#I have so many conflicting feelings towards them

[peachesancreams]

Expanding on the Wives

everyones favorite asexual serial killer and his cute wifey! this one is marked mature as it is his serial killing days. I will be going into all their deaths on the third part so stay tuned~

Alastors wife

Okay so I said Al doesn’t remember how they first met and he doesn’t mainly because I personally headcanon that he has a lot of trauma in accordance with that time. Mainly at the hands of his father, which more then likely is one of the core manifestations of his future MO for being a serial killer, being that he killed ‘bad people’ and never outright leaned toward killing women. Do I think he did? Yeah someone had to have seen something at one point and Alastor isn’t one for lose ends. (I’m sorry guys you’re gonna see a lot of me info dumping, serial killers psyche and the types are a special interest of mine)

They meet when they were kids, him just running around New Orleans learning the streets and how to use the alleys to make a quick getaway. It had helped him more then on one occasion growing up in that day and age, more so when people knew of his parentage. Not that he was ashamed but rather no one Likes Pain much less children, and unfortunately other children will do as they see their parents do. Rosalind had been reading on the steps on the library when he had ran into her. It wasn’t any kind of meet cute considering they got into a argument about who’s fault it was, kids am I right?

They kiddos had decided that they both were ultimately at fault, him for running when Mama said not to rush and Rose for sitting on the steps where people walk. They’d shook on it and had spent the day talking about some radio stories, Alastor eventually telling her about his dream of being a host himself.

They meet up regularly and talked about the many things kids find important. Until Rosalind’s Pa died and her mother had to move them back up north. The saddest part was it all happened so rapidly, Rosalind hadn’t had time to find Alastor to tell him. Her mother kept Rosalind close to her through out the process of the funeral and the move, having heard of the company her daughters been keeping but also to grieve with her daughter.

Thus she moved away and Alastor slowly forgot the face of his friend. He remembers having a dear childhood friend but figured they, like everyone else heard of his heritage and left him.

Meanwhile up north Rosalind was dreaming of going back to the south. She thanked her lucky stars her fathers family lived down in Louisiana still, she sent letters often down to her cousins asking about life and how is dear New Orleans changing?

When she was 18 Rosalind decided to make the choice to move down south. Her mother had gotten a urgent letter from her aunt raving about how her cousins were living in sin and needed a good girl like Rosalind to guide them. Of course this was only partly the case, their cousins mother had actually passed in the fall and one them impersonated her as to fool Rosalind's mother.

They made this plan as to get Rosalind out from her mothers thumb, wanting her to stay close and up north together. It was not that Rosalind didn't love her mother she just didn't want to be smothered by her anymore.

Now for the second and remembered meeting!!

Once secure in the South her cousins had decided to celebrate! What better way to celebrate gaining independence in the 20's then going to Mimzy's club! Bonus her cousins worked there as showgirls(have to make money somehow...) so they were familiar with the atmosphere.

It had been fun, they drank and danced some. It was only when her cousins had been swept onto the dance floor by two different gentlemen that Rosalind finally felt conflicted. Truth be told she had been having mixed feelings all night, but now alone with the gazing of hungry men feasting on her flesh.

Heading to the bar she ordered herself a drink, trying to call the bartenders attention. It was when a smooth voice called above her head that the bartender finally looked over.

"John my good man! My usual drink for me, and one for the lady as well."

Now at this time Al has been establishing himself in his career for a while, I imagine at this time he had actually just scored his first segment. It was some news on event in town and weather reports, he still has a small way to go till he can report on what he really wants. The Local Crime segments, the man who does it now Tyler put people to sleep the way he drones.

He had come to Mimzy's tonight to stalk his next hunt. His radio career wasn't the only one he had been curating and growing with time. He started his murder career with a truly vile man, his father. No one thought much of the hunting accident, his father was a drunk and many had the opinion it had been bound to happen. Filled eith righteous fury, he went after only villainous people. Muggers, rapists, a fellow murderer, and well an unfortunate witness.

Alastor had been eyeing this particular prey for a while, a rapist who preyed on woman. Alastor had watched his prey pick out his own prey for the evening, watched him circle like a vulture. He took notice of the woman, a soft smile on her face but discomfort colored her brows. It stirred something in him, a flash of his mothers face making his grin feel strained.

Alastor doesn't know why and could only put it to words after when he was in Hell. He interrupted his preys hunt to intercept the woman, buying her a drink. The conversation was stimulating, and having her not fawn over him was a nice change. Despite his small role in the station his popularity grows by the day. What can he say, he has a voice made for radio!

They hit it off from there, him quietly offing his prey another night. No need for vermin like him to linger around. After all Ms. Rosalind frequently met him at Mimzy's so there no reason not to keep the place...tidy so to speak.

Rosalind felt like she was in a fairytale, not only was she able to get a job as a poster painter(lots of prints were handmade back then!) but Alastor, a radio host with a career on the rise, seemed to fancy her.

She didn't realize who Alastor was until they'd gotten married, saw a picture of him and his mom he kept in the back of a bible. She also realized he didn't remember her, it made her a little sad but she remembered the bruises he would show up with and forgave him in her heart.

Speaking of, they were only together for like a month before getting married. And the proposal was at his house! He made dinner and lit candles, and made sure to be his most charming.

Rosalind could only say yes to her dear sweet Al. The thing that had gotten people talking is that she hadn't gone home that night. Alastor was never huge on touch but always seemed to gravitate towards her space. That night they'd cuddled on the couch, exchanging small kisses until they'd fallen asleep.

It’s had started the rumor mill but what made it a full function factory was how the wedding ended up being a month later. So many older ladies comforted her saying ‘first babies are always late’, Alastor had gotten a good laugh out of her flushed face after. She had scolded him but couldn't put any heat behind it, weak as she was to his smile.

They never were physical together, it just wasn't something either of them wanted. They didn't desire each other for the body itself, but for the company and conversation. It was a lovely union, Alastor being attentive to her labors praising her work in the house and garden.

Speaking of her garden, since I see the house being his parents before his own. The garden was originally his mothers. It had fallen into deep disrepair since she had passed, as he had no talent for gardening. With his little wife however it had returned to its old splendor.

Where he didn't have a talent for the green, he did take well to his fathers old hunting lessons. Something he found himself indulging in as a married man. Fresh vegetables and herbs along side some fresh venison, made for a wonderfully fresh meal you couldn't find anywhere else. Who knew all it took was one these hunts for him to disappear from her life forever?

[zu-is-here]

Captive

Geno by loverofpiggies

Reaper by renrink

[musical-chick-13]

Fandom be normal about bi women challenge (impossible. apparently.)

[crystalleoi]

i love aus where test tubes fixes the dead mephones

[gch1995]

Imo yoda has got to be one of the worst if not THE worst council member. Although I can understand the hate obi wan gets I can appreciate his character and think he can be redeemed to an extent. He shows sympathy and understanding at times and you can see he does care for anakin, but the cult he was in fucked him up; including his ability to empathise and understand others. Although he follows the council extensively he tries his best to make exceptions for those he cares about. (knowing about anakin and padme but choosing to ignore it because he knows anakin is happy like that, training anakin despite the council not wanting him to, yes I know it was qui gons dying wish but that is apart of it to an extent) the thing is being raised in the order took a massive toll on him and he seeks too much approval from them and doesn’t ever question their ways. He is a heavily flawed character but he does have redeeming qualities. Yoda on the other hand? None. Zero. Absolutely nothing. Nothing, not one thing about his character is redeemable. (Bit of a rant) This little green cunt is happily shown training a group of kids with lethal weapons in his fucked up cult. He is 500 fucking years old but never bothered to even attempt at learning how to speak normally, including when ordering the slave army he controlled. This fucker spent all his life supporting and feeding into the fuckery of the order whilst constantly telling himself it was the right thing. Arrogantly sitting in his little chair allowing slavery, making child soldiers and allowing god knows how much abuse to happen to others. This shit is responsible for approximately 700 years worth of abuse towards god knows how many others. This fucker straight up denies his responsibility for everything he’s done. And it’s not just the abuse. He’s caused billions to suffer because of his arrogance. The thing is, while I can find myself looking at a character like obi wan and thinking

“wow, this character is heavily flawed but has a lot of interesting aspects and I can sympathise with him at times. I like his character and the evolution of how he reacts and responds to situations although it’s sad considering his past and how those actions devolve into something horrific and unhealthy to the point where he becomes the abuser and carries on that line which is sad. Even though there are many things that he is responsible for there are times when it’s not his fault and I can empathise with that without excusing the ones he was responsible for even if they were heavily affected by the things he went through”

But when I look at yoda?

