#and then have him walk over and speak to someone unrelated about it

[icehot13]

here to report that sexism is still alive and well on the jobsite despite the groundbreaking “men/women at work” sign out front!!!!

[juletheghoul]

crossing the line

a/n: I have been possessed by this man, he has singlehandedly cured my writers block. This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for joining in the hysteria with me, thanks for cheering me on my love Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus jerking it so right, creampie, vaginal fingering, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.1k

reblogs are appreciated

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Maybe someone else would have been upset to see how little they owned in the world, but it made no difference to you. The tunic on your back, an extra one to swap out for cleaning, a shawl, and a pair of sandals. That was all you had, that was all you needed, not much to fill your new quarters, modest as they were. Only let you get accustomed to your duties all the quicker. 

You held no melancholy at having been sold into the service of another, it was the story of your life and had happened before. You had no doubts that it would happen again. Instead, you focused on learning the layout of the new villa that would be your home, on learning the moods of your new Dominus and praying to the Gods that he was not heavy handed with his slaves. 

You’d been purchased by none other than Marcus Acacius, the General of the army of Rome. 

Getting used to being in his presence took great effort, meeting his gaze was akin to being struck by lightning. He had the unique power to make your stomach roil like waves, but it wasn’t always an entirely unpleasant feeling. He was older, his hair streaked with gray and his face lined with age but it did nothing to diminish his beauty, or his prowess. You could almost believe he was a marble statue, an Emperor of the past, come to life. He’d caught your eye instantly. 

Months passed, then a year, and you did indeed learn his moods. You learned all about his needs and did well to anticipate his wants, so much so that eventually, he had you follow him around like a shadow. Your prayers had been answered, although his moods could get quite dark, he never raised his hand to anyone in his service. He had no need to. He could correct any misstep with a look. There was a cloud that loomed over him though, an intensity, an air about the man of bottled energy. Any words he did speak were short, and cut to the heart of the matter and despite the fact that he never hurt you or the others, you thought it might only be a matter of time before someone got the brunt end of his misplaced wrath. 

“He has been away from the battlefield for too long, pay him no mind. Do your duties, and he will settle.” One of the older women in the house noticed the way you wring your hands at his dark temperament, seeing her unbothered by it did much to calm you. 

You didn’t notice it at first, but more and more often you felt his eyes linger on you. Felt him follow as you set the table with his meals, when you helped him dress in the morning, more still when you helped him with his night time rituals. He was unabashed and unrelenting, his eyes traveling the length of you, lingering on the swell of your breasts when you stood before him, on your backside when you walked away. You knew the look, had seen it in countless men in the houses you’d served before. You’d seen on the boy that served with you when you were both coming to the age of such things, when young men stretched and grew overnight, and girls flowered, breasts blossoming and blood coming at the turn of the moon. You had seen it in the young man that had taken your chastity, fumbling at your tunic when everyone had gone to sleep.

At first it had shocked you, not because of some notion of propriety or disgust, this was something that happened in every house. The Dominus was there to be served, no matter what they wanted, it came with your station in life, what shocked you, was how welcome his gaze was. How much you relished his heated stare, how much you wanted him to look at you, always. He’d been the object of every heated fantasy you’d had since stepping foot in the house but you’d been under the impression that he was a solitary creature, uncaring for the company of anyone, except his hounds, two great big beasts that he doted on. He never pressed the matter however, and so you contented yourself with your dreams. 

-

He’d been gone most of the day, leaving you to help the other attendants with their duties, and the time passed quickly, and with the moon rising you thought it best to go to sleep–trusting that by this hour, surely he’d be staying put. With your own clothes washed and hanging to dry for the morning, you settled into bed. It was not to last however, one of the older women came through not long after you’d undressed and gotten into bed and announced that he’d arrived, looking for you. 

“God’s be damned.” You swore under your breath, “Gratitude, I will see to him shortly.” 

You had no choice but to put on one of the damp tunics, hissing at the frosty touch but running off to tend to him just the same. 

With a light knock to announce your presence, you entered his private chambers. 

“Apologies Dominus, I had thought you would be gone until the morning.” You bowed your head in deference to him, “Shall I fetch food and wine? Or will you be going to sleep?” His eyes were narrow slits, fixed on your body. You looked down to where he stared and noted that the wet fabric left nothing to the imagination. The dark patch of hair between your legs was clear as day, as was everything else. “Apologies Dominus, I had washed them when I thought you would be gone.” You stood there, the room pregnant with tension as he looked his fill. After what felt like hours, he looked up to your face and the expression made your nipples harden, a fact he did not miss. 

“No, Girl. I am not hungry.” He set about undressing and you hurried to help him, doing your best to keep your touch from lingering too long. “I will cleanse and go to sleep. Snuff out some of these candles, and be off to bed.” His voice was low, and it opened a river between your thighs, the arousal for him so sharp it ached. 

“Yes Dominus.” You did as he asked, leaving only a couple of candles burning near his bed, and leaving him there. You were just closing the door to your quarters when you realized his basin had not been filled, so you ran back to make sure he had the water he needed. It would have to be cold at this hour. 

This time, you did not knock, hoping that he’d still be preoccupied enough that you could just slip in, fill his basin and slip out. 

There was a slick, rhythmic noise that greeted you, along with a low, guttural groan. His chamber was darker without as many candles but the sight that greeted you was clear as day, and would forever be burned into your mind. Him, bathed in candlelight, his cock thick and shiny with his pearly arousal. 

His strength could never be denied, but like this, with his arm flexing with each long stroke, his muscles glinted. You’d seen all manner of people nude in your service, there was no shame in it. The human body was a work of art and growing up and giving into desires meant you’d seen men nude and ready to rut, but this was something else. The young men you'd been with were callow boys. This was a man. 

You stood there, frozen, and aching with an emptiness you hadn’t felt this keenly in so long. 

He felt you then, and looked up to see you watching him and before you could say anything he focused on the place so clearly visible through the wet fabric between your legs and moaned a filthy moan. You didn’t know whether to drop the jug of water and run, or mount him like you would a wild horse. You bit your lip, willing him to beckon you forth to him.

“Did you come back just to torment me, girl? Or would you lend a hand?” He watched your face, letting you decide what you wanted, you put the jug down and walked towards him. 

“I live to serve you, Dominus.” His brow furrowed with every step you took until his face tipped up to look into your eyes. 

“Take that off–” He grunted the last word, squeezing his cock in his fist while you obeyed. “Put your foot right here.” He gestured to the spot beside his thigh, and you did. “Spread it open. I want to see it.” He watched your sex, his mouth opening in a silent ‘O’ when you complied. “Are you wet for me, girl?” He sped up, fucking his fist in earnest. 

“Yes Dominus.” You slipped your fingers down, dipping them inside for a moment before showing him. He moaned again and your heart felt like a hummingbird in your chest. He grabbed at your fingers with his other hand and shoved them into his mouth, eyes closed and groaning around them and it was almost too much. 

“Take it Dominus, take me.” You whispered, watching his rapturous gaze with unwavering desire. You had no time to think, because within a second, he was up and pushing you down onto his bed, settling between your spread thighs. His sex hung heavy, an angry red and for a moment your stomach dropped imaging it inside you. 

“This will be quicker than I would wish it to be,” He grasped himself in hand, almost trembling as he lined himself up and sunk inside with one, quick thrust. “Gods above, girl, this little cunt was made for me.” He couldn’t hold himself back or give you time to adjust to his size, instead he set a brutal pace, and you held on, with arms around his neck and legs high on his hips for dear life. 

Your fingers ached with how tightly they gripped the curls at the base of his skull. You pulled him closer, needing to feel his weight as he stretched you open on his length, over and over, making everything bounce with the force of it. He was right about it being quick though, a handful of pumps was all it took for him to seize up, one hand palming your breast as he seized with a growl. You felt it, the spurt of him deep inside.

“It is a gift, my gift.” He watched himself, hissing with discomfort as he pulled himself out. “My seed, just for you.” His breath came in pants as he drew himself out, softened and spent and you were struck again by his beauty. With the flush of exertion blooming on his cheeks, and the rare smile on his lips, you couldn’t help but mirror the expression, even as your own climax slipped away with every passing second. “Your turn, now I must see pleasure on your face.” He huffed out the words before laying on his side to your right, resting his head on one hand to gain a better view of you spread out beside him. 

His fingers found the source of divinity between your legs. 

“Spread those pretty thighs nice and wide for me, girl, I would have access to all of you.” He spoke low, pressing his lips to your temple as his fingers used the slip of his own mess to stoke the fire spreading through your veins. “So lovely.” 

The reverence in his tone was so at odds with the confidence in his fingers, his skill was no tawdry thing and within a few moments the euphoria was so close you could taste it. You turned your face to him, silently begging for his mouth and he obliged, his kiss sweet as summer wine and all at once the wave crested. Your legs closed of their own accord, but this only bolstered him to slip two fingers inside, pumping through his seed and your liquid desire, laughing softly at the way you clutched at his arm. 

All of the times before, had been a jest. It was hard to know if anything you felt before could even be called pleasure. 

“Can you walk?” He pressed his lips to your shoulder, lowering them until he took a nipple into his mouth. You nodded. 

“Yes Dominus.” He placed a final kiss to the soft skin of your breast, the whiskers on his face tickling you. 

“Very well, off to bed.” The smile was gone, but it was replaced with a sleepy, satisfied look, one that you were sure would be gone in the morning. 

“Yes Dominus.” You rose, on shaky legs, grabbed your damp tunic, and slipped out of his chambers. 

—

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[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 27] Moving Forward

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

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“Shoko, can I help you?” You ask when you see the woman approach your desk. She looks nervous, and you can guess what she’s come to you about. You wait for her to speak though, giving her a moment to gather her thoughts. 

“Can we go out for lunch?” She finally spits out, and you take a long hard minute before answering. You haven’t had a proper conversation with Shoko in what feels like ages, and you haven’t been really willing to talk.

“Sure.” You end up shrugging, acting as if you couldn’t care enough. She’s about to say something else, but her words get caught up in her throat… Talking to you has suddenly become a hard task for her. She ends up deciding to keep quiet, turning on her heel to walk away, and just as she’s about to leave, Satoru calls out her name.

“Shoko! I need something from you, come into my office.” And she rolls her eyes before making her way to Satoru’s office. She goes in first, while he stays behind to have a word with you.

“Do you want to go out for lunch today?” Satoru asks, and while you’d agree, your schedule is filled up.

“I’m a busy woman today. I told Shoko I’d go to lunch with her.” You answer, and he raises one brow. That doesn’t make him change his mind though.

“I’ll join then.” He smiles at you, walking away before you can give him some sort of response. It’s come to the point where you enjoy having Satoru’s presence, especially when you know things are going to be awkward.

“This is a nice place… Is Shoko paying?” Satoru sits beside you, inspecting the restaurant’s menu. It’s pricey, though he shouldn’t worry about that detail since he has more than enough money to pay.

“No, you are.” You answer, and he sticks out his bottom lip. He really hasn’t changed over the past five years.

“Can someone treat me to dinner for once.” He complains, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. You reach over to grab his hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“I’ll treat you to fast food tomorrow, deal?” There’s a mocking tone in your voice, and he picks up on it quickly. He lets out a sigh, putting down the menu on the table and crossing his arms.

“Why did she even invite you out to eat? Is she trying to sleep with you too? Or is that just with Sayo?” Satoru asks which nearly makes your jaw drop. The information isn’t new to you, it’s just weird to hear it from the man himself. You end up chuckling.

“Probably to apologize for the Ren situation.” You tell him, and he raises his brows. He’s confused, until he remembers that you were hiding Ren. It’s not something that Shoko should apologize for, he thinks but then he takes a moment to think about it. He’s glad that Shoko said something, but you obviously feel different.

“Oh right… That was a secret and all.” Satoru mentions and you hum in response. He still can’t help but ask,  “Do we really have to do this?”

“I mean I guess she did do the right thing but she also betrayed my trust. And for what?” You say, and Satoru bites down his lip. You do have a point, Shoko betrayed your trust even if it was the right thing to do.

“I guess yeah…” He can’t really argue any further. He’ll forever be grateful to Shoko for telling him, but he can understand why you’re upset. He can’t control your feelings nor tell you how to feel, so he’ll watch you resolve the issue. Maybe try to help you with your feelings.

You two begin to talk about something unrelated, something lighthearted. Satoru makes a couple of stupid jokes that earn a couple of laughs from you. Laughs that are louder than you’d like to admit. Time gets lost in each other’s presence, though your joyous conversation gets interrupted.

“What are you doing here?” Shoko asks, her eyes lingering on Satoru. The lunch was for the two of you to talk over some issues, and for her to apologize, frankly she doesn’t want Satoru here. 

“I invited myself.” Satoru answers, and Shoko rolls her eyes. She ultimately takes a seat across from you since she can’t do anything else.

“What are you going to order?” Shoko questions, not even bothering looking at the menu. She’s been here many times before, she knows exactly what she wants. You and Satoru look from the same menu even when you have two, and he’s telling you what he thinks sounds good.

Satoru suggests something that he thinks you’d like, and you end up getting it. Once all your food is ordered, Shoko bites down his lip, trying to figure out the right words to speak. But she feels as if she’s forgotten how to speak. 

“So I assume we’re here for a reason.” Satoru makes the first step, and Shoko clicks her tongue. It takes everything in Satoru not to laugh.

“You weren’t invited.” Shoko points out. She’s avoiding eye contact, her nerves getting the best of her. An awkward chuckle leaves her lips, saying, “You’re making this very expensive actually, you should be paying.”

“Invite a guy out for once.” Satoru says, and she rolls her eyes again. “Make it up to me for sleeping with my wife.”

“Weren’t you cheating on her?” Shoko quickly brings up, and you feel your face get warm. You knew that as well, it’s just weird to hear that Satoru was having sex with other women.

“I’ll kill you.” Satoru’s eyes are wide, his cheeks turning pink. She can point that out all she wants, but not when you’re sitting right next to him. He clears his throat and tries to act calm. “I was not cheating on her.”

“Oh right… Because you’re technically separated.” Shoko says, and Satoru takes a deep breath because Shoko is working him up. She’s fighting back a smirk before saying, “We aren’t here for this, anyway.”

“No way your mom didn’t have more kids… You two are like siblings.” You laugh, acting as if you hadn’t heard what just left Shoko’s lips. What Satoru does is none of your business. It has been none of your concern for the past five years. 

“I’m surprised you two don’t act like siblings.” Shoko answers, and you grimace. She chuckles, her sweaty hands going to her pants. She takes a deep breath before focusing on you. Why is apologizing so hard?

“I’m sorry for telling the dumbass about Ren.” Shoko spits out, and it’s not the right way to apologize but it earns a laugh from you. Satoru rolls his eyes, pursing his lips together. Maybe it was best for him to stay. “It wasn’t my place but hearing that he was in the hospital and knowing Satoru was clueless made me feel guilty.”

