#anyway. let me know (on anon if you prefer) if you want me to tag them all something so you can block my complaining tag

[littlejuicebox]

Hi! I'm not sure if you take requests so if you don't, please ignore this and I hope you had a wonderful Christmas.

I just read your Astarion X Tav fanfic where Astarion proposes. It is said that the ring he got glows whenever Astarion thinks of Tav. I was just wondering if you could write a slice of life about the ring glowing at the most random times. Maybe during a stealth mission where Tav has to stay hidden or when he is smiling in his sleep and the ring glows. I just thought it would be cute and fun to write about. You can get creative with it.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, whether you end up doing this request or not. I hope you had an amazing Christmas and I hope you will have an amazing New Year's!

Hi Anon! I don’t think this is quite what you were asking for but… this is what came out! 🤷‍♀️ The smut gods blessed me and I cannot deny their gifts. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Smut below the cut.

If you haven’t read my other work and would like context, Anon is referencing a two part mini story I wrote. Click here for part 1, and click here for part 2.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ only please, smut, masturbation, sex pollen, swearing/cursing, game spoilers

Word Count: 1.5K

-----

“I think we’re just… a bit out of practice, darling. It has been nearly a year since we were down here last, you know.” Astarion whispers, crouched next to you behind a Funguswood tree. He’s wiping bits of dirt, twigs, and mushroom pollen off himself with a handkerchief.

“Admit it, Astarion. You just weren’t fast enough.” You respond with a small, teasing poke of your tongue as you rearrange your weaponry and count your arrows.

The pale elf finishes wiping off the debris, and you return your attentions to the mission. You’d been contracted to scout out the vampire stronghold in the Underdark and report your findings back to Wyll and the Flaming Fists. Rumor was that the vampire hoard had wreaked absolute havoc on the Underdark; the city feared the creatures would soon return to the surface if they could not find sustenance here.

“Would you have preferred I let that wild Rothé ram you into those mushrooms in my stead?!” Astarion hisses in return while rubbing his hand over his arm, which now felt unbelievably tingly and was starting to radiate significant warmth, “Hells, what mushrooms were those, anyway?!”

You stifle a chuckle, knowing your fiancé is already past his limits of patience. You two need to get to the scouting point, set up camp, and hunker down for a few days… all while avoiding detection from the vampires or any other nefarious creatures in the Underdark. Best to do it without an ornery Astarion by your side.

“I don’t know what mushrooms those were. I’ve never seen them before.” You admit with a small shrug, “Come on my love, not much further now and then we can get you properly cleaned up.”

Astarion follows behind you in silence, apart from the occasional cursing and swiping at his skin. Gods, the heat had spread up his entire arm now. The scratching seemed to make it worse, but by the hells, he couldn’t stop no matter how much he wanted to. The two of you finally got to the cragged rock that led to a small cave where you would make camp, and he never felt more relieved in his life. He couldn’t wait to clean himself properly and be done with this burning sensation.

You glance at him briefly and then begin climbing the rock. Astarion remains below to keep you covered in case anything decides to attack while you’re left defenseless. He looks up to watch your progress and cannot help but to notice the overwhelmingly attractive curve of your bottom. It was always attractive, of course, but something about it in this moment was entirely… irresistible. Had you been working out recently in preparation for the wedding?

You’re halfway through climbing the rock when your engagement ring bursts into a spray of light. It often glows significantly at the surface, but in the blackness of the Underdark, you’re practically a beacon. Your stomach drops. Gods, how had you forgotten to take it off?

“Astarion!” You hiss in a panicked whisper, “Cut it out! Every being in all of the Underdark will know our position.”

Astarion had realized the issue as soon as the light had flared, of course. He was trying desperately to avoid thinking of you and all the delicious things he wanted to do when you two made camp, but gods he couldn’t control it. What in the hells was wrong with him? He wanted to stop, to ensure your safety, but your plump, perfect ass was practically calling his name, begging for his attention, and he wanted nothing more than to bend you over and—

He shakes his head, trying to rattle the lewd fantasies from his psyche, “I’m trying, my love! I don’t know what’s come over me I just—“

Hags. Hideous shoes. Ghouls. Manual labor. Gale.

The pale elf tries to think of all the most grotesque, unsexy things he can and push you entirely from his mind. You continue to climb, hoping to quickly reach the top and take off your ring as soon as possible. The ring is still glowing like a single star in the blackest night.

Ogres. The smell of Araj’s blood. Rats. Gale.

Gods, it was useless.

Finally, you reach the top. You rip the ring off your finger and shove it in your pack as soon as your limbs land on the surface of the cave. Astarion quickly scales the rock behind you, and when he reaches the top, you’re positively glaring at him.

“Darling, I’m sorry! I really tried. It’s just— gods damn these mushrooms!” The vampire is ripping off his shirt and scratching at his skin as the two of you walk into the little cave. Before long he’s down to his knickers and cursing as he rubs desperately at his flesh.

You’re trying to ignore your fiancé and quickly pitch the tent so you can handle whatever the hells is going on with him. A sideways glance to your pack reveals that the ring is still glowing quite intensely… perhaps more than it ever has before. Was that even possible? At any rate, you can’t get closer to the stronghold with it glowing like that.

“Astarion, I don’t know what—“ You spin around, and you’re surprised to see the elf fully nude on his blanket, doing perhaps the most provocative thing you’ve ever witnessed.

Astarion is beaded in sweat by now, and his hands are wandering over himself, chasing the burning tingle as it travels through his body. Gods, the feeling was becoming absolutely unbearable. He kept seeing visions of you and him in the throes of passion in his mind.

He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Did he want to stop? He couldn’t decide. All he knew was the intense tingling and burning coursing through his veins and the wonderful fantasies filling his brain. He needed release from this torture; his limbs were on fire and the sensation was spreading to his groin.

The elf knows by the throbbing pulse in his cock that his erection is at full capacity, and he feels the dribbles of precum slowly sliding from the head, down the shaft. Astarion is, admittedly embarrassed knowing you are mere feet away and witnessing such an erratic show, but he grabs his own cock regardless— gods, it felt like being possessed. He needed release and he needed it now.

As his fingers wrap around his shaft, a burst of relief travels through his body. The tingling ceases for a moment. But then, it flares again and he’s consumed by the burning feeling and vulgar thoughts of the two of you once more. He pumps his hand a few times, bucking into the sensation, and once again the torturous tingle halts.

What in the hells?

Astarion is now rolling his hips towards his own hand, groaning in pure ecstasy at the relief from the burn as well as the delicious sensation of his hands stroking his uncharacteristically sensitive member. His eyes are clasped closed, and his other hand is still wandering over his torso, chasing that burning itch.

Through panting, shaking breaths he murmurs, “Darling, is it— oh gods, is possible that those— fuck — mushrooms contained sex pollen? I’ve never— mmh, fuck.”

You’d been so enraptured by the vision of your lover touching himself in such an uninhibited display of lust that you almost didn’t hear what Astarion asked. The slickness of your arousal was starting to become apparent as you instinctively squeezed your thighs together.

“I’m… I’m not sure, my love. I’ve read of such things but I’ve never come across it… until, perhaps, now I suppose.”

Astarion isn’t really listening. Instead, he’s bucking wildly into his own hand, chasing his own release. He falls apart in front of you, with his limbs tensed and mouth agape in pure, unadulterated pleasure, clasping tightly onto his own length. The gasping, strangled moan of relief that escapes him as he reaches his climax and shoots sticky streams of hot white seed onto his abdomen ignites a fire in your groin. He’s shuddering with the rippling aftershocks of his orgasm and you feel yourself dripping with arousal as you rub your thighs together once more. This display was entirely feral.

For a few moments the vampire is breathing contentedly, eyes still shut. He’s still holding his cock, which continues to twitch insistently despite its significant spend. Your lover brings his unoccupied hand to his hair and rakes it through his disheveled, sweaty curls.

You flick your gaze to your pack and notice that it’s no longer emitting that ethereal glow. But then Astarion groans in dismay and you see light flare from your bag again. When your attention returns back to your fiancé, he’s already grasping wantonly at a second rapidly growing erection.

“Darling, I can smell you,” He hisses desperately, now slathering his own milky juices around the swollen, reddened tip of his thick cock. The veins in his arm and on his shaft are pulsing as he begins to stroke himself again, “Don’t be coy just— come over here and help me with this. Please.”

And by the gods, he asked so nicely, how could you say no?

[jasntodds]

Alive | J.T.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Request: yes, here

Summary: Red Hood shows up at your apartment only to reveal he's your not-so-dead boyfriend

Warnings: Swearing, 18+, smut, some fluff, mentions of death, mentions of canon drug use (he's not actually high in this but it's mentioned)

Words: 3,412

A/n: A huge thank you to @tenpintsof-sundrop for the idea 😭 please go check them out if you haven't already!! This kept turning into angst (why can't I just write fluff and smut ffs) which is why it took forever I'm so sorry to the anon who requested this lol but there's no angst!! If you wanna be tagged in my fics, you can click the link below, send me an ask/comment, or follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!!

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Gotham’s city lights are the only thing illuminating parts of your room where your curtains don’t quite close all of the way. The sounds of distant sirens and passing cars echo into your room as you’re finally getting some much-needed sleep. Bruce called you three days ago with the news about Jason. Nothing really seems worth the energy anymore, including sleep but tonight it’s as if your body finally caved under the pressure of grief. But, you’re not asleep long before something wakes you up.

You stir awake to the sound of creaking near the window. Your eyes shoot open as you keep on your side, facing the opposite direction. Your heart starts to thunder and you swear you locked that window. It’s Crime Alley in Gotham City, you always lock your door and window. Jason even got you good locks for your window and your door. Someone can’t possibly be breaking in but that’s the only explanation. 

You reach to the side of the bed, slowly, careful not to make quick and harsh movements so whoever is in your home doesn’t realize you’re awake. The metal of the baseball is cold against the palm of your hand as your fingers curl around the handle. It’s not a knife or a gun, but a metal baseball can kill and incapacitate all the same. All you need is one really good swing and you’re good to go. So, you suck on a deep breath, gripping the handle as hard as you can before you sit up quickly, turning around on your knees to face the intruder.

“Get out of my apartment!” You yell, baseball bat swung over your shoulder with your arms ready to swing the second he comes close enough.

He takes a step forward into the light coming from your window and your heart drops. 

Red Hood.

Why the fuck is Red Hood, Gotham’s newest crime lord, standing in your apartment?

“Don’t freak out.” He says, the voice modulator disguising his voice.

You almost laugh at the request. He’s killing people out there and is ruthless but he doesn’t want you to freak out when he’s standing in your bedroom? That makes perfect sense. And why does it have to be your apartment? There are so many other ones he could have picked but it just had to be yours.

Jason is careful as he takes the helmet off, revealing himself to you. Your eyes grow wide as your jaw starts to fall open. Jason can see your grip on the bat start to loosen as his chest starts to swell. He always questioned your choice of a baseball bat, thinking you'd never wake up with enough time to grab it and defend yourself. He's happy he was clearly very wrong.

“You…you died…?” You question, almost certain you’re dreaming.

Bruce Wayne himself called you and told you Jason had been killed. You knew he was Robin and it was all over Gotham City News. Robin had been killed by the Joker. But, Jason Todd is currently standing in front of you, his chest moving with every breath which means he's alive.

He's desperately trying not to think about dying. That's not why he came here anyway. It wasn't to discuss the gorey details of a deranged clown with a bloody crowbar. It was just to see you and let you know he was alive. That is it. No more reminders of dying, not tonight. Not when he isn't high enough to numb the panic or pain of the thoughts. All he wants to do is see you and exist in a moment with just you and him.

“Didn’t stick.” Jason chuckles softly, holding the helmet on his hip.

There’s something Jason would describe as a chortle escapes your lips. “Didn’t stick?”

Jason shrugs his shoulder easily but there’s still some tension wrapped around his bones. “Yeah.” Jason clears his throat, looking to the floor and then back to you, thinking you probably don't believe him. Who would?