“I hope this cunt burns in hell for eternity for the things he’s done”

Legitimately cannot put into words just how much I hate him. He’s the one who’s heavily responsible for the way obi wan turned out and most of all:

He’s the one who tried to manipulate, gaslight and force Luke to kill his own mess of a father that he created.

I genuinely think he cannot be redeemed (for me, at least. I’ll never forgive that little shit) for everything thing he’s done. (Sorry for the long ask)

Definitely, agree with you! Within a Star Wars canon-divergent AU narrative that actually framed Obi-Wan’s bad choices and flaws as seriously bad ones in the story with stakes that he either learned from and self-improved upon before it was too late and/or didn’t learn from and suffered negative consequences for as a result. Yeah, he loses people he cares about, and, at least in regards to Anakin Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano, that is partially his own fault. However, while I do feel some sympathy for him and realize that he’s flawed, it’s difficult for me to get on board with his character in canon as he is written because he never actually learns from his mistakes on screen, nor are there any real stakes in him making seriously bad choices and not learning in comparison to Anakin and Luke. I don’t hate him, but it’s hard for me to get invested in a character who can always magically get the upper hand in his duels with his enemies or opponents suddenly getting baited, provoked, pushed into a corner, or dumbed down for him to be able to effortlessly defeat them. He also repeatedly gets away with being an asshole in many of the same ways that Luke and Anakin get framed as wrong for and/or suffer consequences for in the OT and PT movies when they don’t learn to be better. Yeah, Obi-Wan loses people he cares about, and at least in regards to Anakin and Ahsoka, that is partially his own fault, but there is no sort of humbling or meaningful development in canon for him.

Still, because, as you said, Obi-Wan also was a victim of Yoda’s cult who did genuinely grow to care for Qui Gonn, Anakin, and Ahsoka, in spite of being really bad at it, he does have a lot of potential to be a better character in canon-divergent/AU material that actually has him facing real stakes and learning to take real self-accountability for his bad choices before getting to earn the hero treatment in the narrative. Within canon and especially his fandom of diehard Kenobist fans, though, Obi-Wan is such a grossly overrated Gary Stu that I’ve genuinely began to find his character more annoying and boring than he was before.

Yoda, on the other hand, really doesn’t seem to have any sort of real conscience or significant guilt for being an asshole. Nor does he really feel like a person at all because the only things he cares about are avoiding the dark side and staying in power. He also has no real backstory, so I don’t understand why he’s become an unapologetically apathetic asshole, learned nothing throughout his life, and remained willfully in-denial for the past several centuries. I don’t understand why he was allowed to be in charge for so long. I don’t understand why he is the disaster of a person he is in the series because there is no development for his character. With Anakin, Obi-Wan, Padme, the rest Republic senate, and the other Jedi they may not be wholly innocent, but I can understand why.

[astrxealis]

read. a translation of the audio drama and i haven't listened to it yet so idk just HOW exactly it is just wow i am. wow

[cloudy-dayys]

thinking things. having thoughts. silly lil ideas are brewin.

[leatherbookmark]

i love, and by that i mean i find it very funny, when fans are one feet in “these guys and those are bad”, the other feet in “actually, they’re all just guys”. like, you can tell by their treatment of the characters that there’s a need for someone to be the bad guy, either in a morally irredeemable way or in the “he’s an asshole and no one likes him” way.

(i’m not necessarily saying there’s a need to redeem and love characters like sect leader yao, who’s more of a tool to show how the society behaves than a fully-fledged character.)

but i’ve noticed that it can be almost like a stepladder, in a way. first step is “maybe jgy wasn’t all that bad! let’s make him sympathetic”. then it depends, but it’s either sms or xy who gets the “well you’re not that evil either” treatment, and the other dude becomes the step that the author doesn’t really want to reach. so for example, jgy and sms are just two dudes struggling to fit in the society, but xy is a violent freak and that’s unacceptable! or: jgy and xy are fun and sexy buddies, but they hate sms’s obsessive slimy vibes, etc, etc

or the way some parts of the ofmd fandom went okay, he’s allowed because there’s something very wrong with his gay head at izzy but Not at calico jack, so he ends up as the ultimate bad guy even though he’s like... as i said. a product of his environment. a guy.

[fionnaskyborn]

in light of recent events: still feeling kinda "huh." about the fact that they canonized what was most likely a formatting error on bungie's part that occurred when the info sheets for noble team were being published as part of the promo campaign way back in the day. as of 2022, it's just. canon now. huh. alright.

[alatusprinz]

asking genshin boys "what are we?"

characters : tighnari , cyno , kaedehara kazuha , scaramouche

genre : fluff

scenario : reader asks them "what are we?" when they had automatically assumed you were aware of their feelings towards you

trigger warning : none except everyone here being short, i hope

tighnari

before you even asked the question, tighnari had a bad suspicious feeling about you today

he lightly sighed while looking over some of his leftover paperwork

even during his "office hours", he couldn't help but notice the "sneaky" glances and pretty much everything he's ever known about nervous body language from you

"you ask the most intriguing questions whenever you're fidgeting like that. tell me, what is it?" he couldn't help the sarcastic tone even if he tried

but his half-joking tone helped you relax, tighnari seemed to have talent at naturally calming you down

okay, here goes nothing.

"what are we, tighnari?" you finally managed to ask him

he answered with absolutely no hesitation immediately

"you? a human if my memory serves. as for me, i happen to be a fennec fox hybrid."

"... tighnari..."

stops writing at your tone- that didn't sound like you were joking

you were being serious? no way...

tighnari looked straight into your eyes, expression conflicted

he furrowed his brows and kept eye contact to see if you were pranking him or something

"...you're joking right?" he asked, half hopeful that he wasn't the one jumping into conclusions here

"...no"

he looked speechless, but then he let out a sigh

"enlighten me on what exactly makes you confused on what our relationship is?" he was sure he made it crystal clear

"we... i don't know, i can't tell. that's why i'm asking you" disbelief was written all over his face at your answer

"i held your hand."

"you did."

"i hugged you before."

"yes?"

"...i gave you flowers i grew myself on numerous occasions."

"yes, i'm keeping them as a bookmark like you suggested."

tighnari's scowl deepened, trying his hardest not to look lowkey offended that you were still confused after all that

how could you even not know, everyone knew from the forest rangers crew so why didn't you?

never mind, you clearly needed confirmation

"... i believe i have romantic feelings for you and just until now i was under the impression that you were aware." your eyes widened at tighnari's blunt words

you noticed the pink flush in his cheeks when he finally had to admit

"geez, want me spell it out for you? need a contract or something?" despite his complaint, tighnari felt content with the way your expression showed clear signs of happiness

how could you not fall even deeper for him, when he looked that adorable with rosy cheeks and slightly downturned ears?

approaches you from his desk and sits next to you

places his hand on yours, lightly squeezing them

"well, how about you then? what am i to you?"

cyno ( general mahamatra )

cyno's face remains emotionless most of the times, everyone who ever met him would agree in a heartbeat

he also had this habit of keeping very, very unwavering eye contact on whoever he was talking to

you've heard many of his subordinates mention how scary and intimidating it was to face his stone-cold stare

and to your absolute horror, he looked the same as ever when you nervously asked something that's been on your mind for days and weeks now

"what are we, cyno?"

"..." almost as if frozen, cyno stayed silent and merely stared at you like he did every day

oh no, this was definitely not the reaction you were ready for

his gaze seemed a bit too heavy on you, especially with how his scarlet eyes were emphasized by the comforting darkness of midnight surrounding you

"i mean- what i meant was-" before you could finish your sentence, he blurted out, loud and clear

"are we not already dating?"

a painful silence followed

it was your turn to freeze now

already dating...? but...

"no?" you blurted out before you could control it

your heart dropped at cyno's normally stoic face clearly flashed signs of sadness

"wait no i mean- but you didn't... ask me out" you barely managed to ask

cyno blinked once, then twice

then finally for the first time, you saw the general mahamatra ever avoid your gaze and cough in a bashful manner

he awkwardly scratched his neck and looked away from you

were you imagining things, or does he look... super nervous right now?

your eyes nearly fell out of your socket, he looks so adorable...??

"i... thought you already knew, i apologize."

finally after a while, cyno fixated his gaze on you again and regained his posture

"i like you, (name). i'd like to date you... if you share my feelings."

god, he really is the prettiest boy, isn't he?

kaedehara kazuha

the moment you mentioned that you wanted to talk, kazuha gently holds your hand and stares lovingly with a soft smile on his face

"of course, love."

it wouldn't matter where he was or what he was doing, he'd always make time for you. always.

when he led you to a place where you could have privacy, your heart fluttered at how his hand never left yours

when you two were alone, kazuha turned at you

nods and looks at you with the most adorable look in his eyes

"yes, what is it, love?"

he didn't look... like this with others right?

