Hogwarts was quiet, but with Remus staying behind, Y/N’s holiday turned magical—filled with stolen kisses, warm cocoa, and snow-dusted adventures in an empty castle.

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:☆

The halls of Hogwarts were quieter than they had been in months. Most students had gone home for the holidays, leaving only a handful behind. The castle, usually alive with chatter and footsteps, now felt like it belonged to the snow falling gently outside its walls. For Y/N, the peace was exactly what she needed.

Home was… complicated. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her family—they were good people, and she had many fond memories with them—but arguments were common, and they tended to get loud. It was exhausting, trying to keep the peace or defend herself when voices rose and tempers flared. The noise lingered in her mind long after the words had stopped, leaving her restless and drained.

That’s why she had decided to stay at Hogwarts again this year. It wasn’t the first time she’d spent Christmas in the castle, and she doubted it would be the last. What surprised her, though, was when Remus Lupin decided to stay too.

“You’re missing Christmas at home for me?” she’d asked when he first told her, her voice a mix of surprise and guilt.

He had shrugged, his easy, lopsided smile making her heart flutter. “Why not? Hogwarts is quieter, and we’ll have the place mostly to ourselves. Besides,” he added, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear with a tenderness that made her cheeks warm, “I can’t imagine the holidays without you.”

Y/N had stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. He had a way of doing that—leaving her speechless with how thoughtful and kind he could be.

Now, the two of them sat together in the Gryffindor common room, the fire casting a warm glow across their faces. Remus had gone down to the kitchens earlier and returned with two mugs of hot cocoa, complete with marshmallows floating on top. The rich scent of chocolate mingled with the faint smell of pine from the garland strung across the mantle, making the space feel cozy and festive.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Y/N said, her voice breaking the comfortable silence. She curled her fingers around the warm mug, her eyes fixed on the flames. “How empty Hogwarts feels without everyone here.”

Remus chuckled, his tone light and soothing. “It’s almost eerie. But I don’t mind. It’s nice to have some peace and quiet for a change.”

Y/N smiled and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. His jumper was soft, and the familiar scent of parchment and pine that clung to him was comforting. “Thanks for staying, Rem. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. His voice was calm, but there was a steadiness in it that left no room for doubt. “I know it’s not easy for you to go home sometimes. If staying here makes you happier, then I’m happy too.”

Y/N tilted her head to look up at him, her heart swelling with affection. “You’re the best, you know that?”

He smiled down at her, his amber eyes warm and soft. “I try.”

The day unfolded in a series of quiet, perfect moments. With the castle nearly empty, they had the freedom to explore without worrying about running into anyone else. They spent the morning wandering the corridors, peeking into classrooms, and laughing as they pretended to give dramatic lectures at empty desks. In the library, they sat side by side at a corner table, flipping through dusty old books. Remus had found an outdated Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook and spent half an hour critiquing the absurdly dangerous suggestions it offered for handling creatures like boggarts and grindylows.

“It actually says to use fire against a grindylow,” he said, holding up the page for her to see. “Fire. In water.”

Y/N laughed, leaning closer to get a better look. “I guess they were going for dramatic flair over logic.”

Later, they wandered into the Great Hall, where the house-elves had outdone themselves decorating for Christmas. A massive tree stood at the center of the hall, its branches covered in sparkling, enchanted ornaments. A soft hum of magic filled the air, making the space feel even more magical than usual.

By the time dinner was over, the two of them were back in the common room, sitting side by side on the floor with a blanket draped over their shoulders. Snow continued to fall outside, frosting the windows and turning the grounds into a sparkling winter wonderland.

“Do you miss it?” Remus asked suddenly, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

“Home, you mean?” Y/N paused, considering his question. “Sometimes. I love my family, but… it’s just too much. Too loud, too tense. Being here is easier.”

Remus nodded, his expression pensive. “I get it. My house was always quiet, but not in a good way. Sometimes it felt like the silence was its own kind of noise, you know?”

Y/N reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. His touch was warm, grounding her. “You don’t have to go back there either, not if you don’t want to.”

His gaze met hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them. Then, slowly, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Her chest swelled with emotion as she looked at him, the firelight dancing in his amber eyes. He was so steady, so kind, and she felt incredibly lucky to have him by her side.

As the fire crackled beside them and the snow continued to fall, Y/N felt a deep sense of contentment settle over her. It wasn’t a traditional Christmas, but it didn’t matter. With Remus by her side, it was perfect in its own way.

For the first time in a long time, the holidays felt exactly as they should—peaceful, warm, and filled with love.

[cyberstole]

𝒜 𝒟𝐎𝐖𝐑𝐘 𝒪𝐅 𝐵𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐛𝐲 𝐬.𝐭. 𝐠𝐢𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐧

a series of dialogue prompts from the 2021 dracula re-telling.  feel free to change pronouns as you see fit ! cw; gore, sexual themes, emotional abuse, & toxic relationships

❛ i never dreamed it would end like this. ❜ 

❛ there is no horror left in this world that can surprise me. ❜

❛ eventually, even your death becomes its own sort of inevitability. ❜

❛ i was so happy to be your marionette, at first. ❜

❛ am i sick to still think on you softly, even after all the blood and broken promises? ❜

❛ this is my last love letter to you, though some would call it a confession. ❜

❛ war is never valiant, only crude and hideous. ❜

❛ good. when life fails you, spite will not. ❜

❛ i will raise you out of the dirt and into queenship. and, i will give you your vengeance. ❜

❛ i wanted to break them, even more slowly and painfully than they had broken me, leave them bleeding out and begging for mercy. ❜

❛ water your mother’s flowers with their blood. ❜

❛ in this world, you are what i say you are, and i say you are a ghost. ❜

❛ bloodlust brings on a delirium that’s difficult to describe. ❜

❛ i have loved you too long to imagine you do anything without an ulterior motive. ❜

❛ i’ve never been looked at before. like that. ❜

❛ what is more lovely, after all, than a monster undone with want? ❜

❛ i was your little mouse, kept in a gilded cage until it was time for the cat to play. ❜

❛ i knew nothing except the strength of your arms and the scent of your hair. ❜

❛ your priest’s bedtime stories cannot account for us. ❜

❛ to know oneself, one’s limits and abilities, is its own power. ❜

❛ i was alone, and i was scared. i had no home left to speak of. ❜

❛ and god, how i adored you. it went beyond love, beyond devotion. ❜

❛ i wanted to dash myself against your rocks like a wave, to obliterate my old self and see what rose shining and new from the sea foam. ❜

❛ you turned a strong-minded girl into a pulsing wound of need. ❜

❛ what would you have me do, as ruler? ❜

❛ are you sure you aren’t a holy man come to lecture me on the sins of excess? ❜

❛ i was well-acquainted with violence by then. ❜

❛ but I had never outgrown my thirst for vengeance. ❜

❛ in my mind, i was god’s lovely angel of judgement, come to unsheathe the sword of divine wrath against those who truly deserved it. ❜

❛ you mocked my lofty aspirations, cynical as ever. ❜

❛ when will you give up this ridiculous crusade? ❜

❛ there was a darkness in your eyes and a tightness to your mouth i hadn’t noticed before—or perhaps hadn’t wanted to. ❜

❛ i would never leave you, my love. not for the entirety of my second life. ❜

❛ you seemed to me a fire burning in the woods. i was drawn in by your enticing, smoky darkness, a darkness that still stirs memories of safety, of autumn, of home. ❜

❛ it was like grasping at a flame. i never penetrated to the burning heart of you, only came away with empty, scorched fingers. ❜

❛ whenever we were apart, you left your essence caught in my hair, in my clothes. i scented the taste of it on the wind, I shivered and ached for it. ❜

❛ i was happy to spend countless lifetimes chasing the warmth coming off you, even though the haze was clouding my vision. ❜

❛ my piety was a sporadic, half-feral thing, sometimes lashing out at god with teeth bared, other times nuzzling against his loving providence like a kitten. ❜

❛ i felt my heart tumble down through my ribs and hit the ground. ❜

❛ it tortured me, how perfect you looked. i wanted to pull you behind the carriage and drain you dry. ❜

❛ i wanted to crawl between whatever was blossoming between the two of you and live there. ❜

❛ you’ve found cruelty to be an effective tool. ❜

❛ do you want her for your own? ❜

❛ ours is a solitary existence. it would be good for you to have a friend. ❜

❛ it’s as easy as breathing. one foot and then the other. and don’t overthink it. ❜

❛ you must never overthink any good and pleasurable thing. ❜

❛ you must sit with me tonight at dinner. i must have you close. i want us to be the best of friends. ❜

❛ i think i shall never marry, my lord. i will simply take lovers and never let any man shackle me with wedding vows. ❜

❛ am i to be bidden to my own bed like a dog invited to beg at the master’s table? ❜

❛ desire makes idiots of all of us. but you already knew that part, didn’t you? ❜

❛ there was an uncontrollable fire in you that was hard to look away from, much less resist. ❜

❛ all vampires find some way to stave off the monotony of an endless life, with hedonism or asceticism or a rotating door of lovers. ❜

❛ i’m talking about us, you and i. let’s be honest with each other, for once. ❜

❛ love was no girlhood game. it was an iron yoke, forged in fire and heavy to wear. ❜

❛ laying with you made me feel so vibrantly alive. it was almost enough to make me forget that i was already dead. ❜

❛ this is about your obsession with justice, isn’t it? ❜

❛ i was suspicious, and even more dangerously, i was curious. ❜

❛ i was the love that started it all, wasn’t i? ❜

❛ it has been a long time since i have felt clean. ❜

❛ like christ, i had become intimately acquainted with violence and the sins of the world, but i had not come away unblemished. ❜

❛ but it was not god who spoke.it was you. ❜

❛ you could have kissed me or slit my throat and either would have made as much sense. ❜

❛ i don’t know what I had been thinking, supposing i was strong enough to leave. ❜

❛ you made it into an art form, this quiet sort of violence. ❜

❛ i want to live. but i want to live in the world, not on the outskirts of it. ❜

❛ love is violence, my darling, it is a thunderstorm that tears apart your world. ❜

❛ love makes monsters of us, [ name ] and not everyone is cut out for monstrosity. ❜

❛ [ name], our sunlight, our destroyer. my prince cast in marble and gold. ❜

❛ he was as inevitable as a revolution, and heralded in just as much violence. ❜

❛ potential. you always loved that word. you were drawn to potential like a shark to blood. ❜

❛ look around you. what sort of life is this? ❜

❛ i craved you like maidens crave the grave, the way death burns for human touch: inconsolably, unrelentingly, aching for the annihilation in your kiss. ❜

❛ i still wanted to believe I was living in a fairy tale, that i laid down every night with a prince instead of a wolf. ❜

❛ before your time dear, just some dreadful victorians. ❜

❛ it took every ounce of self-control i had not to pin him down and tear out his throat. ❜

❛ the world has no place for us, we are wanderers by nature, lions among lambs. ❜

❛ we cannot exist only for each other. ❜

❛ i had never allowed myself to want this because i assumed it wasn’t a possibility. ❜

❛ i love you. look at me, [ name ], my jewel, my wife. i love you. don’t do this. ❜

❛ i was tired of waiting expectantly at your tomb every night for you to rise and bring light into my world once again. ❜

❛ i made you into my private christ, supplicated with my own dark devotions. nothing existed beyond the range of your exacting gaze, not even me. ❜

❛ i apologize if you were expecting contrition, my lord. i don’t have any to muster. ❜

❛ here's your demon, do what you will with him. ❜

❛ i think, someday, i would like to fall in love again. ❜

[airandyeah]

Bastard Prince!Gojo X Foreign Princess!Reader Heavy Is The Crown Pt.3

My Masterlist Series Masterlist

“You mustn’t challenge him.”