“How though?” You ask and you’re not sure how this is real.

Maybe you think you’re actually hallucinating now. Maybe grief has sucked you into insanity. But he sounds just as you remember and he looks the exact same. Jason dying and coming back as Red Hood, still fighting crime in some way, does sound like a very Jason Todd thing to do.

“Gotham.” Jason scoffs. “It’s a long story.” Jason skimps on the details, partially because he doesn’t really know how it works and also just to keep you out of it. He didn’t really like that you knew he was Robin anyway. Too dangerous.

Jason takes a step forward as you watch him closely. Maybe it’s a dream. But, it’s Gotham City and the weirdest and most unbelievable shit tends to happen here.  Jason being resurrected isn’t actually the most insane thing you’ve heard of happening. It's just one of those things that's hard to believe because losing him hurt so bad you swore you'd never recover. You want to be positive it's him before you let your hopes up even if they're rising like a steady tide. Jason can see the hesitance the way your brows are still creased and the bat still hanging over your shoulder.

“Not convinced?” He asks through a shallow breath, his own hopes falling.

He didn't really think of what he'd do if you didn't believe him.

“In my defense, this is insane.” You state as your grip tightens on the bat. "I mean, resurrection or being zombified, kind of insane."

Jason lets out a sigh as he starts listing things only he would know about you and only things you would know about him. He tells you about your first date which wasn’t anything fancy but was yours. He told you about how he has his half of a photobooth picture you two took on your third date as a bookmark. And he tells you about Alred teaching him how to make chocolate chip cookies his first week at Wayne Manor because Jason couldn’t sleep. It was too quiet in the manor.

“I also told you the bat was a shitty idea because you’d never wake up in time to grab it.” Jason offers a smirk.

“Guess you were wrong.” You point out with a teasing look.

“Yeah,” Jason scoffs. “But you didn’t take a swing so…” Jason shrugs his shoulders, a grin splitting his face.

“Haha.” You scrunch your nose with the sarcastic remark. "I'm not gonna just hit someone with a bat." You shake your head dramatically.

"I broke into your apartment?" Jason lets out a chortle "I mean, don't fucking hit me now but someone breaks in, do something, babe."

"Oh, it must really be you because only Jason Todd would criticize my weapon of choice and then criticize what I do about someone breaking in my own apartment." You quip right back as you place a hand on your hip, the bat now hanging loosely over your shoulder being held with just one hand.

Jason's smirk turns softer, a gentle smile pulling at his lips as he looks to the floor and then back to you. "Yeah, it's me." His shoulders move forward as he sucks in a breath, letting it out slowly as if the very act of breathing too hard might make all of this disappear.

Your face softens and as hard as it may be to believe, it has to be him. Everything he listed is all stuff only the two of you would know and the quick quips, Jason never missed a beat. You don't know how or even why he's alive, but it's him. So, you drop the bat to the side of your bed, quickly getting up from your bed. You don't notice how cold the floor is as you run up to Jason, colliding into him with a force study enough to make him step back just so neither of you wall.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you bury your face into his shoulder. He smells different than before but somehow the same. He smells like gunmetal with a mix of the minty shampoo he always used. But, his arms come and wrap tightly around your middle and it all feels the same. His arms are still as sturdy as always and warm. He still feels like home and you do for him, too.

His chest erupts in warmth like a dormant volcano erupting for the time in decades. Every piece of him starts to be encompassed in warmth and a sense of comfort. It's been the longest three days of his life but that doesn't really matter, not right now. It just feels safe here. Between coming back, the drug, and Crane, it's been busy and hectic and heavy. But, he's standing here with you and all he wants to do is focus on this moment because it's not so heavy or loud anymore. You always let him just exist in a way no one else ever did.

Jason's the one that pulls away first but only until you look back at him. The corner of his mouth perks up before he collides his lips with yours. The kiss nearly sucks the breath out of your lungs as your eyes close and your hands tangle in his hair. Jason's grip tightens around you as if he's afraid you'll fall away from him if he lets go.

You can feel him smile against your mouth and it's something that always sent your stomach swirling. Jason Todd genuinely happy is something irreplaceable. And he is always happy to be anywhere near you.

The kiss starts to grow sloppy and desperate, teeth clacking against each other. The happiness of being reunited starts to collide into relief and desperation to never let go again.

Jason's arms loosen just enough to go to your hips, his fingertips sliding under your shirt and digging into your flesh. He's missed the feeling of your skin against his. It's been three days but dying really has made it seem like it's been years and he doesn't want to waste the time he gets anymore. All he wants to do is be with you and you slide his jacket, then hoodie off of the armor.

"Miss me?" Jason asks against your lips and you can feel the devilish smirk that's splitting his face.

"Always." You mutter before Jason tugs your shirt over your head and tosses it to the floor.

In a heartbeat, Jason has you backing up until your knees hit the edge of your bed. The two of you fall onto the soft mattress, Jason bracing the fall for the both you and his lips never leave yours. He slides his leg onto the bed, slotting his knee between your legs right until his thigh meets your wetting slit.

You almost groan at the contact and Jason feels the tremble of your lips against his. And he fucking smirks again.

"Seems like you missed something else, too, huh?" His voice is low but easy with the teasing remark.

"Shut up." You bite back.

It's something about the way he says it that you almost want to bite him and melt under his touch at the same time. Jason has never been one to just let things flow and meet in the middle, he always had to have some sort of comment about it with the corner of his mouth perking upwards. He just can't help himself and maybe you always found it a little bit endearing, even when he's annoying.

Jason pushes his thigh against your slit again and this time he's successful in getting a quiet moan from the back of your throat. The pressure is hot and thick as your underwear start to stick to your pussy. You grind yourself on his thigh and Jason knows he has you exactly where he wants you, not that you would rather be anywhere else right now.

You help Jason tug the armor off and onto the floor, leaving his chest bare and every toned muscle on display. Your mouth practically waters before you yank him back down to you.

He keeps his leg slotted between yours as you slide your hands over the muscles of his back, feeling every raised piece of skin where his back is tensed. His skin is always warm under your fingers. You can't help but glide your fingertips along the skin before digging your nails in.

Jason arches his back, a snarl leaving his throat before his eyes lock with yours. His pupils are blown, black consuming almost every trace of green. So, you do it again as a smirk tugs at your lips because you know that'll get him going. The look he gives you turns feral and hungry as if he hasn't eaten in weeks.

His thigh is pushed harder against your slit, earning him a whimper before he takes it away entirely. There's a triumphant smile on his lips as he raises his brow.

"I can still play the game better than you, babe." Jason teases before he kisses your cheek and moves down to your neck.

"Up for debate." You quip back as his teeth graze your pulse point.

Your heart jumps and you know he can feel it. A snicker falls from his lip before he nips down and starts sucking a purple mark into your skin. A reminder that you're his.

Jason slides his leg back between yours and as if connected by a magnetic force, you don't miss a beat in grinding yourself back on him. Jason scatters just a few more marks across your chest as your breathing becomes quicker, a warm and static pit growing in the pit of your stomach.

"Could just leave now." Jason huffs as he comes back to your lips, sliding a hand between your bodies.

"Don't you dare." Your threat is weak and almost pitiful.

Jason tugs the elastic of your underwear up, exposing your pussy to some of the cool air in the room. You wiggle against him, desperate to feel more than just his thigh. But, then he snaps the elastic back, making you jerk forward and let out a displeased whimper.

"Jay." You scold, a hollowed glare on your face as his face fills with amusement. "Come on." You whine, pushing yourself against his thigh as your hands trail from his back and to the zipper of his pants.

"Since you asked nicely." Jason offers you a toothy grin before he sits up.

Jason reaches for a condom from your nightstand before tugging his pants down and sliding it on. His hands come to your thighs, pulling you to the edge where he can position himself right up to your leaking slit. He nearly licks his lips as he slides a finger through your folds.

"All for me?" Jason asks with a confidence that makes you want to burn from the inside out.

You almost tease him back but you know if you do, he might just plop down next to you and get himself off.

"I missed you." You stick out your bottom lip, offering him a pout.

A rumble comes through his chest as he moves his finger to your clit. You lose all bite and snark from your words as the rest of the room melts away. It's been the longest three days of his life and he's missed you, too.

It's more than this that he misses. You always had a way of making any place feel like home. You always got him to feel comfortable in his own skin even when his own mind was running away with damaged versions of himself. And he's missed the way you go back and forth with him. A lot of people find him obnoxious and sure, you do, too sometimes but you still go back and forth. He's missed the way you always smile at him, with something like warm and kind. It's a relief being alive again, but it's also a relief getting to see you again.

"I missed, you, too." Jason finally says and he pulls his finger away.

Jason grabs his throbbing length in his fist, pumping himself a few times before he lines himself up with your pussy. He pushes forward, slow and steady as he rests a hand beside your head, holding his weight up. You turn your head, offering his forearm a kiss and the feral look in his eyes softens.

As he bottoms out, Jason places his other hand on the other side of your head, bending down to offer a soft kiss to your lips. His chest is heaving, moving rapidly but his lips are gentle against yours.

You slide your hands into his hair and instead of tugging, you wrap your fingers around the messy strands gently, as if happy to have him near you. Jason pulls out and then pushes back in, keeping up a steady rhythm as the two of you seem to savor the moment with each other.

He showed up as Red Hood. In the back of your head, you know he'll probably leave after this. He's not injured and he didn't seem upset. It's not really late which means he probably has something to do after this. Maybe that raises a lump in your throat for a split second because he's Red Hood.

It's not that Jason Todd magically came back from the dead and he's here again. It's that Jason Todd was murdered as Robin and then came back from the dead to be Red Hood, pick up being a vigilante just a more brutal and ruthless version of one. Being a vigilante is dangerous, as was proven just this week but Jaon comes back to go right back in the game. That part is scary.

Your heart skips as you kiss him back and you'll always be worried as he goes out there. Knowing it'll happen again. But, there is a part of you that admires him for it. He gets murdered and instead of quitting, he comes back to fight harder. Maybe that's completely insane but it is admirable. And you're proud of him for it. Worried, sure, but proud of him. So, you savor the way his lips are chapped against yours and the way his thrusts start to become a little quicker and desperate.

"Missed you." Jason mutters against your lips, his voice raspy and staggered.

"I missed you, too." Your voice is caught between a whimper and a whine.

Jason slides his hand between the two of you, finding your clit. His finger is gentle against the bud as your eyes roll back. He quickens his movements, matching the speed of his thrusts. A pit grows deeper in his own stomach as he nips your lip between his teeth.

He gets a low moan from you and he nearly finishes right then and there, his hips almost stalling. But, he recovers quickly, moving his finger in the way that always got you to unravel.

Your hands move to his back, nails digging in as the pressure feeling grows, echoing into your legs and down to your feet. He's pistoning out of you, the sound of skin on skin mixing with your moans and his groans fill the room. You tug him closer to you as you wrap your legs around his waist.

"Jay." You manage to get out as your throat feels like it's closing.

The room spins and Jason is relentless, knowing you're close. You can feel yourself pulsing around his length and you think your head might explode while your heart shoots out of your chest.

"Gonna cum over my cock for me, princess?" Jason drawls, his breath hot against your lips before he moves back to your neck.

"Uh-huh." You sputter out feeling the stars start in the back of your head.

His name falls from your lips loudly and sharply as everything around you explodes into static and stars. Your toes curl as everything starts to shake and convulse against Jason's length. The squeezing of his length sends him falling right off the edge with you, biting down on your neck as the orgasm rips through his body.

Jason works you both through your highs, slowly sitting up but keeping himself inside of you once your legs fall from his waist. He gives you this smile that's a contrast between cheeky and gentle. He bends down and presses a kiss to your forehead, earning a tired but loving smile from you.

"Thanks for stopping by, Jay." Your voice is hoarse but soft.

"Can make it a habit." Jason's grin turns into a smirk, but there's a softness in his eyes.

"Uh-huh, okay, Jay." You roll your eyes, kissing him back.