"kazuha... what are... we?" you finally gained the courage to ask him

not surprised in the slightest at the question and finally connecting the dots as to why you looked so nervous

smiles and looks at you like you brought the moon to him

and to him, you did.

you brought the entire galaxy, staining, painting his world with the most beautiful of all colors he could've never imagined

which is why he feels slightly guilty that he's left you in the dark about his feelings

"what was my nickname for you, i wonder?" he smiled adorably

"...love?"

"yes, dear?"

you felt your cheeks flush at the unexpected answer, kazuha's soft giggle making your heart skip a beat

"i'm sorry for leaving it unclear." kazuha laces his fingers with yours

you stared into his eyes, unable to control the slight flush in your cheeks

kazuha couldn't stop smiling, just how beautiful and lovable were you? <3

with a soft giggle, kazuha placed a fleeting kiss on your hand

then another one on your forehead

"i'm yours as you are mine, love. if you'll have me."

scaramouche ( kunikuzushi )

"kuni... what exactly are we?"

"huh?"

he was sure he misheard that

he must have misheard that, right? tell him he's right and it was just a prank

outright glares at you when you stay quiet, looking at him all expectedly like you wanted an answer

god, stop looking at him like that... you look too cute it makes him feel all weird and warm inside, stop it-

of course you wanted an answer, everything with scara confused you the more you spent time with him

you were positive friends didn't act like... this

... but he also never confessed or anything of the sort

"you're telling me you're..."

realizes that you're serious, his face flushing in embarrassment and frustration

"god, how dense are you?" he sounded so disappointed, the tone of his voice irked you

"hey, you can't blame me for wanting disclosure, it's confusing!"

"how don't you know? you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

"what am i supposed to know? you don't need to act all weird and just answer like a normal person would- ouch!! what was that for?"

flicks your forehead damn hard

then, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer to him

you lost balance at his unexpected actions and stumbled into his chest

one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in closer to his slender body

you could barely breathe, you confusedly directed your gaze at him

but before you could say anything, scaramouche laced his fingers to yours, holding your hand a little too intimately than you expected

all words died in your throat

smirks at your reaction, holding your hand tightly now

"do you hold other guys' hands like this?"

"what- no!"

"hmm, i wonder why." you could almost hear the smirk from his voice

again, you opened your mouth to say something but was silenced for the second time

"then do you do this with other guys?" his husky voice whispered

grabs the back of your head with his free hand, then leans in

before you knew it, his lips were on yours

it was as though time itself has stopped that moment

you finally eased into his kiss, squeezing his hand back

scaramouche stared at you after pulling away

then smirked way too arrogantly than you'd have liked to see

...like he was proud of himself

deeply satisfied with how baffled and shy you looked, it was even better for him when you turned your gaze away to avoid his violet ones

he grabbed your chin and made you look at him, letting out a low laugh full of satisfaction

"figure out "what we are" yourself now, would you, darling?"

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel and Hobie Fighting for Your Love

Summary: Both men knew they were wildly in love with you. But, as you remain oblivious to their feelings, their conflict strengthens. A war is brewing.

“I won’t let you have her.” Miguel’s eyes gleamed between the velvet sheets of artificial night, the dim glow of the control panel at his back, casting a shroud over his front. Hobie stood before him, gripping his guitar by the neck, resting it over the back of his shoulders. His other hand sat in his pocket, creating the illusion of comfort. Yet, beneath his lax exterior, Miguel could hear his heart pounding. Racing. Hobie drew a breath, looked off to the side.

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make, Big Man.” Eyes half-lidded, he returned to Miguel, dragging his stare. Lethargy. Gave a thin smile. “Though, I suppose that if you knew that – really believed it – you’d know that you don’t stand a chance–”

Miguel’s fists clenched, the sound of his suit squealing beneath his grip causing Hobie’s gaze to flicker. He swallowed, shallow. He knew what Miguel was capable of – had seen how many lives he’d gladly put at risk for you. And he’d do it again if it weren’t for the fact that your friendship to both him and Hobie was what kept them locked in a stalemate; a spectral triangle; Bermuda. An anomaly in itself.

Of course, you had no clue that you’d captured the hearts of the two superheroes. The problem was that they did. Their softened attitude towards you, their care for the most banal of features of your life, their seemingly bottomless investment in your close circle of friends and beyond could have been construed as platonic concern. Friendship of the highest degree.

Once they realised that, individually, they were not alone in the pursuit of your heart, a competition was born. Miguel, ever the organised, careful individual he was, orchestrated your time together, manufactured it, monitored it – poured over it with a fine-toothed comb. Many a night had he spent awake wondering what your accidental brushing of hands had meant, whether the warmth that had flushed your cheeks was the result of his presence or the joke he’d just cracked, your laughter Calliopic. Persephonic.

He savoured every hug you shared, no matter how brief, sewing the patchwork memories into the fabric of his heart, the fragrance soaking into his bones. Your phantom warmth wrapped around him tightly, a second suit, whenever he needed it – needed you. He’d find ways of encouraging physical contact whenever he could, his heart throbbing at the feeling of your face pressed into his chest, your arms around his back as he embraced you.

He wondered what your kisses tasted like. Whether you thought of him when you used that chapstick he bought you, ice cream cake – the aroma of celebration. Because, to him, any moment with you was a celebration.

Miguel would offer to take you home after work. Though, not via ordinary means of travel.

He’d permit you to hop onto his back and slide your arms around his neck, taking you on a spin through the city, bringing you to the highest peaks, the pinnacles of human beauty through neon illuminations making the city sparkle like a sea of jewels. He’d feel his heart stutter as you shifted to get a closer look, your chin almost resting on his shoulder, cheeks just touching as you gasped, took in the scenery. In times like these, he was glad of the mask, of his ability to hide the effect you had on him, how you played his emotions like a string instrument.

“I’ve never seen the city like this before,” you told him, voice gentle at his ear, almost carried away by the wind. Miguel heard you. He strained his every spider sense to do so, no matter the conditions.

“Hobie hasn’t done this with you?” He tried not to let the hope in his tone show. You shrugged. 

“He’s more of a stargazing kind of guy. Though, I’ll let you in on a secret,” your voice tailed off. Miguel leaned in. You whispered. “I think he just doesn’t want to go pivoting off buildings after a long day of already having done so.”

Miguel felt an idea spark in his brain. The start of a new ritual, routine, for just you and him. This would be for him what stargazing was to hobie – he’d bring you closer to the stars than Hobie ever could!

Whenever he’d return you home, whisking you through the midnight air, he’d place you at your door, imply what a good time he’d had. And, as always, you thanked him, eyes crinkling before parting with a hug.

Miguel would wait until you’d enter your apartment and locked the door behind you before leaving, and even then, he’d find himself perched atop a nearby building, waiting for something, anything to happen – for any opportunity wherein he could prove to you he was a hero. In times like these, he wished with a selfish heart that you lived in a more decrepit part of the city.

He realised how much he loved you – adored you – when you fell asleep in his arms after work one evening. He’d been carrying you to your room when you just nodded off. In his grasp, you were tiny, fragile. Weak. The responsibility of protection, the fierce need to watch over you, to possess you entirely, overcame him, overwhelmed every sensibility he’d cultivated throughout his life.

And so, he watched you. Eneamoured himself with your sleeping features, the trust you displayed to have fallen asleep on him. In his mind, this becomes a core memory. One which he turns into a joke between the two of you, his own fragment of sanctity – the beginnings of close friendship – one he’d use to build a statue like Hobie’s. A statue of you. 

Hobie’s eyes narrowed. His nose wrinkled as his lips turned up in a half-sneer.

“You think the odd hug and a second of eye contact constitute as…what? A chance?” He scoffed. “A signifier that she feels for you more than she feels for the common man?” Incredulity danced in hobie’s eyes. Seethed from between his lips. The corner of his lips pulled back, revealed a smirk.

“Get over yourself, Mate. If she were interested, you’d know it by now.”

Of course, Hobie had his own collection of memories regarding you, his own wardrobe of moments sewn together with the thread of mirth to wear and fashion whenever and however he so pleased. He would wear it out to parties, on the town, to the Spidey-Station (as he referred to it with you). Show Miguel that his bare-threaded ribbon was nothing compared to his tapestry.

You and Hobie would wander the city when it was late and dark and quiet, talking about anything and everything that crossed your minds, more often than not leading the two of you to howl with laughter, leaning against each other as tears flooded from your eyes. The story, regardless of how funny it had been, held no weight compared to the joy that sparked in Hobie’s chest whenever you touched, whenever you simply existed with him. Fireworks.