Your mother’s voice is sharp as the jeweled comb she twists into your hair. Every word strikes with precise, delicate cruelty—an art she’s mastered over years of court diplomacy.

“Smile when he speaks. Laugh if he tries to joke. Let him believe you admire him.”

Your father stands near the window, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the snow beyond the glass like it personally offends him.

“This match is vital,” he says without turning. “Their kingdom has the resources we lack. Their people are bred for war. You must—”

“Be obedient,” you finish flatly, cutting the word off before he can.

Your mother’s hand stills in your hair.

There’s a tense pause before she exhales, cool and practiced. “You’re clever, daughter. But cleverness must be worn like perfume—not too thick, or it will sour the air. Today, you are not royalty. You are a gift.”

Your stomach twists.

You are many things. A future queen. A diplomat’s daughter. A woman with fire in her lungs. But never a gift. Never something to be offered and wrapped in silks, your spirit tied down with a bow.

Still—you say nothing. You’ve learned to pick your battles. You’ve learned that sometimes, silence is the sharpest blade of all.

A knock at the chamber door ends the lecture.

A maid pokes her head in with a curtsy. “Prince Gojo’s escort has arrived, Princess.”

You rise, smoothing the fur-lined cloak now draped over your shoulders. The only color you allowed them to pack was woven into your dress beneath it—burnt gold and wine red, like fire licking through the cold.

You meet your mother’s gaze in the mirror as she finishes fixing your hair. “I will be obedient,” you say softly.

Then you smile, slow and bright and blinding.

“But only when it suits me.” You leave them with that final word, the hem of your gown swishing around your ankles like flickering flame as you follow the maid out. The palace halls are hushed this early in the morning, the flicker of torches casting long shadows along ancient stone walls. Every servant you pass dips low in a bow, and still—you feel the weight of their glances. You are foreign. You are a stranger. You are the woman who dared to shiver with bare shoulders at a northern ball. But your spine remains straight, your chin unyielding. When the heavy doors creak open and the morning chill hits your skin, it’s a breath of truth—sharp and biting, but real. The snow has already begun to fall again, soft and endless. A royal escort waits for you—three guards dressed in the icy blue and silver of the North, solemn-faced and silent. One of them steps forward, offering a gloved hand as you descend the steps, careful not to slip. Just beyond the snow-covered courtyard, a sleek black carriage waits, its sides crested with the royal emblem. Two white horses stamp their hooves impatiently, steam curling from their nostrils. And standing beside the open door—casual, like he owns the cold itself—is Prince Gojo. His fur-lined coat is left lazily unfastened, revealing layers of silks and leathers, all in shades of cream and slate. The morning light makes his white hair gleam. His arms are crossed. His smile, of course, is already waiting for you. “Took you long enough,” he calls. “I was starting to think you’d frozen in place.” You arch a brow, stopping at the last step of the carriage, eyes narrowing. “And here I thought northern men were supposed to be patient.” He steps forward and offers his hand—not just as a formality, but like it’s a challenge. You take it anyway. His grip is warm. Steady. A little too smug for this early in the morning. “Shall we?” he says, leading you into the carriage. You sit across from him, lifting your chin in defiance and pride, knowing exactly what’s expected of you today—and already deciding how far you’ll stray from it.

The inside of the carriage is warm, lined with heavy fur and polished wood, but the silence between you and the prince is frostbitten.

He lounges in his seat across from you, legs stretched out just enough to toe the edge of your gown. You sit perfectly straight, hands folded in your lap, your gaze fixed out the window as snow-laced rooftops blur past.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks eventually, voice smooth but far too rehearsed.

“Well enough,” you reply, just as polite. “And you?”

“Well enough,” he echoes with a slight smirk.

Another silence blooms between you, heavy with everything neither of you says.

You glance his way, catching the flicker of his tongue against his teeth like he’s biting back something far too honest.

So you say it for him.

“We’re both pretending not to know we were lectured within an inch of our lives this morning.”

Gojo huffs a laugh—quiet, surprised. He lifts a brow. “So you got the speech too, huh?”

You hum. “Be sweet. Be soft. Make him like you.”

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Ah, mine was more: ‘Don’t scare her off. Try not to be yourself too much.’”

That earns a real smile from you, small and sharp.

“Do they think we’re both so difficult?” you ask, cocking your head.

“I think they know we are.”

Another silence. This one lighter. Easier. Shared.

Gojo grins. “So what do you say? Shall we be unbearable together?”

You pretend to consider it, lips twitching.

“Only if I get to pick the colors.”

“Bright ones,” he says, pointing at you. “Wouldn’t dream of dimming your fire.”