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[stardustbuck]

I feel like atp even if there were plans to make bvddie canon theyre gone now. if tim minear is even half as petty as I am he would see that reaction and go u know what fuck you u actually don't get what you want now cause ur acting so goddamn entitled. like when tarlos fans got mad about the deleted scenes instead of appreciating them being released and his reaction was to say "okay fine then I just won't release deleted scenes anymore" (like I'm sure it was mostly a marketing decision but part of me thinks they intentionally released a scene about bucktommy just to prove a point.) idk man it's just really upsetting as a bi man to see the absolutely vile shit bvddie stans are saying and even tho I love the ship I now never want it to go canon cause they've fuckin ruined it

hey anon, at first let me agree with the fact that i do in fact also love bvddie a lot and i still love reading fics for them, the edits of them are fantastic and the fanart is S tier. it’s a great pairing with a lot of potential there IF the writers decided to ever go there but…

huge answer below

yeah, i agree. i honestly think before tommy was introduced again in 7x03 and the kiss in 7x04 that in my brain, bvddie was the most logical endgame for buck until it wasn’t.

i came into the show shipping bvddie much like a lot of new fans to the show but instead of hopping onto the tommy anti express hate train i found myself falling in love with buck and tommy together. at first i was still on board with bvddie still being endgame but as each episode aired after 7x04 i became faced with the reality of the situation (at least the way i see it) that bvddie might always be fanon and that’s ok because fandom keeps ships alive whether they’re canon or not. some of the biggest ships EVER are non-canon (i mean, cmon spirk? one of the OG MM ships?) so it didn’t really deter me from enjoying bvddie to this day. what HAS deterred me from interacting with bvddie content is toxic bvddies. i don’t like using the lil nicknames, idc if other ppl do, whatever, but i prefer just referring to certain kinds as just toxic plain and simple.

toxic shippers have made it difficult for anyone who multiships to interact with bvddie content. while there are incredibly nice & welcoming bvddie endgamers out there, it doesn’t overshadow the hateful ones in my online experience at least. i’ve blocked so many ppl over this ship discourse, which ive never had to do with any other fandom before the extent i have with 911. everyday i still find new ppl to block, you go under almost any comment section on the 911 insta and its filled with nasty comments abt tommy and only caring abt whether bvddie will be canon in s8. people projecting their hatred of tommy/lou onto the cast/crew of the show when it’s be said and proven time and time again that it’s quite the opposite. now im certain there’s bad apples in the bucktommy side as well, but from what ive seen online so far it is not nearly to the caliber of the bvddie side. ive blocked maybe a handful of bucktommy’s for being hateful towards eddie or being toxic overall, but ive probably blocked over 100+ toxic bvddies. i can only imagine it’d be worse if i was active on 911 twt which i’m not (thank god) but i have ventured into the tags before on there and let me tell you, it’s fucking horrifying how gross ppl are over there. twt is a cesspool for fandom anyways tho, the fucking asshole of fandom, it’s a septic tank really.

now im my own opinion which could be completely untrue of course, but just basing my thoughts on what i’ve seen online and interviews and such, tim seems to be really happy about bucktommy and idk how ppl believe otherwise. tim has expressed he loves LFJ and wanted him back on the show. tim showed up on set for the kiss scene. tim posting an entire youtube vibe abt bucktommy being soulmates that touches on the invisible string theory and explains how they accidentally found buck’s perfect match. tim sharing the deleted tommy scene is also huge but im waiting to see if he releases more (because i remember seen somewhere that he said there’d be more?) and if he does then great but it’s also still pretty telling to me after the whole karaoke fiasco.

oliver has said nothing but praises towards buck’s queer storyline. he quite literally said if you dont like it then watch something else. despite ppl saying he’s never interacted with bucktommy content online, that’s a lie because he has liked fanart of them.

aisha, kenneth & tracie have all expressed how they like tommy/lou and love working with him.

jlh said she loved bvddie before but is excited to see where buck and tommy go and then on an insta live said she doesn’t think bvddie is happening and was bombarded by toxic fans to the point of ending the live early.

ppl think it’s all some ruse to make it seem like bvddie is never happening so when it does happen it’s a “surprise” ……..

the nasty hate comments are doing nothing but exposing these types of ppl for who they are and that honestly to them, 911 is just the bvddie show to them. the people who run these social media accs for 911 are looking at these comments and cringing, they aren’t running to tim and abc being like “we must give these crazies what they want!” they’re mostly likely being ignored or honestly, as you said, being looked at and just reinforcing their decision to most likely make tommy buck’s endgame so as long as his schedule is open for filming.

what gets me the most about the hate these types of shippers spew online is how they aren’t embarrassed because they are so sooo convinced they will be right one day and therefore their insane, nasty behavior online will be justified. oliver stark literally left twt because of fans like this, people act like he was joking around, that he was shooting the shit probably because “he’s british and british people just have that kind of humor” which yes to a certain extent but let me just add these posts to set an example to why if oliver were still on twt he absolutely would not be happy with the way toxic bvddies are acting right now.

oliver (and ryan&other cast too) being positive abt bvddie never meant it was going to be canon of become canon one day. they do not decide these things, whether they believe it should or not. a lot of bvddie shippers come from previous fandoms where queerbaiting was there, where they were made fun of by actors of their ships, by the creators of the show! so i understand the frustration but oliver is not queerbaiting and buck is not a queerbait character when he quite literally is now confirmed bisexual and in a relationship with a man.

he’s just not the “correct” queer to these people. despite headcanons (hell even i hc eddie as queer!!) eddie so far, in canon, is not queer. by the end s7 he is still shown to not be over shannon and ruins his relationship with his son over this. ryan has stated in interviews he sees eddie as heterosexual, possibly pushing this because of the influx of ship discourse, and he’s glad to see a vulnerable and deep friendship that buck and eddie can have as a straight man and a queer man and how important he thinks it is.

every single thing that points to bvddie never going canon is like they’re being shot point blank in the chest. i get it, your ship not becoming canon sucks, but again, that is what fandom is for! shipping has never been about how canon smth is, there is 20k fics out there for bvddie and they aren’t canon. they can turn that into 40k, 100k, 1M if they really wanted to! instead they use their time and energy posting death threats, wishing death upon a gay character, bullying ppl online for enjoying a ship.

meanwhile from what ive seen bucktommys are rolling with goofy ass spy tommy theories created by antis and making jokes for our own fun.

so yes, i agree overall. they truly don’t deserve what they think they do. we didn’t whine and scream for a deleted scene. they did. we got ours without even expecting it and are having fun.

maybe if they behaved better i wouldn’t be so petty abt it. it’s a shame because of how much potential it has, unfortunately it is just not going that way atm. and even if it does one day, it is not because they paraded online with hate, it is because that’s the story tim and the others wanted to write and abc approved it.

🫳🎤

[confusedemiposts]

Chuuya sfw alphabet

Notes: Requested by Anon but i accidentally deleted the ask.

Tags: Floof, tiny angst for E,D and W. Not proofread, might be oc, GN! reader

'A' is for Affection (How affectionate are they?)

He's very affectionate, he'll spend any time he can with you and buy you a bunch of gifts, he loves seeing your face light up when he suprised you with a gift, a grin on his own face from your reaction. But his favourite is physical touch. He loves it but he keeps it to a minimum in public, he always has a hand on you no matter what and keep his arm around your waist but nothing too much, only one or two short brief kisses if deemed appropriate, this is even less within the Port Mafia because he wants to keep serious and not seem like some lovesick puppy by his subordinates.

But once in private space? He'll smoother your face In kisses and keep you in his arms for as long as he can

'B' is for Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend?)

He's litterly such a nice and calm person canonically but only acts like an annoyed hot headed chihuahua to Dazai cause he annoys the shit out of him but also trusts him, so unless you annoy him like Dazai then he's the most loyal and trustworthy friend you can find and he loves hanging out with you. I feel like he's the type of friend to beat the shit out of someone who wronged you and offer to buy all your things and even if you say no several times he will buy it anyways, no repayments back.

'C' is for Cuddles (How would they cuddle?)

He likes to cuddle you like a teddy bear, just letting out all his stess out from the day and let exhaustion consume him while he's in your arms,he holds onto you tightly. I think he prefers to cuddle on top of you so he can embrace all of you and just keep his face in your chest or shoulders, embracing your scent that he cannot get enough of.

'D' is for Domestic (Everyday life with them, do they want to settle down?)

Unless you work in the Port Mafia you won't really be able to see him for hours on end, only before and after work or his day's off. He wakes up really early in the morning and cooks breakfast if you aren't awake, and let me tell you he's a fantastic cook. The evenings are more quiet and gentle, probably cuddling on the couch as you either watch tv or read a book as he drinks a nice glass of wine

I think he wants to settle down and spend his every day with you but realistically he can't unless he somehow retired from the mafia, which I don't think Mori will let happen :(

'E' is for Ending (If they had to break up with their partner)

If he had to break up with you it would be for your safety, dating a mafiaso is dangerous in general, dating a mafia executive is asking for a death wish. Your safety would be in absolute danger if any organisation or even Mori were to know you were close to Chuuya, who knows what they'd do to you if they had ill intentions. He'd talk to face to face about it, calm and collected even though his chest is aching at the thought of even doing this

'F' is for Fiance (How do they feel about commitment?)

If this a long term serious relationship the thought of marriage would come across his mind maybe a year or two in, when he realises he genuinely loves you and wants to spend all his waking hours with you. He would propose to you if your thoughts of marriage are positive and when he feels like the moment is right- unless you propose to him first, leaving him extremely flustered but he will instantly say yes

'H' is for Hugs (What are their hugs like?)

He likes hugs. He loves to wrap his arms around you and feel you close, doesn't matter if you're taller or shorter than him, he loves to bury his face into your neck and feel your warmth and he just loves it when you hug him back with your arms around him.

'G' is for Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He is very gentle with you physically, touching you as if you were a delicate flower, but there are times where he loses his patience. He tries his best to keep calm and collected but with the amount of stress he goes through and if tension arises he snaps. But he'll try to fix it if he genuinely upset you, he cares too much about you

'I' is for "I love you" (How fast do they say the L-word?)

This isn't a word he throws around carelessly, it's going to take him awhile till he says it and when he says it he means it.

'J' is for Jealous (How jealous do they get?)

He knows there's no need to be jealous since your his and he is yours but he can't help it if he sees someone get physically close to you with a flirtatious intentions, he will put his hand around your waist and pull you close to him, head on your shoulder as he asks "who's this darling?" Giving a quick peck on your neck and cheek, staring at the person with a menacing glare without your notice.

'K' is for Kisses (what are their kisses like?)

Every kiss he means it, often passionate and deep yet gentle. He loves feeling your lips on his and it's something he will never get tired. Wine and your lips are his favourite things.He likes to place soft kisses on your cheeks, neck, shoulders and the back of your hands. He loves every kiss you give him but he loves the one's where you unconsciously kiss his cheek, forehead or even his mouth with no thoughts in your head, just kissing him makes him feel all tingly inside

'L' is for Little one's (How are they around children?)

He is litterly the BEST with children! He knows how to deal with them and let them have fun, he'd be the best dad ever! The thought of having his own children comes into his head if he sees how you interact with children or just seeing your baby photos. He might bring it up in a late night conversation just to see how you feel about children and ask if you'd ever want children. I think he'd love to have children if he's in a good position but he also cares about your comfort and if this is something you want, since this a serious two person descion.

'M' is for Mornings (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with Chuuya are calm but structured, if you aren't awake yet he'll cook you breakfast. I feel like he has a morning routine so he wakes up at the same time every day, though sleeping in for only an hour on days off. He has a skincare routine that he definitely does with you, how else is his skin so smooth?? Definitely works out too in the morning, he may look slim but he's definitely built.