You got him in ways nobody else truly could.

Many times had he come to visit you, only to lay his head in your lap and tell you what was bothering him. Sometimes it was trivial, others it was not. And every time, you’d sit and listen, playing with his hair and the badges on his jacket. And, of course, Hobie did the same for you.

One evening, you’d come banging on Hobie’s door, voice distraught as you called for him. He practically tore the door off its hinges when he heard how distressed you were, and, when he saw you, his heart tore. Your face was tear-streaked and your posture gave the impression of anguish, immortal and unrelenting.

“Hobie,” you cried. “Am–” your sniffing diced your words like meat in a kitchen. “Am I pretty?!”

Hobie blinked, unsure if he’d heard the question. And when he didn’t respond, you wailed.

Hobie knew what this was, for you’d spoken about it at length many times before. Insecurity was a powerful tool, especially when fuelled with sleep-deprivation and alcohol, one which Hobie wished he could destroy. But, while he couldn’t do that yet, he reached for you and took you in his arms. And as you cried into his shoulder, he told you how beautiful you were, how surprised he was that he was able to get a look in with you at all with how many men were chasing after you. And when you tried to say that no such thing had ever happened, he pulled back, gave you a smile, the visage of mischief.

“That’s ‘cause I scared ‘em all away!”

Your veneer cracked, and a laugh sprung from the concrete, the beginnings of life in an apocalypse. What Hobie wanted to say, though, what he nearly said, was everything he felt for you – how no word in the human vernacular could ever even begin to comprehend or compare how ethereal you were to him, how widely his love for you encompassed his very being, everything he said, did and wanted dictated entirely by the thought of you.

He opened his mouth, holding you close again. He could say it all now, while you were drunk – pretend it never happened if the exchange turned sour. But he knew he couldn’t live with your rejection, even if you’d have no memory of it.

He closed his mouth, swallowed the confession that teetered on his tongue like a pill. Consumed his contemplation, obscuring his feelings from you for just a little longer. While he couldn’t say it – not yet – he pulled you closer still, chest-to-chest, one hand at the back of your head and the other wrapped around your waist. A lover’s lock. And he held you. Tightly.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in every universe, (Y/N). I should know.” he murmured. He felt you nestle into him. You’d heard him. He sighed. “I just wished you could see it, too.”

Both men viewed the other as possessing some unattainable advantage, the beginnings of a  fabled proverb blatant in their desire to attain what they thought the other had. What they were both striving for.

You.

For Hobie, the very thing he had prided himself on was his self-believed downfall. Friendship. The two of you had been friends for years, basked in a platonic limelight. Initially, Hobie hadn't needed to worry about how you viewed him, but as he fell deeper and deeper in love with you the longer he knew you, the fact that you’d maintained such a close friendship with him without once giving the indication of romanticism frightened him.

Miguel had only waltzed into your life a few months ago. You didn’t have to see him in a platonic light, didn’t have to bear witness to his deepest faults or his subtlest of quirks. Quite simply, you didn’t know enough about him for his mystique to be shattered.

On the contrary, Miguel saw how close you and Hobie were, how, without saying a word, the two of you knew what the other was thinking. He found your incessant asking of “Do you think Hobie would like this?” when visiting a store to be intimidating. He wondered if you asked the same when you went out with Hobie. If he was the subject of your concern as your best friend often was.

Whereas Hobie knew your every thought and desire, Miguel knew he clutched at straws by comparison, drinking in every detail you afforded him, taking nothing for granted. He’d bring you gifts, stories, regalements from his time out in the field, and his chest would swell whenever you watched him with wide eyes. He hoped, with every fibre of his being, that your astonishment was confined to him and him alone. He prayed that your years of friendship to Hobie was enough to dull any excitement you may feel when he told you similar tales.

This war was simply beginning, no two ways about it. And as they surveyed each other, Hobie and Miguel, weighing up the other’s pull on you, their minds conjoined to speak once and for the last time.

“May the best man win.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[intynidad]

Hey, can you do shapeshifting yandere x reader who's slowly realising that the yandere has replaced their significant other?

I love this idea

I think i got a little carried away with this but i really like how it turned out

TW: yandere stuff, kidnapping (not towards reader), murder (implied), doppelgänger??

LOVE HAS MANY FORMS

It began with subtle shifts, barely noticeable at first. Changes in your partner's attitude that left you with a lingering sense of suspicion. They hadn't done anything wrong per se, but their behavior was undeniably different.

"Hello, darling," they greeted you with a gentle kiss on the cheek. "How was your day?"

It had been a month since this transformation began. "I'm okay, love. How about you?" you responded, trying to navigate this newfound affection and adoration. It was a stark contrast to the cold and distant demeanor they had maintained throughout your one-year relationship. It was as if they had become an entirely different person.

You couldn't deny the warmth that came with their displays of love. It was a welcomed change, albeit one that left you feeling slightly perplexed. The shift in their behavior raised questions in your mind. What had sparked this sudden outpouring of affection? Was it genuine, or was there something more lurking beneath the surface?

As the days turned into weeks, you found yourself torn between embracing this newfound connection and cautiously questioning its authenticity. A part of you cherished the tenderness and closeness you now shared, relishing in the affectionate gestures that had previously been absent. But another part of you couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that something wasn't quite right.

Your suspicions were confirmed when you feigned sleep, only to be jolted awake by peculiar noises emanating from the basement. Intrigued and filled with trepidation, you summoned the courage to investigate, guided by the unnerving sounds that reached your ears. As you approached the basement door, your heart raced in anticipation of the truth that awaited you.

Pushing open the creaking door, your eyes widened in disbelief as you were greeted by an unexpected sight. Before you stood your partner, bound to a chair, their expression one of fear and vulnerability. And next to them stood an eerie doppelgänger, an exact replica of your beloved but radiating an unsettling aura.

Caught in this bizarre confrontation, you couldn't help but eavesdrop on their conversation, your heart sinking with each word uttered. Your partner, weakened and emaciated, pleaded for their release, swearing to keep the encounter a secret.

"Please let me go, I swear I won't tell anyone about this!" your partner pleaded desperately, their voice laced with fear and desperation. Their frail form seemed to have withered, contrasting sharply with the stronger, more imposing figure standing beside them.

"Let you go and then what?" the doppelgänger retorted, their tone dripping with anger and resentment. "So you can continue treating them like trash? I won't allow it."

“I don’t even like that idiot!, i just date them for a bet, I don't care if you wanna date them, do it as yourself and let me go!”

Frustration and confusion welled up inside you as you grappled with the shocking revelation unfolding before you. Your real partner, bound and vulnerable, claimed their indifference towards you, confessing that they had only entered into the relationship as part of a bet. The words stung, piercing your heart with betrayal and hurt.

"Don't you dare call them an idiot!" the doppelgänger's voice rang out, filled with fierce protectiveness and devotion. "They are the most incredible person in this world. I love them more than you could ever comprehend."

The weight of the situation bore down upon you, leaving you torn between conflicting emotions. The one you had trusted had revealed their true nature, while the doppelgänger stood as a beacon of love and adoration, professing an unwavering devotion to you.

The doppelgänger's voice, filled with anguish and resentment, pierced through the tense air once more. "I don't understand why they would choose you! I have assumed countless forms in the past, and none of them caught their interest. But you, you managed to captivate their heart effortlessly, and yet you seem unaffected. How dare you!"

The sound of their scream made you stumble backwards and accidentally stepped a little to hard on a Wooden plank that made a small noise ,it was small yet enough to caught the attention of both of the persons on the other side of the door.

“Ho-honey is that you?” The doppelgänger voice sound scared

“HELP ME Y/N IM HERE HELP” your partner voice boomed into your ears as the door opened

Your eyes went to the doppelgänger to your partner to the doppelgänger again and the cycle continues for what felt like an eternity

“STOP LOOKING AROUND LIKE AN IDIOT AND HELP ME OUT” your boyfriend pleaded in despair

You looked again at the doppelgänger eyesore they filled with fear but you knew that what they fear wasn’t they getting caught…

“How much did you hear?” The doppelgänger spoke with a shake voice

Small tears started to form in the corner of your eyes “one year … and it was all a bet” you said looking at the ground

“AND THAT WHAT YOU TOOK OUT OF THIS SITUATION,SHUT UP AND HELP ME OUT” your partner said with panic

After a moment or maybe an hour of silence you decided to lift your head and look at both of them

“Honey…” you said but this time looking at the doppelgänger

“When you finish whatever you have to do, please come back to bed, is cold without you” and gave your new “partner” a small kiss on the lips

“Yes…yes love i promise ill be quick” small happiness tears started to fall from your partner eyes it would have been a romantic scene if it wasn’t for your ex screaming on the background

“YOU STUPID WHORE, YOU ASSHOLE I HOPE YOU DIE YOU SELFISH BI-” A hit in the head and they were knocked out

“Are-are they dead?” You asked with a small amount of fear

“No, don’t worry i will not expose you to such things” your new partner gave you a kiss on your hands “ go to sleep love, ill be up in a second”

You gave one last look at the limb body of your ex significant other…and walked away

Later that night you were sleeping on your bed when a pair of warm arms hugged you from behind while whispering praises and promises of love

And for the first time, you believe them

——

Your partner slowly started to change after that day, to the rest of they world they just started to experiment with hair dye and contact lenses but you knew that they wanted to love you as their true self, and you were eager to let them love you

[usedpidemo]

Plaid (Newjeans Hanni)

Hanni Pham is just about the perfect student: consistently top of the class, perennial dean’s lister, well liked among her teachers and peers, an active participant for every co-curricular and extracurricular activity, and overall just a good person to be around.