And suddenly, the day doesn’t feel quite so long.

~~~ The carriage slows, the wheels crunching over packed snow as the market comes into view—a vibrant stretch of stone streets and brightly colored stalls nestled between towering, frost-covered buildings.

You can already hear the low hum of chatter, the clink of coins, the bark of vendors selling woven gloves and carved trinkets, and the scent of spiced cider drifting through the cold air.

Inside the carriage, Gojo’s shoulders shake from laughter—genuine and unrestrained.

“No, no—wait,” he says between wheezes. “You’re telling me your cousin actually set his ceremonial robes on fire trying to impress a suitor?”

You’re laughing too now, warm and open, a hand braced over your stomach. “It took six guards to put it out! And he still didn’t win her favor. I think the smell of smoke followed him for a week.”

Gojo grins, bright and a little wild, like winter sun catching on snow.

The carriage comes to a stop.

The coachman, unaware of the scene inside, opens the door with perfect formality—only to freeze.

Because instead of the expected stiff silence or courtly airs, he finds the two of you laughing.

The prince is leaning forward with easy grace, and his gloved hand reaches for yours like it’s second nature. He doesn't hesitate—just threads your fingers together and steps out onto the snow-packed street, your hand still in his.

You follow with a breathless smile, letting him help you down, your gown swirling at your boots, a golden contrast to the white that surrounds you.

For a beat, the coachman just stares—eyes wide.

A guard at the rear of the carriage clears his throat, clearly just as stunned.

This isn’t what they expected. Not the cold, sharp prince and the fire-blooded princess laughing together. Touching like it meant nothing. Or maybe like it meant everything.

Gojo leans in close, whispering beside your ear, “Think that’s enough to start a scandal?”

You arch a brow, smirking. “We’ll have to try harder.”

And with that, the two of you step forward into the market, fingers still laced, ready to burn your colors into this frozen kingdom.

You barely make it past the first row of stalls before Gojo tugs you off-course.

“Not that way,” he says, weaving you past a vendor shouting about candied nuts. “You’ll thank me.”

“Oh? Are we not here for the local ‘charm’?” you tease.

He throws a grin over his shoulder. “I’ve seen what counts as ‘charm’ in these parts. Trust me—no future queen of mine is wearing a shawl made of half-frozen wool.”

The boutique he leads you to is tucked just off the main street, its stone front carved with ivy patterns and frosted glass windows catching the sunlight like fractured ice. Two fur-clad attendants open the door immediately when they see him, their eyes widening when they notice you at his side.

Inside, it’s warm—luxurious. Golden light spills across polished floors, walls lined with silks, velvets, and furs in every cut and shade imaginable. The scents of lavender and old wood fill the air.

Your eyes widen despite yourself. These weren’t just winter clothes. These were statements.

“Prince Satoru,” the shopkeeper greets with a quick bow. “And… oh.”

You tilt your head as the older woman takes you in, her gaze a careful sweep from your sun-kissed skin to your thin gown and uncovered shoulders.

Gojo steps in smoothly, voice light. “This is the Princess of the Southern Isles.”

She blinks. “Ah. Yes. Of course. Welcome, Your Grace.”

“She’ll need proper wear for the cold,” Gojo says, turning slightly toward you. “Something elegant. Regal. And warm, obviously. Fur-lined, but nothing bulky. She still needs to breathe.”

You scoff. “How kind of you.”

He winks. “Only the best for the soon-to-be queen. Can’t have the court mistaking you for a lost summer bird.”

You let him pretend it’s all about image—but the way he watches you as the attendants start pulling fabrics says otherwise. His gaze lingers a little too long. His eyes soften when you run your fingers over deep red velvet or a pale fur the color of starlight.

He watches like he’s not just choosing clothes for you—but choosing how the North will see you.

How he wants them to see you.

Fabrics and furs begin to pile around you—shimmering whites, pale silvers, icy blues. Everything fit for a northern princess, everything cool and quiet, subdued.

You brush your fingers over the corner of a pearl-colored wrap, then lift your chin.

“If I may,” you say, and every head turns.

Gojo watches, amused, as you step toward a rack of velvets and silks in deeper tones—burnt ochres, soft ambers, deep wines, even rich crimsons hiding among the frost-pale options.

“I’d prefer warmer colors,” you say smoothly. “As many as you can find. Golds, reds, saffrons. But not enough to make the wardrobe tacky.”

The shopkeeper blinks, then nods quickly. “Of course, Your Grace. Regal warmth. Elegant flame. Yes.”

Gojo leans a hip against the counter, looking thoroughly entertained. “Demanding already, huh?”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. “I’ll be wearing these, not you. And I refuse to be swallowed up in snow and stone.”

He smirks. “So you’d rather set fire to the court instead?”

You hum, trailing a fingertip over a bolt of cinnamon-colored velvet. “I’d rather remind them that I carry fire wherever I go.”

He watches you for a moment longer, and something thoughtful flickers behind the teasing curl of his lips.

“You’ll make quite the queen,” he murmurs.

The attendants work quickly once you’ve made your preferences known, scurrying around the shop like winter mice, arms full of fabric and furs. One brings over a measuring tape with careful, trembling hands, asking your permission before taking your measurements with practiced precision.

Gojo lounges nearby on a velvet-cushioned bench, legs spread wide, watching like he's at the theater.

“They’re going to think I dragged you up here kicking and screaming,” he comments, tapping his fingers against his chin.

“You did no such thing,” you say, arms lifted slightly as a seamstress measures around your waist. “But I do believe I’m being trussed like a sacrificial offering.”

He snorts, lounging deeper. “You? Sacrificial? Never.”

As the measurements are finalized, the shopkeepers begin assembling a full collection—three fur-lined cloaks, trimmed with fox and snow hare; two heavy winter coats in your chosen reds and golds; boots tall enough to conquer the snow, lined with soft wool and stitched with care; and several dresses, each carefully folded in rich colors that catch the firelight and glint like embers.

One of the assistants lays out a cloak of deep red velvet with fur so pale it’s almost silver.

“This would be stunning against your skin, Princess,” she murmurs.

You run your hand over it slowly, the warmth of the lining immediate even through your gloves.

“Yes,” you say. “That one.”

Gojo rises, finally, brushing nonexistent snow off his sleeves as he approaches. “I’ll have the rest delivered to the palace,” he says to the staff, his tone light but absolute. “Pack everything. Triple wrap the boots. And—” his gaze shifts back to you “—make sure the colors don’t bleed. I don’t want her looking like she’s melting.”

You glance at him, smiling faintly. “Worried about how I’ll look again?”

He lifts a brow. “Worried about the North not knowing what to do with you.”

You meet his eyes. “Let them learn.”

For a second, there’s silence between you—something almost charged. Then he clicks his tongue and gestures to the door. “Shall we go melt some snow, then?”

With the parcels wrapped and the shopkeepers bowing behind you, the two of you step back into the cold. The snowflakes have thickened, twirling down in lazy spirals from the clouds above. It doesn’t seem to bother you as much this time, your new cloak already warming your shoulders.

Gojo doesn’t take you straight back to the carriage.

Instead, he veers off the main path, guiding you with a hand at the small of your back, toward the common stalls that line the edges of the marketplace. The royal guard follows at a respectable distance, clearly under instruction not to interfere.

You raise a brow. “Going rogue, Your Highness?”

“Call it a detour,” he shrugs, glancing over the rows of vendors selling trinkets, sweets, and handmade goods. “Besides, I think the royal protocol for today is suffocating me.”

You smirk. “Only you could rebel against a schedule you made yourself.”

He doesn’t argue.

Instead, he pauses at a stall where a bent old woman sells winter flowers pressed in glass, their fragile petals preserved in frost. He fingers through the small collection until he finds a snow lily—white, delicately star-shaped, frozen in full bloom within a crystal pendant on a thin silver chain.

He holds it up between two fingers. “Ever seen one of these down south?”

You look at it, genuinely surprised. “Never. They wouldn’t survive a minute in our heat.”

Gojo pays without haggling and turns toward you. “Then it’s yours.”

You blink. “Why?”

He shrugs, draping the chain into your palm. “Because you didn’t complain once. Even when you were freezing. Even when they looked at you like you didn’t belong.”

He pauses, just long enough for the words to land.

“And because it’s pretty,” he adds. “Like you.”

You laugh, tucking the pendant carefully into your glove. “Careful, Prince. You’re dangerously close to being charming.”

He grins, pleased. “Good. You’ll need something to remember when I inevitably annoy you later.” He quickly pays the woman, more than it was worth, and continues on.

And just like that, he walks on—hands in his pockets, snow in his hair, grin lazy and roguish—like he didn’t just quietly take your breath away. ~~~

The carriage wheels crunch over the palace’s stone path, the ride back punctuated with laughter, easy conversation, and the occasional teasing nudge from Gojo as he retells an exaggerated story of his younger years—one involving a stolen falcon, a runaway sled, and a very angry tutor.

You're still giggling as the carriage comes to a smooth stop just inside the courtyard.

“I don’t believe a word of it,” you say through your smile, brushing snow off your gloves.

He places a hand dramatically over his chest. “Princess, you wound me. I was a gifted child.”

“You were a menace.”

He only grins wider.

The door swings open—and just like that, the private warmth of the carriage is broken by the chill of noble eyes and royal presence. Several high-ranking families are walking through the courtyard, cloaks lined with the finest furs, jewelry catching the light. And near the stairs leading into the palace stand your parents and his father, each masked in regal calm, though you can feel their eyes lock onto you both immediately.

You and Gojo step down together, his hand instinctively finding yours again as he helps you from the carriage—his touch casual, natural.

Laughter still lingers in your breath, but you quickly temper your expression, posture straightening. Gojo doesn’t bother.

He tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow and leans down to whisper, “Ready to disappoint them all by actually getting along?”

You shoot him a sidelong glance. “I was born ready.”

He chuckles lowly, then straightens, guiding you forward with the lazy confidence of someone who knows exactly how to unsettle the court by doing nothing wrong at all.

You both walk through the courtyard—side by side, smiling, clearly comfortable—and that alone seems to rattle the onlookers more than if you'd entered arm in arm with blades drawn.

Your father exchanges a long look with his.

Their faces are unreadable.

But you think, maybe for the first time since your arrival, you’re the one with the upper hand.

Your father is the first to speak, his eyes scanning you with that sharp, disapproving edge you’ve grown so accustomed to. Your mother stands by his side, elegant and composed, though there’s a flicker of something softer in her gaze as she watches you. Gojo’s father, too, remains cool—hands clasped tightly behind his back, gaze fixed firmly on the two of you.

Gojo, unfazed, straightens, his arm still lightly guiding you. He doesn’t flinch, doesn't falter in the slightest.

“Well, that was fun,” he says casually, as if you weren’t just under the watchful eyes of every noble in the kingdom. “I think she’ll be alright in this cold after all. Didn’t even complain once.”

Your father’s lips twitch—though whether in approval or irritation, you can’t tell. He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Did you earn his favor?” he asks bluntly, his tone sharp.

You give Gojo a sideways glance, and he shrugs innocently. “I think we’re well on our way,” he replies, not a trace of humility in his voice. “She’s quite the firecracker. She didn’t back down once today, even when the cold was trying to bite her.”

Your mother gives a small, approving nod at that, but your father’s gaze doesn’t soften. Instead, he looks between you both, his face unreadable.

“You were instructed to—”

“Father, I was instructed,” you cut him off, stepping forward, a touch too quickly, perhaps, but it makes your father pause. “We’ve spent the day getting to know each other. And I think we’ve made more progress in these few hours than you’re willing to give credit for.”

Gojo glances at you, then back at your father, clearly amused by your directness. It’s the first time you’ve seen him genuinely intrigued—like a game he didn’t know he was playing suddenly became more interesting.

“We did, indeed,” Gojo says, his voice smooth. “Your daughter has a fire in her, and I admire that. A little cold’s not going to kill it.”

Your father’s gaze hardens again, but there’s something in Gojo’s eyes—something almost playful—that makes the words that come out of your father’s mouth seem almost redundant.

“We’ll see how long it lasts,” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.

Before anyone can respond, Gojo breaks the heavy silence with a soft chuckle. “You’ll have to wait a little longer to find out, won’t you?”

Your mother clears her throat lightly, and her gentle smile seems to warm the room, if only slightly. “It’s good to see the two of you getting along so well. Shall we discuss the next steps over dinner?” she suggests, her tone a little softer now.

Gojo looks at you, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “What do you think? Shall we take our next step, Princess?”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with a knowing smirk. “As long as it’s not another round of cold, I think I’m in for it.”