'N' is for Nights (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights after work are also calm (he's just a calm person to be around). He often comes home late or early even depending on how the mafia is doing, he'll call you if he's coming home late so you know he'd okay. When he's home your both eating dinner and filling each other in the on the day. I think he'd take a shower as fast as possible after dinner, he likes to keep himself clean, he prides in his skincare and haircare, genuinely dragging you into it too. After that he likes to relax with a glass of wine and do whatever before bed, he does go to bed at a certain time to get his eight hours

'O' is for Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves?)

He is simultaneously close to others yet at the same time he isn't. He will never reveal everything about himself, but what he does reveal will come when he is ready and feels secure enough to do so. He won't bring this up either if you never bring up a particular topic. He says a lot of things just because you ask.

'P' is for Patient (How easily angered are they?)

He tries his best to be patient with you, always taking into consideration of your feelings but the rare times if you're being unreasonable about something harmless and he's stressed he will snap but nothing that should lead into an extreme argument. He likes to solve things before they escalate

'Q' is for Quizzes (How much would they remember about you?)

He'll memorise every single thing about you, your likes,your dislikes, your behaviours, he remembers every single detail he seems nessecary which is all.

'R' is for Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favourite moment with you is the first time he kissed you, just seeing your face from his kiss made him grin. He was addicted to your lips from then on.

'S' is for Security (How protective are they?)

Chuuya is protective but will give you space if you need some, but if you feel bad or threatened, he will definately do something about it. Even unconsciously he's protective, as I said even in public he always has a hand on you and keeping you close.

'T' is for Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He may be severely busy but he is always trying, using his head to keep a balanced work life and personal life. Always planning free time with you and dates, constantly buying you gifts as if to compensate for the time he wasn't with you, he does it unconsciously I think. If you plan or gift something for him he will absolutely adore it

'U' is for Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

'V' is for Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

I think his worst habit is blowing up? To be honest I'm not really sure about this letter, I think he'd only snap at you specifically if he's stressed or really upset which isn't often, he likes to sort things out

If you don't like smoking that could be a problem, he only smokes to cool off when he's extremely under pressure but he'll try to quit if you really don't like it

This man is not leaving the house without looking perfect, as I said he has a strict skincare and haircare routine- and have you seen his outfit? He could litterly be a model

'W' is for Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Chuuya has experienced lost before and you certainly won't be the last, Though it leaves him devastated every time,Chuuya has learnt self-control to understand his loss and how he personally experiences grief, since he knows all too well how simple it is to lose people. He bears the weight of loss, yet it is loss that gives him motivation to move forward

'X' is for Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Let me just ramble about his ability real quick. If he wants to hide something from you, he'd use his gravity to hide it on high place that neither of you can reach, he'll use it to tease you if you don't have a nullification ability. If you ask he'd put you on the ceiling or just float in general, making sure to comfort you if you get scared or dizzy from blood rush.

'Y' is for Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Not being trusted back, he is loyal and trusts you so he would hope you would trust him back. Or someone who only sees him for his money as he's quiet loaded

'Z' is for Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He is a sound sleeper, just flat out exhausted one he lands on the mattress, he must get his eight hours worth of sleep. He weirdly sleeps like a mess yet somehow looks ethereal at the same time? He likes holding you close to feel you close and his body is extremely warm like a fire so that sucks during summer

Why is he literally the most perfect boyfriend ever???

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

Can you do individual ot13 thoughts/headcanons of svt getting with a reader that has a really good physique and is a pilates princess? Like abs so nice and defined it shows through her silk dresses and they have so nice arm/back muscles! I’m sure they would definitely love a partner to tag along with them at the gym.

🏋️‍♀️Who; Seventeen (individually) x female reader (though I think most come off as gender-neutral) 🏋️‍♀️What; I guess you could call it fluff(?) headcanons 🏋️‍♀️Wordcount; a little under 1k altogether 🏋️‍♀️Warnings; none, I don't think so at least.

-2024 Masterlist -

A/N- Let me just preface by saying that I am in no way speaking for the members and their preferences in regards to the female form in a romantic partner, as obviously, I am not them nor do I know them therefore I cannot speak for them. I'm just responding with the ~vibes~ they give me, okay Also, I know nothing about exercise so this is all general fitness

Thank you for the request, anon! I hope you like it 💖

Seungcheol I think Cheol would quite like having a partner who works out a lot and who it's visible on. It's a sign that you take care of your body and physical strength as much as he does his own so although he wouldn't be loud about it, he'd be happy and always glance over at you in the gym with a proud smile seeing you focused on your task

Jeonghan He's a mischievous little imp so of course he'd be extra about it. Playfully swooning when you do things that require strength or flex your muscles. He'll love to buy you those silky low-backed dresses just to show off your muscles and will often have his hand appreciatively on your shoulderblades when you're in them

Joshua I am genuinely kind of stuck on Shua with this particular thought. I'm not sure he'd be all that into it but I don't think he'd exactly be against it either. Maybe he's sort of neutral about it. But he'll worship your body anyway and always give you the most sincere compliments and makes sure you know he loves every inch of you

Junhui I genuinely think that Jun wouldn't really care. So long as you're happy and healthy, he won't care how muscular you are or are not. But he will often have his hand on your abs over your clothes to mindlessly trace over the muscles. Like his own personal soothing/fidget toy

Soonyoung He'd love it. Always hyping you up and tracks your sets for you even if you never ask. He'd honestly spend most of the time at the gym standing by you and counting aloud with a serious, supportive expression on his face instead of working out. So now he goes to the gym twice as much, half with you and half alone to make up for focusing on you the whole time

Wonwoo Honestly, I don't think he'd really be into someone very muscular, a little definition, sure but not lots. Still, if that's what you choose to do with your body, he will do his best to support you while always making sure you don't go over the top and actually are doing it in a healthy way just for you, not for the sake of impressing others

Woozi Another one who doesn't much care. He'll like that you work out and you can share that together but it also wouldn't much bother him if you didn't either. But he also does like it for the fact that your regular workouts means he gets to the gym more regularly and doesn't get caught up in his work or lounging at home as much as before your gym dates started

Seokmin He's confused by how into it he is. He never thought he'd like a woman who isn't feminine but man, his eyes are always glued to the definition of your muscles at every chance. Full on big ol round eyes glued to the lines of your body, this man is utterly whipped He will definitely have his hands on you as much as he can to feel the natural flex of muscles under his fingers so you better be okay with copious skinship

Mingyu Number one hype man for real. As much as he wants to be that couple who works out together, you can't because he genuinely has almost scared you into dropping weights on your foot on more than one occasion from his sudden catcalls and yells of your name in support. He means well though, he just gets too excited seeing his baby killing it at the gym He regularly makes you flex for him then giggles and squeezes your muscles appreciatively before he flexes and makes you touch his in return

Minghao I'm kind of stuck between he isn't really into a lot of muscle on a partner at all and he doesn't really care either way. I think maybe he's somewhere in the middle where he will appreciate a certain amount of definition, like a flat stomach but when it turns to a six-pack he's not really into it. He'd love you regardless but it wouldn't be his preference

Seungkwan I don't think Seungkwan would be into a very muscular partner at all. He can appreciate the time and effort of course that getting such a physique takes. And he will be very impressed in general but I can't really imagine him being attracted to that in a partner though as a friend, he'd hype the shit out of you at every chance

Vernon Dude doesn't much care what you look like so long as you have a general sense of pride in your appearance to not look like a slob and eat relatively healthy. You got soft bits? Great! Got muscles? Great! Got neither? Great! Dude does not care, just wants to hold you and be held regardless of the type of body you have Though he will support you in your exercise routines and you might even be able to convince him to work out with you once or twice, though he mostly just makes you a workout mix, hands you a water bottle and sends you off with a "have fun sweating around strangers while I watch movies"

Chan This sweetheart will always support his partner in their interests. He's likely to even sign you up for classes together (with your consent of course) and do research into your preferred methods of exercise or sport. He'll very likely get very into it himself and proudly call you from across the gym when he hits a new achievement that he's learned because of you If you want to dress up in ways to showcase your muscles, he'll love it, but if you'd prefer to keep it to yourself for whatever reason, he'd still love it. He just really loves you and everything you do, you know. (I am a firm supporter of the simp chan agenda okay)

A/N- I genuinely felt really mean on the ones I said wouldn't be into it, I don't want to offend anyone

If you have any ideas/suggestions of what I could write next, send an ask after checking this post where you can find the guidelines about what I will or will not write

[garfunklefield]

toji nsfw/sfw alphabet challenge? 🤭

ALPHABET CHALLENGE

18+ viewer discretion is advised

GN!reader/Toji Fushiguro Warnings: this isn't serious, HUMOORRRRR, alphabet challenge Word count: 3205 DESC: alphabet challenge!!

Hi! So I had literally no idea what this was until I did some digging on AO3! So if this is a little off, don't pay it any mind. I have no idea how I'd tag it, if I even would, so read at your own risk! Nothing bad or triggering though, so you're safe anon!

ALL EYES ON RAFAH

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I’m gonna level with you, my guy didn’t know what aftercare was until you brought it up. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, in fact, I think he liked it. Toji liked the thought of being able to baby you and make sure you felt alright after pounding you to Mars. 

Typically, he’ll pull out and give himself a minute to regulate. You know, let his pulse get back to normal and piss (UTIS ARE REAL GUYS). Sometimes, if he’s too tired you can expect a simple kiss on the forehead and coos about how you did so well. He’s not very affectionate, but he can be. Zenin will wrap a lazy arm around your waist and pull you closer, cuddling up to you.

Most times though, he’ll help you out of bed and into the bathroom. There, Toji would help you clean off. Now, this isn’t just a one-person effort. He expects some aftercare too. Even if you’re dazed, he at least wants to know he did good too. He would never admit it, but your approval does something to him. Emotionally … and sexually sometimes.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

As we can see from my many Toji fics, my guy likes ass. He doesn’t care for how large breasts are, although he does enjoy them, or how big a man’s balls are. He likes ass. Any kind. 

I think if he’s bisexual his gay awakening was John Stamos and his ass. (Don’t ask me how I know this. I’ve seen things…)

Not to say he wouldn’t like it if he got to squeeze someone's tits or fondle some balls, but the real thing that takes his heart is a juicy ass. Toji likes to fondle it till the cows come home, making you sore from the pinching and prodding. Even if you didn’t have a lot of cake back there, he’d still make it sore. Safe to say anal is on his job list. 

Now, his favorite body part of himself? I bet you’re thinking “Oh it’s his cock, for sure.” Nerp! I’m gonna say, it’s his back. I think while he’s too broke to afford a good gym membership, all his fighting and killing teenagers makes him buff. And with all that arm moving, his backs bound to get pretty neat, huh? I don’t know, I can just picture Toji flexing his back to you and grinning about how he found at-home workouts to make it look better than ever.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Cum! Or should I say … cum shots! I recently learned there’s such a thing as oozers and gushers. Oozers have cum that slowly drips out, like lava, from their tip. Whereas gushers shoot it. I think contrary to popular belief, Toji would ooze. At first, he didn’t like that. He knew girls liked the stuff in porn and when he couldn’t emulate it, he was pissy.

But now he’s learned to be okay with how he cums! Anyways- the main meat of what I’m trying to say is, now that he was comfortable, he wanted to cum everywhere on your body. It was a hassle for you since you’d have to clean it off. Although, he did offer to help. 

He just loved to see your tongue hang open as he stroked himself to completion, letting his cum trickle down all over your pretty face. While Mr. Zenin doesn’t do it often, since he prefers penetrative sex, he’ll never miss an opportunity to cum on your body.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s a dilf (A) and (B) he’s old. Yeah yeah don’t boo me I’m right- whatever! I think Toji is more experienced than he lets on. Maybe even a bit embarrassed about how many women he’s slept with. He doesn’t want you to think he’s a man whore, or was, and he doesn’t want you to think he feels trapped. Quite the opposite, he likes monogamy a lot! 