And you? You’re the exact opposite. Slow, lazy, constantly in self-isolation—always cutting classes whenever you can, struggling with just about everything. You’re surprised you’re still even attending this university as is, despite the countless talks with your professors.

Which is why when she greets you a good morning as soon as you run into each other in the hallway, the books you’ve been carrying crumble like Jenga blocks. 

She immediately jumps into action, picking up your dropped books in record fashion to hand them back to you. The cute, irresistible smile etched on her lips is icing on the cake. 

“Here you go!”

Admittedly, you feel some type of way about Hanni. It’s conflicting, constantly changing. A little bit of jealousy because she’s the student you wished you were, but also a bit of allure because of how surprisingly attractive she is. You’ve never felt any kind of attraction towards anyone in college besides her. And she turns out to be an exchange student, and you’ve never seen anyone with the combination of cuteness and beauty before she came along.

You take a moment to look into her eyes. Those gentle, warm irises perfectly capture the kindness emanating from her—God, why is she so damn irresistible. It isn’t that you’ve been giving her the cold shoulder, but you’re merely apathetic and neutral with her. Outside of the same brief rote exchanges—good morning, what’s your lunch, what are you doing after class later—you and Hanni have been, for the most part, worlds apart. 

The universe is doing its part to bring you two together, because you can feel it. Tension so thin, you can cut it with a knife. 

She never lets up. 

She wants to know you.

“I-uh, thanks,” you say, suddenly averting her gaze to your locker instead as you snatch your books back, then in the other direction. Anywhere but her eyes. 

Fuck. She keeps staring, leaning her head forward with a lively smile, her hands behind her back, waiting for you to continue. She talks with childlike passion and energy, “We have an exam in accounting later, did you study for it?”

“N-no,” you say, almost stuttering through the simplest of responses, as though your tongue is wrapped up in itself. It should be embarrassing for you to act this awkwardly in front of a sweet girl like Hanni. Mentally punching yourself to be better. It never happens. “Not exactly, I kinda forgot.”

More like you willingly neglected your studies for a nightlong gaming session. It’s an addiction.

Her eyes widen with amusement, as if she sees through the lie. Does she? You don’t know. Maybe she does. There’s so many layers to her that you never bothered to uncover. That’s the price for your negligence and decision to be a lone-wolf. 

Hanni reaches her hand into the pocket of her dress shirt and presents a folded up sheet of paper. “Then this with you. Just make sure to hide it underneath the test paper, got it?”

From bewilderment to amazement—your face goes through every emotion, unsure of what would perfectly suit the situation. She doesn’t know you well enough to casually entrust you with a cheat sheet, yet she’s perfectly fine handing it to you over her presumed friends, which includes members of the student council. 

Initially, you hesitate, but she’s steadfast in her position, as if you receiving this paper is doing her a favor. You ultimately fold and accept it from her. She grins as you tuck the sheet away in your coat.

“See you later!” she says, before walking past you to her next class. You slowly turn around, watch her leave and rejoin with her friends, one of whom is the student council head. Alone with nothing but your thoughts, you put the strange encounter aside and get moving again.

—————

The next time you see Hanni again is during world history class, right before lunch. Your rather senile professor, who doesn’t give a shit that half the class is either fast asleep, on the verge of, or doing everything else apart from listening to his monotonous lecture, drones on about Napoleon’s European conquest for the second week in a row. Even the patient student that you are, you’ve grown tiresome of it, especially with the dreadful pacing. You’re way behind schedule. At the very least, he seems to be paid well, so there’s a little silver lining.

Looking at her, you wonder if the gods were in a good mood on the day they made her. She’s as enthusiastic about the topic as if it's her first time hearing it. Listening to every single word intently, taking down notes furiously, taking pictures of the presentation even though she has it projected on her laptop because why the fuck not—she was born to be the teacher’s pet. Compare that to half of the class: even the supposed top student in the class is barely struggling to stay awake, clinging to the edges of her seat out of fear she could collapse from sheer boredom. It’s a miracle, really, that there’s at least one student showing this much interest.

The notion creeps up in your mind: Hanni’s right over there, without a care except for the lecture at hand. Your phone rests on the edge of your chair. Her smile, her shine—you want to keep more than just a mental image of her. Something to actively remind you that someone like her exists. It’s creepy, but it doesn’t matter when no one’s looking, especially not her. Only you. 

Little by little your hand crawls toward the phone. Then the moral compass inside you resists. You don’t know this girl—not in the slightest. Just because of a simple kind act doesn’t mean you’re completely smitten over her. Most importantly, you remember one important point about Hanni: she’s not from here. She’s an exchange student with a one year contract set to expire in—wait for it—two weeks. The semester ends before then, and it’s reasonable to assume she’ll be gone from your life just as quickly as she entered it once the page turns.

Right as the inner conflict inside your head reaches a fever pitch, the bell rings. On one side, you’re celebrating this moral victory; on the other, you’re punching a mental wall for not pulling the trigger. Before the professor even realizes the alarm already sounded off, all the students have filed out of the room in quick succession. 

You briefly consider searching for Hanni in the sea of students making their way around the halls, but seeing that she’s disappeared into the crowd, you decide to let her go. Perhaps the logical side of your brain might be telling you the truth: that she will be a mere afterthought to you after today.

But then there’s the unshakeable, unceasing part of you that refuses to give in. Even as you eat lunch at the corner of the cafeteria, you’re still trying to single out Hanni to no avail. A hopeless situation gradually growing worse with each passing hour. 

A not so subtle tap on your shoulder. Look to your side and there’s your angel, appearing at your hour of need. Hanni.

“Hey! Still have the cheat sheet I gave you earlier?” she asks. A few meters behind her is the student council president, Minji, and her secretary, Danielle, engaged in their own conversation, presumably accompanying their friend.

You scramble to find the folded piece of paper somewhere in your bag, forgetting that you’ve tucked the sheet away deep in your coat. Panicked, you jump from your seat to search within your clothes, still unable to detect its tiny presence hiding in your jacket. “Shit—”

“I can give you another copy if you lost it—”

“I’m sure it’s in here somewhere!” you interject, tonally desperate, repeatedly swiping your fingers on the same pockets with no success. 

Eventually, you frisk the deepest pockets of your coat, feeling something rough on the edge of your fingertips. Reeling it out, you present a folded piece of paper in front of her. It should be a small win, but it’s an embarrassing loss, especially right in front of Hanni.

“Good to know you still have it!” she says, grinning from ear to ear. You’re certain she was trying to suppress her chuckle the entire time, and based on her toothy smile, it’s not very difficult to jump to that conclusion. “Even if you didn’t lose it, I still would have given you another copy if you wanted it.”

“Hanni.” You turn to face her, a complete juxtaposition from her jolly, outgoing personality. Your expression looks stern in searching for answers. “Why are you like this? We barely know each other.”

Surprised by your sudden change in attitude, she takes a step back, pausing to contemplate her answer. Her usually bright demeanor gradually changes to reflect yours. Her smile remains, except it's hiding a little gloom, a little concern. “I just wanted to be kind to you. I saw you were struggling in some of the classes we shared and thought you needed some help. It’s only right to do the right thing, you know?”

In that moment, you regret showing a bit of attitude. Hand to your chest, as guilt occupies your heart and mind. “Oh.” You pause, stare back into those wanting eyes. “I-I guess you were really being kind to me, huh?”

“I don’t make fake answer sheets, let alone give them to people I dislike.” She leans forward, causing you to stagger back, bumping your thighs against the cafeteria stool. “And I like you.”