“Yeah…” You understand her point of view, but you still can’t help but feel frustrated. It wasn’t her secret, but you also get that she was unwillingly dragged into this whole mess. You understand she felt guilty, and it’s selfish of you to expect her silence at the cost of her sanity. You do understand, but you still feel weird about it all. You still feel like you can’t trust her. “I guess I get it.”

“But…?” She asks, feeling that you’re not quite convinced. There’s something more, she knows it. 

“I don’t think I can trust you.” You tell her, and she bites down her lip before nodding in response. She should’ve expected a similar response. 

Food gets to your table, killing any possibility of long awkward silence. You begin to eat, and for the rest of lunch, Satoru makes the conversation.

After lunch, you find yourself spinning around in Satoru’s chair. You wouldn’t have dreamt of this a couple of months back, but once you have a son with your boss you get certain privileges.

“Are you just being lazy?” Satoru asks, sitting across from you in one of the most uncomfortable chairs that his butt has ever touched. You hum in response, and he can’t help but laugh. He proceeds to mutter, “I need to get a new secretary.”

“Watch it.” You warn him, and he sticks his tongue out at you. He wasn’t serious with what he said, but once he takes a moment to think about it, he does consider it. When you stop spinning on his chair and get a good look at him, you notice. “Now what did I do!”

“You’re kind of a bad secretary.” He says, and you furrow your brows. He sticks up his hands defensively before claiming, “I was joking. Best secretary I’ve ever had.”

“Then why are you considering it?” You respond, and Satoru bites his tongue. He instead focuses back on his paperwork, and you sigh. You’re not going to pester him for answers, so instead you inch closer to his computer. “Can I snoop on your computer?”

“Knock yourself out.” He answers, not bothering to look up at you. You unlock the screen in no time, a password so easy to guess that you’re almost disappointed in him. 

Your heart melts at the background photo that he has set. A picture of him and Ren at the beach. You proceed to click on his photos, trying to see if he has anything incriminating in his computer. Perhaps a photo of one of his lady friends since you know that his phone and computer are connected.

You don’t find what you expect, most of his photos are either of your son or of food. He barely has pictures in his camera roll, so it only takes a few scrolls to go back to five years ago. You find photos that you’ve never seen of yourself. Photos that you consider ugly, photos that he’s cherished the past five years.

“Ew, I’m deleting these photos.” You announce, and you begin to handpick the ones that are the ugliest of the bunch. Satoru jumps up from his seat and rushes to your side to take the mouse from your hand. 

“You can snoop around but you can’t alter anything.” Satoru tells you, while he selects a picture of you sleeping. He hovers the cursor on your chin, a smirk on his face, ���Aw, look at you drooling.”

“Why do you even have this in here?” You ask him, and he chooses to remain silent. Instead he closes the app and turns off the computer. He rolls your chair away from his computer, and puts you beside his seat for the day.

“Why do you want to even snoop? I promise you won’t find anything fun.” Satoru says, taking a seat right next to you.

“Want to see your lady friends, see if your taste has changed.” You answer, and Satoru shakes his head disappointedly as a chuckle leaves his lips. 

“My taste has not changed, you’re still the only woman that has my heart.” He tells you, and you swear your heart melts but you remain strong. You roll your eyes at him before pointing out,

“Is that why you were sleeping around?”

“Are you jealous?” Satoru asks, and you quickly shake your head. And he says something so insincere because if it were to happen, he’s sure he’d jump off the building, “If it makes you feel better, you can sleep with anyone you’d like.”

“I wasn’t asking for your permission.” You reply. For some reason your words make him feel better, thinking that you’re not going to run off with some idiot in the end.

“On another note.” He clears his throat, and you raise your eyebrows. “What do you think about going back to school?”

“Huh? Where is this coming from?” You’re confused since you haven’t even mentioned going back to study.

“You don’t want to be my secretary forever, do you?” He makes a great point, though you don’t mind either. You get to goof off and Satoru doesn’t dare reprimand you anymore. Plus, pay is great. “You didn’t get to do what you wanted to do because I knocked you up, but now I’m here. I’ll take care of everything.”

“You know that it’s going to take a lot of time, effort and money for it.” You tell him, and he rolls his eyes. Bringing up money as if he didn’t just buy you a house. He has more than enough to support you financially.

“I’m here now, am I not?” He responds, and you have to take a deep breath. The words rest heavy on your chest, and you feel tears well up in your eyes. You wouldn’t have imagined how three words have such an impact on you.

He sees you’re on the verge of crying, and he throws his arms over you, pulling you into a hug. He rubs your back in an attempt to comfort you, “If I had known that the mere suggestion of going back to school would make you cry, I wouldn’t have said a word.”

“No it’s– I’m fine.” You try to play it off. It just makes him hug you tighter. He’s nearly leaving you out of air, on the plus side, Satoru smells really good.

“If you want to be my lazy secretary forever, you’re more than welcome to. I’ll even give you a raise.” He reassures you, and you laugh. He loosens his grip before pressing a kiss on your temple. “I’ll support you no matter the journey you want to take. Even if it includes an ugly husband.”

“What makes you say my husband would be ugly?” You focus on the least important thing.

“Because if you don’t marry me, he’ll be ugly.” He answers, and you click your tongue. You hate that he’s doing things right.

“Then you’ll have to deal with me and my ugly husband.”

[harryslittlefreakk]

arrogant s.o.b

summary: based on this request - grumpy/mean Harry and readers first fight and he says something really harsh/yells and makes her cry? And then feels really bad after like grumpyxsunshine vibes?

warnings: angst

wordcount: 1.6k

a/n: thank you to the anon who sent in this request!! 🥰💖 sorry it took me a while to get around to it. please let me know if this isn’t quite what you wanted, i don’t know if I’m 100% happy with it so im more than willing to tweak and rewrite!!!

my masterlist!! please feel free to send me more requests 💓 happy reading

“I miss you, Harry.”

You knew you were pushing it, he was already working himself to breaking point. But you couldn’t help it, you missed your boyfriend. His break was meant to be about finding time for himself again, spending time with his loved ones. And you thought that meant being with you, not spending every day confined to the four walls of a recording studio.

“I can’t delay my entire album because you miss me.”

“I’m not asking you to delay the entire album. Just take a day off, just once.”

“Why?! For what?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Now you were both pissed off. You didn’t understand why Harry couldn’t just slow down. You’d only been able to see him in Italy for a few days, your work schedule unexpectedly busy. Part of you thought he was ‘punishing’ you for that, the sane part of you knew that his summer in Italy was his rest, and now he was back in London he needed to work. Harry’s work ethic was one of the things you admired most about him, and now you were arguing with him over it.

“Clearly it does matter.” He was stood by the door, keys in his hand, a dark scowl printed on his face.

“It’s fine, just go. Have a good day.” The hurt was evident in your voice, but you didn’t even want Harry to stay now with the atmosphere you’d created.

He hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting to stay and needing to leave. Finally, he sighed and turned to walk out the door without another word. The sound of the door swinging shut behind him echoed through the silent room, leaving you alone in your thoughts.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you sank into the sofa. You’d pushed him away when all you wanted was for him to stay. You knew you’d always come second to his career, he prioritised you over almost everything in his life but his music was so important to him. But once he finished recording, there would be interviews and appearances, then a tour, and then you’d be back here again. It was constant, unrelenting, and if he couldn’t even sacrifice one day for you, how could you expect him to slow down?

—

Harry stood frozen on the other side of the door, still stuck between needing to come back in and wanting to go. It never usually got to this point, one of you would back down before someone got hurt. It wasn’t exactly healthy, but it worked for you. He hated fighting, hated seeing you upset. But he was only now realising that it was usually you that compromised. He knew you well, and for you to actually speak up and ask him to stay despite knowing how important his work is to him? He’d fucked up.

He leaned against the door, his hand gripping the handle tightly as he closed his eyes, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. Guilt washed over him as he replayed the conversation in his mind. He knew he needed to find a balance between his work and his relationship, but it was easier said than done.

His hand fell from the door handle as he turned on his heel, dragging his feet away from the house. If he was going to make it right, he needed to be armed with all of your favourite things.

—

Harry replayed the morning in his head the entire time he was out. You’d woken up to his alarm as always, rolling over in his arms to wake him up with soft kisses. “Why do you set alarms if you know you can’t wake up for them?” you laughed, tapping at his nose as his eyes fluttered open. “Because you wake up and I get morning kisses,” he smiled, pulling you tighter to his chest.

He remembered how the morning light hit you at just the right angle, illuminating your puffy eyes and blushed cheeks. He’d caught himself wishing he could have five more minutes in bed with you, time to savour waking up next to his love. But he’d rolled out of bed in the same way as always, slipping out from under you just as you tried to curl your body around his.

You’d followed him to the bathroom silently, lingering in the doorway as you rubbed your tired eyes. “Wish I got to see you more,” you’d mumbled, eyes following his through the mirror. “You see me every day, kitten,” he’d replied, poking his tongue out when he saw you watching. He’d noticed your face fall slightly, a misty kind of sadness replace the natural glint in your eye. He cringed as he thought back, but he’d purposely ignored it to save himself the trouble.

“I see you when I wake up and just before bed,” you’d pouted, eyes glued to your suddenly fidgety hands. “I cant help that right now, pet. You know I can’t,” he’d tried to reason with you, and looking back, Harry thought maybe he was trying to convince himself. “Just a morning or an afternoon at home would be nice. Not even a full day,” you’d told him, voice cracking as you looked back up at him.

“I can’t have this conversation right now,” he’d muttered, kicking at the door until it swung closed in front of you.

And there he was now, heart struck with guilt at the thought of how badly he had neglected you.

—

As he heard your keys jingle outside the door, Harry finished rearranging his purchases across the bed. He gave one final look to the flowers on your windowsill, the beautiful blush pink roses he knew you loved. It was perfect, he just hoped it would be enough.

“Hi darling,” he smiled sheepishly as he walked down the stairs.

“Hi, H,” you replied, brows knitted as you stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“Come,” Harry murmured, reaching out a hand for you to take. You dropped your bag by door and took it, fingers tangling with his as he lead you back to the bedroom.

He stopped outside the bedroom door, pulling you into his arms. “M’sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “Didn’t think about what it’s like for you. I need time with you just as much as you need it w’me.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you told him, cuddling into his chest. “Nothing to be sorry for, pet.”

“Shouldn’t have pushed you like that,” you murmured, eyes closed as you breathed in his musky aftershave.

“Gave me the push I needed. M’not good at taking time off.”

“Don’t have to tell me that,” you laughed, stepping away from him as he turned to open the bedroom door.

“Got you your perfect day,” he smiled, stepping out of the way so you could see his creation.

All your favourite snacks were laid out on the bed, your matching pyjamas folded on the corner. The most beautiful flowers you’d ever seen in your favourite vase on the windowsill, candles lit on your nightstand and a cheesy rom com loaded on the tv.

“You did all of this?” you cooed, a grin spreading across your face as your gaze turned to Harry. He nodded, pulling his t-shirt off.

“Nuh uh,” you swatted his hand away as he reached to pick up the pyjama top. “Only my perfect day if you’re topless,” you smirked, quickly peeling your clothes off to throw the pyjamas on.

You climbed into bed next to Harry, pulling the duvet up to your chin before wrapping your body around his, your head at home on his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, arms wrapped right around you.

“Made a few calls. Gonna start only doing three days at a time in the studio, then three days off,” he whispered, grinning when you immediately whipped round to look at him. “Don’t have to do that for me baby,” you gasped, brows furrowed.

“It’s the right call. Just gonna be longer days but worth it all if it means more time with you,” Harry winked, his hand caressing the curve of your waist.

You shifted upwards, placing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Thank you,” you smiled. “And congratulations.”

Harry returned your kiss, his lips lingering just a second longer than yours had. His touch and his kisses felt like home to you, his smile your lifeblood. “To me? For what?”

“To us. For our first fight,” you giggled, holding out a hand to high-five Harry. He grabbed a hold of your hand, using it to pull you even closer to him, until your faces were only centimetres apart.

“Here’s to our first and last fight,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours. His teeth latched onto your bottom lip as he went in for another kiss, the rocky waves in your stomach turning to butterflies as his tongue moved around yours.

You pulled away after a minute, settling back into his arms with a smile so bright it could have lit up the room.

“Can’t believe we started the day with you thinking your album is more important than me,” you mumbled, a mischievous sparkle in your eye as you tangled your fingers between Harry’s.

“Millions of adoring fans who’d do anything for me versus one woman? I know who I’m picking,” he teased, laughing as you smacked his thigh with your free hand.

“Maybe they were right,” you whispered, peering up at him.

“Hm?”

“About you being an arrogant son of a bitch.”

taglist: @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @vonnexann @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @harryshotpocket @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7 @harrystylesluverrrr @cohnfusedarling @ell0ra-br3kk3r @stylesfever

[cntloup]

Nanami x reader fluff, slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader is having a hard time but the reason is not mentioned

"Ken, I think I just need some time to myself." you state after his unrelenting implores that you talk to him.

he always disliked not communicating whenever either of you feel down or something is bothering you, but he always respects you when you say you need some space.

you swallow the lump in your throat that probably formed out of guilt? maybe, you think.

but he never made you feel guilty. on the contrary, he always made sure that you felt at ease and comfortable with him.

it's just that you hate not talking to him about your feelings. you hate that you don't know how to do that. you try so hard to form the words, but they never come out. they always fail you.

"ok. just come to me if you need me. for anything, alright?" he asks to make sure you know that he's there for you. always.

"alright..." you respond in a breathy voice and leave the room, albeit hesitantly, but you know that you need to keep your distance for now. you don't really feel like talking and you're afraid to hurt him if you do.

you walk into the backyard and take a seat on the swing that you both made one afternoon out of boredom.

you smile to yourself as the memories come back to you in a flash.

you sit there just thinking about anything and everything, trying to clear your head beneath the indigo sheet of the night, the stars hung and blinking before your curious eyes.

you step back into the house after some time and find Kento on the couch, his eyes glued to the TV showing some cheesy soap opera, but you know his mind is somewhere else by his expression, eyebrows knitted in deep thought and his look distant.

you know him too well to know that his mind is filled with thoughts of you right now, wondering about how you're doing and what's bothering you. he always worries about you.

you make your presence known, "Ken..." you call out softly and sit beside him.

you waste no time to wrap your arms around his torso and rest your chin on his shoulder.

he comes back to reality by your sweet voice and tender touch, "hey, darling." he turns to you, showing his lovely smile that you fell in love with a long time ago.

"i did some thinking and i'm ready to talk now... also i'm sorry." you mention after some time of staring into each other's eyes.