Your father narrows his eyes, but your mother, sensing the tension rising again, steps forward and gestures for everyone to move inside. “Let’s get out of this chill and into a warm room, where we can all speak freely.”

As you all make your way into the palace, Gojo's presence remains like a fire beside you, and despite your father’s silent displeasure, you can’t help but feel a shift in the air.

Taglist: @megumuro , @pickledsoda , @jinjen Perm Tags: @thenightperson , @makingtimemine

[classica-meretrix]

Maintenance

pairing: tech x fem!reader genre: fluff(?) content/warnings: suggestive, use of y/n summary: while helping tech with a wiring issue, things get a little. . . heated a/n: based on s1 e8 "reunion" of bad batch, don't love the ending but someone might so I left it!

“Y/N, I need you on the bridge.” Tech’s voice was wrapped in static, making his words crack as they came over the com-link.

“I’ll be right there,” I replied. I turned back towards the center of the room, abandoning my work gathering explosives. “Tech needs me,” I called to the others. “I’m going to the bridge.”

I hurried out of the armory, making my way to the top of the ship. When I got there the blast doors to the bridge appeared to have been forced open. I was silently impressed that Tech had managed them without the brute force of Wrecker or the mechanical help of Echo.

“Tech?” I called into the room.

“Over here,” he responded, his voice slightly strained.

I found him on his back under the main control desk, one leg folded, the other lying open to one side. He had his visor down, sparks flying from whatever he was working on.

“What do you need me for?”

He muttered something under his breath before properly answering me. “I’ve managed to get the power back on, but I can’t access the computer. There’s a sensor I can’t bypass.”

“Okay, slide out and let me have a look.”

“I can’t.” His hands stopped tinkering with the control panel as he turned to look at me.

“What do you mean?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. He flipped up his visor, sliding off his helmet. “The sensor was badly damaged when the Jedi were attacked. I have to hold these wires or it’s no use to you.”

“Fine,” I huffed, dropping to the floor. I cautiously slid between his legs, placing a hand on either side of his abdomen. I tried to ignore our close proximity, turning just enough to see the sensor.

“I’ll need your torch.” I failed to keep my voice even, wavering as I spoke. He used his free hand to offer me the tool. He was unusually quiet.

“Okay, hold on. I need both hands.” I laid my weight on him, flipping over the rest my back against his chest.

Tech’s breath was coming in short bursts, the plastoid-alloy material of his armor pressing into me. I took the torch, hurriedly working to override the sensor. In any other circumstance Tech would’ve been unhelpfully lecturing me on what to do, or talking my ear off about something entirely unrelated. Now he just held the wires in place, occasionally clearing his throat my ear.

“Almost done,” I informed. I set down the torch, flipping back over to grab a pair of pliers. In the process I locked eyes with Tech, his pupils blown as he struggled not to pant. I hurriedly flipped back over, accidentally pressing my leg against the crotch of his armor. He sighed at the contact, his eyes closing.

“Fuck, sorry,” I mumbled, working even faster to disable the sensor.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice rough and low.

I fumbled with the wires, struggling to remember which one to cut. I felt like I was burning, and I’m sure my face was flaming red.

“The blue one,” he reminded, taking notice of my fumbling. I was too focused on the way his voice rumbled in my ear, his breath on my neck, to process what he said right away, my actions delayed.

“Right,” I mumbled. As I cut the wire, an idea came to me. I shifted my hips, ‘accidentally’ rolling them against his crotch. He breathed out a series of curses.

“What are you doing?” His voice was warning, but his free hand came to my hip, holding me in place.

“Fixing the sensor. Like you asked,” I teased, moving again, ever so slightly.

“Don’t tease,” he chided. I had never heard him sound so harsh before. His lips now grazed the shell of my ear, his voice hardly above a whisper.

“I don’t take orders from you.” I knew what I was doing was dangerous, but that hardly mattered anymore. The sensor was almost completely forgotten.

Tech slid his hand from my hip to the edge of my shirt, slipping under the fabric to splay his hand on my skin. His armor was cool and smooth, save the thin lines of carbon residue from old blaster fire.

“Then I’ll just have to teach you,” he hissed in my ear. I cut the last wire. The sensor would be easily bypassed now, but neither of us moved.

“I’d like to see you try.” His hand slipped to the edge of my pants as he placed a chaste kiss on my neck, pushing my head to one side. He continued his assault, nipping at my skin as I whimpered. He had just reached my shoulder, his fingers slipping under the edge of my waistband when loud thuds came from the doorway.

“Well, well, well! What do we have here?” Wrecker’s voice echoed throughout the bridge, making it even louder than normal. Tech’s hand flew off of me, his head falling back as we both jumped. I hit my head against the bottom of the control table in an attempt to move away from him, forgetting the lack of space.

“Fuck!” I cursed, my hand flying to my forehead. Tech instinctually pulled me back down to his chest, holding me against him.

“Slide out,” he whispered to me. The others' footsteps were getting louder. I did as he said, him following shortly behind me.

“Sorry, were we interrupting something?” Wrecker questioned, a teasing smile plastered on his face as he giddily rocked back and forth on his heels.

“No,” Tech replied, his usual sarcastic tone returning. “Just injuring a fellow soldier.” He turned to me. “Are you alright?”

“I think so.”

“Let me look at it.” Hunter stepped forward, gingerly removing my hand to look at the mark.

“Hey, what’s that blinking light?” Omega asked, pointing to the control desk.

“It detects other ships approaching,” Tech explained. “Probably just a malfunction.”

Just as he finished talking three empire ships flew over the bridge, shaking the cruiser.

“We need to go,” Hunter stated, grabbing Omega’s arm.

We had just gotten to the base of the engine and Tech was already going on about the technological marvels of their craftsmanship. He ran his finger along the metal.

“The blast primer coating was specially designed to withstand temp—“

“Shut up!” Wrecker yelled, pushing him forward.

“Save it for your wet dreams, why don’t you?” I teased, sliding off a ring and landing beside him.

A few yards up Omega turned to Hunter. “What’s a wet dream?”

“Nothing,” he snapped, shooting us a glare over his shoulder as he hurried Omega forward. Wrecker let out a booming laugh as he ran to catch up. I made to follow but Tech caught my arm, pulling me back. He left very little room between us, ducking down to whisper in my ear.

“My wet dreams have nothing to do with blast coatings. In fact, they often resemble our little encounter on the bridge.” He pulled back, giving me a cheeky smirk before running to catch up with the group, leaving me stunned.

[norastarfall]

Prt 2: Art Students AU

Chopper, robin, Franky, brook, jinbe

Chopper is a freshman Med student hoping to become a Family Doctor. He joined the Art club when he realized he was gonna overwork himself to death if he didn’t separate his personal life and work life. He meets their first meeting while he’s traveling via bus to the Art campus and runs into Luffy’s friend group. He never officially joined the Art Club but found friends on the Art campus anyway.

Robin is a traveling photographer and historian, she was invited to give a guest lecture on Art History and when she arrived on the Art campus she ran into Luffy- she is immediately charmed by his nature and friends. She’s invited for dinner at the baratie (which the friends adopt as a tradition every day). She helps usopp make his dnd campaigns more grounded in reality with a heavier emphasis on history. Chopper takes up photography because of her and Robin begins a new series of photographs she calls The Strawhat is a Crown for a King. Luffy doesn’t get it but the others think it’s very clever.

Franky is fixing Zoros motorcycle one day and Zoro can’t make it to his classes so he chills at the Autoshop. A single mother with a fussy baby is on the verge of a breakdown as they have to wait for their car to get fixed catches both of their attention. Zoros quick to entertain the baby by talking to her and letting her touch his puppets. Franky is immediately taken back, cause you got the green haired muscle man with a scar on his face and he reaches into his bag and he whips out this fluffy looking tiger puppet. When the mom and her daughter leaves, Franky asks Zoro about it, and finds out everything, including Zoros friends. He invites him to dinner at the baratie to meet his friends. He offers the auto shops lounge as a workspace for the straw hats whenever they need it.

Brook is a retired celebrity that took up teaching at the Art campus. He teaches music and is reached out to by Usopp to recommend what kind of music score would make this scene in a student film cry in instant. He’s got some free time so he shows up to a meeting between the directors to find out Usopp is also a “consultant”. He talks to Usopp and reads the changes he advises for the script and he realizes how those small changes really add to a character and scene. From there, Usopp and him talk about some creative stuff and dnd is mentioned. Usopp invites him to the club but he doesn’t play, he plays a live soundtrack as they play in realtime. It’s very fun and he’s just as charmed by Luffy as he is with everyone else is. Anytime anyone has something going on, he will attend or make an effort to show up; and they all do the same for him and each other.

Jinbe is also a professor, but he works in the physical department. However he’s invited by a student’s father to see a gallery featuring their art. He’s known Zeff and Sanji his whole life, so he decides to at least swing by. He shows up but it’s chaos, there was a sudden fire, there’s a group of people looking around yelling for someone. He sees Sanji as he and a green haired man is held back, yelling for a “Luffy”. Jinbe puts two and two together and remembers something zeff told him. “A young man finally convinced the brat to pursue his art, Luffy is an extraordinary man and I don’t doubt he’ll be an inspiration for his generation and the next”. Luffy is important to Sanji so Jinbe makes his move, running to the back of the campus where he sees is open but unguarded. The flames have died but the smog and smoke is smothering. He can fan the smoke away from his face and yells for the same Luffy.

When he finally finds him, he sees a small man, holding and protecting a canvas and framed drawings. The flames are dying but the ones in Luffys eyes looks so naturally alive. His face is smeared with ash and he coughing and hacking a lung, but Luffy stills asks, “where’s!” Cough hack “entrance!” Jinbe is fast to carry the man and running to where the entrance is. As soon as Luffy is in his arms he passes out but his grasp on the pieces are still strong.

It’s only hours later he finds out the pieces were Sanji’s. And when Luffy wakes up in the hospital bed surrounded by his friends. Sanji immediately starts yelling at him- “they’re replaceable I can just make them again you didn’t need to do that”. Luffy laughs and and croaks out “Sanji was proud of them, I wasn’t going to leave behind my friends work before his old man got to see them” Sanji had been so proud and excited to show zeff his work, and Luffy knew he’d be heartbroken if his works didn’t survive the fire.

Jinbe is tempted to agree with zeff about his statement. He’s invited to stay by Luffys side as he heals and he becomes a member of usopps dnd group. He can’t help it- he’s a nerd at heart, and loves being taught new art skills and tricks by the straw hats.

[athenasilver7]

Hello, can you do a ohshc head cannon where y/n has superpower (preferably fire powers) and gets caught using them in private by them?❤️‍🔥❤️

Ohh! Of course! (^◡^ ) Note: Because I’m extra, I’m doing this from the perspective that Y/N’s parents are wealthy scientists or something and experimented on Y/N growing up, which inevitably lead to Y/N getting fire powers ❤️‍🔥

Note 2: I’m back after finishing this, and realized this fic got pretty off track from the original request. I’m so sorry, anon omg🥲

OHSHC (separately) x GN Reader [w/ fire powers]

💙 Hikaru 💙

When you eventually reveal your secret powers and your past to Hikaru… he doesn’t believe you.

Even as you’re literally producing a flame out of thin air in the palm of your hand, he still doesn’t believe you.

He honestly assumes you’re just pranking him, or that Kaoru put you up to it.

Hikaru scoffs. “Please. It’s obviously some up the sleeve trick, or one of those mechanisms they use on movie and TV.” He insist, crossing his arms and looking away from you.

“…Hikaru. I am literally opening up a out how my parents used me as a science experiment, and how it resulted in me having these abnormal powers. Please stop being a brat and LOOK.” You produce a larger flame in the palms of your hands.

It takes a lot of convincing, but he eventually believes you and feels bad for accusing you of lying to him.

He “makes it up to you” by calling you nicknames such as ‘hot stuff’ and whatnot.

🤍 Tamaki 🤍

You explain your situation to him. He listens intently, not completely understanding, but he’s trying to be supportive.

Then you show him by producing a small flame in your hand and he freezes… then he freaks out.

“Y/N! Watch out!” He launches at you and tackles you to the floor, covering you with his body to try and protect you from that sudden burst of fire.

“Wha?! N-No, Tamaki, look!” You dissipate the flame and then create a very, very tiny flame in your palm. “It’s coming from me. Don’t worry… I know how to control the intensity of it.” You whisper.

He gazes down at you in awe, the flicker of light illuminating both your facial features.

His breathing is slow and he hesitantly reaches towards your hand, his lanky fingers hovering over your extremely small fire. “…It doesn’t hurt you, does it?” He whispers back.

You find yourself smiling at his concern. “No, no. It doesn’t hurt, at all.”