But yeah, I believe he was a man whore in his prime. Yet, he wasn’t happy. Sure, he was popular with the ladies (and men), and yeah sex is fun. It didn’t compare to being loved. Nothing does. He was just using it as a shitty coping mechanism because he couldn’t handle his own feelings. Now that he’s older, he’s glad he settled down and met you. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

This is going to be oddly specific so try your hardest to keep up since I’m not sure if this is a real position or not: But reverse cowgirl, sitting, on a chair. Which, I just learned is called backwards cowgirl. Fun. Toji’s very particular I feel. He had certain positions that he knew would hit just right for you, or really anyone he hooked up with in the past. He plays to his strengths and one of them was his literal strength. 

He’s strong, maybe it’s the lack of cursed energy, but he’s strong. So he enjoys manhandling a lot during sex, to show off I suppose. And he’s an ass man. This position was perfect. He could hit all your good spots and show off his muscles, by planting his hands on your hips and bouncing you on his cock. Not to mention, he’d get to see your perfect ass bounce. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? Etc.)

Toji is as serious as they come (cum pfft) during sex. He doesn’t break or smile often, going into a sort of dom head space. Although, he isn’t opposed to laughing if a funny noise is made or he accidentally slips out between thrusts. He doesn’t find sex to be serious in general, but he doesn’t go around laughing every five seconds. 

He enjoys being dominant and intimate, but he can laugh at himself.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I don’t think Toji really shaves as much as he thinks he should. He shaved his shaft with a cheap razor he got at the dollar store. And being from the dollar store, he’s terrified to bring it to his balls. One too many Reddit threads on how he could cut himself, get an infection, and die had been burned into his brain.

Instead, he opts to trim. So he’s well groomed but on the hairier side. Think, a nice lumber jack.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As mentioned earlier, Mr. Zenin is serious until there’s a laughable moment. He takes your pleasure very seriously even if he doesn’t show it. Just as he takes your praise. He doesn’t really know how to ask for it, so he relishes every single time you babble about how good his cock feels. 

Toji isn’t a very romantic guy, I don’t feel. Sure, he’ll buy you flowers if he asks, but he finds that spending time together and doing nothing makes him feel closer to you. He enjoys it when you’re both sitting on the couch scrolling on social media, with your legs entangled at the edge of the couch. Or if you’re watching a movie and your arms are touching. 

It’s the simple things that let him know you’re there, you’re alive and breathing. That’s romantic to him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’s a little stupid, okay? Toji masturbates to the thought of you sometimes because he forgets he can. It doesn’t cross his mind when he can fuck you instead. Occasionally he’ll be alone in his room or on the couch and realize that he has free will (and a right hand). 

But no I don’t think he masturbates often. If he does, it’s always to a photo or video of you. I like to think he has a whole dresser drawer full of sex tapes of the two of you, alphabetized. But unlike Dennis Renolds, there’s no weird ball angle and he asked first.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Toji is notorious, for me at least, for being a character associated with breeding and daddy kinks. Which I like. But if he’s an ass man (coming full circle here) he’d be into anal too, right!!!?? I think it’s one of those things he won’t suggest unless you do, then when you do he’s scarily on board. Already taking off his pants mid convo, too.

I also think he has a mommy kink. Not like, he’d want to be called mommy, but if his partner was a big-breasted woman he’d want to suck her nipples and call her mommy, type of thing. I believe he could be submissive if he met someone more deranged and broke than himself.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Since Toji’s favorite position is backward cowgirl, I think his favorite place to fuck you is a recliner. So, maybe it’ll turn backward into reverse. He doesn’t care. He loves seeing your curves from behind, when you grab onto his calves for stability, or the little faces you make.

He can sit back comfortably while his hands do all the work. Sometimes, when he gets tired he’ll let you bounce up and down on his dick until you reach your high.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It’s your scent. Perfume, cologne, whatever you wear he loves. He loves to smell your hair after you get out of the shower and grind against your ass, messing up your clean body with his cum. Now I want to take this time, since I haven’t been serious in the slightest, to write something humorous. 

Toji likes your smell so much, it makes him hard almost instantly. Imagine your horror when you went into a Macey’s and sprayed the body mist into the air and he turned red. At first, you didn’t realize he was erect until he tapped your shoulder and gruffed into your ear, “Babe.. we need to go.” 

“Wh,” you narrowed your eyes back at him, “I’m not done. Can you hold on for five seconds?” You went to continue but his eyes shot down, as did yours. Raging. Tent. Pressed against your side.

“Are you serious.” 

“Just like.. A blow job in the bathroom couldn’t hurt, right?” He raised a perverted eyebrow. 

It did end with a blow job in the bathroom. And now you don’t go to Macey’s with him anymore.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

While Toji is into some pain play and bondage, he draws the line at drawing blood or seriously harming you. So no knives. Although he’d be into having you hurt him like that, he just can’t stomach the thought of hurting you to the point where you bleed. On himself, he doesn’t mind.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

My man loves to give head more than receiving it. Everyone loves a good blow job (cut back to the Macey’s incident), but he just can’t get enough of your unders. You think your regular scent makes him hard? The scent you give off between your legs sends his head reeling for more. 

Since being a retired man whore, he’s good at any type of oral. Blow jobs are a breeze and he could eat pussy with a gag on. 

He does love it more when you’re struggling to fit his length in your mouth. It’s funny to him, before turning oh-so-hot, how you gag when he mouth fucks you with ease. He won’t be gentle on you after you get used to the sensation of your mouth full, ramming into you with enough force to knock the wind out of your lungs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Guys, we know the answer to this. Fast, rough, hard, quick, ruthless. Don’t make me get a thesaurus. If you had to fuck two Toji’s to figure out which was the real one, one was sensual and the other was fast-paced, you’d know who your man was. 

He makes sure you feel pleasure with every thrust and every spot he hits. So it doesn’t hurt, but it is quick. It takes you a quick second to adjust as he pounds into you, but you can’t help but enjoy it. It feels so good, even if the first few times you got rug burn.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

While he likes to take his time and fuck into you for hours on end, not everyone has that time. So more often than not, you’re left with super intense quickies. On the weekends or during a holiday, you’ll get a super long session full of teasing, slow and rare strokes, and heavy makeout sessions. But every week? It’s maybe thirty to forty-five minutes.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As I’ve written before, Toji loves experimenting. He’ll do anything once even if it doesn’t pay off. Just as long as he’s going with the flow and pleasuring you, he doesn’t mind if it ends up not panning out.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Typically, as I’ve previously mentioned, your sexual sessions last for half an hour or a little longer. But Toji is a horse. He can go for hours on end and several rounds. Maybe this has to do with the fact he’s a retired man whore, or maybe that he holds out to please you just a little while longer. You on the other hand, are normal, so you both don’t go for as long as he could go for. If you tried, you’d be an overstimulated mess on the floor!

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Mr. Zenin used to swear off toys until he met you. He doesn’t own a Fleshlight, but he does partake in the usage of cock-rings. He likes to wear one as he fucks you, just to last an extra minute longer for your pleasure. Many of the toys he owns aren’t for him, though. They’re for you. Fleshlights, sounding rods, anal beads, vibrators, dildos- Everything for you!

He loves to see how overstimulated he can get you, watching your body shake and convulse with every motion and movement. Then when you’re cuming, he feels like he’s hit the lottery. Just to make you see stars, is enough fulfillment for him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Toji is such an annoying tease, it’ll piss you off. Yeah, he fucks you hard and fast, but the build-up can take hours. First, it’ll be a hand resting on your thigh, slowly moving upwards. Then he’s touching you in a sensitive area, making you groan with desire. But … just as quick as the man is touching you, he’s getting up for a beer. 

This same pattern can continue for hours, even days if he’s being a bitch. When he finally does fuck you, it releases all that pent-up sexual tension in a huge orgasm. An orgasm you’re never prepared for.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Toji is a groaner and a moaner- unless. If you, stick with me here, fuck him for as many hours and as many rounds as he can last, and then some, you’ll start to hear different sounds. It’s low and gradual, how needy he’ll get and how whiney he’ll get. You can even expect some begging if you hold out. 

But regularly? He whispers the nastiest filth inside your ear instead of moaning, he lets you do that. He’s never been a loud guy in that sense, so he just never got in the habit of making noise. Although, when he hits that perfect angle, he might make a louder noise than you’d expect from him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

This might lose some of you but HERE ME OUT- Toji loves getting it up the ass. He doesn’t typically share this kink or turn on with anyone, aside from you. You had suggested it and he wasn’t a bitch, so the man accepted. He, however, did not expect to nut all over your freshly made bed multiple times. 

Your pink dildo rubbed against his prostate and made him whimper. Him!!! Now, it’s only reserved for special occasions since Toji was embarrassed. But every time his birthday rolls around, he’s a bit more excited than usual. Especially when you brought home a monster dildo. 

You’d only ever used standard ones with him, so when your husband turned forty you thought it was time to upgrade. That was the first time you ever made a grown man cry from orgasming so much.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Now I think this means their body? Anyway- I think Toji is built well and maybe a bit muscular, but not body builder level. He’s too broke to afford the gym, so as mentioned earlier, he probably does at-home workouts with cheaper weights. He walks with you in your neighborhood and all that fun stuff, so he’s pretty healthy. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Because his ability to last is so high, I was going to initially go with he has a super high sex drive. But the more I thought about it, I think it would be kind of low. This means when he fucks  he fucks. You can turn Toji on easily, but for him to get horny on his own takes something massive (or small like the Macey’s incident). 

There’ll be days where he just wants to sleep next to you and others where he can’t keep his hands off of you. I think it all depends on his mood. So maybe low-ish to average sex drive, I’d say.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Last but not least!!!!! This one is gonna be a bit angsty. 

Toji doesn’t really sleep after you both have sex. Sometimes he’ll be tired enough to doze off beside you, but he’s always alert. He protectively spoons your back and cradles your body, ensuring you can’t escape his limbs. 

He had never been loved before, remember his man whore days? Every person he’d sleep with would leave him in the morning, for him to sit in a pool of regret. Now with you, it’s domestic and comforting. But there’s always that fear of you leaving in the morning and never returning. The first time you two slept together and you got up in the middle of the night to get some water, he’d never admit it, but Toji was terrified you would leave him. He had opened his heart to you, intimately, and if you left he wasn’t sure what he would do. 

Then you walked in, a tired smile on your face when you noticed his worried gaze. Your words put him at ease as you whispered, “I’m back.” 

[king-bumis-armpit]

Hey! If you are still looking for maiko prompts.

You could write a sour zuko finding out that Mai and kei lo broke up. I like imagining ways for him to find out and what his reaction would be.

And I’m always a fan of stories where Mai runs away when zuko is banished, or try to smuggle herself into his ship.

Anyway, have fun!

Put a Ring on It

Part 2 is out now: read it here.

Summary: Kei Lo buys an engagement ring. Zuko freaks out. 

“I’m thinking something gold and traditional.” Good, Zuko thought bitterly. At least Mai will hate it. He had well and truly lost her. He had lost her to another man.

Author’s Note: This idea was given to me by a lovely anon! If you have any Maiko fic ideas that you want me to write, send them my way! And thank you, if you already have <3

Gene Luen Yang wants me to believe it took Mai and Zuko 3 years to get back together. Ha! I spit in your face, good sir. This fic will do it in one! (I’m kidding, I’m kidding… mostly. I hate the comics but I’m sure Gene’s a decent fellow.)

This fic takes place 8 months after the events of Smoke and Shadow, vol 3. It’s canon compliant up to that point, and canon compliant with Korra, but I know nothing about the comics that chronologically happen in between so it might contradict those. For the purpose of this fanfiction, marriage proposals in the Fire Nation are the same as modern proposals with an engagement ring. 

Also! Happy (late) Mother’s Day to all the moms out there! You’re the best!!

Zuko made his way quickly through the rain, hood pulled tight over his head. He was out with only a few plainclothes guards today, hoping to maintain some anonymity. It was only a week until the Feast of the Mother of Faces, and Zuko had yet to find a suitable gift for his own mom. He wanted to get her something especially nice since they had been apart for so many years. He was pretty sure his last gift to her was a macaroni necklace, and figured he had to at least up his game from that.