"that's good, honey." he starts, "but what are you sorry for?" he furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

"for not talking and being distant. i hate to do that to you." you reply sincerely and he smiles once again, taking your hand in his and bringing it to his lips.

"you did nothing wrong, sweetheart. everyone needs their alone time every once in a while." he speaks in his ever loving tone as his lips brush against your skin, "just know that there's always someone who you can rely on. with absolutely anything you need."

and you can't help but tear up a bit at his sweet words. he always had a way of making you emotional and fall for him all over again.

you don't hesitate to kiss his lips as soon as the words leave his mouth, making him chuckle slightly against your lips as his hand finds its way to your nape, deepening the kiss. he knows what he does to you, the cocky bastard.

"i love you so much, Ken.", "i love you too, sweetheart."

no matter what happens or how many times you need your alone time and your space from each other, you always fall back together.

[electrosair]

Jealous headcanons dendro + pyro ver.

english isn’t my first language, sorry for mistakes

characters: al haitham + baizhu + kaveh + tighnari + diluc + lyney + thoma

word count: 1k

Alhaitham

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

2/10 He's not really a person who worries too much about those topics, he trusts you enough to date you, so he understands that he doesn't need to be all over you about what you do or who you do it with.

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

6/10 But even if he's not jealous, there's no doubt that he likes people to see that you're his and that you're going out together, taking you on dates or bragging about what a great partner he has.

what is he most jealous of?

When someone dares to make any move on you while he is in front of you, he can understand that people approach you because they find you attractive, but while you are next to him? That makes him rethink whether people really notice his hands on you and the looks he throws at them.

Baizhu

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

5/10 It's kind of uncomfortable for him to see other people trying to hit on you when you're already with him, but he doesn't really like to spend his time thinking about how he should take it. He sighs and keeps it to himself.

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

3/10 You may notice him a little more distant but only if he knows that you have kept information from him about going out with other people, he doesn't understand why you wouldn't want to tell him in the first place when you know he's not going to make any complaints.

what is he most jealous of?

He doesn't like to see you going out alone too often, he worries about you all the time and the last thing he wants is for something to happen to you. So when you do and it's not for a very important reason, he will most likely reprimand you for it or bring up unrelated issues.

Kaveh

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

8/10 He wants attention, he needs attention, and he wants yours. Try not to make it seem so obvious so you don't get mad at him or feel uncomfortable, but he gets upset when you spend more time with someone else.

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

4/10 As much as he gets jealous he knows that you are you and he can't control what you do or say, but whenever he can he will hug you and hold your hand in public.

what is he most jealous of?

Hearing you laughing at stories of yours that you tell other people that he thought you would only tell him, or plans that you've talked about and ended up doing with someone else, he would go straight to the bar to calm his thoughts.

Tighnari

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

4/10 Unless someone approaches you and is too clear with their intentions he will not react. He leaves it up to you on most occasions to tell the person that you are not interested in anything of the sort.

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

6/10 I want to blame it on him being a hybrid and not anything else because Tighnari is usually very nice to you, but he certainly likes to let people know in subtle ways that you're already with someone.

what is he most jealous of?

That you speak with admiration for people who are not close to him or whom he does not know. He always tries to put up the best image with you and teach you everything he knows, so why do you have to talk that way about someone other than him?

Diluc

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

3/10 Normally he doesn't get jealous, but when he does, it shows. He would talk even less than usual and you would notice how he rolls his eyes every time someone walks towards you to talk (flirt) to you.

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

8/10 Small details, just to show everyone how capable he is of dating you and that he takes good care of you. He would give you jewelry that would be visible and from time to time he'd run his hand around your waist to hold you close to him.

what is he most jealous of?

If people come up to you drunk while he's working at the bar, he won't hesitate for a second to throw someone out if necessary or to give harsh answers if they ask for more drinks, even make you stay behind the counter with him.

Lyney

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

5/10 It's not that he doesn't trust you, he just doesn't trust the rest of the people around you. He knows you and knows what you're like, so he wouldn't hold resentment or anger towards you, but he would towards people who try to have their way with you.

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

7/10 There are a lot of people who know him and therefore if you start dating him, people would start to know you, so if he sees any strange moves towards you he would be thoughtful and try to get you out of wherever you are.

what is he most jealous of?

He can't stand people asking him about you when he sees that they have other intentions and are not friends that you have already told him about, he doesn't trust them and doesn't want them near you. Especially when they treat you as his assistant, you are his partner, not anything else.

Thoma

how jealous is he from 1 to 10?

2/10 There are a few times when he gets jealous, and it doesn't really last very long. He would usually only get upset if someone is not able to respect your boundaries, such as trying to kiss you or following through after a 'no'.

how possessive is he from 1 to 10?

4/10 He wants to give you space, as much as you need as long as you tell him how you feel and don't hide things from him. So he doesn't really mind seeing you with other people as long as you tell him and at the end of the day you come back to his arms.

what is he most jealous of?

Watching you spend time with other people outside, eating food or taking walks, his heart aches at the thought of you and someone else doing things you could do with him. He can't bear to think that you might have a better time with them or that you don't enjoy your time with him.

[cinnamonest]

Cyno trying to fight off his sexual desires for darling... 🤭

This reminds me of the post I did for guilty sadist Kazuha... consider guilty sadist/rapist Cyno...

Cyno seems like the sort of boy who has absolutely zero history too, so the thing is, he's never really had to practice controlling these kinds of urges before. He's always been so busy with his responsibilities, he's sort of put the idea of romantic relationships to the side, with the idea that he'll get to it one day.

And, partially, he also knows deep down that he's avoiding it because he's intimidated by the thought. See, urges themselves aren't his only problem, the other issue is, for all his sternness and stoicism, he's horrifically awkward with anything of a romantic or, gods forbid, sexual nature. His face feels hot just thinking about it. Oh, and when he's super nervous, his face and voice get extra stern and serious-sounding, which comes off almost like being angry or irked, which does not work well for him.

The one time he tried to approach you and speak to you with specific intent, talk to you in a way that was unrelated to his role, he was so tense and focused and anxious that you stiffened up the moment he said your name, you asked if something was wrong. Then he panicked, and when he tried to explain himself (realizing how stupid it was to have walked over to you with no plan beyond a greeting), he ended up stumbling over his words, making up something about asking if you've seen someone else, keeping his shaky arms folded, and just when he thinks he's pulled off an interaction at least somewhat smoothly, his words of departure go over as-

Well, I'll see you arOUND—

-And he bites down hard at the voice crack, clearing his throat before trying to repeat himself as if nothing had happened, turning around and summoning his utmost willpower to walk away normally and not take off running. And then proceeded to lay in bed face-down for several hours, wallowing in frustration and humiliation.

It's a combination of those factors —a very odd, mismatched combination at that. The awkwardness over so much as a very simple interaction, yet at the same time, deep urges to do unspeakable things to you. He'd be fairly nervous about even doing something normal, and much more so the actual things he so deeply desires for.

Even if he could get over the feeling of guilt for the things he thinks about doing to you, all the depraved fantasies he's long since given up on trying to refrain from allowing his mind to conjure and instead now jerks off to several times a day, he'd still be so awkward, just thinking about it frustrates him.

However, said combination of factors is itself what makes it exponentially worse. It would be one thing if he was struggling to summon the balls to just talk to you and to start something normal, but that's not what he wants. He's self-aware of the fact that his urges are unusually violent and depraved.

He knows exactly where it started, too. He used to not have such depraved thoughts. Previously, he would have thought of himself as fairly normal in terms of tastes and urges, mostly using the occasional piece of adult material he's managed to get his hands on, books and prints that he keeps insistently hidden in a storage bin under the bed somewhere. All that was normal, nothing more than images of nudity with lewd posing.

But you just had to go and present an issue. It was so trivial, it's almost irritating that the inconvenience presents itself, forcing him to use valuable time to handle it. And it turned out to be a misunderstanding, too. Repeated absence, some professor claimed you hadn't showed up all semester, it led to a gradual increase of strikes to your conduct record and eventually, seeing as there were no bigger issues for him to handle that day, they sent him off to deal with something usually left to lower-ranked individuals. Turns out you'd registered for a different section of the same class, forgot to officially turn in the form to unregister from the former, and apparently fail to check your assigned mailbox at all. Admittedly, it was a bit irritating to have time wasted on something that was preventable, had you not been so airheaded, so his tone certainly reflected that.

—and in the future, *please* try to remember things like this.

I know! I know, I'm really sorry....

And if you'd checked your mail, you would have gotten all the letters the office has been sending you.

I know...

It was frustrating. At first, it was just pure irritation being taken out on you. But you just kept apologizing. Bowing your head, clasping your hands together.

I'm soooo sorry, I'll be more responsible in the future, I promise! S-so... please don't get me in trouble...

That was it. He can still hear those exact words in his head, exactly as you said them. The trepidation and nervousness in your voice. The way you bit your lip. The pleading look on your face.

A completely non-sensual interaction. Unpleasant, even. Something someone would have to be some kind of lust-obsessed pervert to find anything remotely sensual about, to think anything of beyond the plain, simple reality of the exchange and situation itself.

That's why it felt so bizarre, suddenly becoming aware of an increasing heartrate. The sudden sensation of heat across his body. A fuzzy, tingling sensation in his abdomen. And at first, he could have, albeit with some embarrassment, admitted to himself it was because yes, you did immediately strike him as pretty, and was ready to chastise himself for not having better control over himself, to let that influence him. In his conscious mind, he intended to merely tell you what you wanted to hear, that it was fine. After all, such a trivial misunderstanding would be unfair to hold against you, and he had every intention on just letting it go and taking any notes of the incident off your record. He was going to just tell you that it was all fine and to forget about it.

That's not what came out of his mouth, though.

I can't afford to have you making more unnecessary inconvenience in the future. You'd be more incentivized if you had some deduction of some kind.

No, really, I don't -- that's not necessary. I mean, it can't be that big of a deal, it's just a form...

It felt strange. Like it just came out of his mouth without thinking. He's normally not that much of a stickler, he's reasonable, and usually forgives first-time unintentional mistakes.

And now you're trivializing it?

N-no! No, I didn't mean it like that, I just...

To you, he comes off as irritated, but in truth his heart is beating so fast, there's this weird swelling feeling in his chest. That swelling feeling surges when your eyes widen and you start to apologize and stammer. The look of sudden panic on your face, the nervousness in your entire demeanor.

You're intimidated and nervous. The little things he says control and change your entire demeanor. Speaking harshly and coldly makes your panic worse. What happens is dependent on what he decides, and you're standing there pleading with desperation. And when he agrees, you sigh a huge breath of relief, thank him just as profusely as you were apologizing moments before.

You're very lucky I'm willing to strike this off your record entirely. Normally, I'd at least make a note of past negligence to fulfill academic responsibility.

I know, I know, thank you...

He thinks about that initial interaction a lot. For the rest of that day, it wouldn't leave his mind, even at night when he laid there, looking up at the ceiling. Unable to determine why he said all that. Drew out your suspense and worry.

But he's perceptive enough that he can figure it out, after some reflection. It just felt nice, to have that degree of control over you. Amusing, endearing even, how you reacted to it all, and a sort of exciting buzz at the awareness of having so much control over someone. That should be something he's fairly used to, but he's never felt this sensation when dealing with anyone else. It's usually just a responsibility that he doesn't have any particular emotions about.

And maybe, seeing your intimidation and dread and pleading was, in and of itself, entertaining. Pleasing. A sort of egotistical rush.

You now recognize him, smile and wave when you see him, despite the unpleasant nature of that situation. He's not at all resentful of you or anything for it. In fact, he's taken a sort of fascination with you since then... not that you'd really know, given it's all from a distance, aside from that one aforementioned time he fumbled the attempt to talk to you normally.

He can't look at you without feeling shameful about the thoughts that begin to sprout — as dumb and forgetful as you apparently may be, you're so sweet to him when you see him, and seem so kind and pure-spirited, and here he is wanting to do horrible things to you, it makes him feel so guilty and ashamed and he sulks for hours... usually before jerking off to the thoughts again, unable to resist the urge to do so. Admittedly, he's hoping that expressing the urges that way will make him more rational and less prone to impulse in real life.

More importantly, he can't look at you without stripping you down in his head. He hates that, keeps trying to chastise himself for it. It's the sort of behavior that's reserved for rapists and perverts, not people like him. But it just keeps happening. Every time he looks at you, he keeps imagining all the pieces coming off, tries to envision your skin, the curvature of your body. It usually serves as a preceding thought to far worse ones.

You're so nice, you've never done anything wrong to him. You have such a cute smile. Your heart is pure and sweet. That makes it so much worse, makes him feel a knot in his chest, whenever he tries to keep the fantasies wholesome and normal, if he can't fight them off entirely — only to fail at that too. It makes it so much worse that, no matter how much he tries to envision you smiling and moaning and encouraging him, once he gets hot and into a lust-crazed haze, it always drifts. Before he can even stop himself, the images become you whimpering and teary-eyed, looking scared, trembling. He sees your arms straining hard against restraints, feels your body squirm against his, hears little gasps and hisses of pain when he reaches down to bite your neck and digs his nails into your hips and so many other things, oh, so so so many other things he could do to you, things to make you squeal and squirm and clench and sniffle and beg and cry. He can hear it, a side to your voice he's never heard in reality, higher in pitch and strained, stop, stop, I'm sorry, please—

And the fantasy always breaks there, because once he gets to the part he can hear your voice in his head is always what pushes him over the edge. His eyes bolt open and his muscles tense as cum splatters onto his stomach, and he's left to lay there panting and staring up at the ceiling, wallowing, feeling like he's the worst person in the world.

It's getting harder. He starts to get jittery, like some sort of psychological itch that can't be scratched except for one specific way, one he can't do. He can't.

He can just barely justify it to himself with the notion that fantasizing helps. As long as he does this, he won't do anything to you. At least, that's his hope...

But splashing cold water on his face whenever he feels weird is getting less effective. He feels a sense of dread, worried about his own self and his own mind, when he finds himself spacing out and absent-mindedly wandering around, but just so happening to make a direct path for your residence. He feels a nagging sense of sickness when he gradually caves to one urge after another -- first following you around, then increasing the amount of time he spends doing so, then using the master key he's provided with to break into your room and lie on your bed and inhale your scent for over an hour, then to start stealing clothes out of your room. It makes him feel sick to his stomach, makes him feel shameful and dirty, but it's overridden by the haze of arousal and lust and desperation.

He knows it's getting worse, and that his self-control is rapidly waning. He comes to acknowledge that he's lying to himself when he reasons that doing this will satiate the desires, prevent him from doing something worse. That it will only accelerate it instead. That it's a matter of time and circumstance from this point forward, and that he's just a step away from going out of his way to create the right circumstances. That he's going to commit a crime, and not because it's the only way he could obtain the physical act itself, but because he wants to, because he wants it to be forceful and frightening and brutal. As much as he wishes he didn't want that, he knows his inner mind does, his body does, he wants that, craves it, needs it.