Your mouth gradually opens, trying to figure out what to say, how to react. Only air and silent noises come out. You genuinely have no idea how to respond to this sudden revelation. It’s not like you’re a popular name among the student body, let alone the ladies; if anything, you were mostly a ghost, only coming into light when needed—and in most cases, when the professors would ask you questions about the topic at hand. 

Blinking rapidly, you needed to do a double take. “Say that again?”

“I like you.” She repeats it for you. Twice. With increasing emphasis on those three words to drive the statement home. “I. Like. You.”

Let that sink in. You still don’t know what to say. “I—”

“We can talk about this later in the afternoon. Meet me at Room 204, okay? I’m in a rush and I just wanted to briefly check on you.” You watch her tone revert back to its beaming, bubbly self with each sentence. Before you even have an opportunity to say anything back, she rejoins her friends and walks away again, waving at you while shouting, “Remember what I told you about the cheat sheet!”

—————

Aside from accounting, where you followed Hanni’s advice down to the letter, the rest of the afternoon kept your thoughts mostly preoccupied with Hanni’s departing words. The two classes you shared with her during that period were opportunities to stare at her, watch her from a distance. Three simple words, and yet there’s layers upon layers to uncover. What did she mean when she said them? You barely interacted for most of the semester, yet she still considers you likable. During those long, painful hours of waiting, your curiosity and anticipation slowly built up.

And then, the bell rings at the top of the seventeenth hour. Time to find out.

While students file out in every direction, celebrating their regained freedom, you make your way through Room 204. Peeking from the outside, you see no one inside, not even Hanni. It looks about the same as when you left it—messy. You’re anxious, hesitant, cautious. There’s a part of you that believes she’s merely playing you in front of her friends, and that she might stand you up as a joke. And you have no reason to believe she genuinely likes you, apart from that one simple act of kindness from earlier.  

For the next few minutes, in those crucial moments of waiting, all your thoughts and presumptions begin waging war inside your head. You have one foot on the door, with the other looking to go home. It’s not the first time you’ve been stood up; you can write an entire thesis report going over each terrible experience and the feeling of bitterness and pining that followed. At the very least, should push come to shove, this wouldn’t be the worst of them—not even bottom five.

So you pace back and forth in front of the designated room, look at your phone, followed by your watch. Again and again. Minutes, stretching to hours, into days, into a slow eternity. You’re starting to lose hope.

Which is why when she comes across you in the hallway, you feel like a kid finding love for the first time all over again. You’re not even trying to hide your excitement. The stunned and relieved expression etched on your lips, the growing shade of red across your face, the hitch in your arms as they reach out to her because you couldn’t believe she would follow through on her word—

And when she flashes her toothy smile, her mouth speaking words you end up missing—you just want to take her by the hand and run away with her.

She ends up calling your name. Twice, thrice, a dozen times—you’re not exactly sure, but you can definitely lose yourself to the sight of Hanni’s presence over and over. With a hand held on the door, she’s telling you to join her inside, saying she has something important to share with you. At least that’s the very gist of it.

At her request, you leave your bag on one of the vacant seats; you end up sharing the same chair. The tension is palpable. Hanni paces back and forth in front of the desk, quietly ruminating, hiding her concerned look away from your eyes. A wakeup call for you that this is a serious matter. You have a lot of unanswered questions, but seeing the gravity of the moment, you conclude that it’s better to keep them to yourself a little while longer—at least once all the heavy air has been cleared. You stand there awkwardly, waiting for her to make the first move.

“I just want to say,” she suddenly says, still turned away from you, long streaks of dark hair covering her eyes. What they can’t hide is the frown on her lips. “I’m going to miss this place. All the profs, all the activities, but most importantly, all the people. Including you.”

“Me?” You’re not surprised at that statement; you’ve assumed she wasn’t going to be here for the long haul, considering she’s an exchange student. What does confuse you, is how she specifically singled you out from everyone else. You barely know each other. At best, you only teamed up for two group projects, which she mostly did the carrying for. For you, the bar has been set very, very low. “How come me?”

Hanni finally faces you, using everything in her willpower not to cry. Her usually lively eyes twinkle with tears waiting to be shed, but she refuses. Not even the warmest of her smiles can hide the somber and pained expression she has looking at you. “Most of the boys here are—excuse my language—a bunch of fucking jackasses and perverts.”

Not exactly wrong; if you weren’t part of an athletics club or hanging out at bars after class, you were likely to be one of their victims. You know this because you are numb to their asshole behavior. The girls would usually retreat in a subtle manner once they knew their presence, which wasn’t difficult to pinpoint.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “You’re right. I hate their guts too—”

“But you’ve been kind to me from the moment I introduced myself, you know?” Hanni begins to walk toward you, rendering you even more frozen in place. “Even our brief good mornings meant quite a lot. It made me feel welcome.”

You didn’t really think much of it, unaware that it would have this profound of an impact in someone else’s life. And why would you—it’s a habit you’ve been taught since when you were seven. For a moment, you’d think she was being very melodramatic, as if she were practicing theater.

“And—” she pauses, takes a deep breath, “Let’s be honest; I know you like me too.”

When she drops those final words, your eyes pop. Wide. Enough to stretch through your forehead and fly up. It leaves you completely paralyzed. A whole truth bomb dropped just like that. She cusps your hands with hers; you freely allow her. Whether it's from utter shock or the desire to hold her like this for so long, you don’t know, but you definitely want to let this moment linger.

“I-I—” 

You can feel her hot breath against yours, her face inching closer, your bodies almost entangling into something passionate and warm. There’s nothing stopping you both from finally bridging the gap that’s been separating you for the longest time. Hanni, the charming, popular girl that everyone either wants to be friends with or to be her, seemingly knows you like a book read from left to right. More importantly, she likes you. Tells it straight to your face. 

Her arms snake around your neck, leaving you even more suffocated. No longer in her grasp, you find your hands pressed around tiny, fit waist. Her glinting eyes encourage you to let those innermost desires run wild. The suppressed thoughts you’ve been hiding slowly pull you under their influence. You shouldn’t be doing this, yet they’re right there: those sweet, puckery, inviting lips, waiting to be marked, yours and yours alone.

Instead, you end up in a tight embrace. It’s not as romantic as you envisioned. If anything, it’s bittersweet. Deep down, this is her way of saying goodbye, and you’re only realizing what this is really all about. An opportunity to bid farewell on amicable terms. It’s almost cruel that your first substantial interaction outside of school-related activities has to be like this.

You hold on to her tighter. She does the same. You’re unwilling to let go. She doesn’t want to, either.

Resting her head on your shoulder, Hanni whispers in your ear the most calming and soothing tone, “I’m going to miss you.” 

You don’t believe you’ve earned the right to say those words back. So the only thing you can do is hold on to her the best you can—for dear life.

Outside, the setting sun is gradually fading away, and so does the natural light it brings. You can stay here, from dusk to dawn, comfortable in this position if she wants to. 

She opens her mouth again, and she continues to hum and speak melodies in your ear. “I have one thing I want to do before saying goodbye. Can you help me?”

Without an ounce of hesitation, you nod, saying, “Anything for you.”

Hanni breaks the bear hug then leads you along with her to the desk. With the other hand, she lifts it back to her waist, placing herself in a new and unexpected position: her back arched against the table, with one knee bent beside yours. Her eyes glinting with utter desire, she couldn’t be any more obvious. 

Before the realization fully dawns on you, she does the unthinkable. 

A simple irresistible kiss, pulling you down by the collar of your coat. Next thing you know, you have Hanni’s back crooked further against the edge of the desk, your lip-lock turning more and more passionate. Nothing overly dramatic and sentimental—only passionate love making.

She wants it. Deep down, you want it too.

“I can’t—” you mutter, drawing your breath, pulling your lips away. But not your hands. It’s in Hanni’s custody now. Your coat halfway down your arms, she sneakily tosses it aside. “Not here.”

Surprised by your sudden change of heart, she leans forward, her fingers now pulling at the hem of your sleeves. “What’s wrong?”

“I mean—look around, Hanni. We’re in a goddamn classroom.” 

If only you could throw your arms around in protest to prove a point, but even that wouldn’t save you now.

“This is what I wanted from the start.” Hanni pulls you back in, her eyes hypnotic and irresistible, shining like gold. “You wanted this, too. Don’t play.”

“Hanni—”

She stops you right in your tracks with an impulsive peck on the lips. Curling them through the kiss to form a smile, she murmurs, “Don’t think, just do.”

And you do just that. Kiss her, make out with her as if your life depended on it.

Hanni’s lips taste like they’re meant for you. Sweet like honey. Divine. Heavenly. If it were possible, you’d want to choke on your own breath holding onto them for dear life. Not to mention the hums coming out of her mouth, those subdued mewls that she releases whenever you bite on her bottom lip—you can’t help but sink back in whenever you consider the thought of letting go.