His uncle had given him some recommendations of places to shop, and the first of which was a small but well-known jewelry store in the Caldera. As he slipped inside, he noted that the place was nearly empty except for the store clerk. His guards would be watching the door from a tavern across the street, and were instructed not to check in unless he spent over an hour in the building.

The spectacled shopkeeper looked up at his arrival, “Can I help you find anything, sir?”

“I don’t think so?” Zuko replied. “I’m just browsing for a Feast of the Mother gift.”

“Ah,” the man nodded in understanding. He gestured to the wall to Zuko’s right. “We have a lovely selection of necklaces and pendants that might be suitable. Prices are listed on the tags. Let me know if you have any questions or if you would like me to remove any items from the case.”

Zuko smiled and gave the man a slight bow. This was shaping up to be easier than he expected. He looked through the glass at the different options. He noticed some that were similar to pieces he recognized from his childhood. There was one in particular, a gaudy and ruby-encrusted flame, the size of his fist, that reminded him of something his father would buy. Best to stay away from those. There were some cloth chokers, similar to one that Katara occasionally wore when she was in the fire nation. He wasn’t quite sure they would be his mother’s style, but perhaps he should send a memo to Aang. (For a monk, who swore off material things, that kid sure bought a lot of gifts for his girlfriend. The thought made Zuko smile.) 

Then, he caught sight of a delicate silver chain. Most women in the Fire Nation preferred gold, but Zuko knew one woman who hadn’t. 

— —

“Silver matches my knives, Zuko. The aesthetic of it all is very important to me.”

Zuko snorted. They had decided to explore the numerous palace basements, and had come across one of the many treasuries, nearly all of it gold. Mai had immediately protested the lack of her favorite metal.

“Well gold is the emblematic color of our nation, so most of the royal jewelry is gold. You’re going to have to get used to it eventually.” Zuko blushed when he realized the implication of his words.

“Oh? Why is that?” Mai asked, fixing him with a satisfied smirk. 

His cheeks were burning, but he decided to play it cool. “I plan to put a golden crown on your head one day… if that’s alright with you.”

Mai kissed his cheek, and then his nose, and then his lips. “I think that’ll be alright. One day. But I really would prefer silver.” 

He cupped her cheek with his palm and guided her in for another kiss. That was the last room they managed to explore that day.

— — 

And even though they were no longer together, Zuko thought about her more than he cared to admit. He leaned in to examine the silver chain. It carried a small charm, about the size of his thumbnail. The charm itself was also silver, fashioned into the shape of a plum blossom. A wine colored garnet– again, a favorite of Mai’s–  was nestled in the center of the flower. Zuko felt his heart seize. It was perfect, but not for the person he was supposed to be shopping for. 

He contemplated buying it anyway. Maybe he could stop by Mura’s after this and place an order for a bouquet. Surely his mom would want flowers. And if Mai was there, he could give her the necklace. What’s a gift between friends? 

The sound of the door opening broke his reverie. The rain had gotten heavier since he entered the shop, and the new customer had practically flung himself into the building, allowing the door to slam behind him. 

The shopkeeper seemed slightly irritated by this noisy appearance, but nonetheless asked him the question he had asked Zuko. “Can I help you find anything, sir?”

The man removed his hood, and Zuko felt his muscles turn to ice. It was Kei Lo.

“Oh yes please!” He gave a good natured smile, all cheerfulness and boyish charm as he swaggered up to the counter. The universe was taunting Zuko. Of course he couldn’t buy a ridiculously expensive present for Mai. She had a boyfriend. She had made that quite clear when he last saw her eight months ago.

“What are you looking for?” the man asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Zuko noticed how Kei Lo shuffled, seeming nervous. “I– I’m here to buy an engagement ring.”

Zuko was going to be sick. He was going to throw up. Right on the floor. Right in front of the store clerk. And right in front of Mai’s soon-to-be-fiance.

“Congratulations!” The storekeeper seemed to have fully gotten over irritation and beamed from ear to ear.

“Thanks!” Kei Lo said sheepishly. “I haven’t asked her yet, but we’ve talked about it before so I’m confident she’ll say yes.”

Zuko took several deep breaths and forced himself to quietly turn and face the display case once again. Kei Lo obviously hadn’t noticed him yet, and he knew that any interaction between them would be a disaster.

“Have you discussed ring preferences?” the older man asked.

“No, but I’m thinking something gold and traditional.” Good, Zuko thought bitterly. At least Mai will hate it. 

As the two walked over to the ring cases and discussed the pieces, Zuko’s thoughts began to spiral. How had this happened? He had well and truly lost her. Mai, his soulmate, his best friend, his plum blossom. He had lost her to another man. Except…

Except he hadn’t yet! Kei Lo hadn’t asked her yet. He could buy his own engagement ring from a different shop and ask her right now! Or he could run there and ask her without one. 

“Prince Zuko!” He heard his Uncle’s voice in his head, echoing the wisdom of the past. “You never think these things through! You had no plan! You could have died!” Then he said something about ice and chasing the avatar. The exact words were hazy, but the sentiment was clear. He was too impulsive. 

He needed to wait and collect more information. Then he could form a plan and– and then what? If Mai wanted to marry Kei Lo, then he knew he had to support her. He wanted her to be happy more than he wanted his own happiness. But when he spoke to her in the Dragonbone Catacombs she herself admitted that she didn’t like Kei Lo as much as she had liked him. He cursed himself. He had driven her away and broken her heart twice! Now she was scared to trust him. But if he could just convince her to give him one more chance, he could fix it. He had learned how painful it was to live without her, and he would not repeat his mistakes.

His heart ached to imagine Mai in a wedding dress at someone else’s side. Even as a kid, when he pictured his wedding, he pictured Mai as the bride.

— — 

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” Little Azula tugged at their mother’s sleeve. “My friend Mai is here and we want to play a game with Zuko! Please! Ty Lee is sick, so we need another person.” Zuko rolled his eyes. He considered Mai to be a shared friend since they all used to play together at Ember Island, but lately Azula had been calling her “my friend Mai.” It made him angry and he didn’t know why.

Ursa patted her daughter’s head. “I think that’s a great idea. What do you think, Zuko?”

He crossed his arms. He remembered what happened last week with the apple. But if Ty Lee was sick then Mai was alone with Azula. What if his sister was teasing her? Or telling her lies about him? He needed to intervene. “Sure. I would love to play with you Azula.” His tone of voice did not match his words, but his sister didn’t care.

“Good!” Azula grabbed his hand and marched him into the fountain garden. Zuko knew that this couldn’t possibly end well.

Mai was sitting under a tree, twirling a knife. She looked up at their approach and raised an eyebrow, “I thought you went to get mochi.”

Azula shrugged. “I changed my mind. I want to play a game.”

Mai looked at Zuko with great trepidation. He couldn’t blame her. Last time Azula said those words, he had tackled her.

“No firebending this time, Azula,” he ordered.

“Of course not,” Azula agreed. “We’re going to play wedding. I’ll be the officiant and you two will be the couple.”

It took all of Zuko’s discipline to not stare at Mai and search her face for a reaction. He heard her sigh, and he felt his stomach drop.

“Well,” Azula prompted. “Come here.” She made Mai and Zuko stand facing each other while she launched into a monologue about the rich culture of the Fire Nation. She went on for a while and Zuko was so bored that he almost forgot to be embarrassed. When Azula wasn’t looking, he noticed Mai yawning. He bit his lip to keep from laughing. “And naturally,” Azula carried on. “Fire bending comes from the breath. In order to symbolize the joining of flames, the couple will now share a breath and share a kiss.” She looked at them expectantly.

“Azula, I don’t think we should do this,” Zuko protested.

His sister smirked. “Why not? You don’t want to kiss Mai? She’s not pretty enough for you?”

Zuko saw red. “Mai is really pretty! You take that back right now!”

“If she’s so pretty, then kiss her!”

Mai cleared her throat. Pink dusted her cheeks, but aside from that her expression remained neutral, “Can’t we just pretend?”

“What do you mean?” Azula asked. 

Mai shrugged. “Like this.” She leaned slightly closer to Zuko and kissed the air. 

“That looks ridiculous,” Azula said.

“That’s weird. I thought you said you were better than Ty Lee at everything.” Mai’s words made no sense to Zuko, and apparently they made no sense to Azula either.

“Well yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Mai smirked, “I bet Ty Lee would be able to pretend. She’s more creative and she has a better imagination.”

Azula was irate. Zuko knew first hand that people were not allowed to be better than her at anything. “I have an idea,” she replied. Zuko shuddered, that was Azula’s scary voice. “Next time, Ty Lee can be the bride. I bet Zuko would kiss her.”

For once, Mai’s facade cracked. Her face scrunched up and Zuko was afraid she was going to cry. “No!” Zuko cut in. “I don’t want to play this game with Ty Lee.” Azula huffed, but Mai looked up at him hopefully. He took her hands and kissed the air like she had. “I now pronounce us husband and wife.”

“Hey!” Azula pinched his shoulder. “That’s my line.”

Thankfully he was spared a confrontation by the arrival of his mother. “Zuko! Azula! It’s time for dinner.” She caught sight of Zuko and Mai’s clasped hands and smiled. “You’re welcome to stay too, Mai. I can send a servant to your mother to let her know.”

Mai politely declined, and Zuko was sad to see her go. That night, he thought for the first time about what his wedding might be like. He imagined hands entwined with own, slightly colder than his. They were soft except for the side of her index finger and thumb where she gripped her knives.

— —

Zuko caught himself staring at his own hands, and tried to shake off the memory. Since that day, he couldn’t help but picture Mai as his bride. It was almost involuntary. But if she had truly grown to love Kei Lo, then he would have to get over it. His mouth tasted like ash.

Zuko pulled his hood down, to the point where it hung in his face obnoxiously, and he walked over to a display case of bracelets that was closer to the rings. He tried to appear nonchalant as he looked over the merchandise, but he listened to the other two men intently.

Kei Lo was in the middle of speaking. “I walked into her shop one day on a whim. She was so beautiful. I asked her out on the spot and the rest is history.”

The older man smiled. “How lovely! I met my husband at work as well. He came in to buy a gift for his grandmother and he kept coming back. Eventually, I asked him out because I was worried he would bankrupt himself spending so much money here.”

Kei Lo laughed. “Wait, he bought something every time he came in?”

“Yes,” the shopkeeper shook his head. “I think he felt guilty for wasting my time. But we’ve been together for thirty years at this point and I don’t consider any of them wasted.”

“Wow! My girl and I have only been together for seven months.” Kei Lo replied. Zuko huffed. That was wrong. He and Mai had been dating for nine months at least according to what he learned from Ty Lee. Kei Lo really should know that.

“What’s her name?” the shopkeeper asked. Zuko shuffled close still, pretending to admire the bracelets in the sale section. Unlike the others that were behind glass, these hung from artful stands. He allowed his fingers to graze a band of beaded obsidian.

“Her name is Machi,” Kei Lo answered.

Zuko spun around, but his sleeve had caught on the stand and the entire thing toppled over, making a terrible noise and scattering bracelets across the floor.

“I– I– I’m so sorry,” Zuko’s face burned hotter than the sun. 

Kei Lo looked at him stunned. “Zuko?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes went wide. With the scar and the name, he put it together. “Fire Lord!” He bowed at the waist, and– for a moment– Zuko was worried the man would lose his glasses. “My deepest apologies. Had I known it was you I would have helped you pick something out for your venerable mother–”

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” Zuko reassured him and the older man rose from his bow. “I’m sorry. I knocked over your display stand and the bracelets–” Zuko righted the stand and began to gather the fallen items, but the shopkeeper would not have it.

“Oh no!” He rushed over to help. “You do not need to clean my shop, Lord Zuko. Thanks to you, my husband and I were finally married under the law.” 

Zuko smiled, “I’m glad. But still, let me help you. It was my fault after all.”

Kei Lo clapped a hand on the shopkeeper’s back. “I’ll help too.” 