“…You’re certain?” Tamaki cups your face in his hands as he gazes at you with a frown, heavily concerned. He leans in closer, his nose brushing against yours.

You flush, “T-Tamaki, I’m fine! Really!”

Yeah, definitely expect him to dote on you… more than usual, I mean.

❤️ Haruhi ❤️

You explain your past to her and… she doesn’t exactly understand.

It’s not that she doesn’t believe you. I mean, Honey-Senpai is legally considered a war weapon, so why wouldn’t she believe you about this?

It’s just… it’s abnormal for her, you know? Your situation sounds like something you would only hear of in movies or animes.

Then you go and present your powers to her.

Admittedly she startles at first. Once she’s able to wrap her head around everything though, she obviously doesn’t think any differently of you.

If anything, she just feels sad for you. Your parents experimented on you!

She gets the strong urge to tell your parents off, but she knows it’s not necessarily her place to say anything since she doesn’t know all the details. Although, she may lecture them about it when she gets the chance to meet them.

Haruhi assures you she’s always there for you whenever you need to talk about your situation.

💗 Honey 💗

He bawls, full on ugly cries, as you explain your situation to him.

You try to assure him it’s “not as bad as it sounds”, but he merely frowns at your words, definitely believing you’re underplaying what you’ve been through.

It’s… a complicated series of emotions. So, to change the subject, you show off your powers to Honey.

You mess around with a few different flames sizes, and present some small fire tricks to him.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem to react right away. It’s like he knows you’re just trying to distract him from the initial subject. Honey then smiles at you, “You’re amazing, Y/N.” His expression is so tender and genuine, it makes you flush.

In your flustered state you accidentally ignite a very large flame. You and Honey both jolt and you hastily put it out.

“…….Ehehe… sorry about that.” You chuckle awkwardly, your face flushed red.

“…..” Honey simply laughs and presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re too cute, Y/N-chan!”

🧡 Kaoru 🧡

He holds your hand as you open up about your past and how your parents would experiment on you.

Kaoru about damn near cries. You were literally born just to be a test subject.

“Y/N…” Kaoru whispers with a frown, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

Before you can fluster too much at Kaoru’s unfiltered concern for your well-being, you hastily show off a tiny flame to him with your free hand.

His breath hitches at the sight, a smile slowly stretching across his face. It’s a small smile, but it’s still a smile nonetheless.

“…Are you okay?” He gives your hand another gentle squeeze.

Blushing, you shyly avert your gaze and dissipate the flame. “I’m fine. The fire doesn’t hurt.”

Kaoru shakes his head. “No. I meant are you okay? Emotionally? You were experimented on from a young age and for so many years…” Kaoru trails off, averting his own gaze with a heavy frown.

…You… You break down, to be honest. Kaoru is quick to hold you, comforting you. This man speaks the sweetest words of reassurance, and reminds you that you can always confide in him.

💜 Kyoya 💜

Well, when you explain your past to him, he isn’t too surprised.

Kyoya obviously already knows about your parents’ occupations and a large sum of their history, but… he’ll admit he had no idea just how messed up they are.

Don’t get it mixed up, he obviously knows your parents are pretty messed in the head, however the way you explain what you’ve been through… it’s pretty damn twisted.

Cupping your hands together, you present a small flicker of flame to Kyoya, silently showing him your… ‘powers’. The effects of your parents experiments.

Kyoya appears genuinely interested. Well, who wouldn’t? He cups his chin beneath his finger and leans forward to observe the flame that you just… summoned from thin air.

“I see… I must say, Y/N, you’re a very strong individual. I can’t even begin to imagine what you felt like going through all of that alone.” Kyoya says in his usual ‘I’m calm and collected’ voice, though you can sense the genuineness in his tone.

Over the coming weeks, expect him to observe you and your abilities often, and occasionally discreetly asking you questions related to your abilities. Sue him, he has to take notes on this phenomenon.

🖤 Mori 🖤

He holds you in his lap and pets your head when you eventually open up about your past to him.

“I’m sorry, Takashi. This must be a lot for you to take in.” I murmur weakly against his chest, clutching at the front of his shirt line a lifeline as you sniffle and tear up.

Mori hums, carefully combing his lanky fingers through your hair. “Sounds like it was a lot for you to deal with.” His eyes briefly flutter shut and he presses a kiss to your temple.

You sniffle and nod. “Yeah… Yeah, it was.” You sigh heavily, “But at least I can do this..?” You show off a tiny flame in your hands, trying to look on the bright side of thing. Pun not intended.

Mori’s brows raise and he carefully grips both of your wrists, and brings them up close to his face to observe them.

You dissipate the flame and he blinks. Mori takes a moment longer to examine your hands, his thumb gently caressing your palm that held the flame.

He then presses his lips to your palm, planting a firm kiss there. “…It’s warm.” Mori states, gazing at you through his lashes. Your face then begins to feel warm as well, but not due to your fire abilities.

OHSHC Masterlist

[emma23]

By your side :

Jonathan Levy x reader

Jonathan had a love-hate relationship with big gatherings. On the one hand, he enjoyed observing people, listening to conversations, and occasionally diving into debates that tested his philosophical musings. On the other hand, he hated being surrounded by strangers, the feeling of being lost in a sea of faces he didn’t recognize.

Today was no different. The conference hall buzzed with energy as academics, students, and professionals mingled, their chatter blending into a dull roar. He adjusted his glasses nervously, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you.

You were across the room, chatting animatedly with a small group. The way you gestured with your hands and tilted your head as you listened made Jonathan’s chest tighten. You looked so effortlessly at ease in these situations, a stark contrast to how he felt.

He weaved through the crowd, making his way to your side like a moth to a flame.

“Hey,” he said softly, his hand brushing against yours.

You turned, your face lighting up at the sight of him. “There you are! I was starting to think you’d vanished.”

Jonathan gave a small smile. “Not yet. Just… trying to survive.”

You laughed, the sound like music to his ears. “Stick with me, Levy. I’ll protect you.”

The day unfolded slowly, a series of panels, discussions, and meet-and-greets. Jonathan stayed glued to your side the entire time. Whenever the crowd felt overwhelming, his hand found yours, grounding himself in your presence.

“Jonathan,” you whispered during one particularly dry lecture, leaning close to him. “If I fall asleep, you’ll catch me, right?”

He chuckled, his breath warm against your ear. “Always.”

You grinned, nudging him playfully. “You’re my hero.”

His hand brushed against your waist, a subtle but firm touch. “I just don’t want to lose you in this chaos.”

By lunchtime, the two of you found a quiet corner to sit. Jonathan loosened his tie, visibly more relaxed now that the crowd had thinned out.

“Are you having fun?” you asked, unwrapping your sandwich.

He tilted his head, considering. “It’s… not terrible. Probably because you’re here.”

“Flatterer,” you teased, taking a bite.

“It’s the truth,” he said earnestly, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I don’t think I could do this without you.”

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze. “You’re giving me too much credit. You’re perfectly capable of charming an entire room of strangers.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Have you met me?”

“Fair point,” you said, laughing.

As the day went on, Jonathan’s initial hesitation melted away. You saw him smile more, even laugh at some of the jokes shared by the group. Still, he never strayed far from you, his hand finding its way to the small of your back or intertwining with yours as you moved through the crowded halls.

At one point, a photographer approached, asking to take a picture of the two of you. You leaned into Jonathan, and he instinctively wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“You’re really photogenic,” you teased after the flash went off.

Jonathan rolled his eyes, but his cheeks tinted pink. “Only because you’re in the picture.”

That evening, as the crowd began to thin and the day wound down, you found yourselves back at the hotel. The tension from earlier had dissolved, replaced by a quiet comfort that settled between you.

Jonathan loosened his tie further, watching as you kicked off your heels and flopped onto the bed.

“You know,” he said, sitting beside you, “I think I actually enjoyed myself today.”

You smiled, propping yourself up on your elbows. “See? Told you it wouldn’t be so bad.”

He leaned closer, his hand brushing your cheek. “It wasn’t bad because of you.”

The space between you disappeared as he kissed you, slow and tender at first, then deepening as his hands slid to your waist.

“Jonathan,” you murmured against his lips, your fingers threading through his hair.

“Hmm?”

“Promise me you’ll stick by me at every event from now on.”

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “I promise. You’re the only one I want to be with, anyway.”

Hours later, as you lay tangled together under the sheets, Jonathan’s hand traced lazy patterns on your back.

“You know,” you said sleepily, “for someone who hates crowds, you handled today like a pro.”

He chuckled, his voice low and warm. “That’s because I had you.”

You smirked, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “What would you do without me, Levy?”

He pretended to think for a moment before replying, “I’d probably still be lost in that crowd.”

You laughed, your head falling back onto his chest. “Well, I guess you’re stuck with me now.”

“Gladly,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

And as sleep began to claim you both, Jonathan added with a teasing smile, “But next time, you can deal with the small talk.

[quailbuster]

Loose Threads

-ONGOING, PART ONE-

CHECK OUT PART TWO HERE

Check it out on ao3! Kudos go a long way:))

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Summary: A series of Flashbacks from your tumultuous relationship with Javier Peña.

Warnings: Explicit, Sexual content, Angst, mixed race reader, mentions of miscarriage, Grumpy Javier, Original characters, NON-LINEAR storytelling, swearing, slight reader x original character but that's a teeny sideplot, Leon is based on gabriel luna's version of tommy miller sorry he's so fine, poor mother relationship, ONGOING

Author's note: This is the first fic I've posted since 2021, first javi fic AND first x reader fic God! so many firsts! this is part ONE, includes two flashbacks :)

January 3, 1994

Houston, Texas

He was standing beside a flickering street lamp when you saw him, a moth floating not too far from his scruffy brunette hair, and the cigarette smoke from between his roughed-up fingers deterred it from landing on his shoulder. He took a long drag, eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled the taste of tobacco, tar, and some other bullshit you used to try and lecture him for. His other hand was stuffed into his jean pocket, and the exhalation of smoke was shooing away the moth that threatened to poke his eye this time. He looked like something straight out of a 1950s film.

He must have heard the light tapping of your shoes as you stalked over to his spot because his eyes shot open and his head turned towards you, hand now hovering over the gun in his other pocket. Once he realised who it was, his stance loosened, hand stuffed back into his jean pocket. He cleared his throat and took another inhale. You continued walking, stopping just a foot away to place a cigarette of your own into your mouth, holding your hand out to signal for a lighter.

You never used to smoke, a disgusting habit that your father exposed you to one too many times as a kid. One that he eventually passed away from. One that might have caused you to be attracted to men with the disgusting habit if you wanted to look at it from a Freudian perspective. You used to hate that the man next to you smoked.

“No soy tu novio.” He would say when you asked him to quit one night. You’d been sleeping together for nearly half a year by that point. He’d never tried to put a label on it, and you never dared to ask for fear of losing the best sex you’d ever had. You slept, cigarette smoke irritating your sinuses every night you stayed over.

As irony would have it, after he left you so abruptly that final night, the only thing that you could do was light a cigarette every once in a while. It distracted you enough to function, but it still hurt, all the same, seeing him like this again, hair falling across his forehead, moustache twitching slightly every time he took a drag, those beautiful brown eyes that you used to spend so long looking into in hopes of finding any silver of emotion towards you.

A cold metal Zippo lighter touched your hand. You quickly lit a flame while inhaling, passing the cube back to him. He usually used BIC lighters, so you wondered if someone had caused him to change.

“You cut your hair.” He pointed out, a seemingly drab remark which nevertheless made the dormant butterflies in your belly flutter awake. He never noticed before, why now? Why when it was the late hours of ass-o’clock did he notice something so miniscule? You trimmed your hair at home earlier in the morning, fingers twitching from the lack of nicotine in your system. Maybe that’s why he’d noticed. You’d done a horrible job on your ends.

“That bad?” You strained before a long exhale, turning your head towards him. You could’ve sworn you saw the hint of a smile before he took another long drag of his nearly-finished cigarette.

“Looks… nice.”

He paused.

“Could’ve done a better job on your ends.”

A soft chuckle was shared and he stepped on his cigarette, now burned to the filter. The pestering moth from before started to fly across his face. He moved away from it, closer to you. Your shoulders brushed against each other as you tried to avoid his soft stare.