There’s no reason not to; you have this pretty little thing, Hanni Pham, all to yourself. Even your body knows how rare of an opportunity this is. With one hand quietly slipping between her pencil skirt, you navigate your way to the depths of her heat without breaking the kiss. In a flash, she throws her head back, snapping her mouth wide at the new sensation. All that cool, calm expression, gone in an instant.

“Fuck—”

“God, Hanni. You’re so wet.” 

She grabs your wrist—that mischievous hand newly buried in her pussy—and urges you further, “Keep doing that. That felt so good.”

And God, does everything about finger fucking her feel incredible. The satisfying squelch of her cunt as your digits press against her warmth, the continuous twisting of her features as she crumbles from the pleasure, leaving her neck exposed for your lips to newly conquer, adding to the overwhelming sensations coursing all over Hanni’s body. Seeing her, this usually larger than life figure, fall under your spell pushes you even further. 

Like Hanni, you’re still young; there’s only pleasure and the thrill of moving too fast and reckless. One day you’ll end up regretting this, ruminating over memories that could ultimately end you before you even started, but you’d rather take this memento than leave with nothing at all. 

You’re both already past the point of no return. Hanni’s underwear hangs casually between her ankles while they’re wrapped around your waist, her neck filled with bite marks and deep shades of red that no piece of fabric can hide. Her dress shirt is partially unbuttoned, revealing a white camisole desperately seeking to be removed, and if that wasn’t enough, she’s made the crucial decision not to wear a bra today.

Fuck, that bulging ache in your pants is so agitating—both physically and mentally. 

“Wait,” you say, suddenly turning around and locking the door quickly, letting her panties fall freely to the floor. It proves to be a little struggle when you unknowingly use your slick-coated hand over your dry one. 

“Should have done that first,” she playfully chides, chuckling at you.

Returning to her with your drenched fingers pointed in the direction of her pussy, you respond, “Should have chosen anywhere but the classroom.”

“You’re saying you’d rather do this during our Christmas party?” Hanni lifts an eyebrow, taunting.

“Only if they allowed it.”

“And all those cheat sheets I handed you, all that for nothing?”

“Shut up. Didn’t need them, anyway.”

Hanni can’t help but burst into boisterous laughter. There’s no use locking that door now.

Even with the little time spent together, there’s clearly magic between you, the signs of what should have been a beautiful relationship. If only you both knew that. But now’s not the time to go over what ifs—only what’s next.

She stops you right as you ready yourself, grabbing the top button of your shirt. Using only her expressive eyes for approval, you steadily watch on till they’re completely undone. You’re left with the job of removing your undershirt and helping her toss your clothes aside. On the other hand, you’re in no rush to undress her completely; she’s a perfect mess as is with her unbuttoned uniform, her panties somewhere between your feet, and her taut nipples poking through the fabric. 

And Hanni wants it that way. You’ve barely entertained the idea of running your fingers through her skirt when she interrupts your train of thought. 

“You haven’t done it yet,” she says looking at your greedy, grubby hands, directing them with hers underneath her garment. “Make me cum. Please.”

As if you had any other intention. Maybe with something better, but that’s usually saved later—and for good reason.

You’re trying so hard not to curse through gritted teeth. Fuck. This. Damned. Skirt. Admittedly, it’s cute and perfectly suits Hanni; it adds to the appeal of seeing this usually meek, well behaved student asking for something more than naughty—it’s downright criminal—but you need to see what makes her really tick. Hanni’s clicking her tongue, growing more frustrated by the second than you are, anxiously waiting for you to come through. Carefully, you push a finger into her, then another, moving in delicate and systemic motion.

Then, it all clicks in perfect harmony:

She releases this pent-up moan from the depths of her chest, as though it were a heave of relief. The initial plunge from earlier makes plunging between her slick folds so much easier. You take a moment to let the satisfying sound sink in: the wet slop of her cunt as it reflexes against your fingers, unable to keep yourself from moaning with delight before you slowly draw back, then in again. 

From there, everything takes care of itself.

Hanni dissolves into a whimpering mess, under the hypnotic spell of your fingers fucking her pussy in tempered, intricate strokes, effortlessly and handily. Body shaking, desk quivering under the pressure of her weight, her hands struggling to find reprieve from the overwhelming sensations thundering all over her. She can barely breathe, let alone find the words to speak. Only quick curses. Each and every word so gratifying to hear.

“Fuck—fuck—its—its—so—good—more—”

You don’t give her any breathing room. In the brief moments when you lax, with your fingers either motionless deep within her cunt or pull back, leaving marks on her inner thighs with her own slick, you’re all over her, gently fondling her and kissing her. Half her uniform’s sleeve has fallen down her shoulder, giving you more of her body for you to claim as your own. With every little touch and thing you do, you continue to set her nerves ablaze with nothing to quench her lust.

It’s no wonder she’s such a teacher’s pet; she loves to follow along without any resistance or objection. A fact proven when you lift her undershirt to expose her taut nipples, and your free hand impulsively takes them. You give her left tit a twist, and from her needy lips comes a sharp whine. 

“Do it again,” she says, panting, nodding her head wildly, visibly overwhelmed. She doesn’t know what hit her, but it feels fucking amazing.

Of course, you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity, even if she hadn’t asked. Hanni’s body, all yours for the taking. Not everyone can say they fucked the top girl in the class in the classroom of all places.

And you let your body do all the talking. No amount of words nor their depth can adequately describe the sensation of tasting and feeling her figure. First your free fingers, then your tongue—they make their mark on her chest while your other digits crawl to a lazy pace inside her cunt. Not that she minds—she’s too engrossed in the blissful sensation to remotely care. Her hands find their way around your neck and back, scratching and digging away at your skin in an attempt to pull you even closer.

It aches—but not as much as the ache in Hanni’s core. As you inch her closer to climax, you can feel her tremble, propping her head on your shoulder now as her outlet, whimpering, crying, mewling. “Almost—” she mumbles, before she’s caught up again in the sea of her own pleasure. Knowing this, the rest of your body moves like it’s second nature. Faster and deeper, you continue your endless assault on her body, until—

Suddenly, Hanni freezes up, moans over your ear as a moment of silent calm follows. In the succeeding moments, you both remain clung together as her orgasm hits. And by god, it hits her like lightning. Sharp and brutal. Fingers stuck deep in her core as she gushes, quivers all over them. It lingers, leaves you both incapacitated.

Minutes that could easily stretch into hours, stuck on a desk, basking in the afterglow of unadulterated bliss. Eventually, she lifts up her head and lets out a deep breath of relief. Her hands remain entangled with your hair as she pulls herself back. A scope down gives you a short but telling extent of the damage: copious amounts of slick dripping on the edge of the table, down to the floor. You’re a little terrified of what your fingers will look like.

Through half-lidded eyes, Hanni flashes you a smile as she slowly realizes the mess she has become. Cheeks flustered with embarrassment, she quickly pushes down her undershirt, but they can’t hide her nipples’ rigidness. You’re both grinning at each other like mischievous pranksters. Something tells you that despite everything, it’s not enough. The fire in her eyes and the confidence in her laugh says it all: she’s looking for more trouble, and one way or another, you’re gonna be her accomplice.

Before you can even utter a word, you both hear a knock on the door. Through the casted silhouette, you recognize that it’s a janitor. Spent energy be damned, you’re brought back to reality. You quickly turn to Hanni in a state of alarm, “Shit. I told you not told to do this in the classroom—”

Reaching out her hand, she replies, “It’s gonna be fine! Give me my bag and I’ll get us out of this.” 

You immediately rush Hanni her bag, and while you hastily put yourself back in one piece, she grabs a pack of tissues to clear all evidence of your little escapade. In no time, you’ve somehow returned the place in nearly the same position you found it. Only one difference: her panties are left on the floor, and she hasn’t bothered to pick them up.

“Wait, your underwear—” you tell her as you pick them off the floor. She’s already on the edge of the classroom, opening up one of the windows to escape. It’s not a suicide jump; only someone with brittle bones could possibly break their legs doing the drop, and there’s really no other choice: run away with her or find yourself at the dean’s office on your first day back after the holidays.

“Keep it if you want.” Hanni shoots you a playful wink and a cheeky grin as she lifts one leg over the open window. “We don’t have much time, so unless you wanna explain yourself to the profs—”

“I’m already in trouble regardless,” you reply as you join her on the way out. You didn’t need to think about what to do. “Got eight missed phone calls from my fam. I’m fucked regardless. Might as well make the most of our time while we’re here.”