The three of them quickly subdued the mess. The shopkeeper noticed a few damaged pieces which he took to his back room for repairs. Zuko made a note to send the man compensation. 

While the store owner was removing and cataloging the damaged pieces, Zuko and Kei Lo were left alone. Kei Lo broke the silence. “So… How’s Mai?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko answered honestly, and the awkward silence descended once more.

Zuko felt relief course through his body. After making a fool out of himself, he could finally take it in. Mai and Kei Lo had broken up. Kei Lo was engaged to someone else. Kei Lo thought that Zuko and Mai were talking.

The first part was wonderful news. Zuko felt it was safe to assume that Mai had dumped Kei Lo. When he released Kei Lo from the prison, the man had made it abundantly clear that he was with Mai to stay. Besides, the thought of Mai sending him on his way made Zuko very, very happy. The only potential concern was that the breakup had happened a long time ago, at least seven months. And, in all that time, Mai had made no effort to see him. For all he knew, she could be with someone else too.

“Umm…” Zuko did not know a subtle way to ask what he wanted to know. “Have you heard if Mai is with anyone right now?”

Kei Lo shook his head. “To be honest, I’m surprised she’s not back with you. She was normally so… neutral, I guess. You know how she is. But when she talked about you, a light would enter her eyes. She would go on and on…”

Zuko felt a spark in his chest. “Really?” He could hear the pathetic hope in his own voice. “She seemed so hesitant to trust me again. I thought she hated my guts.”

“No,” Kei Lo smiled wistfully. “I take it you don’t know how we broke up.”

“To be honest, I thought you were proposing to her.”

Kei Lo let out a raucous laugh. “HA! Agni, that’s why you bumped into the bracelet stand. Were you spying on us?”

Zuko laughed along sheepishly. “Kind of. I really did come here to get something for my mom, but when I heard your request… Part of me wanted to run to Mai right then and make a grand declaration.”

“I would have paid to see that. Front page news: The Fire Lord’s Shocking Proposal.”

“Yeah,” Zuko rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a good thing I didn’t.”

“Well, I was going to say that after all the stuff with the Safe Nation Society, Mai and I had a talk. I told her that if we were going to keep dating, I needed to know that she was over you. She has this one portrait of the two of you, and she keeps it in her dresser. I told her to get rid of it or I was gone. She made her choice.”

Zuko remembered that painting. He had one very similar to it in his own room that he kept on his desk. His was in ink and hers was in color. 

And then he remembered that he should probably express some sympathy for Kei Lo. “It seems like it all worked out for you in the end though. I wish you and Machi the best.”

Kei Lo nodded. “Thank you. I’m so glad I found her. I was really upset when Mai and I broke up, but it all seems so trivial now. For what it’s worth, I think you should reach out to Mai. See if she still has that painting.”

“I think you’re right.” The two men shook hands. If Zuko had learned anything from this experience, it was that he didn’t want to wait anymore and risk Mai moving on completely. He needed to find her and apologize and beg for her to come back. 

When the store owner returned, Zuko purchased the plum blossom necklace.

Endnotes: I’m open to writing a part two where Zuko gives Mai the necklace if people would be interested. (I mean, I might anyway even if you all aren’t, lol.) But I wanted to get this out close to Mother’s Day since I made up the Fire Nation version of Mother’s Day for this fic. And, a big HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY to all the moms!!!

Also, I couldn’t get into it in the story, but Kei Lo is that guy who falls for his barista, right? He went on like one date with Mai and then decided she was his reason for living. So I thought it would be hilarious if that’s how he met his next girlfriend! And then he could ambiguously say that he met her at the shop where she works which is also how he met Mai. Anyway, it was a funny head canon that made me laugh.

Thank you again to the anon who suggested this! I hope I didn’t make it too silly. I love putting our dramatic boy in ridiculous situations. Also, I plan on writing your other idea as well at some point, but this one demanded to be written immediately <3

PART 2!

[5eraphim]

swinging out the gate with pure filth but i recently stumbled upon a scout voice line that made me cream my pants (tumblr doesn't allow links as anon so i'm putting extra parentheses to make sure it doesn't appear as one (https://wiki.teamfortress.com/w/images/4/48/Scout_domination20.wav))

anyways it got me heavy thinking about dom scout because i really truly think this boy is a sadistic motherfucker. huge ego and need to be the best, especially growing up the youngest sibling? having someone stupidly fucked out for him blows his mind.

and i KNOW for a FACT he has a daddy kink, too, and wants a real title to hear the power he has in the moment (plus there's another scout voice line that says "come to daddy" so it's essentially confirmed because i said so).

he's still a little bit of a teenage horndog about it, rolling his eyes back and getting a little nervous when you actually do submit, because he was prepared for a fight.

i would almost say he prefers it, wanting the struggle and the power that comes with quelling the flame in you but never fully, trying to push buttons to get you to give him a shove or a nasty remark so he has an excuse to pounce on you like a predator.

"yeah? you like that? gettin' fucked on daddy's dick?" almost really talking to himself when he drills into you as fast as he physically can, positioned in missionary because he wants to see that pretty face (and tits).

he wants to see overstimulation paint your features, you know that. he also wants to see that feisty side of you just so he can tame it. you push his abdomen the best you can, hands really just shoving his shirt that he didn't bother to take off. it's not working, and all he can do is laugh at your pathetic attempt.

you yank the dog tags that dangle in front of your face, sort of wet because of the sweat he's pouring, not due of the physicality but rather that he's so worked up and thrilled that he's heating up. the chain wrings around the back of his neck a little, not necessarily doing the damage you hoped for. in fact, you can see a switch flip and his eyes darken. uh oh.

his hands slam around your neck, having previously been attached to your waist, and squeeze so hard your vision goes fuzzy at the edges and all the blood rushes from your head. "you wanna choke me? how's it feel ta be fuckin' choked, huh? stupid bitch." he's degrading, harsh because he knows he can be. your eyes well u with tears, threatening to spill, and he grins like a wolf. he loves it.

"oh, what, you gonna cry? you gonna cry now?" he spits at you. that's all it takes before the waterworks start, cooling your warm cheeks and letting him know he's won this round.

there's nothing that stops you from cumming on his cock, completely overwhelmed by feeling and so far gone that it doesn't even matter. scout's overjoyed that he's got a pretty girl so fucking stupid for him that she can't even control her body anymore. he gets so high off the feeling that he can't help but bark out every filthy thought and word he has, a reminder that he is conscious enough to talk and you're so braindead you can't form a word.

"aww" he wipes your tears with the pad of his thumb, "don' cry kid, i'm not even bein' that cruel!" he taps his thumb against your lips, scowling when you turn your head to avoid his digit. he grabs your chin to force your eyes on his. "open up and suck my fuckin' thumb or ill replace it with my cock and fuck your face."

im making my mark as 👽 emoji because i will 100% be back to write more

HELL O?? HELLO 👽!!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW!!! MAKING OUT WITH THE SIDE OF YOUR NECK RIGHT NOW AS WE SPEAK

thank you so much for sending me this, a bit blown awayy right now, i must say. top-tier scout characterization, on GOD. He is MEAN. he is literally a one man bully squad- of course he's gonna overdo it act like a total maniac getting nasty with his obsession.

i love this because i love writing Scout as on the more dominant side, but in a almost playfully sadistic kind of way.

[numba1ma]

Hey, dolls!! It’s mama Janie! My boys told me to get online for some reason. Apparently to ‘meet someone’ I will not be doing that but I wanted to get on here anyways to chat with you all!!

A little about me, I’m a mama of 8 boys! I live in Boston, I know everyone and they all know me!

Henry, Jeremy, Lenny, Ralph but we call him Ralphie, Benny, the twins Ernie and Andy, and my little boy Jeremy!

I love music and all dogs! I’ve had a few in my life but wrangling a dog and 8 boys was not somethin I wanted but eventually I’m gettin a dog!

Baseball is also a big thing for me and my family! All my boys played it at some point in their lives!

Most of all, I love my family and wouldn’t trade it for the world!

So, if any of you lovely dolls have any questions or just wanna get some advice, go ahead and ask!!

Anon list:

💍,🪶,🧩,🍓, 🌟💜, 💀🌌, 🌌, ✨🪄

Tags:

#Janie asks - asks for Ma

#Janie chit chats - Janie just talking

#Janie OC tf2 - talking about OC stuff

#love from Janie!! - when she lets ya down easy

#Janie shows her friends - reblogging

#modie talkie - mod asks and mod talks

‼️READ RUNNING BLIND BY thetriggeredhappy ON AO3. I WILL BE REFERENCING IT A LOT‼️

Rules:

Anything is really on the table. She’s the mama so if ya got questions on life and stuff, she’s the one to ask.

She is red Scouts ma so she’s the red mama from the comics.

Her and Spy are together but flirting is on the table lmao (I want her too btw)

Ask her about spy if ya want.

Like I said, anything until stated otherwise I guess.

No homophobes or proshippers please. That is not allowed in here ppl. Be nice to one another!

Mod: in purple

I’m 18 so preferably 18+ interactions but all are welcome. Just be nice and stuff

Hey hey, this is definitely an ongoing work in progress because I will be figuring out lore and stuff as we go. I’ve already got stuff about like her relationship with spy and stuff on the boys (Had to do some math and I hated it). It’s also somewhat an OC I suppose since there’s nothing really for canon info on her.

She wouldn’t explicitly tell you her age but I’m thinking she’s 48 in 1972 which is the comic setting.

I am basing a lot of this off the speedingbullet fanfic Running Blind by @/thetriggeredhappy on ao3 (didn’t wanna tag them) so credits to them for stuff about Scouts brothers. Mostly the older ones, the twins, and some lore on them. Just a warning: I do not live in Boston and don’t have much knowledge on it so if you ask about stuff on that I will sadly not be able to deliver as well as you might want. I’m also not a mother of 8. Or even old enough to have kids. So uh yeah

My main is @flowerboy11300 and my Red Scout blog is @scouts-numba-1-blog

If you have questions or ideas please dm me! Would love to chat!! And my dms are always open to rp or anything else!!

Remember to drink water, eat food, and get some sleep! You’re awesome and you are loved!!

[ghostwiththeemost]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ FROM THE CRADLE TO CREMATION . . . DEATH JUST NEEDS A LITTLE CONVERSATION ~ !࿐ྂ

Hey babes~ seems ya found my blog! Welcome to my humble abode. You may be asking “who is this SEXY SEXY man?” Well I’ll tell ya! I’m Behjdbbdnf… Beejkbngd… Bug wine. 🪲🧃. Use the emojis babe. I can’t type my own fucking name apparently. How fucked up is THAT?! Ugh, anyway… Let’s get onto the real shit. I’m the boss bitch here, you should hire me to get some shitty humans out of your beloved home. Or, call me up to fuck. Either works.

Alright, alright. People put their info and shit so I’ll do just that. I’m 🪲🧃, but ya can call me “sexy” or “handsome” or “sweets” or “pretty boy” or anything ;)~ Kay, moving on! I’m the ghost with the most, the biggest dick in town babe. He/him, but I can also be your/yours~ ;) I don’t care for labels, I’m a sexual beast. You wanna talk? Talk. You wanna flirt? Flirt. Send nudes? Eeeehhhh… Probably not, sorry sweetheart. I’d totally say yes, but that’d get me banned.

Anything else? Yeah, a lot actually. Ask me about shit. I’m over 600 years old, I’ve seen a lot, done a lot, witnessed a lot, I’m the fuckin best. I mean look at me, I’m the coolest ghost in town! ;)~ Also the best dick. DEFINITELY the best dick.

Well well well! Quite Fancy seeing you back here! Yet ANOTHER wonderful roleplay blog, and even a BETTER character?!?!??!?!1 WOAHHHHH! Wowie!

Hi! I'm the wonderful mod behind this obnoxious green ghoul of a man, and I hope you can stay a bit, have a seat, chat a bit! Learn a bit, see some tags behind this wonderful super duper cool page, yakknow how it is!