“Lo siento.”

- September 13, 1987

Houston, Texas

“I think she likes you, Javi.”

Javier took a swig from his drink, hoping to avoid this conversation. Lorraine was still in the back of his mind.

“You tellin’ me you wouldn’t go for a woman like that? You need to get your brain checked, man. I’m goin’ over there.”

“Do whatever you want.”

You were in Houston for just a week, for your little sister’s shotgun wedding to a narcissistic older man. Probably 15 years her senior. She was utterly enamoured, and wouldn’t stop gushing about her perfect fiance with the loads of cash. Everyone knew why they got engaged. They had only met three months before. Tonight was her bachelorette party, and of course, she chose to spend it in a Todd's. Freshly 21, pregnant, yet still choosing to drink the biggest fucking glass of a mojito you’d ever seen in your life. She didn’t finish it, though. She switched over to an OJ after throwing up in the bathroom after a couple of gulps. Drinking away secret sorrows never ended well for her.

You weren't entirely engrossed in the ramblings of your sister's friend group. They were sweet girls, just not your crowd by a long shot. So, when you entered the bar, you started scanning the place to find some interesting people to stare at. Of course, your eyes landed on a man too attractive for his own good. His masculine aura enticed you. The second he reciprocated your stare though, your head snapped back, pretending to nod at something one of the girls said about her college coursework. If only you'd shaved today.

Suddenly, you felt a tap on your shoulder, the women in front of you stopping the conversation to gesture at the source. You turned your head to see an attractive man your age, maybe a year or two older. He smiled and asked you to dance. You turned your head towards the dance floor. There were probably about 5 people showing off their measly dance moves to their partners. You nodded and let him lead you towards the floor, listening as your girlfriends giggled and whispered amongst themselves.

The mysterious man had suave. His long hair was perfectly pushed back and he smelled of sweet cologne.

“Leon, darlin’.” He replied when you asked for his name. The two of you shared a slow dance to the music, his hand a soft grip on your waist. He seemed respectful, attractive, and God, you couldn't stop smelling him. You wondered if you were ovulating. Visually, he was exactly your type on paper. Leon looked like a man your dad would shake the hand of and say “Muy Bien, muy bien.” with a smile on his face. He swept you off your feet. You just couldn’t help but feel like there was a hole being burned into the back of your skull. A nagging feeling, telling you to look behind you.

So you did, and as Leon spun you around, you saw it.

That man. The man he was with. The one you were eyeing earlier, hoping he would pull you into the back alley and fuck the life out of you.

He was staring at the both of you, drink in hand. You couldn’t quite decipher the look on his face, though you didn’t even have much time to before Leon took you back in his arms and the music changed to something more upbeat. You talked for a bit, while he took you back to the bar and you tried to swallow the massive lump that was now growing in your throat.

The man was turned back around, swirling what was left of his beer. He spoke up once you reached the bar, and you somehow knew exactly what his voice would sound like. With slight amusement to his tone, not looking up from his glass, he said “Gettin’ lucky tonight, Leon?” and Leon chuckled awkwardly, looking at you with an apologetic expression. The man finally looked up, and Leon patted your back, introducing you to him. His eyebrow twitched up ever so slightly, and when you took out your hand to shake his, you felt a jolt of electricity between your legs just from staring at his frame. He cleared his throat and reached for your hand, staring deeply into your eyes. You shook it as he quickly darted his eyes over your body, barely noticeable. But of course, you noticed.

“Nice to meet you.”

Leon told you his name was Javier, and Javier shot him a glare when he told you they were brothers. Almost as if he was forced to be here too.

“What would you like, Darlin’?” Leon asked, already accustomed to the pet name he’d given you on the dance floor.

“Surprise me.” You smiled and waited silently as you listened to Leon talk animatedly about Houston. He and his brother were complete opposites. Javier only added his 50 cents when Leon would get something wrong about their hometown, Kingsville.

“It’s been a while…” He chuckled, “So what about you, where you from?” He finally asked you.

You saw Javier look up at you, still with that unreadable expression on his face, but obviously waiting to hear your answer. You wondered if he’d been hurt in the past for him to be so cold, or if that was just his regular state. It was getting to be a bit of a turn-on.

“Well, I’m mixed with Texan. Wanna guess?”

While Leon threw around a bunch of completely wrong answers, your eyes trailed over Javier, scanning every inch of his body. He was dressed in jeans, and a black shirt with the buttons open just enough that you could see his chest hair poking through. Something about him made your lower half burn in a crude anticipation. He was painfully attractive in this lighting.

When your eyes trailed back up, you suddenly realised he was staring at you the entire time. His eyebrow raised and you turned red, heart quickening to unimaginable speeds from embarrassment as he took another sip of his beer, focusing his attention towards Leon, who you tuned out a while ago. You felt guilty for eyeing his brother like this, but you’d just met the guy. It didn’t really matter.

“C’mon, there’s no way you ain’t from Hawaii! I give up. Javi, wanna take a shot at this?”

You turned your head back towards him, he pondered for a moment.

“¿Hablas español?”

Fuck.

Your eyebrows shot up, locking eyes with him. Leon rolled his eyes, “Hey, I already tried that one.” You ignored him as you replied with, “Sí, hablo español.”

“Colombia.”

You smiled, “Sorry Leon, he got it right.”

“Fuck, what the fuck? How’d you guess that shit so fast, man?” He asked in disbelief, you sensed that he might’ve noticed your little… ‘distraction’ earlier. But if he did, he didn’t point it out. You silently thanked the universe for avoiding the awkwardness.

Javier shrugged, made a noise, and finished off his beer.

“I didn’t think it would be that hard.” You laughed before a hurried clack of heels started increasing in volume.

One of the girls at your table greeted the two men next to you, “Hey, Hi!”

She turned her attention back to you, “Emergency. Tanya’s goin’ through it right now.” You snapped your head back to see your sister, Tanya, sobbing by a parking meter outside. You panicked and shot an apologetic look and a wave to the two men before being dragged outside. Javier stole your drink.

“Tanya, what the fuck happened?” You knelt next to her small frame, lightly shaking her shoulders. She only sobbed as she showed you her bloodied dress and fingers and all you could do was hold her until she calmed down enough to leave.

To much confusion from both families, her fiance called off the wedding the day after, and everyone flew home.

-

[pasukiyo]

YOU'LL ALWAYS BE MINE

a royalty au. remus lupin x female!princess reader.

| PROLOGUE

series masterlist. join the taglist here. link to ao3.

word count: 3,091 words summary: the princess is to be betrothed soon. although her betrothal will serve as the bridge between her kingdom and king fleamont's, she cannot bring herself to feel honor. she's still so young! how can she marry a man she doesn't love, much less a man she's never even met? meanwhile, the full moon is in two weeks and remus is in the most pain he's ever had to endure. how much longer does he have to suffer, how much longer until the pain finally subsides so he can be numb?

so even in a different life, you still would've been mine, we would've been timeless...

‘Dear Lily,

 Oh Lily, where do I even begin? Things have been less than ideal here, I’m afraid. Peter has been practically breathing down my neck as of late… (I’ve just been told off for even writing that) …and I overheard mother and father talking yesterday. I am afraid the day has come, my sweet friend. They are going to force me into marriage. 

 I know I should be happy. This is my sole purpose as princess anyway and it should be considered an honor that such a suitable prince should want to have my hand in marriage. Alas, my friend, I do not feel honorable. I cannot help but to feel anything but. It feels like I am wasting my life away… why can I not find a man for myself? I was under the impression that marriage was only for the one you truly love, so what if I do not love him? 

 I apologise, for I must be going now. It is becoming rather difficult to keep Peter from reading over my shoulder and quite frankly, I do not wish to succumb to another one of mother and father’s lectures. Peter is such a sneak.

 With all my love,

 The Princess’

 The Princess sighs as she signs off her letter, narrowing her eyes up at Peter where he stands, an incredulous look upon his face as she rolls the parchment, tying it with a red silk ribbon. “You don’t have to give me that look, Peter,” she says, fixing up the bow she tied until she is certain it is perfect. “Besides, this letter is between me and Princess Lily, you needn’t be such a snoop.”

 Peter’s lip curls in a snarl, watching the princess as she rises from the desk, dusting off the skirt of her gown. “You realize, highness, that it is my job to keep you in line?” He sneers, following close behind on her heels as she walks up the steps of the Owlery, searching for her beloved owl, Athena. “Your mother will be very displeased if she were to know the contents of that letter.”

 Her eyes roll in their sockets as she finds her owl, reaching out for Athena’s mottled brown and white head which she caresses with her knuckle, earning a satisfied hoot.

 “Which is why I trust that mother won’t hear of this,” she says, her lips curving in a cheeky grin as she ties the parchment to Athena’s claw. “Deliver this to Lily, would you, Thena?” She coos at the owl, the creature giving her knuckle a tender nip before she outstretches her wings, pushing her body off of her perch, soaring out the window and into the night. The Princess sighs as she watches the owl take flight, an envious flame kindling in her chest. 

 “You’re lucky I am feeling extra generous today,” Peter replies and she rolls her eyes, turning back around to face him. “‘Extra generous?’” She retorts, taking the skirt of her gown in her hands, pushing past him to make her way down the steps of the Owlery. “Since when were you capable of being generous?” 

 She grins over her shoulder at Peter, whom she catches in the act of rolling his eyes as he begrudgingly falls in step behind her. “You jest, your highness. Perhaps I’d even be inclined to laugh if it weren’t damn near midnight. You should be in bed, may I remind you.” 

 The Princess sighs again as she pushes the door of the Owlery open and when night blows into her skin, it erupts in gooseflesh. Still, she’s enough humor within her for a remark.  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Peter, I am going,” she titters as they weave their way through the garden and safely back inside the castle, stepping into one of its many corridors. 

 “My knickers are not in a tw–”

 “Goodnight Peter! I simply cannot wait until the morning where you will chastise me again for merely breathing!” She smiles and waves at her father’s royal advisor behind her as she works her way up the staircase. 

 She can hear Peter scoffing and mumbling behind her but she pays him no mind, her lips still curled in a soft smile as she makes her way down the corridor leading to her quarters. She slows her steps and yawns, rolling her head around her neck as she approaches the guard standing watch outside her bedroom, sparing him too a grin. With an indifferent expression, he pushes open the door, stepping aside to allow her to enter her bedroom. 

 Her bedroom is warm with a soft marmalade glow coming from the candle she’d left earlier and she hums at the sight of her handmaiden, Marlene, in the corner of the room, silent as she reads whatever on the parchment in her lap. At the sound, Marlene gasps and blinks up to where the princess stands, pushing the piece parchment off to the side as she scrambles to her feet. 

 “Your highness!” Marlene squeaks, pinching the sides of her skirt in a curtsy. “Let me prepare your nightgown for you…” 

 The Princess watches as Marlene rushes to the closet, sifting through the many nightgowns before finally settling on one the color of seafoam. The Princess’ lips twitch in amusements Marlene practically sprints back towards her, outstretching the nightgown in her arms as if this was her coronation. 

 “Marlene, what have I told you?” The Princess chuckles, graciously taking the nightgown from her handmaiden’s trembling hands. “You can relax when you are with me. You make me seem like one of those stuck-up, snobby princesses that care very little for others’ wellbeing. It is rather insulting, actually.”

 Marlene’s cheeks burn a rosy color and she bows her head, ber trembling hands against her sides. “M-my apologies, your highness,” she hardly manages to stutter out, earning yet another roll of the eyes from the Princess. 

 “Marlene,” the Princess calls her name again, reaching out for the handmaiden’s chin, cupping it in her palm and tilting it up until their eyes meet. “Relax.”

 Marlene’s chest heaves as she takes a deep breath, her muscles visibly relaxing when she realizes the Princess’ soft, gentle tone. She exhales and the Princess’ lips grow in yet another warm smile before she turns, circling around the dressing screen to make quick work of her dress. 

 “Do you need help with your corset?” Marlene’s voice calls from over the screen just as she manages to undo the laces and it feels freeing, finally being able to breathe without limit. “I’ve got it,” she sighs in reply, tossing the corset over the top of the screen before shimmying here way out of her chemise. 

 “Your highness,” Marlene’s voice calls again and the Princess hums in reply, finally stripping out of her attire, rolling up her nightgown until she could finally pull her head through the opening. “The King and Queen requested you join them for brunch tomorrow. They speak of a Lord Sirius who will be joining you.”