—————

A/N: Happy new year! I never thought I’d write something for NewJeans, but never say never. Hanni was easily the scene stealer for me at the Asia Artist Awards, she and the other members constantly waved at us from beginning to end, and they were killer performers! I can see why she’s so adored; she’s both talented and adorable. It’s been difficult getting back into writing after one month away, so this definitely is a feel-out attempt, but I hope it’s still good anyway. Here’s to the coming year and hopefully more to come. Thanks for reading!

P.S. I sincerely want to take this moment to apologize for my slow production. As previously mentioned, I got hit with a severe case of the flu, which kept me down for almost two weeks. Since recovering, I’ve been experiencing weird cases of brain fog, where sometimes my mind ‘isn’t there’ and it feels like my body’s been moving on autopilot. I’ve been getting healthier since then, but the so-called absentmindedness still remains. I’ve tried writing a few times since then, and it honestly feels like I’ve forgotten how to write. Hell, this fic was supposed to be out on Christmas day and I’ve struggled to put it together! It’s been very rough. I don’t wanna make promises because I’ll just end up breaking them, so I’ll just say that I’m trying my damned hardest to get back to that level I had been moving before my momentum stalled. I always want to deliver the best possible fic for you to enjoy. Thank you so much for being patient with me as always <3

[angelltheninth]

Argenti Going From Knight to Your Lover

Pairing: Argenti x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, royalty, falling in love, denial of feelings, first kiss, a bit suggestive, protectiveness, duels, knight!Argenti, princess!Rader

A/N: You already know I love knights. And now we have a red one and a blue one. Perfect.

Your personal knight!Argenti is loyal to a fault. He would never even entertain the idea of leaving you to be under someone else's care, no one can protect you better than he can. As a demonstration of his skill he will beat every other other knight who wants to take his place. If you keep an eye on him during his duels he knows he can beat anyone and he dedicates all his victories to you, his lovely princess.

He would never peak at you. Even if you call him into your bedroom and tell him to wait for you then knight!Argenti will stand there with his back turned to you at all times. He's beaten many men who have expressed lewd thoughts towards you, challenged them to duels to defend you and your honor. But then why is he struggling lately? Why does h want to turn around and look at you? Why does he have dreams where you're moaning his name? It's shameful behavior for a knight, yet he can't stop these thoughts, or his growing feelings.

Knight!Argenti doesn't have an easy time when you call him out on his strange behavior. He's been distancing himself as far as he could while still able to protect you. It's not like can say he's been lusting over you, can he? That kind of thinking would get him so much trouble. He already feels like he's in trouble under your questioning eyes, your wondering hands pressing over his armor and looping around his neck to he can't run from you anymore.

This was a losing battle from the moment he saw you, from the moment your eyes locked on each other. His hands are shaking as he grasps onto your dress, conflicted if he should follow his heart or his sense of duty. His heart prevails in the end and knight!Argenti finally kisses you. He knows he is your first kiss so he wants to make it memorable. His hands cradling your cheeks may not be the most comfortable with all of his armor still on, but trust him it's better this way. If his armor started coming of your first kiss won't be the only first of yours he takes.

[drdemonprince]

have you defined the meaning of “white woman brain” anywhere and if not, can you? /gen

Many Black and brown feminist writers have discussed this phenomenon and I encourage you to seek out a lot of writing about this subject, because there are a variety of perspectives, but to distill it, white woman fragility brain is a phenomenon that is not exclusive to either white people or to women, but is especially common among those who can weaponize white womanhood, and it consists of the following qualities:

A view of oneself as a helpless victim that is constantly in threat of being attacked, especially by strangers (even though statistically, this is not the case).

A refusal to consider oneself as capable of doing harm to others, especially a lack of consideration toward others' body autonomy or consent. (even while being highly concerned about one's own autonomy and consent).

A generally passive or passive-aggressive orientation toward the world: seeing oneself as a romantic or sexual object to be approached, but never wanting to initiate (or feeling that one never can), never feeling comfortable directly communicating displeasure or one's desires, believing that others instead must guess at it. (and then resenting people when they don't, but never expressing it).

A tendency to cry, excessively berate oneself, complain about being made to feel "unsafe," or give up when criticized or challenged, especially when challenged by people of color.

A tendency to associate a person's body type with how much of a threat they are. For example, feeling unsafe around people with penises and expecting a social space to accommodate that fear to cater to you, a fear of people who come from cultures where it's common to speak loudly, a fear of those who are large, assertive, and/or darker-skinned.

Instinctive fawning-type responses to stress, and a pattern of feigning happiness, agreeability, and ease when one is not genuinely feeling it, and expecting all other people (but especially other women) to feign happiness as well, paired with a deep-seated resentment of anyone who violates this illusion and expresses any negativity (being especially punitive toward women of color).

Instinctively "smoothing over" conflict between other people before it even begins, even when healthy conflict is necessary and not at all your business-- often performed by gossiping behind other people's backs, triangulating information when it is not yours to share, asking people to alter their behavior in order to avoid a reaction from somebody else, presenting your concerns as if they were somebody else's ("what will people think!"), tone-policing the airing of grievances, derailing hard conversations with more light-hearted topics, and excluding people who are known to be candid and assertive.

Here are some articles on elements of the phenomenon and why it is so dangerous:

Now, I single white cis women out a lot when I am describing this phenomenon, because they have the most to gain from exhibiting these qualities, but make no mistake: this is a pattern that many types of people can and do use. I have seen white trans women use white women's tears to silence critique. I have witnessed women of color being passive-aggressively derailed and silenced by a Black manager who was in a position of institutional power over them. Multiple of the women who sexually harassed me in the story linked above were not white. And LORD knows I see plenty of t boys falling back on this shit, as well as cis men from wealthy backgrounds. It's a mindset that has deep colonial roots and we all must be on the look out for it in ourselves and others, and we must be vigilant in uprooting it.

[venusgroove]

chiron in the solar return houses

when reading a solar return chart, i always look at chiron’s placement. chiron can tell you where you’ll be struggling the most that year.

chiron never fails to give you a hard lesson, you cannot go against the lessons chiron has prepared for you. although this seems tough, once the pain and grief is experienced, you’ll be gifted with strength.

chiron in the first house

issues with self-identity. chiron in the first house can experience negative comments towards appearance and/or personality leading low self esteem. there can be an overall negative approach to life, a lack of optimism.

chiron in the second house

issues with material possessions. chiron in the second house can lead to tricky financial situations or just possessions stolen, this can cause a lot of physical and mental stress. there can also be issues in the work environment, things may be stressful.

chiron in the third house

issues with communication. chiron in the third house can cause miscommunication in both parties, the person with the placement and with other people. things said may be taken the wrong way. there can also be conflicts with siblings.

chiron in the fourth house

issues with family. chiron in the fourth house can cause conflicts in the family. family members can be fighting often or the person with the placement is fighting with family members. either way, instability will be found in relationships at home. this can also cause direct issues with the mother.

chiron in the fifth house

issues with finding happiness. chiron in the fifth house can cause a depressing year. it can be hard to enjoy things that are deemed as fun. there can also be a lack of creativity, this can cause a burnout, especially to someone with water placements.

chiron in the sixth house

issues in routine. chiron in the sixth house can cause life to feel somewhat dull. things can feel boring, there may be the feeling that the days are just repeating themselves. this can lead to a negative mindset, a decline in mental health. there can also be issues with physical or mental health.

chiron in the seventh house

issues in relationships. chiron in the seventh house can lead to romantic rejection. asking people out will often lead to getting declined. if one is already in a relationship, this can mean toxicity may arise in the relationship.

chiron in the eighth house

issues with maintaining positive energies. chiron in the eighth house creates a negative energy, not only can this harm the person with the placement, but also those surrounding them. this is happens due to the fact that energy is so contagious. there can also be issues with letting go, holding onto old experiences can contribute to the negative energy that was previously discussed.

chiron in the ninth house

issues in finding meaning/purpose in life. chiron in the ninth house can cause turbulence to philosophic beliefs. there may be many stressful thoughts relating to experiences of death and what happens after death. there can also be issues with higher education, such as college.

chiron in the tenth house

issues with reputation. chiron in the tenth house makes others jealous of ones status, therefore they try to sabotage. friends will often be hidden enemies. there can also be issues with a father figure.

chiron in the eleventh house

issues with friends. chiron in the eleventh house can bring negativity to friendships. either friends backstabbing or struggling to create friendships. this can also cause a negative experience with technology, something such as cyberbullying.

chiron in the twelfth house

issues in spiritually healing. chiron in the twelfth house drains spiritual energy, leading to a blockage in healing. this could lead to a negative mental space. there can also be issues with sleeping, a possibility of getting insomnia or having nightmares and experiencing sleep paralysis.