Maybe he could break into your room while you sleep. Put a hand over your mouth. Keep you in the dark, only whisper so you can't recognize his voice. Then you wouldn't know. Ah, but then, if he had that once, if he could experience that once, there's no way he'd be able to keep it at only once. There's no way he could just walk out and leave you there and live without ever getting to do it again. He has to do something, but there's nothing he can do that isn't a terrible idea for anything but the immediate few minutes it would take place.

What if he just... did it? Without even concealing his identity? Would you tell anyone? Would you not, because you'd think no one would believe you? Would you be too afraid of him to do that? Would you allow it over and over and over, to the point that you would just accept it as your fate? Would it eventually break your mind into accepting him, too?

He doesn't end up having to think it through, or plan it out, or even finally give up resistance to the urges enough to make an active effort to go through with it. No, he gets something much easier. So much so, so coincidental and perfect, it feels like some kind of joke, like it can't even be real, when he gets that knock on his door late at night, freezing up entirely when he sees your sheepish, apologetic face.

I'm so sorry sir, it's just... I locked myself out of my residence hall, I don't know anyone else I could go to this late... I thought maybe you have some kind of key that can get into the halls...?

For a moment, he doesn't respond, and you're almost afraid you've upset him. He stands there slowly blinking, expression blank, staring forward at you, completely still. The silence carries for just a few seconds, just enough to feel awkward, before he speaks — that is, lies on immediate impulse.

No, I don't. Sorry.

There's an odd dullness to his eyes, it almost makes you feel uneasy, but you deem it easily explicable as tiredness due to the late hour.

O-oh, alright, sorry to bother—

You can stay in here.

There's a few seconds of pause. He seems to recognize the somewhat surprised look on your face, and adds,

I have a chair I can sleep in. You shouldn't be outside so late at night. I'll allow you to stay here for the night. It's probably best for your safety.

The words come out of his mouth before he can think them through, impulsive, and hopefully not so instantaneously after you just barely finish your own words that it came across as odd. He can't really tell how he's coming across, too deep into a daze. He can't read the expression on your face either, as if his brain is short-circuited, unable to focus on or process anything. It takes another moment for him to realize he's still standing in the doorway, and takes a step back.

And you know it's strange, sure. But again, it's reasonable, it's late, he's tired. And he's extending such a kind gesture for someone he really doesn't know all that well, you'd feel bad for rejecting it, and thereby obligated to agree. It's only natural that unsavory ideas briefly cross your mind, but for someone like him, both in character and in position, you don't really worry about something like that, you trust him far more than you would a regular guy.

Thank you so much!

He doesn't even nod in acknowledgement, merely steps to the side as you make your way in. You're taking in the predictable neatness of the room around you as you listen to the click of him locking the door back up for the night, and then, the slow, heavy sound of each step taken from behind you drawing closer and closer, as you set down the things you had on you, a jacket and a bag. Your lips part and you inhale just before asking if it's okay to put them where you did, but a hand slams down onto your throat before you can speak.

[sbk-zgvlt]

Got this ask I wanted to share, Listen…..what about….Sebek getting a part time job….as some form of training

HE INFLICTS THE TRAINING UPON HIMSELF AND DIASOMNIA HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA ABOUT IT

He hears about Yuu complaining about how their world treats like. Fast food and retail employees and says "their job is literal HELL i dont know how they do it! everyone should treat them with respect" and he's like "HMMM A PERFECT WAY TO TRAIN MYSELF!!!"

So, during winter break, he takes up a job in both a fast food place and a retail store. Alright, hold up right there. Hey. You, the one reading this. Search up "jolibee worker uniform." Yeah. That's right. That's what he's wearing in the fast food place that is unrelated to Jolibee. Yeah.

Everyone in the Not Jolibee thinks he's a PAIN to work with because he does not get how these customers can end your entire career with a single recording. Either he's too loud, or he judges a customer's order, etc.

His boss sets him aside for a bit and goes "customer is always right bla bla bla" and what he doesnt know is that. Sebek treats any higher authority's words as LAW. So his performance suddenly SKYROCKETS and everyone else realizes "oh shit bro he's just a fucking puppy man. a little guy. if a customer starts telling him to refund their order he's going to refund their order now oh shit"

These guys have to work together to make sure that Sebek doesn't fall victim to sleazy customers and Karens. Except Karens have no effect on Sebek because anything they say goes over his head. "I'd like to speak to your manager!!!" "MY MANAGER IS BUSY, BUT I CAN SET UP A TIME AND PLACE FOR YOU!!!"

They get so put off by him that they leave. Everyone cheers. Sebek is now their Karen-repellant.

Anyways, Sebek gets whiplash from working in a retail store because there are NO uniforms to follow after. At best you just have to present yourself nicely. But not a single worker in Twisted Wonderland follows this rule because they just dress the aesthetic of their store. So, naturally, Sebek feels the need to follow after them too.

...did I mention that he works in Not Claires. Yeah, imagine that. Put their aesthetic onto Sebek. Yeah, YEAHHH.

Across from Not Claires is the Scorching Point (Totally not the twst equivalent of Hot Topic), and these two stores have NEVER interacted with each other. In comes Sebek, entering the mall in the most blandest outfit ever. But these retail workers see his stoic face, slicked back hair, and think "Oh. Scorching Point guy. Alright"

Imagine their surprise when he enters Not Claires instead, asking for the job. Someone from Scorching Point faints. Before he actually does any work one of the Not Claires employees suggest that he dress up like them for the appeal and to fit in with the general look of the store. Sebek says that he will.

Everyone has NO expectations for what Sebek is going to wear because bro literally went inside a mall looking like he goes there to window shop for household appliances only for their jaws to drop when he comes in with his hair down and decked out in PASTELS (He asked for help from Riddle who asked for help from Cater because "Sebek what the fuck is a Not Claires what is that"). Sebek had to be FORCED by Cater to style his hair down btw

And the thing is!!! Even if he works at Not Claires he ALWAYS goes over to Scorching Point on and off his shifts. Talks to this specific girl for some reason. Everyone else ignores it. The second week that Sebek's been there, a Scorching Point employee finally walks up to the Not Claires girl who always mans the cashier and asks for her number.

A bridge has been made between the two retail stores, carried by two lesbians and the green haired kid they like to gush about their crush to.

...Diasomnia still has no idea about this.

[writersblockiskillingme]

Ona | Bojan Cvjetićanin

Pairing: Bojan Cvjetićanin x reader

Summary: Bojan wrote this song about you and preformed it at one of the bands concerts for the first time. Through the song he started to spill his feelings for you for the first time after your breakup and you have a few thoughts.

Warning/s: possible grammar and spelling mistakes, mention of mental breakdown, maybe one curse word, bad breakup.

Author's note: Here is one for out golden retriever beautiful boy. I hope that you enjoy this one! Feel free to send in requests if you want me to make something specific with him. Oh and, btw, here is the translation for this amazing song. Your welcome. 😉

It was so bright out there, it started to hurt your eyes a little bit. You were standing somewhere in the middle of the crowd watching the love of your love. The love of your life... that you decided to let go because you felt like you weren't good enough.

You were attending yet another Joker Out's concert, but it felt different this time. Maybe because Bojan and you weren't together anymore.

Joker Out was here, in Croatia's capital city of Zagreb. This was the next stop for their concert. This is where the two of you met. Right here in Zagreb on a hot, sunny day in a crowded city. In your hometown. In the breathing country where you were born and raised in.

So here you were. In your hometown where Joker Out was performing. The first time that you heard that they will be performing in Zagreb, it felt like someone punched you in the stomach. But then you felt something different, you felt the need to see him again. Even if he doesn't take a notice in you as you stood in the middle of the crowd that was dancing and singing along. So you decided to go.

The moment that they stepped onto the stage you felt like you would cry. You missed them all so much. You somehow found the strength deep in your soul to look at Bojan. And so you did. He was just so gorgeous. He looked even better then when he did on the day that you left him (Lana Del Rey anyone? No? Okay...). He still had long hair, he was tall and just oh, so handsome. You noticed one thing however, his playful and mesmerizing, so radiant, smile or his playful smirk wasn't pressed onto his face like it always was. It worried you, truly. You watched as they got in their possession and as Bojan took the microphone.

"So... for the first song I will be singing something that hasn't been released just yet." He spoke in Serbian (it's actually very similar to Croatian, you know?) as he watched the crowd go wild with excitement as they claped and shouted and screamed with pure joy, with pure excitement.

"This song is also very special to me." He said, his voice was deep as he looked down in what seems to be sadness.

"It's about a very special person about who, I hate to admit it, I didn't get over and I don't think that I ever will." He paused for a moment so he could take a deep breath so he could continue to speak. "I met her right here, actually. In the beautiful Zagreb a year ago and I can honestly say that I fell for her harder then I ever did for anyone." The crowd was cheering, screaming, in excitement as Bojan introduced Joker Out's unrelated song.

"This one is for her." He said as the rest of the bend slowly started to play the chords. You felt your last bit of your breath leave your lungs as you felt tears pricking in your eyes, your vision getting blurry. You couldn't move. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think.

But once he met your eyes deep in the crowd, where you stood, just as he started to sing, you felt like you were going to collapse.

Hodam opet njenom ulicom

Brutalno se vuče otkad nisam više s njom

Stanem ispod njenog prozora

Jedna njena senka da me spasi očaja

Bojan was walking around the dark cornered alley in the middle of the night. It must have been midnight by now. As he walked, he could see his breath in the cold of the Zagreb's winter, cold night. As he watched his breath become visible in the cold, dark night, he found himself pulling his dark coat closer to himself. It was truly a good attempt to keep himself from freezing.

Before he knew it, he found himself walking along the familiar road. The road that he walked along too many times to count, but right now, he was all alone. He looked up so he could be met face to face with the moon. It was shining so brightly in the middle of the dark night's sky. It was staring right at him, it seemed like it was mocking him. It was mocking his heartbreak and his loneliness. It was mocking him.

Suddenly, as Bojan looked down, he felt like the last breath was knocked out of his lungs. You were skipping along the frozen road, your steps quickly increasing as you went towards your apartment.

He felt like a staker, even though he wasn't one. He slowely started to go after you, something was pulling him towards you. That invisible pull was there again, just like it first appeared when he saw you for the first time.

After a while, you finally came into your apartment. You leaned against the window with a heavy sigh. Bojan could see you from the street and as he watched you he felt like he was suffocating.

Bojan loved you. You know what? Scratch that. He loves you. He longs for you. He wants you to be safe and as he watched you quitly from down below, he once again exposed his pain for the Croatian girl to the moon. To the moon, to the darkes and the cold winter in the middle of the street.

Nisam ni zaslužio da završimo uživo

Jedna poruka i via more

Snegovi u avgustu sad po meni padaju

Dok tebe sunce greje, mi amore

It felt like it was a good day. Truly. Bojan and you went out to get lunch and to explore the city. You were just hanging out together and it felt so good to do it. However, all good things have to come to an end.

Bojan didn't expect it at all. It struck him like a bolt of lightning. Out of nowhere, just when you think the day is going to be beautiful, and it hit hard. Really hard. In fact, it hit so hard it hurt.

"I'm sorry, Bojan. I really don't want to do this, but I think it's for the best if we break up."

That was it. Bojan could still remember those words echoing in his mind even though you never said them out loud. You told him this through text messages and maybe that's why it hurts even more than it would if you told him that to his face.

You loved him so much. You still love him so much that it hurts. Joker Out was starting to be a big band that has so much potential, and with that came so much more fame. You just didn't want to be in the way. You felt like you weren't good enough for him. You felt like he could do, and deserves, so much better than you. You were so happy with him, in fact, you were happier than you have ever been. But you didn't want to be in the way. So you made a hard choice.

Nobody could ever know, nobody could ever describe the pain, suffering and all that misery that you felt that day. That miserable feeling you felt when you pressed that little "send" button on your phone. As you watched the message being sent, you cried so much that it felt like you were going to collapse. After that you cut all of the contacts with him.

It was for his own good, that's what you told yourself. It's what you always told yourself as you broke down in the middle of your bedroom floor.

Znaj, bebo, znaj

Celu noć sam plakao zbog tebe

Taj osećaj

Da za mene živo ti se jebe

Ubija me

Bojan felt like a part of his soul was ripped away from his body as he read that message over and over again. He cried so much it started to hurt. He has never felt this way before. He hated to admit it, but he has never loved anyone as much as he loves you. It was intoxicating, but most of all it was painful and infuriating.

It lasted too long. Jan didn't know what to do anymore. Bojan just kept on crying, he was crying for so long, in fact, it was already dark outside. Jan was afraid that something was going to happen to him if he doesn't do something. And quick. It looked like Bojan wasn't breathing anymore. His broken soul didn't allow him to take a break, even just so he could breathe.

So Jan panicked and before he knew it, he was calling you up. He watched Bojan from the other room as the grip on his phone tightened. He found himself silently begging you to pick up your damn phone and answer him.

And so you did. After the millionth ring and after about two hundred messages later. You picked up the phone.

Jan told you everything. You were crying before he called you and it took everything in your power to not break down while being on the phone call with Bojan's band mate and your friend. You were practically kicking yourself for your decision, but there wasn't much that you could do.

From that day on, Jan tried everything in his power to get you two to at least meet. And for the first time, in a very long time, he succeeded. He managed to convince you to come to their concert.

In the city where you met.

Znaj, bebo, znaj

Celu noć sam plakao zbog tebe

Taj osećaj

Da za mene živo ti se jebe

Ubija me

Ubija me

As Bojan sang the last few chords of the song, he never broke the eye contact. You felt a few tears betraying you as they ran down your cheeks. Before you knew it, you found yourself whispering the words for which you barely found the strength to say.

"Celu noć si plakao zbog mene." You said, practically out of breath. It felt like you were kicked in your stomach as he continued to hold your gaze. You felt more tears as you found yourself repeating the words you just said.

"Celu noć si plakao zbog mene..." You couldn't do this to yourself anymore. You couldn't do this to him anymore. It was too much. The pain and suffering was getting out of hand.

You had to fix this.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Nameless, Faceless: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Summary: Not even four hours after the case in Canada, you're thrown into another one. This time, without Hotch. You have a sinking feeling he's not just blowing you off to get some sleep. There's something wrong.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: welcome to the first episode of season 5! i hope you enjoy this series just as much as i loved writing it! <3

I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

x

You arrive at his apartment building in ten minutes and immediately head to the floor his apartment is on. The second you step foot onto the floor, you know something is wrong. The feeling in your stomach hasn't gone away, it gets stronger. You knock on his door but he doesn't come to it.

"Hotch? It's me, Y/N. Are you in there?" you ask and knock again.