 Her lips twitch at the mention of Lord Sirius and she steps out from behind the dressing screen, smoothing down her nightgown with the palms of her hands. “Thank you, Marlene,” she dips her chin. “Might I request that I wear that midnight blue dress, you know, the one I wore when Lord Gilderoy came to visit?” 

 Marlene’s eyes widen and her eyebrows furrow in question, the corners of her lips twitching with a smile, although she does her best to suppress it. “Trying to impress Lord Sirius?’ The handmaiden couldn’t help but to ask and the Princess chuckles, shaking her head as she walks over to the bed, setting down onto the mattress. 

 “Of course not!” she replies. “Lord Sirius is a dear friend. I just happen to like that dress. It is very comfortable– my compliments to the seamstress,” she adds with a wink.

 Marlene flushes and bows her head, “thank you, your highness,” she replies sheepishly, her murmur just barely audible. 

 The Princess grins and swings her legs over the side of the mattress, burying herself beneath the covers, blinking up towards the dusty pink ceiling of her bedroom once she’s finally settled. 

 “Is there anything else I can do for you before you sleep?” Marlene inquires and the Princess shakes her head. “No thank you, Marlene,” she yawns, folding her arms behind her head. “Have a good night.”

 “Very well. Sweet dreams, your highness,” Marlene dips her chin in a bow and the Princess watches the ceiling as Marlene blows out the candles at her bedside, washing the orange away from the ceiling, moonlight spilling inside instead

 She listens as Marlene’s footsteps gradually fade from the bedroom and out of her quarters altogether, the room feeling bigger, lonelier. Everything is quiet and still but alas, the silence has her mind reeling again like a dark, swirling tempest of the most terrible thoughts. What was she to do about her betrothal?

 Call her a sap, call her a hopeless romantic— but she wants love. She doesn’t want a prince, even if he comes from magic— she does not wish to become his shadow— she wants what the women have in all the storybooks: she wants to fall in love of her own accord, to understand and be understood by someone like no other. She is still  young and still has her whole life ahead of her— why must wedlock be her destiny? What if there’s something else, something far greater than what she will have out there for her? What if she never gets the chance to know her true destiny when she’s forced to live a completely new one?

 These are dark times, this she knows. She’s watched her father pace back and forth when consulting with his court, watched the bags beneath his eyes grow heavier with each day that passes, watching him grow weary as the promise of war closes in on the horizon. She knows she will do what she must to instill peace in her kingdom— but why must marriage be the only means to an end? 

 The thought puts a sour look on her face and she flips onto her side, wedging an arm beneath her pillow to support her head. She gazes out the window into the night’s black sky, watching the stars as they blink back. This could not happen, it just couldn’t— surely there has to be another way.

 Remus howls in pain as he stumbles through the back door of Lord Sirius Black’s manor, his muscles aching and the contents of his stomach bubbling in the pit, threatening to spill over his chapped lips. He can hear footsteps somewhere on the other side of the mansion and he prays to whomever it is in the sky watching them that it is his dear friend. 

 “Remus?” 

 Remus growls as he crashes into the bookcase against the way, sweat beading down the sides of his face as he tries to regain his balance. His chest heaves from the sheer force of his strangled breath and threads of saliva string from his lips. He groans as he blinks up towards the figure approaching him, hardly able to make out the face in the darkness but he knows it to be his friend. He bends at the waist, half in relief and half in pain.

 “Sirius,” Remus manages out, yelping as another searing jab of pain burns in his abdomen, his forehead practically slamming on the base of the bookcase he uses as his anchor. 

 “Merlin, let’s get you upstairs,” Sirius mutters, grabbing a hold of one of Remus’ arms and tossing it around his shoulders as he uses his other arm to hoist his friend from the floor. Remus hisses through his teeth as pain slices through his body and squeezes his eyelids shut, his head tossing back as he tries to move in tandem with Sirius’ footsteps.

 Sirius grunts as they approach the staircase, practically dragging his friend up the steps, much to Remus’ displeasure. His belly lurches at a particularly rough landing on one of the steps and he purses his lips together, hoping the acid bubbling in his throat could be willed to stay down. Sirius grabs a hold of Remus again and hoists him forward, finally arriving on the second floor of the manor. 

 Though quite winded, Sirius manages to drag Remus the rest of the way into one of the empty spare bedrooms, practically tossing his friend on the mattress as he rushes for the waste bin he keeps in the corner of the room for solely this reason. He passes the bin over to Remus who wastes absolutely no time in spilling the contents of his stomach, a sour, rotten odor Sirius has grown far too accustomed to to care about imbuing the bedroom. 

 Sirius finds a washcloth and pours some cold water into a vase, sighing as he plops down in the chair beside the bed, dipping the cloth before handing it over to Remus once he’s done vomiting. Remus falls back against the pillows, chapped lips agape as he tries to catch his breath, pressing the cold rag onto his entire face. He squeezes his eyelids together hard enough to see stars, feeling his unsteady heart drum against his chest. 

 “Sorry,” he manages finally once he’s calm enough, his voice low and husky. Sirius rolls his eyes and scoffs from his bedside, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 

 “I think we’re well beyond apologies, my friend,” he snickers. “Besides, you know I do not mind.”

 Remus huffs and coughs into the rag, a furrow in his brow as he folds it, draping it across his forehead, pressing it down hard enough to let some of the water trickle down the sides of his face. He hums when the cold water reaches his chapped lips, tongue swiping between them just as Sirius presses the rim of a bottle to his lips. Remus’ lids shoot open and he glances over at Sirius before back down at the glass of water, practically ripping it from his friend’s grip once he realizes what it is. Sirius watches as Remus practically chugs the entire thing down, the corners of his lips twitching amusedly when his friend hiccups and gasps, wiping away the little bit that had dribbled onto his chin before passing the glass back over. 

 “Sorry for waking you,” Remus says in more of a gasp, letting his head fall to the side against the pillows to get a better look at Sirius in his night clothes. Sirius rolls his eyes at the apology but does not dismiss it, simply shaking his head, setting the glass of water down against the nightstand before leaning back in his seat. 

 “You didn't,” he replies. “I've been awake figuring out what to wear to visit the castle tomorrow.”

 Remus rolls his eyes at this— somehow, it always slipped his mind that his best friend is rich, and a lord for that matter. “Right,” Remus mutters. “While I am doing my very best to not die, you’re rubbing elbows with royalty. Almost forgot.”

 Sirius, too, rolls his eyes and snickers at this, “it’d do you well to remember that I’m the one making sure you’re not dying at this very moment. You wouldn’t want to jeopardize the position you’re in right now, would you?”

 Remus scoffs, rolling his head around his neck, gazing up at the ceiling. “Right,” he murmurs begrudgingly. “I suppose you want my thanks?”

 A humorous smirk lifts the side of Sirius’ face. “It’d certainly amuse me.”

 Remus rolls his eyes again. “Then I won’t,” he replies, wincing as he tries to make himself a little more comfortable despite the jabbing pain in his abdomen. It’s at least a little more tolerable than before. “Anyways, I’ll be out of your hair come morning. You needn’t worry about me.”

 “Now, wait a minute here, you’re not going to get rid of me that easily,” Sirius chuckles, leaning forward in his chair, resting his elbows against his knees. Remus peels a single eyelid open, glancing over at his friend. “The full moon’s not for another few weeks now, is it? And you’ve already got it this bad.”

 “Two weeks, to be exact,” Remus groans. “My symptoms seem to have gotten worse as of late, I guess. Not even one of your million-Galleon beds can take away the pain.” 

 Sirius purses his lips, “not a million Galleons, for the record. Second, I thought you didn’t get this bad until the day before a transformation. Are you alright?”

 Remus opens both his eyelids again, cocking an eyebrow towards his friend. “Oh yes, I am doing just fine and dandy here, thanks so much for asking.”

 Sirius’ chest puffs as he huffs, “I can throw you back out onto the street if you fancy.” 

 Remus titters, easing himself further down into the mattress. “I’m better now,” he assures. “Just… tired.” 

 Sirius eyes his friend, Remus’ skin still slick with a layer of sweat but at the very least, he didn’t seem likely to hurl his dinner out at any given moment anymore. Sirius soothes his palms over his thighs before pushing himself off of his seat, fingernails scratching at his scalp. 

 “Get some sleep,” Sirius says as he makes his way to the door. “Leave whenever you need to tomorrow. I’ll probably already be gone.”

 Remus’ lips tug into a smirk, “off to kiss the ground the royal family walks on?”

 Sirius’ gaze darkens and his eyes roll in their sockets, “piss off.”

 Remus chuckles and with that, Sirius closes the door behind him, leaving Remus all alone in one of the manor’s many bedrooms, blinking up into the dark ceiling above. His muscles are sore and aching, feeling the reminder of the upcoming full moon lingering in the corner of his mind like an annoying little insect. How much more of this pain does he have to bear? How much must he suffer before he finally goes numb? Before he feels nothing at all?

 Remus sighs, letting his eyelids flutter back closed, hoping sleep will come to him soon. He is grateful for Sirius, for having at least a comfortable bed to sleep in tonight, unlike his own bed at home that was no better than sleeping on pins and needles. Remus let himself sink further into the mattress, soon feeling the arms of slumber embrace him, drawing him into its chest…

Next Chapter

a/n; so uh... surprise? so sorry for my long hiatus! between college and work, i have just hardly had any time for anything, especially writing but i'm back! and with a series of all things lol but i'm so excited to finally be posting this and i hope you all enjoy this as much as i do! please fill out my taglist form in my pinned post or at the beginning of this post if you'd like to join my taglist for this series!

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

Behold, a bracket!

Text form below the cut because trying to copy all the 256 into the alt text sounded.... horrifying. Warning for 128 matchups, seriously, this list is long, and so I've avoided adding the artists until the polls.

a note: the pinned post has started misbehaving, so only open polls will be directly linked. closed polls instead have the results page linked in the set header, all the polls are linked from there

Set 1

The Lament for Icarus (Miao He) vs The Lament for Icarus (Herbert Draper)

The angel came to me in a fever hallucination, perched upon my bed as I returned from the bathroom. vs Sweet Brown Snail

Figures vs A Philosopher Lecturing on the Orrery

Happy Shoppers vs Hubble Deep Field

Lovers Painting vs Bath Curtain

Dr. Helen Taussig vs Une Martyre

Orangoutang étranglant un sauvage de Bornéo (Orangutan strangling a Borneo savage) vs Can’t Help Myself

Rape vs Technicolor Hiroshima

Set 2

A Walk at Dusk vs Based on “Autoportrait with the Model” by Maria-Rayevska Ivanova

Diary Page vs Les Jours Gigantesques (The Titanic Days)

Dead of Night vs You Won't

Christina's World vs Bobby

Untitled (I’m Turning Into A Specter Before Your Very Eyes And I’m Going To Haunt You) vs Two Sisters (On the Terrace)

Sharecropper vs Lustmord

The Parca and the Angel of Death vs Untitled (Zdzisław Beksiński)

Stress vs The Fallen Angel

Set 3

Device to Root Out Evil vs Travelling Light

Diana vs Fifty Days at Iliam: The Fire that Consumes All before It

The Plains, from Memory vs Exotic Bodies

Doubting Thomas vs Self-Portrait in the Bathroom Mirror

Empty Nest vs Somebody Fell From Aloft

Anguish vs If I Died

Cat in Obsolete Bath vs You're Not Boring Anymore

Salvator Mundi (Savior of the World) vs Untitled (billboard of an empty unmade bed)

Set 4

There Will Be No Miracles Here vs Symphony of the Sixth Blast Furnace

Fox Hunt vs Tarpaulin

Khajuraho Group of Monuments vs Ranakpur Jain Temple

ปราสาทสัจธรรม (The Sanctuary of Truth) vs Grande Panorama de Lisboa

Heroic Head of Pierre de Wissant, One of the Burghers of Calais vs The Weather

The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit vs If this is art

Statue of Vincent and Theo van Gogh vs Jeanne d’Arc écoutant les voix (Joan of Arc listening to the Voices)

Fountain vs Judith Slaying Holofernes

Set 5

Cueva de las Manos (Cave of Hands) vs Cave of El Castillo

Chauvet Cave Bear vs Uffington White Horse

Laocoön and His Sons vs Winged Victory of Samothrace

Crouching Aphrodite vs Statue of Taweret

Guardian Figure vs Kūya-Shonin (Saint Kuya)

Ancient Greek doll vs Arena #7 (Bears)

Enbu (炎舞) (Dancing in the Flames) vs Yearning Shadows

Belfast to Byzantium vs Freedom

Set 6

The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayan vs Portraits

The Blood Mirror vs Nighthawks

Electric Fan (Feel it Motherfuckers): Only Unclaimed Item from the Stephen Earabino Estate vs "Untitled" (Portrait of Ross in L.A.)

Lady Agnew of Lochnaw vs Forgotten Dreams

Saint Bride vs Pixeles (a group of 9 works)

War Pieta vs The Sunset

The Handmaidens of Sivawara Preparing the Sacred Bull at Tanjore for a Festival vs Ajax and Cassandra

Nāve (Death) vs Abstraction

Set 7

Yes vs Meeting on the Turret Stair

Hacked to Death II vs Stańczyk

Closeness Lines Over Time vs Voice of Fire

The Maple Trees at Mama, the Tekona Shrine and Tsugihashi Bridge vs Portrait of Sir Thomas More

Survival Series: In a Dream You Saw a Way vs Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre

Death blowing bubbles vs The Kitchen Table Series

Painting 1946 vs In the Grip of Winter

Untitled (Black and Gray) vs NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt

Set 8

Blue Plate Special vs Red Cedar

Palace of Fine Arts vs Mosque–Cathedral of Córdoba

Le Château des Pyrénées (The Castle of the Pyrenees) vs Susanna and the Elders, Restored - X-Ray

Moby Dick vs Viva la Vida, Watermelons

Venus Envy Chapter One (Of the First Holy Communion Moments Before the End) vs how to look at art

St. Sebastian vs Untitled #12

Carroña vs The invincible one

Untitled (Two Dogs) vs The Dog

SECOND HALF

Set 9

David (Donatello) vs David (Michelangelo)

The Other Side vs The Temptation of St. Jerome

Seated Woman with Bent Knees vs Starry Night

Headdress - Shadae vs Untitled for the Image Flow's Queer Conscience exhibit

Woman with Dead Child (Frau mit totem Kind) vs Les Amants (The Lovers)

Siroče na majčinom grobu (Orphan on Mother's Grave) vs You Make My World a Better Place to Find

Fighting Against SARS Memorial Architectural Scene (弘揚抗疫精神建築景觀) vs Fallingwater

Resting vs The Hull

Set 10

Olive Trees vs Worship

Glow vs Wheatfield with Crows

Study after Velázquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X vs Untitled (He Plays Very Badly)

D.I.Y. by John Wiswell vs The Tragedy

Judith and the Head of Holofernes vs Beethovenfries (Beethoven Frieze)

The Memory of Me (How Could I Forget) vs oh god i had a really big epiphany about love and personhood but i’m too drunk for words

I am happy because everyone loves me vs 瀕危形態 (Endangered Forms)

Three Scaffolders vs Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan

Set 11

San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk vs Water-Lilies, Reflection of a Weeping Willow

The Grief of the Pasha vs Monolith in Vigeland Sculpture Park

Passion vs Space Diner

Hamlet and Ophelia vs Two Earthlings

Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth vs Seer Bonnets

Photograph from "SNAP OSAKA" Collection vs Clytemnestra after the Murder

“Untitled” (Perfect Lovers) vs The Lovers (TIE)

Kedai Ubat Jenun vs Orange Store Front

Set 12

The Apotheosis of War vs Portrait of the Dancer Aleksandr Sakharov

Julie Manet vs Mouth

The Icebergs vs Kaleidoscope Cats III

Maman vs Caza Nocturna (Night Hunt)

The Book of Kells Folio 188r: Luke carpet page vs Ardagh Chalice

Yusuf and Zulaikha vs Dome of the Rock mosaics

Rowan Leaves and Hole vs Untitled (prisonhannibal)

Le Désespéré (The Desperate Man) vs The Dedication

Set 13

Deimos vs Dog and Bridge

The Mocking of Christ vs Prudence

The Broken Column vs Siberian Ice Maiden shoulder tattoo

Transi de René de Chalon (Cadaver Tomb of René of Chalon) vs Head of Christ

The Day vs Spirit of Haida Gwaii

Eleanor Boathouse at Park 571 vs Jatiya Sangsad Bhaban জাতীয় সংসদ ভবন (National Parliament House)

Juventud de Baco (Bacchus Youth) vs Barges on the Seine

Oath of the Horattii closeup vs Visit hos Excentrisk Dam (Visit to an eccentric lady)

Set 14

Christ Crucified (With Donor) vs St. Francis

Thunder Raining Poison vs Piazza d'Italia

The Grove vs Among the Waves

Pintura Mural de Alarcón vs Sagrada Família stained-glass windows

Noonday Heat vs La Dame à la licorne (The Lady and The Unicorn)

Matroser i Gröna Lund (Sailors in Gröna Lund) vs Gielda Plakatu

Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks vs The Garden of Earthly Delights

Kuoleman puutarha (The Garden of Death) vs Haavoittunut enkeli (The Wounded Angel)

Set 15

i've wasted a lifetime pretending to be me vs da oracle

minus #37 vs Panel from Fun Home

Excerpt from illustrated edition of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner vs La Mort de Marat (The Death of Marat)

The Veil vs Düsseldorf 4 (Museum Kunst Palast)

Capriccio vs Zodiac calendar for La Plume

The official imperial portrait of empress dowager Cixi vs José y Maria

Blooming Lilacs vs Lágrimas De Sangre (Tears of Blood)

An Interlude vs Boy Staring at an Apparition

Set 16

Mermer Waiskeder: Stories of the Moving Tide vs The Gran Hotel Ciudad de México Art Nouveau interior

Unfinished Painting vs To Arms!

Memorial to a Marriage vs The Island

Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn vs A Few Small Nips

Saturn Devouring His Son vs Guernica

Fairy Princesses vs Lamentation over the Dead Christ

Mummy with An Inserted Panel Portrait of a Youth vs Little Girl Looking Downstairs at Christmas Party

Agnus vs The Cup Of His Murders Is Flowing Over And In His Coat Shall Be Many Curses

[delilahgrey14]

୨⎯ An Educational Affair: Chapter 2 ⎯୧

Pairing: Wolverine/Logan Howlett x fem!Reader 

Word Count: 1,701

╰┈➤Summary: After a steamy “encounter” with Logan the week prior, a spark has been formed between the two of you. How will things proceed from here? Will you become a love everlasting or a flame that burned out too fast…

╰┈➤TW: Fluff, References to a Prior Hook-Up (but no actual sex), Pet Names

╰┈➤Author’s Note: Hi again! So I never intended to make this story a series (and in all honesty it can stand alone if you aren’t into smut and don’t want to read the previous entry), but I LOVE this concept. Being a future educator myself, I adore the idea of a passionate romance between you and teacher Logan. All of this to say, I hope that you take the time to read this if you enjoy this concept too! Let me know if you guys want anything else like this! Okay I’ll stop yapping now and let you read, byeeee. 

-D.G.

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

About a week after your previous…”encounter” with Logan, you still found yourself questioning the emotions that followed your time with him. You were just friends with Logan for so long, but in all honesty, you never wanted to be just that, and looking back, did he drop hints of feeling the same and you just doubted that anyone could feel the same way about you? It was all so confusing, and you knew that this could all be answered by a simple, “hey, what do you think about us?”, but who wants to have that conversation ever. And on top of that, Logan wasn’t always the best at talking about his feelings, even with you two being friends for so long. You decided that for now you were just going to play it cool, if he said anything about the other day then you would cross that bridge when you got to it, but for now, not a word. You did decide though to wear that same perfume from the other night, maybe it would spark some…memories. As you make your way to your classroom in the morning from your room in the X-Mansion, you catch a glimpse of Logan doing the same. He shoots a smile in your direction,

“Hey darlin’, how are you doing this morning?” He quickly looked you up and down with a grin. 

“Hey. I'm doing well, and you apparently seem to be doing good too!” You state, commenting on his sudden chipperness this morning. 

He chuckled, then his face morphed from a cheerful expression to a more flirtatious one,

“What man wouldn’t be at the sight of an angel like you?”

You blushed. No man had ever really talked to you like that, and it seemed genuine. When he looked into your eyes, even just for a second, he softened and gazed into your soul like it was a piece of fine artwork. The way his eyes lingered too, they would remain on your lips when you spoke, on your eyes when you listened, or they bounced all over when he would see you approach him, almost as if he couldn’t figure out which part was his favorite. 

“Uh, I…um.” You genuinely couldn’t come up with a better response than that one due to being in absolute shock with the sudden change in his tough guy persona. 

He displayed a mischievous grin, he loved making you all flustered with his words. He motioned for you to follow him into his classroom, you both had a few more minutes before your classes had to start. As he guided you into the classroom, you saw a few of the students beginning to arrive early. You recognized most of them, a lot of them took your literature class, it was always so interesting to see them outside of class time. They were all such obedient students and were so quiet during lectures, that it was always so nice to see bits and pieces of their true personalities. Some were chatty group leaders, others read books or enjoyed drawing. You liked to see students when they were not students yet, but just kids. When they saw you they waved and shouted out a few hellos. When you reached Logan’s desk, he handed you a folded scrap of paper and whispered to you, 

“Read that when you get out of here doll, I’ll be waiting” He smirked, looking like a little kid in anticipation of your reaction to a drawing they gave you.

“Of course, Logan. I mean, Mr. Howlett” You said the last part a little louder than the rest, wanting to set a good impression for the class. 

As soon as the interaction between you and Logan was coming to an end, you looked once again over at the class, it was instinctive to want to keep an eye on them, a trait that came with being a teacher in general, but especially of at times mischievous mutant kids. A few murmurs and giggles circled around the room. 

“Hey kiddos, what's so funny?” Logan asked, puzzled by the response from the students.

You exchanged a look in confusion at the reaction arising from the students. One of the students spoke up for the rest, posing a question for you and Logan.

“So do you guys…like like each other?” A cascade of giggles and whispers fill the room once more. 

Your eyes widened, face flooding with color. You let out a small sigh and then a nervous laugh, usually comments like this didn’t get to you, they were just students after all, but this time they hit a little too close to home with the thoughts that you had been worrying about for a while now. You looked to Logan to see how he would handle the situation, it was his class after all. As always, he played it very cool, despite the split second nervous glance and the quick catch in his voice that you observed right before he addressed his class. 

  “Hmm, interesting question, but how about we stick to history, not matchmaking. Get out your textbooks and flip to page 274” 

You were always so impressed by how smooth his responses could be. Whether to the X-Men, his students, or really anyone, his effortless confidence never seemed to waiver. He could make the most awkward conversation turn casual in a sentence or an expression. Come to think of it though, the only time you had ever really seen him flustered was when talking to you… 

You decided that you needed to get back to your class, it was almost time and your presence alone seemed to be provoking more giggles and distracting the class. As you left the room, you turned your head to see Logan flipping to a page in the hefty history textbook and beginning to read to the class, but not before flashing you one more quick grin and a wink. The class erupted with ‘oooooooh’s and a bunch of accusations on whether you two were getting married or not. Once you made it back to your classroom, you began your lesson on relevant literature, mentioning some of the classics and some more contemporary authors who had written allegories for both human and mutant strife and the battles that the two fought and are still fighting for acceptance from society. You loved teaching literature, it was one of your passions, alongside reading it, but today you couldn’t seem to keep yourself focused. The note that Logan gave you was burning a hole in your pocket and you couldn’t wait until you got a second to read it. Was it a confession? Was it a dismissal of anything coming from your recent…event? You were never more nervous yet excited in your life, and once the kids went off to their trainings or next classes, you were finally able to read the note…

“Hey darlin’, will you meet me tonight in the garden? I have a little surprise planned out for the two of us…wear something nice.  -Logan”

WHAT! You couldn’t believe it, by the looks of it he felt the same about you as you did him! Now you couldn’t wait for night to come. Once the rest of your classes were finished for the day and the sun began to set over the mansion, you made your way to your room and got ready to go meet him. As you slid on your nice, soft green dress and white flats, you couldn’t help but feel a little anxious about this whole date thing. You knew Logan well, and you two were very good friends for a little while now, but what if when you got to know him more he wouldn’t be who you thought he was. Despite this, you made your way to the now moonlit garden. Somehow it was like even the sky knew how important this date was, or like Logan was able to somehow hand place the stars to illuminate a path to the little sitting area that was beckoning you to walk to it. The closer you got, you took notice of a very smiley, very formal looking Logan, tugging at his collared shirt and then returning to his assumed position, staring at you like you were the only woman in the world. 

“Hey there darlin’. I see you read my little note. God, you are stunning!”

You couldn’t help but blush at the comments and looks that he showered you with as soon as you appeared, and just like a movie, the wind provided that little sprinkle of magic that blew your hair and dress just enough to add to the perfection of the moment. He approached you, placing one hand softly, almost as if he wanted to make sure he didn’t break you, and with his other hand, tucked your hair behind your ear. As he looked into your eyes, and you looked into his, the moment became more and more intimate and the world seemed to just fall away. 

“Logan?” You asked, in a quiet tone as to not shatter the serenity around the two of you.

As if he was able to sense the concern in your voice, understanding all the thoughts that were racing through your head about what you two were and what it would mean, he softened his eyes, pulled you into a warm embrace and let out a “shhhhh” before planting a delicate kiss on your lips. You no longer cared about anything you were worried about before, all you could think about right now was that you were wrapped in the strong arms of an amazing man that you hoped you would get to know like you never knew anyone else before. For the rest of the evening, you enjoyed wine and conversation until the two of you were caught in a midnight rain shower. As you attempted to rush to the mansion door, he grabbed your hands and spun you into a dance. Dancing in a moonlit rain was like a scene right out of a romance novel, and you couldn’t  be happier to spend a night like this with a man as wonderful as Mr. Howlett.