You take out your phone and call him but when you hear his phone ring from inside, you know something is wrong. You take out your gun and try the door knob which is unlocked. You push open the door and get hit with a wave of familiar energy--George Foyet's. You walk in slowly and notice a few things off the bat. Hotch's keys and briefcase are still by the front door, his phone is on the kitchen table, and there is a large bloodstain on the floor behind the couch. Upon further examination, there is a gunshot in the wall, tables and chairs are turned over, and Hotch is nowhere to be found.

If Hotch is dead, you would have seen his spirit here. Though, he has been stabbed multiple times by George Foyet. How he got in, you're not sure but the entire attack is played over and over to see exactly what went down between the two men. If you're going to have hope in finding Hotch alive or dead, you need help from someone you know who can track him.

"Overtime shift. Penelope speaking," Pen says when you call her.

"Pen, it's Y/N. I need you to listen really carefully. Something's happened to Hotch."

"What do you mean, something?"

"He's been stabbed. There's blood on the floor but he's not dead. I would have felt him otherwise."

"Oh, my God," she gasps.

"I need you to send police and FBI techs here right away. Everyone available."

"Do we need an APB?"

"Only on Hotch. I saw his car outside."

"Someone took him?"

"Yes, I believe so. There's a lot of blood here and a gunshot in the wall. Just get people here."

"Okay, I'm sending an army."

"Pen, I'm gonna have to tell Spencer because he and Em are expecting me back but you can't tell the others. They cannot be distracted. I'm only telling you and Spencer."

"Okay. I'm calling everyone."

You hang up on her and immediately call Spencer.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Listen, don't tell Emily this but something bad happened to Hotch. He's been stabbed."

"What?"

"He's not here but there is a lot of blood here and I felt Foyet's energy here."

"Wait, what are you talking about?"

"Is that Y/N?" you hear Emily in the background.

"I can't come back but just tell Emily and Dr. Barton that I'm away on an emergency. Don't tell the others. They can't be distracted right now."

"What's going on? Is this about Jeffrey?" Dr. Barton asks.

"No, it's unrelated."

"We only have a few hours left here."

"I'm really sorry, I have to take this phone call, okay?"

"What could be more important than my son right now?"

"I assure you, this will take one second. Please, I promise." Dr. Barton walks away and joins Emily's side to go over the files that Penelope has sent over. "What happened?"

"There's a gunshot hole in the wall. I'm guessing it's a .44 but there isn't any blood or tissue spray around it. Hotch wasn't shot."

"Any idea how he got out?"

"Foyet carried him. Hotch was stabbed but there aren't any blood drops anywhere. His body might have been wrapped in something.

"Is he...?"

"Dead? No. I would have felt him."

"Are bureau techs on the way?"

"Yeah, Penelope called everyone. She's the only one who knows."

"Alright, write down everything you see. We'll profile from your notes when you get back."

"How's Dr. Barton?"

"It's a huge list of cases to go through with him."

"Okay, I've got this here. You have Emily with you. Just stay focused."

"Alright, you too."

"What's wrong?" Emily asks when Spencer hangs up with you.

"Nothing. Y/N's been called away on an emergency not related to the case, but it's fine."

That answer seems to satisfy Emily but not Dr. Barton.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm confident that the three of us can do this together. We know he's been killing Hispanic males as surrogates. Did you separate the case files?"

"Yeah."

"How many of the surgeries fit the criteria?"

"Eight-two."

"Let me ask you this. On how many of those dates did you operate on somebody else as well?" Emily wonders.

"Seventy-five."

"Did any of those patients die on the table?"

"Eleven."

"That's where we start. This whole thing is about choice. He's forcing you to play God with your son because the last time you had a choice, your decision devastated him."

"I'm a doctor. I save people."

"It doesn't matter to him," Emily says. "All that matters to him is that you had an alternative and you didn't take it. Now, how many of those surgeries involve patients under twenty?"

"Six. I get a lot of gunshot wounds, mostly gang-related."

"Has a gang or family member ever threatened you?"

"No. At first, when you lose someone it's mostly confusion and devastation. The anger comes later."

Emily and Spencer go through the case files that fit the criteria and come up with six dates that could have been the trigger for the unsub.

"Alright, we have six dates where you operated on a Hispanic male on the same night a patient under twenty died. What we're gonna do is read the names and dates off to you, and you tell me anything you can remember, okay?"

"Okay," Dr. Barton sighs.

"Let's start with January 22nd. I have Tyler Hayes with multiple gunshot wounds. The next day, Brian Douglas was a hit-and-run victim with a lacerated aorta."

"No, not that one."

"March 15th, Devon Marks who was a heroin overdose, and Angela Harris who is another car accident victim in a single vehicle, bleeding into her brain."

"No, this is no use. I would remember if I was threatened."

"Did any of them ask you about your family?" Dr. Barton looks at the clock that is ticking down. "We have time."

"Okay," he sighs.

He tries not to think about his son and the danger he's in as he recalls the patients he's dealt with. The entire school day has gone by without a hitch but there are still a few hours before school ends. Derek, Rossi, and JJ have been very diligent in making sure Jeffrey and the other students are safe from the unsub.

"I talked to Detective Walker," JJ says, "The final bell is at 3:10. He's gonna have a SWAT unit in place at exactly 3:00 to escort kids out. We'll need you to gather the students at 2:45."

"This could all be happening now," the principal argues.

"If the unsub sees us evacuate early, we feel certain he'll kill another random citizen, and this also buys us a day to try and discover his identity. So, we'll have school buses for evacuation, and teachers can brief parents who are here to pick up their kids."

"The key is to keep Jeffrey isolated and avoid panic with the other students. If we can do that, everybody gets out of here safe," Rossi explains.

"Have you cross-checked all the records of employees in the building against Dr. Barton?"

"Garcia's on it."

Derek calls Penelope who answers eagerly.

"Y/N?"

"No. Sorry, baby girl, just little old me. You're out of luck."

"Right. Sorry."

"Did you finish the background check on everyone in the building?"

"Yeah. There's no red flags, no felonies, and no connection to Barton."

"That's god. Alright, I gotta go. There's about to be a bell."

"Alright. Be safe," she sighs.

"Hey, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just tired."

"Yeah, I hear you. Let's just get this kid home safe and we can all sleep."

"Right."

As soon as Penelope hung up with Derek, she called multiple hospitals in Virginia in hopes Hotch was in one of them. No one has seen or heard of a man named Aaron Hotchner, though one of the hospitals did have someone named Derek Morgan show up recently. With this news, she immediately calls you.

The FBI techs and police did come quickly while you stayed off to the side and replay what happened over and over again. You're not sure how Foyet got into Hotch's apartment but he waited for him and threatened him with a gun only to shoot the wall. They both got into it and knocked some shit over only for Foyet to stab Hotch multiple times. Every time you replay the scene, it leads to more questions than answers.

How did he get in? Why didn't he kill Hotch? Why stab him and take him to a hospital? Your phone rings and you pick it up when you see it's Penelope calling.

"Hey, what's up?"

"I called hospitals to see if Hotch had gotten himself admitted to an emergency room. He's not listed as a patient but someone dropped a John Doe off at St. Sebastian Hospital, and that someone's name was FBI Agent Derek Morgan."

"Foyet took Derek's credentials."

"Why would he drop him off at the ER?"

"I don't know. I'm headed over there right now. I'll call with an update as soon as I get one."

You quickly send a text to Spencer to let him know what's going on so he doesn't freak out about the state of his boss.

Hotch is in St. Sebastian Hospital. I'm headed over there right now. I'll call when I have an update.

Spencer reads the message as soon as it comes in. He knows Hotch is in good hands if you're the one looking after him.

"Are you sure she's okay?" Emily asks when she notices his worried look.

"Yeah, she's fine. She's just giving me some updates."

"I don't understand. These surgeries are all hours apart. I didn't have to choose between patients. If he's punishing me for my choices, none of these fit," Dr. Barton groans in frustration.

"Alright, look at the note again and compare it against the wording on the charts. A lot of times an unsub will unconsciously mirror the wording of situations." Something suddenly comes to Dr. Barton which is evident in his facial features. "Do you remember something?"

"I don't know. It was right after New Year's. There was a car accident. One of the victims was Hispanic."

"New Year? I have it right here," Emily says. "On January 3rd, there was a two-car collision. You operated on someone named Hector Ledezma. That was your only surgery that night."

"I remember that case. Someone else came in, but I didn't operate on him. His name was Jason Meyers."

Spencer calls Penelope to gather more information on Jason.

"Garcia, I need you to find a patient in the system named Jason Meyers."

"He was admitted on January 3rd on life support. Oh, no. He was taken off the ventilator and declared legally dead three days ago."

"Who is his father?"

"Patrick Meyers, age forty-five."

"Get a photo into the school immediately. I think he's our unsub."

"Okay, it's on its way."

Spencer texts you an update on the current case since you're doing everything you can to take care of Hotch, which you appreciate. You can't do anything about Dr. Barton and his son, but you can find Hotch and figure out what's going to happen to him. As soon as you checked into the hospital, one of the doctors met with you and took you to the room Hotch was in. The second you see him, tears form in your eyes.

"He was stabbed nine times, but no major arteries were hit. It's a miracle he's alive."

"When will he wake up?"

"The anesthesia should wear off within the hour, but he's bound to be out of it."

"May I stay here?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

The doctor checks a few things before giving you some privacy. You pull up a chair next to his bed and stare at his unconscious body.

"You better not die," you say to him. "This entire BAU is my family and that includes you. Do you hear me, Aaron? Don't die."

You hate lying to your team and hope they're doing okay without you. Hotch's medical chart is hanging off the edge of his bed. Your curiosity makes you read over it as if you're going to understand what most of it means. You're very smart but you're not medically smart. However, the initial L.C. in the top right-hand corner grabs your attention. It's the same initial the unsub left on the note for Dr. Barton. You grab the chart and find the doctor at the nurse's station.

"Excuse me, what does L.C. stand for?"

"Living Children."

"Thank you." You walk back into Hotch's room and call Spencer. "I know what L.C. stands for. Living Children."

"Are you sure?"

"Hotch has it on his medical chart. It's administrative. It's when they're afraid a patient's gonna go on life support and they don't have a DNR order."

"What if the unsub was trying to tell Dr. Barton that he is actually the target and that he's gonna leave his son without a father?" The sound of a door opening catches Spencer's attention. "Barton!"

"What's going on?" There is commotion coming from his end and you hear something that chills you to the bone. A gunshot. "Spencer?" No answer. "Spencer, answer me. Please." Still, no answer and you get tears. "Spencer? I can't lose two people I love. Please answer me." Instead of trying to get him to answer, you hang up and call 911 to report the gunshot. "This is Special Agent Y/N from the FBI. I need police and an ambulance to 120 Kensington Road, Mclean, Virginia. Shots were fired and a federal agent is possibly down."

Spencer lays in front of Dr. Barton with a gunshot wound in his knee from the unsub. The unsub was targeting Dr. Barton but got Spencer instead.

"Are you hit?"

"No."

"Get my gun. Get my gun!" Spencer urges.

Dr. Barton scrambles for the gun before the unsub can fire off another shot. Spencer grabs his gun and points it at the unsub.

"Get away from him!"

"Whatever you do, stay down," Spencer says to Dr. Barton before facing the unsub. "Drop the gun!"

"Don't protect him. He killed my son!" Patrick says emotionally.

"He did not kill your son. Your son was killed in a car accident."

"Stand up!" he yells at your boyfriend.

"I'm gonna ask you again, please drop the gun. I do not want to shoot you."

"Stand up, you coward!"

"Mr. Meyers, listen to me. Dr. Barton did not kill your son. Your son was killed by a car, and this is not what he would want. Okay? So, drop the gun. Please."

His words seem to get through to Patrick because he lowers the gun. Tears are streaming out of his eyes, he looks like he's in so much pain, and he doesn't know who or what to trust. Sirens can be heard from down the street no doubt from the call you made to 911. The unsub raises his gun toward Spencer and Dr. Barton.

"Don't do it."

"I'm sorry."

Before Patrick can fire, Spencer shoots him in a spot that's not fatal. Dr. Barton turns to Spencer to help him but the young doctor waves him off.

"I'm fine. Go to him. Kick his gun away. Make sure his gun is not near him."

Dr. Barton kicks the gun away before assessing the wound on Patrick.

"No, don't touch me. Oh, I want to die. Oh, don't touch me," Patrick weeps.

"I need to stop the bleeding."

"Let me die."

"The medics are almost here. Can you keep him stabilized?" Spencer asks.

"Yes, I think so." Seconds later, the ambulance and police arrive. "Hold on, they're right here. Help is coming, alright?" They get out of their car and rush over with equipment. "We need a backboard and a C-collar. Put pressure on this right here. Call ahead to the ER and tell them they got a GSW to the thoracic cavity, and have him redlined to the OR stat."

"You got it."

"Don't touch me," Patrick cries.

Dr. Barton approaches Spencer and inspects the wound on his knee.

"It looks like it went clean through."

"You might have just saved his life."

"Keep pressure on this, okay?"

The team arrives with Jeffrey, and Spencer nods to the doctor's son.

"I'm good, I'm fine. Go to your son."

Jeffrey and his son embrace in a tight hug while the team joins Spencer's side with worry on their faces.

"Are you okay?" JJ asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"We'll get you to a hospital."

"No, you need to call Y/N. She's at the hospital with Hotch. He's been stabbed by Foyet."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[writingforsimps]

Slight Ooc, Tighnari didn’t come home… I love him and know he’s on the standard banner! And really want him T^T but I already spent all my gems!

But basically I couldn’t observe his character through voice-over.

—————————————————————-

Tighnari Creator Headcannons

“You want to know about Creator? …Y/N? Haypasia has been absolutely inching to met her… I would also like to ask her some questions.”

Tighnari’s a believer but he won’t shout it from a roof top. He’s calmer, more composed.

If he sees you on the street in a crowd (your always drawing a crowd) he’d simply walk away and hopes to catch you at a better time.

He finally got to speak to you because you were out in the forest. He watched you for a little while: the way the forest seemed to react to you; he found it fascinating. Poisonous plants and mushrooms seemed to avoid your touch when you reached for them!

When you yourself ignored this fact, trying to grab a particularly deadly mushroom Tighnari found even himself jumping to stop you from touching it.

He would be lecturing you for at least an hour- no a day! “Those are deadly to even touch Your Grace! proper removal will have to be done immediately- and who let the Devine creator come out unsupervised!? What would have happened if you did die!” And so on…

If he’s your favorite character… I’d latch onto him asap- because if you don’t he’ll fade to the background! Observing you from afar because he already has so many important duties!

He’s trying not to add creators babysitter to that list-

He likes being close to you- but he has so much to do, it’s not that he doesn’t want to spend every hour of his day with you, but he doesn’t have an hour of his day.

I’d just hang around him, follow Tighnari around and try not to cause trouble. He find some of your words strange ‘come home’? At one point you asked for some ‘Eiussy’..? He hopes it doesn’t mean what he thinks it does.

If he is your favorite he takes pride in it. I imagine him being very happy about the fact- he won’t gloat (too much\Barely at all), maybe just casually bring it up with cyno or someone else.

Ask to pet his ears. He can’t deny you for whatever reason! He also love how you pet them- his tail too. (I love Tighnari </3 I-T^T)

————————————————

Small semi unrelated SAGAU Headcannon:

-Hybrids/Oni have a stronger connection to you, friendship Lvl or not.(Of course- If a character is lvl 5 and above they beat the hybrid character out by a long shot. It’s just a small boost)

[evanorphia]

i need your thoughts on hope and lyall NOW. this is mostly unrelated but i love the idea of remus also having a little sister 😣

ask and you shall receive (also thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about them they’re my only thought for the past few days)

i have mainly been thinking about them in a non-magical au

okay so, hope is this really loud and outspoken girl, she speaks out about anything that she deems to be wrong. she’s also extremely intelligent. it’s the fifties but she manages to get into university at 18, she’s the only girl in the class and she’s studying classical literature. during the first lecture, no one is sitting next to her, looking down on her for both her age and gender, until a 21 year old lyall walks up to the desk asking if the seat next to her is taken. after that they’re sitting next to each other every lecture, they’re both flirting with the other but are oblivious that their feelings are returned

one lecture, hope is arguing with the professor about the reading list and lyall is just simping over her. it’s in that moment where he decides he’s gonna ask her out, it’s better to try and fail than never try and not know. except, in true holyall fashion, hope beats him to it by mere minutes asking him out first

they meet in september and by december of the same year they’re engaged, but they’re slower to get married because i am a strong believer in (ethnically) jewish hope and lyall who was born and raised atheist. her parents are approving of her engagement, in a “but daddy i love him” (by taylor swift) way. she doesn’t care for whether or not he’s jewish (although since she was a kid she’d always imagined marrying someone who was) but he wants to do everything correctly and he ends up converting to judaism out of his own choice. they’re married in early 1959 and in spring of the year after remus is born

i am a very large supporter of #stophopeandlyallhate i believe they were good parents and i will not take anyone’s word against that 😋

i also need to mention that they are both tall, hope is around 178cm/5’10” and lyall is around 189cm/6’2” but hope is definitely the type of person to always be wearing heels so she ends up being more or less the same height as lyall most days

they both have larger than life personalities. both of them are extroverts which was always a stark contrast to remus who was always very much an introvert

i could honestly yap about them forever it’s so bad

also, i have never truly thought of remus having a younger sister, and i will probably always be an only child remus believer, but now you mention it, i kinda fw that. yes yes i like it

my pinterest board

[delopsia]

i’m so sorry if you’re busy 💃🏽✨💐 but blow your mind has me whoreishly wondering, are ever we gonna “see” rhett and robby both wearing cowboy hats? do they ever hit up that state fair again, or any other bigger out-of-town rodeos? does rhett try to dress reader and robby up a little (lend them hats, boots, shirts or ask them to bring something of their own) or does he just let them wear whatever they want? does robby ever steal rhett’s signature brown cowboy hat? does reader? does reader wear it when they ride rhett or robby? does rhett wear it when he rides reader or robby? i feel like robby would secretly be very, very, very into rhett wearing his cowboy hat while riding him...

👀now, these are quite some concepts 💃

I like to think that the festival becomes a yearly tradition. An excuse to spend the weekend cozied up in a hotel room, buying things they don't need and joking about their not-so-perfect origin story. Even if they're all living together, it's just something they do.

There are a handful of rodeos, too; Reader and Robby always seem to make it to those rodeo finals and a few in-between ones too, but Rhett's rodeos taper down after he wins in the Amelia County Rodeo Finals. Partially because of a nasty knee injury he suffers from in the following season, but mostly just because he wants to venture out to where Reader and Robby live more. A little too sick of Wabang, a tad curious about what life is like outside of Wyoming.

Rhett's possessive ass absolutely tries subtly wrangling them into his clothes; he's been known for hiding Bobby's boots and 'accidentally' leaving his flannels in Reader's laundry. He thinks he's sly; hasn't realized that Reader and Bob started catching on within the first week of him doing it. They just let him think he's getting away with it, because it's cute to see him light up when they wear his clothes.

And that absolutely goes for his hat, too.

Robby is a little shier about wearing it, doesn't think he's "worthy" of wearing a cowboy hat when he's not a cowboy. He mostly steals it in private; where he feels most comfortable and like nobody is going to side-eye him for it.

Reader though? Absolutely steals it 💃if Rhett's hat miraculously grows legs and walks away from where he left it, then it's usually on the Reader's head. Acts all dramatic, like he's been robbed of his life savings, but he's melting on the inside and won't actually take the hat back.

"Nope! 🙄It's yours now. I don't want it anymore." Accompanied by a stolen kiss or three.

BUT?

HELLO?

ROBBY IS ABSOLUTELY INTO RHETT WEARING THAT OLD TATTERED HAT WHILE RIDING HIM.

He tries to find ways to knock it off, too. Thrusts up to meet Rhett halfway just to watch it bounce; intentionally knocks his head against the brim when he goes to kiss Rhett, trying to dislodge it. Sometimes, if that doesn't work, he rolls their bodies over so that it has no choice but to fall off and lay beneath Rhett's head.

There's a day when something pisses Robby off (*cough*, buckle bunnies, *cough*), and he wears the hat while he rides Rhett. Rhett says it's the hottest thing he's ever done; Bobby refuses to even speak of it because the memory makes him turn redder than a stop sign.

Half the time, Reader doesn't even start riding them with the hat on. Rhett and Robby are very guilty of reaching over and putting that hat on Reader's head; have some unspoken kink for the damn thing. But it's only for that old, felt brown hat; Rhett's summer hat almost never gets to join in on those escapades.

Sort of unrelated note, but I had this thought while I was writing this; they have absolutely tried roleplaying as cowboys.

Rhett's got his usual hat. Bobby and Reader wear old hats they dug out of Rhett's closet. But it ends in laughter because they keep knocking their hats off. Bobby's hat is too big and keeps falling into his eyes; Readers is too small. Who could have known that it's hard to kiss someone when you're both wearing cowboy hats?

🌻💕

[butmakeitgayblog]

So I'm relatively new to the fandom, and during my stay in this rabbit hole, that is, Clexa, I've got a few questions that I'm hoping you could answer :)

Why is everyone here pro-Lexa? Like don't get me wrong I absolutely love Lexa as a character and Alycia is a queen, but why all the hate towards some of the other characters, like Bellamy? I've never watched The 100 the whole way through (literally exited outta the show the second Lexa died), even then, it's been years since I watched it. Did I miss something while I was binge-watching, or was my teenage brain at the time just too immature to realize he was a total jackass..? Also, it's not just Bellamy, I've also seen hate for Bob, the actor who plays him. Which brings me to another question: does this fandom not like Eliza? I always see so much support when Alycia has an upcoming project or is posting Instagram updates but nothing for Eliza? Again, no judgment for the Alycia love because I completely understand why everyone here is head over heels in love with that girl but I just wanted to know, has Eliza ever done anything wrong? Or have I just conveniently only stumbled upon Alycia stans on this app?

Anyway, a totally unrelated note but since I'm here… may I just say ma'am, your writing is the bomb diggity. Like the perfect blend of humor, sexiness, angst, and fluff, THE GODDAMN FLUFF. Genius, you're a genius, like a mad scientist of Clexa fanfic. Hope you keep doing what you're doing, my friend. Take your time though, and don't listen to those ignorant anons that are crawling around yelling "wHy ArE yOu TaKiNg So LoNg To UpDaTe?" Thank you for writing for the Clexa fandom! ❤️

First I wanna say thank you for the sweet words and reading, that means so much to me 🥹💕 not to be a nerd but I screenshot that for one of my worse imposter syndrome days lol

Long post so you can read under the cut. Long time clexas you can just skip if you want because honestly I got annoyed all over again just typing it and you know it all already 🥴

Now right off the top, you don't have to hate Bellamy if you don't want to. It's not like that's a prereq for being a clexa, so if you like him, like him and don't worry about what anyone says. He's a fictional character so anyone who gets intense over someone liking him I think needs to take a walk.

But the reason why a lot of Clexas, myself included, hate him is somewhat of a two part answer. The main reason being is that his character is trash 😅. I mean I'm not gonna dissect every little bit of canon but the main points for me at least, since I can't speak for anyone else, are that he was constantly fucking up literally everything. He gets to earth, proclaims "tHeRe aRe nO RuLeS" and then,,, immediately declares himself the leader and starts forcing people to follow what he says. He literally almost let Clarke fall into a pit of spikes, tried to handcuff her and keep her hostage "for her own good", he spearheaded the whole thing with taking off their wristbands, HE BACKED PIKE, participated in the massacre of a peaceful army sent to protect skaikru, he constantly shamed and blamed Clarke for everything that ever went wrong even when a lot of that stuff was either the best solution in a bad situation OR was an indirect fallout from something fucked up that skaikru had done. The sweaty little fucker was always trying to control/manipulate Clarke and skaikru and his own damn sister despite the fact that everything he ever planned himself turning out to be: A Terrible Idea. Basically the dude sucked but was held up on spindles of glorification as being this heroic uwu soft boy that wasn't actually supported by any one damn thing in canon when you actually look at it objectively. And I'm sure I'm even forgetting stuff. The dude just sucked.

Agian, that's my own two cents.

The other reason being, it's rollover from having to deal with blarks. Their constant harassment and shoving their fanon, non-existent ship down everyone's throat, while being entitled little brats throwing tantrums about them not happening at every turn has led from what probably would've been just a mild distaste for a character for most into loathing even the name. Understand I'm not saying the word harassment lightly. They were awful for years. Death threats and homophobia, spamming inboxes with hateful messages and sending awful pictures/memes etc. One even sent EJT a dick pic with Blark written on their penis. They sent memes non-stop about Lexa dying when people were still reeling from it. I'm not saying all Blarks are bad because they're not, but there was enough harassment and viciousness from a large enough and loud enough faction that at a certain point it becomes a blanket feeling of animosity toward the entire ship and everything that follows it.

As for disliking EJT. In reality, she used to be the fandom favorite. I mean she was our girl because she used to champion us and was hilarious about it. Go look up old cons and interviews with her. She was funny and great. Once upon a time E was our biggest cheerleader and dealt with A Lot of abuse and harassment from The Other fandom for it. I'm talking body shaming, slut shaming, comments about her intelligence, sexual harassment and trolling her about her boyfriends and very descriptive messages about how they wanted her to harm herself. The list goes on. And no one, especially not Bob who was the golden boy for The Other fandom, ever said a word in her defense. Never told his fans to stop or that he condemned it. Ever. Not once. That never sat well with clexas, but you can't control what other people do.

We had her back anyway. So, it was whatever. Gross, but whatever.

And then she married Bob. Which, and Blarks cannot seem to wrap their heads around this fact, literally no cared about. She could've just married him and kept being the same person and no one would've cared. In fact, the way this fandom loved her, at first everyone was like hmmm weird and sudden but good for her I guess! Be happy!

But then Bob's ex came forward with very serious allegations about her past relationship with him. She released a statement that you can easily find online and from that it painted a very dark picture of things that involved both him and EJT. As I'm someone who believes victims, I have no reason not to believe her, and since the very bizarre (non) rebuttal that EJT posted in reply made zero sense, that was that. It changed the lens of how a lot of people started looking at her.

Which leads me to the charities.

Hear a collective Clexa sigh.

They're a saga in themselves, but to sum it up as short as possible, EJT had been a part of a children's organization for YEARS that she herself helped set up. Clexas raised a lot of money for this charity through fundraising and selling fanart and we really cared about it. And literally within months of them being married, he became involved in it, and then shortly thereafter, magically they both had to "step away from it" for dubiously explained reasons. (Which, if you read his ex's statement, logical deduction of what probably actually happened will make more sense than what they claimed, and not in a good way.) Sensibly, they started recieving backlash from supporters because, again a lot of people had been helping this charity for years and all of a sudden she was just gone from it and all the projects were halted. I'm not blaming solely her for anything but to just cut and run like she did was sus to say the least.

So to steer away from that shitshow, they started another charity. With a bunch of right-wing MAGA nuts. Yeah. They weren't open or transparent about anything, no records of where any of the money was going, iirc no real legitimate charity registration/tax documentation that anyone could find (and in the US that's all public info sooooooo). It was a total clusterfuck that people started calling them out on from the start. At first they tried to ignore it and just keep collecting money by doing these ridiculous cameos as cash grabs, but just like the first charity, after a while (and a lot of initially unaccounted for money being raised) the poor little darlings just had to "step away for mental health reasons."

Which I would accept and support wholeheartedly because mental health is extremely serious... except funnily, they didn't stop doing the cameos. They kept doing those and charging their fans money to listen to them blather on about made up ~behind the scenes info~ about Blark stuff and it being super secretly canon but for a million reasons that they don't know and can't name, stopped it from happening. Claims of love scenes and kisses that have never been backed up by evidence (like a script) or corroborated by a single person involved in the show. But it's totally true guys, just trust them bro. So yeah, they've kept doing all that. Just... not giving the money they're charging for the cameos to their "charity."

So that's the meat of it, I might be forgetting things and smudging some finer details because it's been a long while ago, but I think you can get the gist. People don't like Bob because he was an ass to fans and EJT herself before them even getting married. He's said ableist things and quoted racists trying to sound smart and never once apologized for anything. He's been accused of abuse in his personal life and has never addressed it, only made his wife write a terrible fanfiction-esque response to appease his ardent followers. And frankly, she pissed off her fans. Once she married him, she completely flipped her personality from a funny charity doing, body positivity leading, cheerleading about "Clexa are soulmates" and "Lexa is the love of Clarke's life" girl, to doing personal cash grabs constantly while spewing all this made up Blark garbage that directly contradicts things they've both said in the past to please her faithful paying cameo fans (read his fans).

It's all left a lot of people with a bad taste in their mouth, to say the least.

And ya best believe if Alycia does some crazy shit, I'll turn on her too 🤷‍♀️ but honestly I'm not too worried about that cuz the girl is a cryptid who you literally can't pay to go to cons or do cameos

[kylowritten]

If the Slipper Fits

Pairings: Kylo Ren x ForceSensitive!Reader

Summary: Nobody wants to be the woman whose foot fits that slipper.

Warnings: fluff, kissing, mentions of sex, nudity, mentions of self harm

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Wooo😅 I'm so sorry for how long it took for me to get this out. But here it is!! I struggled with writers block for awhile but recently remembered the ultimate cure: reading. I forgot how much a good book can really inspire me. Without further ado...

Part Fourteen

You’re not sure what to expect upon arriving in the Third District. You didn’t exactly leave on great terms with Kylo and, not to mention, you’re completely unaware of what’s happened while you were gone. More than likely you were walking into a hostile situation if anything like Parric in the Sixth District occurred; however, the servant who fetches you is amicable enough, and leads you into a room to get settled.

You half expect Kylo to be there, and so you prepare what to say. Undoubtedly he’ll know how it went. And you’re not sure if you’re disappointed or relieved when the room is notably absent of any sign of your husband.

There’s a knock at the door.

Panic jolts through you. You remember, vaguely, that if it was Kylo, you would’ve felt him approach through your Force bond.

Instead, your company is a regal-looking woman wearing a dress made of deep maroon. She smiles softly, if not somewhat abashed, as if she’s aware that she’s spooked you.

“Hello. I apologize, I’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

“Oh,” you say, laughing nervously. “No need to apologize.”

You don’t want to admit to her, or yourself, that you’re on edge about seeing Kylo.

She offers her hand and you shake it. “My name is Emelia, I’m the lady of the house.”

“Thank you for having us. From what I’ve seen of it, your district is lovely.”

Emelia’s lips twitch. “You’re very kind.”

You twist your head, pinning her with a look of incredulity. “You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t mean to offend,” Emelia quickly says.

She gestures past you. A rounded set of double doors open up to a small, adjoining balcony. Rain falls in sheets across the windows, and you remember the icy prick of it on your skin as you ran after the servant from your ship into the warmth of the grand estate.

Emelia adds, “We aren’t exactly known for our weather.”

“I like the rain,” you truthfully tell her. “I think it’s relaxing.”

“I agree, although I may be biased. We have a wonderful market, though, so I hope the clouds clear long enough for you to visit.”

“I would love that.” You smile.

Emelia clears her throat. “I’m afraid that I didn’t come here to discuss the splendor of our district. I-I have an ulterior motive.” A flash of gold catches your eye, and you realize it comes from the plethora of rings on Emelia’s hands as she wrings them. “May I speak freely, Your Highness?”

Your Highness. You would never get used to that.

“Of course,” you reassure her.

“My wife and I, we have two daughters.” Emelia pauses as if contemplating how to continue. “By the end of the year, they would’ve become the acceptable age to be fitted for the slipper. I…I feared for them terribly. I know that you didn't necessarily have a choice, but I am grateful for you for marrying the king and sparing my daughters of a similar fate. For all of the women in the kingdom. No more will have to die.”

You want to inform her no one actually died, but feel it would defeat the kindness of her statement. Someone else might’ve mistaken her words for callousness, but you understand what she meant — you were a savior, one way or another.

“It needed to end,” you say softly. “If I had to be the one to do it, then so be it.”

Little did she know how truthful you were. It truly was up to you to end the dark reign of the royal family over the kingdom, and of Palpatine’s unrelenting hold on Kylo.

“There you are.”

Kylo’s voice evokes both you and Emelia to turn towards the doorway.

A part of you softens at the sight of him.

Sans helmet and armor, Kylo stands in a simple pair of dark pants and a black sweater. Dressed like this, he looks perfectly aristocratical, reminding you glaringly of his royal upbringing; he hardly embodies the feral, wild man that you know, the one you watched kill a man for disrespecting you.

The complexity of him, the stark juxtaposition of his character, strangely intrigues you.

“Kylo,” you say, more breathless than you meant.

Emelia sheepishly smiles. “I’m sure that you wish to reunite with your wife.”

Kylo addresses her with his intense, unwavering stare but says nothing. After a pregnant pause, Emelia scurries past you and Kylo, making sure to give the latter a significant distance, which isn’t an easy feat considering that he fills the entire doorway. Before she can disappear around the corner, you shout, “Thank you,” then, quieter, knowing you have her attention, “Emelia.”

Emelia glances at you. She nods, then leaves.

With her gone, Kylo’s stare slides to you. “I trust that your trip was pleasant.”

“It was.”

He shifts, leaning hip and elbow against the frame of the door. “What did Lady Emelia want?”

Kylo is obviously shooting for nonchalance, but falls somewhere short of overbearing. It brings the slightest hint of a smile to your mouth. You tell him, “Just to say hello.”

“And everything is well?”

“Everything is well.” You swallow. You’ve forgotten to be afraid of this interaction. The reminder ratchets your nerves. “How are you?”

The door closes behind Kylo. He devours the space between you in two strides, effectively crowding you against the bed. The backs of your knees collide into the bed frame but you don’t concede to sitting, instead persisting on standing so that you’re wedged between his legs.

He towers over you, the proximity of him — his general being — overwhelms you.

“I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of you,” he says thickly, as if inflicted with some terrible curse. He all but spits it out. “I hated it.”

“Sorry,” you mutter to him.

Kylo fiercely says, “Don’t do that again. From now on you go where I tell you.”

“I’ll go where I please,” you fire back, blistering.

“You torment me,” he eventually replies. His tone is pained, all-suffering, the words sharp, cutting across your skin like a blade. His fingers, though, are appalling gentle as he snags a lock of hair, caught in the corner of your lips, and tucks it behind your ear. His brows furrow. “Please. Make it stop.”

You smile wryly. “I’m not sure I know how.”

An expression passes over his handsome features, the semblance of a smile. The very first of its kind.

“Join me, tomorrow.”

You frown. “What?”

“We’re going somewhere.”

“Where?”

“I’ll worry about that.”

You narrow your eyes, playfully suspicious. “What’s going on? Shouldn’t we be…” you wave your hand vaguely, “I don’t know…touring?”

“I think we’ve earned a break.” One of his brows, a thick, dark stroke against his pale skin, raises almost minutely. “Don’t you agree?”

“I suppose you.” The edges of your mouth curl mischievously. “You really missed me.”

He sniffs, “I didn’t miss you. I just think it would be of good conscience to spare our hosts from your insufferable tendencies.”

It takes a moment for you to realize that he’s kidding, that it’s just a sample of his dry humor. You get such seldom glimpses of it. In a singsong voice, you say, “You missed me.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a heinous act.”

You smirk, triumphant. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

A pleasurable ache between your thighs greets you as you wake, blinking sleep from your eyes. You turn, twisted in the sheets; you gave up a long time ago trying to catch Kylo still in bed, although the remnants of him are still there — his lingering warmth, his scent, and the memories of the former night heat your cheeks.

You languish, for a moment, in the comfort of an unhurried morning. Then, you lift your head and sweep your bleary gaze across the room, starting from the door to the balcony — there. Leaning casually, well, as casually as someone who perpetually upholds an essence of power, Kylo stands on the balcony with his back to you.

You swing your legs off the bed and hurry to grab your robe and belt it around your waist.

You’re not sure what overcomes you — perhaps the subtle domesticity of it all — but you pad on bare feet across the room and encircle your arms around him, your cheek nuzzling up against the muscular plane of his back.

“Good morning,” you hum.

His grunted response rumbles through his chest. “I would ask if you slept well,” he says, voice deliciously husky from sleep, “but I already know the answer.”

He can’t see you, but you roll your eyes. “So humble.”

Kylo grunts again. From behind him, you peek to see what he’s looking at. Beyond the balcony, rolling green plains are backdropped by clear skies, and you’re given view of the district that the rain obscured the day before. Awe yawns in you.

“What are the plans today?” You ask. For the first time since you can remember, you feel a worm of excitement working it’s way into your chest.

Kylo twists so that his back is against the railing of the balcony, but still in your arms. “Go get dressed,” he orders.

“You’re really not going to tell me anything?”

“No. Go.”

Kylo delights you as he slaps your ass on your way back into the room, and you cry out in protest. The sound of his chuckle follows you.

“Kylo, where are we?” Blindly, you reach out with your hands.

"We're almost there. Stop fussing."

You scowl. You feel as if your fussing is perfectly reasonable, considering that he's kept you out of the loop all afternoon. You flew to a remote location and then, upon climbing off the ship, he insisted that this be a surprise. So, you've walked for at least the last half mile with Kylo's large hands covering your eyes, stumbling awkwardly in front of him.

"Don't make that face."

"What? What face? You can't even see my face."

"The one where you furrow your brow and scrunch up your nose."

Irritatingly, he's right. You relax your features, forgetting that with his hands over your eyes he can tell the different in your expression. You smile sheepishly as he laughs.

"Are we almost there?" You complain.

"I'm going to walk you in circles if you ask one more time. I have nowhere to be today, I can delay this as long as necessary."

Finally, he stops in his tracks. You're grateful, because your feet have started to ache - it's been an embarrassingly long time since you've walked so far. "Keep your eyes shut," he instructs. The warmth of his proximity disappears, boots crunching the ground as he takes several steps away. "Now open."

Kylo steals your vision first. Unsurprisingly.

You take in your fill of him before your gaze slowly drifts. Behind him, a small lake laps at the sandy shore where he now stands barefoot, the hem of his pants rolled up; it's strangely attractive, and you shove down your sudden desire. The area surrounding the lake is green, grassy, interspersed with patches of flowers and trees.

You breathe out, "Wow. It's beautiful."

"My mother used to take me here," Kylo says, softly, distant — lost in memories that you could only guess about. "If I was well behaved during her diplomatic meetings, we would go swimming."

For half of a moment, you wonder whether or not you should divulge how you met Leia, but you think better of it. "Thank you for bringing me here." He shifts, clearly uncomfortable with the level of vulnerability, so you hurry to add, "I'm relieved it wasn't just to get me out of my clothes."

"Would it have worked?"

You give in to a face-splitting smile. In a swift movement, you pull off your shirt and step out of your shoes. Kylo lets out a soft sound of amusement as you run past him, wriggling out of your pants as you splash into the lake water. Icy cold envelopes you but gradually subsides; the sun warms your face as you float in the water on your back.

"Was that a yes?"

Kylo peels off his clothes and wades into the water, looking everything like some fictional hero. Or villain, perhaps, you think. Either way, he's unafraid of his nudity, and even though you've seen him countless times before, it still makes you sheepish. After all, you're still wearing your bra and panties, leaving you painfully overdressed.

You watch him slip under then re-emerge, slicking his wet hair back. His dark eyes are dancing with an emotion you can't identify.

"Of course it was a yes," you tell him with a laugh. "As you already know, I don't necessarily need a reason to get undressed for you."

"Mm, you're right," he says.

Treading water, he grabs you by the waist and pulls you toward him. His hands are like fire on your skin, scorching a path as they roam from your waist to your thighs, gripping tightly as to hoist your legs around his hips. You squeal in delight and encircle your arms around his neck.

Kylo moves to shallower waters. Droplets of water roll off his broad shoulders. You're fascinated with his lashes — wet, spiky, unfairly long — so you're unprepared for when he leans in and seals a kiss on your mouth. Unlike previous kisses, this one is unhurried, relaxed, secure in a way they haven't been before.

The afternoon passes much quicker than you would've liked, but you see a new side of Kylo that makes it worth it. He's still very much the same, blunt and serious, but the usual tension is missing. He's not a royal figure but a man — in fact, you're almost certain that you catch a glimpse of the child he had been when he insists on showing you how he can swim all of the way to the bottom of the lake.

You're pleasantly tired, burnt, and your fingers have wrinkled far past normalcy when you announce, "I wish it could always be like this."

Kylo lays on the shore, reclined back on his hands and drying off. Mercifully, he's put on pants, or else you wouldn't have been able to hold a conversation with him. His eyes are closed, his breathing steady and calm. "How so?"

"Both of us. Without any expectations," you say. "We aren't fighting. We're not...rulers. We're just people."

As imperceptibly and quick as the breeze rolling over you, Kylo stiffens. "But that's not us."

"It's true in this moment," you protest.

"But that's all this is." Kylo sits up. Waves a hand. "A moment."

You turn to him. By this point, you're half submerged, on your way to getting out of the water when he stops you in your tracks. "Can't you just enjoy the sentiment?"

"No. It's not realistic."

"None of this is realistic," you say, on the verge of hysteria.

It's vague, a blotch on your subconscious, but you suddenly feel the same as when a plate slips out of your hands, the tension before it smashes to the ground into hundreds of pieces.

"I wasn't —"

"Nevermind," you quickly say. You don't want to hear his gruff excuse, the lack of understanding and empathy. "Forget I said anything."

Kylo is alert, more than he was before. His dark eyes watch you closely. "I upset you."

"Yes, Kylo, you did." You huff, mostly out of frustration than disappointment. "But it's okay. I wasn't being realistic. You're right. Tomorrow — in a few hours — we'll go back to barely tolerating each other and being respectable diplomats. This is just a moment, it doesn't mean anything."

You snatch up your clothes and put them on. By the time you're done, your cheeks are still wet with the tears you've failed to scrub away. Kylo stands a few feet from you, expression unreadable.

"That's not what I meant."

"No, it never is."

You just want to go home. But you have no home, no real one, so maybe you just want to go back to the palace. It's unfortunate that you still have two more districts to visit.

"Let me explain." Kylo's voice is a growl, deep in his chest. He grabs your wrist and spins you around so that you're only inches apart. "I've always thought very...linear. And I can't always express what I mean." He shakes his head then, perhaps irritated with himself. "I brought you here today for a reason. I wanted you to see this."

You implore him with your eyes. "But will it mean anything? After this?"

His gaze flickers to your lips. "It will. To me." He swallows, throat bobbing. "I said that because we can't change who we are. But we can still appreciate being together, even when things are...difficult."

"I thought I was insufferable," you say. Secretly, you're touched.

His lips twitch. "You are."

This admission of his thoughts, his feelings, means more to you than any grand romantic gesture. You're afraid, though, that if you push anymore he might throw himself into the lake and drown himself. So you declare that you're hungry, and that you know the perfect place; Kylo is hesitant, but nonetheless accepts.

You have to admit that you have no clue where you're going, but Kylo knows exactly where to go when you mention the market that Emelia talked about the day before. In your head you're not sure what to think — you only had your own district to compare it to. But you're more than pleasantly surprised to find that the Third District market sprawls several miles, cutting through the plains like a colorful serpent. Chatter greets you first, then the savory smell of meats and other things being roasted, sweetened by a stall selling small, sugary cakes.

Kylo insist that you try one. The vendor seems more than apprehensive about selling to the King, but is remarkably thrilled when you take a bite and profess how delicious it is.

The two of you gradually make your way through the plethora of stalls, stopping and chatting with those who look close enough to recognize you (well, mostly you, Kylo stands sullenly behind you); sampling foods and browsing wares — jewelry, scarves, pieces of wood carved into impossible shapes. You're aware that Kylo will buy you whatever you want, so you overly show your admiration for as many vendors as you can. If Kylo catches onto this, he doesn't say, just silently pays the vendor without complaint.

You excitedly dart away from him to investigate a stall boasting beautiful bottles of perfume. Kylo gets lost in the throng of onlookers. You pick up one of the bottles and lift it to your nose, just as a flash of color catches your eye.

Was that...? Curious, you mutter something to the perfume vendor then shuffle a few steps. Your gaze combs the crowd. There — again! Your brows furrow and you start your pursuit. You want to shout but you're afraid that Kylo might hear you. A quick glance over your shoulder tells you that he's still straggling behind, so you forge ahead, elbowing and doing your best to keep up.

The clothed figure slips into an alleyway. You follow after. "Luke!" you shout. "Luke?"

"Did he follow you?" Luke twists toward you, blue eyes searching past you. This is the first time you're seeing him in person, and you find yourself just as awestruck as meeting him through the Force.

"Um, no. No, I don't think so," you say.

Luke nods, abrupt. "We don't have much time. But we needed to meet again."

"Couldn't we have just met like before?"

"No. This requires in-person training," Luke tells you, mouth curling with amusement. He resembles his sister, painfully so, reminding you that he's also related to Kylo, to Ben. Dry humor evidently runs in the family.

"Okay," you say, unsure of what else to.

"I'm going to lower my defenses," Luke says. "And let you try to penetrate my mind. We spoke about the abstract of defeating the darkness, but this is the physical. I have a memory that I want you to try to reach."

"How will I know what it is?"

Luke smiles wryly. "Trust me."

He sweeps a hand, concealing the alley in a temporary bubble. No one from outside can see in, or enter.

"Tell me what you learned last time."

You repeat his lesson, the one from the gardens in the Sixth District. It pains you to recall the memory of seeing you father, even if it was fake, and how it felt to obliterate him. You explain how you'll have to find the emotional bond with Kylo to access his subconscious again.

"Have you tried?" Luke asks.

Sheepishly, you shake your head.

If he's disappointed, Luke masks it. "Tonight. You must try tonight. You don't have much longer."

"I know," you say. "I know." Desperate to redeem yourself in his eyes, you add, "I spoke with my district. They're on board with helping us."

Luke nods. "Good. That's a start." He positions himself closer. "Put your fingers on my temples. Here."

You obey.

"Hopefully this will help your endeavor," he says. "Now, concentrate. Remember last time."

You do. You really do. But nothing happens — other than you standing there with your hands on Luke's temple. You realize that he closed his eyes when they open unexpectedly.

"Are you trying?" The same blunt honesty as the rest of his family, too.

"Yes," you stress. "I'm trying."

"Try harder," he demands, a phrase that's never made any sense to you.

You relent. This time, you close your eyes and focus. You try to imagine yourself opening up Luke's mind, like prying open a shell and examining what's inside. Clearly, he's waiting for this, because it almost feels too easy to do so — you slip into it as easy as slipping into a shoe.

Instantly you're transported not into his subconscious, his safe place, but rather directly into a memory. In the memory, you're an outsider. Luke is there, younger, how he must've been when he saved the kingdom along with Leia; he's surrounded by a group of teenagers, children, really. Your eyes settle on one.

Ben. Not yet Kylo, although you decide he can't be far from the man you know.

He's distinctly on the cusp of manhood. Eighteen or nineteen, a man, but his body still lingering in his adolescence. There's an openness to his face. You're not sure if it's your imagination or not, but you're almost certain that you can see a darkness beneath the earnest expression, like shade encroaching on the sunshine.

"Good work today," Luke tells his students. This must be what Leia meant when she said that he had once been Kylo's teacher. "You deserve the rest of the day off."

The children rise to their feet, already starting to cluster into pairs as they retreat. You think that Kylo is slower to jump up, nobody coming to talk to him. His shoulders (broad even then) tense as Luke calls, "Ben. One moment, please."

With a healthy dose of teenage reluctance, Kylo — Ben? you weren't sure — approaches his uncle. There's a trace of wariness on his face.

"We need to talk about what happened," Luke says. His tone is sterner than before, when he addressed all of the students together.

Ben's eyes flash. "What is there to talk about?"

"What you did was irresponsible and dangerous," Luke snaps. His jaw clenches. It's obvious from just this small interaction that he has less patience for his nephew then the others. Perhaps a higher expectation, you think, but nonetheless unwarranted. Clearly Kylo wants his respect.

"I couldn't let him beat me," Kylo says.

"A humble loser is just as important, if not more, than a proud winner," Luke tells him.

A storm crosses Kylo's face. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Dark magic is forbidden to be used here," Luke says. "You know that. Others saw what you did, too. They already think I'm giving you special treatment and now —"

Kylo interrupts him with an absurdly uproarious laugh. "Ha!" He says. There's a darkness thrumming just beneath his skin. "You hate me."

Luke's anger buffers. He steps back as if physically assaulted. "Ben, I could never —"

"Don't lie," Kylo snarls. "I see the way you look at me. How everyone looks at me. You're all afraid that I'm going to be like King Vader. Maybe I just should be, since everyone already thinks it! He said that —"

It's Luke's turn to interrupt. "He who?"

Kylo's passionate anger shutters, his mouth snapping shut. "No one."

"Ben —"

The future king turns and storms off. Luke moves as if to go after him, but must think better of it. Instead he watches his nephew's retreating form until he disappears.

You're eager to devour more of this — to know more about Kylo's elusive past — but the memory ends abruptly and you're suddenly brought back to reality, stumbling backwards as you are.

Luke's face is grim. "I should've seen it coming."

"You couldn't have known," you say softly. Sure, watching with what you know now, the signs were all there. But Luke couldn't have seen it. Even with his tendency to be hard on Kylo, he most likely only saw his beloved nephew.

"That was the first day he used dark magic in front of me," Luke tells you. "It's not long after that Palpatine turns him completely." He pauses, then shakes his head. "Anyway, you did good. Great, even. I trust tonight will go well."

"Yeah," you say, distant.

Your immediate instinct is to bring this up with Kylo, but you know that you can't without giving away everything. Your chest tightens.

"I should go. He's looking for you," Luke says.

"When will I see you again?"

"Soon." He smiles, softly. "Soon."

Luke is gone before you know it, and with it the protective bubble. Kylo descends upon you almost immediately, grabbing you by the shoulders and inspecting you. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," you say, although you feel far from it.

However, you've recently excelled in experiencing mental whiplash and then having to act normal, so you hopefully collect yourself in a convincing manner. "I'm sorry, I must've gotten away from you."

"I...I lost connection with you, for a moment. Through our bond." He frowns. "I thought the worst."

"And what would that be?"

Kylo doesn't answer you. His gaze sweeps the alley — once, twice — before landing back on you. "Was someone here?"

"No," you tell him, suddenly nervous. "No one."

"Who were you talking to?"

You insist, "No one, Kylo, I swear. I just got lost."

He doesn't believe you.

But he doesn't press again, so you launch yourself back into the market. The same magic as before is missing, misplaced somewhere between meeting Luke and Kylo finding you; it seems fitting, your perfect day couldn't last forever, anyways. By the time you make it back to the estate, you're tired from putting up a facade after seeing Luke's memory, and knowing that you need to infiltrate Kylo's mind.

After a quick bath, you return to your shared bedroom to find Kylo sitting on the edge of the bed. His elbows are on his knees, and he's staring at his interlaced hands.

You approach him, sidestepping the ridiculous amount of things you bought at the market today, now stacked unceremoniously, and gently easing him back so that you can squeeze between his legs. But it's not close enough, so you crawl onto his lap, desperate suddenly to be as near to him as possible. He's still reticent, but his hands rest on your waist and you know that things are okay.

"Thank you," you tell him. "For today."

He nods. Blinks. "Of course."

You bring your lips to his, lightly. He kisses you back just as gently, but it's not long before he deepens it, coaxing open your mouth so that he can slip his tongue inside. He bites at your bottom lip until the copper taste of blood floods your mouth, and he assuages the pain with a swipe of his expert tongue.

His hips grind against yours, your center so readily available to him in your simple bathrobe.

It's easy to get lost in him — to throw yourself with wild abandon into this impossibly paradoxical man and forget everything but him. But, deep down, you have trouble enjoying this, his hands roaming your freshly washed skin, the trail of his kisses down your throat. You have trouble because you know that you initiated this kiss just to betray him.

His walls are down. He's not on the defense, not when you're like this. It pains you that at least in these moments he trusts you, and you're going to break it.

Through the bond, you can feel the intensity of his desire and his emotions. Just like you hoped, the heightened sensation is easy to connect with, and soon you find yourself transported back into the room from before, the one where Kylo had flogged himself. You flinch at the recollection.

Kylo isn't there, not mentally. He's with you, still kissing you.

You want to do this fast. You don't know what to expect, but you don't want to find out what happens if Kylo catches you.

Dark waves lap beneath the platform, nearly masking your footsteps. At the end of the platform is the flog. Pain spirals through you as you remember how it glistened with blood, his blood. Kylo's. It makes your stomach churn.

You stand a few feet from it, not wanting to get close. There's nothing obviously wrong here, at least not like when your father hugged you.

How were you supposed to do this?

Looking down at the flog, you make the decision to pick it up. It hums with a powerful energy. You turn it this way and that, and then, on a whim, toss it into the water.

A moment later it reappears at your feet.

"Too easy," you mutter.

You're convinced that you must destroy it. Kylo can not hurt himself with it again if it's gone, and it's the only thing that you can tangibly destroy. It has to be why it's pulsating dangerously — this is the dark magic manifesting in his subconscious. You concentrate on the weapon.

In your own subconscious, you attached to the dark magic until it quite literally imploded.

Gripping the flog in both hands, you focus all of your attention onto it. You imagine gathering the dark magic in your hands like a liquidy substance and expunging it. The flog, the dark magic, refuses to part — rallying back against your efforts. Your back molars grit together as you channel your magic into it, summoning every bit of your strength to battle against it.

A white light appears in your vision, power building, a scream beginning softly in your throat and then crescendoing; the flog shatters, pieces of it flying away in dusty remnants.

You collapse to the ground.

The residual shards of dark magic fade from your hands as if washing away ink.

Before your eyes, the room shifts.

It's no longer darkened, a singular space. There's still the pier-type platform, and still the water, but you can faintly make out the shapes of trees in the distance. Of land. The water lightens as you make your way back down the platform, and the success of your effort is nearly enough to make you want to start dancing.

However, your celebration is short lived as your sucked back into the present.

Your lips are swollen, breath raggedly escaping your chest. Kylo pulls away slightly. He's breathing heavy, too, but looking at you as if something catastrophic just occurred.

"What?" You ask, flattening your hands on his chest. "What's wrong?"

Kylo swallows. Fear flutters in his face before disappearing behind a mask of composure. "Nothing. Nothing. I just...I felt..." he trails off without further explanation.

Panic hitches in your throat — did he suspect something?

And, because you've evidently become some master seductress, using sex as a way to carry out your mission, you distract him with another kiss. This time you compact all of your emotions from the day into it: your delight from the lake and the market, your unwavering devotion to him, the sympathy you have for the memory that Luke showed you in the alley.

And he kisses you back just as fiercely.

It breaks your heart, frankly. But you know that in order to save him, you must betray him first.

- - -

@juniperwoodwell

@eternal-mikrokosmos

@judypahtootee

[theknittingshadow]

A Shadow’s Scattered Thoughts on “Journey to the West”

Alright, people. Blame @semisolidmind for getting me into Lego Monkie Kid. Finally decided to check out the original “Journey to the West. Strap yourselves in because there will be NO organization or cohesion to this whatsoever!

I’m at Chapter 20 right now and so far…

-Wukong’s a little pretentious and entitled but, considering none of the monkeys of Huaguoshan questioned the existence of a fully-furnished palace in Water Curtain Cave, I’m not surprised.

-Shifu Subhodi definitely WAS harsh striking Wukong on the head, as I had heard about before. However, IT WAS ALL A SECRET CODE FOR SECRET IMMORTALITY LESSONS! Hallelujah, he’s not as big a jerk as I feared. Still, there are better ways to get your point across, sir.

-At first, it seemed like the book went on long tangents of unrelated stories. I began to think this was less a book with one overarching storyline and more a collection of stories. Then, I finally got to when Tang is chosen to go on the journey. I realized it was all BACKSTORY.

-The Celestial Realm is simultaneously more and less merciful than I thought. On one hand, they kept giving Wukong chance after chance when he’d get upset and beat someone up or something. On the other hand, they beat and banished Wujing over BREAKING A CUP.

-I was super confused on Lego Monkie Kid’s characterization of Ao Lie when the book first implied he set his father’s palace on fire on purpose. Continuing, it seems more like he lit the place on ACCIDENT. WHICH MAKES HIS WHOLE “AVOIDING CARELESS ACTIONS” and “MY POWES HAVE ONLY EVER GOTTEN ME IN TROUBLE” SPIEL MAKE TOTAL SENSE!!!!!!

-There is so much poetry in here, guys. So So So Much.

-Speaking of poetry, it reminded me of both the Odyssey and several Shakespeare plays where they pause to sing a song or something.

-Why does the author keep making the characters reiterate what just happened? They Do The Thing. Then they gotta explain to someone else The Thing. There’s rarely an instance of “and they recounted the events just described” and leave it at that.

-Why does the Jade Emperor need to take a carriage to go literally anywhere? Even just to the other side of the courtyard? Is it a really big yard?

-Tripitaka DID seem like an overreacting crybaby but then I thought “this is PTSD at work” and IT ALL MAKES SENSE. He gets kidnapped by ogres who kill and eat his personally chosen companions (who came from his monastery and whom he most likely grew up with as friends) before his very eyes. Of course he’s going to freeze up and/or freak out every time a monster appears and Wukong needs to leave his side for whatever reason.

-Related, crying now that you have to walk to the West seems ridiculous until you think it might be more crying about how he was nearly eaten by the dragon that ate his horse!

-Seriously, I could go on about Tang’s unusually frequent crying and how it relates to potential PTSD and delayed reaction to said trauma.

-People keep calling the disciples ugly right to their faces and I Do Not Appreciate It. On another note, Wukong is surprisingly chill about this.

-Bodhisattva Guanyin used a fillet on a bear yaogaui in one chapter. I was not expecting that. Maybe ancient ideas of mercy are different compared to today?

-I’ve read and seen SO many stories of how Zhu Bajie kidnapped the human woman he married but that’s…not what happened. Sort of. They married with both her and her family’s consent. It was only after his true appearance, huge appetite, and poor manners were revealed that her family tries to get rid of him. He keeps his wife away from them as a result. Normally, I’d say good for him for trying to cut off toxic people but his wife was described as pale and unkept when Tang and Wukong arrive. So…she’s not doing good and should really be returned to her family.

-Wukong laughs at people and calls himself “Old Monkey” a lot.

More scattered thoughts to come!