The name's Dew! Dewey if you wanna be fancy, but nah, I'm just a guy on the internet here to write for his funny bug man. No formalities needed. The pronouns are HE/SHE! I'm Genderfluid and Gay!

Kay, mini bits of info here... I'm an adult! So that being said I'm going to keep a boundary on certain aspects such as some forms of nsfw and SOME ships. Mostly I don't care? I'd just prefer if you were to tell me or have your age in bio before deciding to imply nsfw ROLEPLAYS. Flirting or nsfw anons I don't really care about, it's bound to happen, but you get it. also beetlebabes dni you all SUUUUUCKKKK.

Let's see... I have some other accounts. @candycoffinss , @photographerstanheight , @screamingqueenxoxo ... Other stuff, we'll see what I reveal.

Right, right... Tags and extra info... |🪲| ~ 𝑴𝑶𝑫 𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑺! - This is me talking!! >:] |🪲| ~ 𝑩𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑳𝑬𝑱𝑼𝑰𝑪𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑹𝑺! - Replies to asks, you know how it is. |🪲| ~ 𝑩𝑱’𝑺 𝑽𝑰𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑺! - call for interacts maybe?? |🪲| ~ 𝑩𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑳𝑬𝑱𝑼𝑰𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑷𝑬𝑨𝑲𝑺! - Random yapping he does, reblogs... etc. |🪲| ~ 𝑩𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑳𝑬𝑱𝑼𝑰𝑪𝑬𝑺 𝑯𝑨𝑼𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺! - Interactions Yeaaaaa

|🪲🔞| ~ 𝑺𝑼𝑮𝑮𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑽𝑬! - yea some things will be suggestive labeled just in case pleeease be cautious tyyy beetlejuice can be a menace.

ALRIGHT! FINAL BIT OF INFO!!!!! This writing of beetlejuice is a mix of everything, but I'm mainly leaning toward Justin Collette's version of Beetlejuice. He's still Beetlejuice of course, but keep in mind he won't be much like Alex Brightman if you're looking for an adaptation of him! (...There will be crumbs tho. Pathetic meow meow...) ANYWAY! Yeah, Just wanted to throw that out there, I didn't know if people would want my head for it LMAOOOO but YEAH!!! I'm free w any interactions btw. other fandoms, other blogs, movie characters, musical characters, do it !! >:] ok I think that's it... until I decide to go bonkers again. thanks for reading if you got this far! smooches ur forehead /p

[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | sixteen

🐴Chapter summary: You help Yoongi rescuing some neglected and mistreated horses and then, a stranger drops by with some wild information that will alter the course of Jimin and Jungkook’s life.

🐴Chapter title: The Stranger

🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc

🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters.

🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst

🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

🐴Chapter warnings: drama, mention of mistreated horses/animal cruelty, period pain (Jimin tries to ease MC’s pain 🥹), body massage, brief breast play, spanking, a lot of kissing again, Jimin is just being sweet (he’s making up for all the time he was a douche, okay 😭)

🐴Status: completed 🥳

🐴Word count: 14.1k

🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “The Stranger” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?]

🐴Author’s note: some parts of this chapter was very hard to write, but I hope it’s still okay! This chapter is very much a transition chapter lol, yes, important stuff happens, but yeah, you’ll see. Also, thank you guys so much for reading this story, for sticking with it 😭 It means a lot to me, and also every time you guys comment (some of you who have commented in the beginning, but stopped— are you okay? I’ve seen you like the rest of the chapters, but damn, I really get into my head, thinking you hate it now, and that’s why you stopped commenting, lol. But I also know that some of you are busy with life, work and studying, which is good), or leave me asks, like talking about the story in general or the characters, it’s been so much fun ❣️ Again, I want to say sorry, because I have mixed feelings about this chapter. It might seem slightly rushed (which it is), and it might shock you to know that this was always planned. But I hope it turned out okay in the end! I promise that next chapter is one that YOU DON’T WANT TO MISS 😭

🐴Author’s note— extra: I’m a done with writing the story 🥳 I just finished it and I’m feeling very emotional, like the ending 😭😭😭 (it’s happy tears). So that means that I’ll drop the remaining chapters as I see fit and earlier than scheduled (probably with 24 hours between them). I hope that you’ll still comment, reblog, like, give kudos and generally just interact, because I’m afraid that you won’t when I post the chapters closer together. But I also know some people are waiting to read until the whole series is done. Anyway, I want to thank you for joining me on the very emotional roller coaster ride 💖

You can send in your questions for the characters or me here → Ask away 💜*

*for people on AO3 you can also participate if you want to, just leave a comment (guest/anon or not), and I’ll reply to that and I’ll add your question in the Epilogue💜

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there.Wanna see the book cover?

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next →

“Yes that strangerBrings mystery into your life” ‘The Stranger’ by Rebecca Lavelle

Amidst the lingering warmth of a delightful dinner shared among friends, you, Yoongi, Jimin, and Soo-ah gather around the kitchen sink, the clatter of dishes and laughter filling the air as you work together to tidy up and stow away the remnants of the evening’s feast.

Jimin shuttles tirelessly between the bustling kitchen and the dining room, bearing an array of steaming pots and pans brimming with savory delights, while Soo-ah efficiently transfers the culinary treasures into containers destined for the fridge or freezer. The kitchen hums with activity as Jimin and Jungkook’s culinary prowess shines through once again, ensuring an ample supply of delicious fare for all present.

At the sink’s edge stands you and Yoongi, a dynamic duo in the post-dinner cleanup brigade. Your hands deftly wield suds and scrubbers, coaxing remnants of culinary delight from plates and utensils, while Yoongi’s skilled hands swoop in to dry or load the dishwasher with practiced precision. Together, you orchestrate a symphony of cleanliness, ensuring that each piece finds its place in the grand choreography of post-meal tidying.

Amidst the clatter of dishes and the rhythm of your shared tasks, a lively exchange of banter ensues between you and Yoongi, punctuated by shared laughter and good-natured chuckles. 

At times, Jimin saunters over to your side, his fingers tracing a tantalizing path down your back and lingering provocatively on your curves, eliciting a delicious shiver that dances along your spine. With a mischievous grin, he retreats as swiftly as he arrived, returning to his culinary duties alongside Soo-ah, leaving you to catch your breath amidst the lingering sensation of his teasing touch.

As Yoongi leans in closer, a flicker of curiosity dances in your eyes, prompting you to meet his gaze with a quizzical expression. With a subtle tilt of your head, you offer a small smile, your hands deftly maneuvering a plate beneath the cascading water as you await his next move with intrigued anticipation.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Yoongi starts, leaning closer into your side with a conspiratorial air, his voice dropping to a low murmur meant for your ears only. A playful glint dances in his eyes as a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. “But you’ve got a little something in your hair,” he reveals, gesturing subtly to the stray wisps of hay that have nestled themselves into your locks, punctuating his observation with light-hearted amusement.

A rush of fear and embarrassment floods your wide eyes, igniting a fiery blush that paints your cheeks and neck in a kaleidoscope of pink hues, accentuated by the lingering traces of purple marks adorning your skin.

Yoongi’s hand ascends to your hair, deftly plucking out a few stray strands of hay, and a wave of mortification washes over you at the sight of the offending debris caught in his grasp. Across the kitchen, Jimin catches a glimpse of the scene, his chuckle floating through the air like a whispered secret before he disappears from view, leaving you to contend with the embarrassment in the aftermath.

“Did you have a good roll in the hay?” Yoongi’s voice rings with playful amusement, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he teases you, a giggle bubbling forth at the sight of your bemused expression.

As the water ceases its flow, you stand there, arms crossed beneath your chest, a sudden realization dawning upon you. The memory of your not-so-silent escapade in the stables floods your mind, causing a flush to rise to your cheeks and a hint of embarrassment to flicker in your eyes.

He continues to pluck away the stubborn remnants of hay from your hair, and a shared laughter bubbles forth between you, mingling with the lingering traces of embarrassment. Despite the slight blush staining your cheeks, the infectious joy in Yoongi's laughter draws out your own.

“You’re welcome by the way,” he quips, flashing you a playful wink as he grabs a bowl to dry with the towel, his gesture laced with a hint of mischief.

The weight of gratitude settles upon you as you fully grasp his unspoken act of rescue, sparing you and Jimin from a potentially embarrassing discovery. Meeting his gaze, you convey your heartfelt appreciation. “Thank you,” you whisper, the words carrying the weight of unspoken understanding and relief.

His smile widens, punctuated by a playful swat with the towel against your arm. “No biggie,” he reassures with a casual shrug, his easy going demeanor underscoring the depth of his friendship and the simplicity of his gesture.

Soo-ah pivots, her gaze locking onto you with a mix of curiosity and intrigue. “What are you talking about?” she inquires, her voice tinged with a hint of anticipation, as if sensing that the conversation holds secrets yet to be revealed.

With the food safely stowed away in the fridge and freezer, Soo-ah strides over to Yoongi’s side, her eagerness to lend a hand evident as she joins him in the task of drying the dishes you’ve diligently cleaned. 

You shake your head, a silent plea to Yoongi not to reveal the details, preferring to keep the incident in the hay room of the stables under wraps. “We’re talking about the hay room in the stables,” yet, Yoongi’s words cut through the silence, laying bare the topic of conversation before Soo-ah.

Your eyes widen in a silent plea, urging Yoongi to respect your wish for discretion, but when he divulges the topic anyway, you react instinctively. With a stern hit to his arm, he recoils with an audible “ouch,” a testament to the force of your reproach and the gravity of the situation at hand.

“What about it?” Soo-ah’s question hangs in the air, her eyes alight with curiosity, a spark of intrigue dancing within their depths as she awaits your response, poised on the edge of anticipation.

“It’s a popular spot,” Yoongi remarks, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as his eyebrows wiggle suggestively, “for hooking up.”

A rosy blush spreads across her cheeks as she turns to you, her laughter bubbling forth like an irrepressible fountain. “Is that why you have hay in your hair?” she quips, the realization dawning on her with a delightful twinkle in her eyes.

You grumble and huff, unable to hide your exasperation. “Has everyone noticed?” you grouse, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and frustration creeping over you.

Jimin returns to the kitchen at precisely this moment, his keen eyes catching sight of your discontented demeanor. Without hesitation, he crosses the room to your side, his hand gently finding its place on your hips as he leans in, pressing a tender kiss against your neck, his comforting presence a soothing balm to your unsettled emotions.

You pivot to meet your boyfriend's gaze, a mix of curiosity and amusement playing across your features. “Did you know I had hay in my hair?” you inquire, a hint of playful accusation lacing your words as you await his response.

His eyes flicker to your hair, and a burst of laughter escapes his lips, mirroring the reaction of Soo-ah and Yoongi. With a gentle pat on your head, his hand traces a tender path down your face, delicately caressing your cheeks before coming to rest on your bottom lip. “I had no idea,” he confesses softly, his tone tinged with regret.

“But you still look stunning, even with a little hay in your hair,” he murmurs, drawing you close as he presses his lips to yours. In that moment, all traces of anger and embarrassment melt away, replaced by the warmth and reassurance of his affectionate embrace. The kiss is deep and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.

Beside you, Yoongi’s suppressed snickers fill the air.

“If you two scoot over a bit, I can take care of the rest,” Yoongi suggests, his chuckle carrying a hint of amusement as you and Jimin gladly make room for him in front of the sink.

You gaze up at Jimin’s face, noticing the adorable scatter of moles across his features, adding to his irresistible charm. “Would you like to join me for a bath?” you propose, a playful twinkle in your eye as you extend the invitation.

He hums softly, his gaze locking with yours, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of affection and desire. In that moment, you can feel the depth of his love radiating from him, intertwined with a hint of excitement at your proposal. “Absolutely,” he responds, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity. “I’d love nothing more than to pamper you, scrub your skin and wash your hair.”

A grateful smile graces your lips as you reflect on the depth of your appreciation for him and all the ways he shows his care. The thought of him eagerly offering to wash your hair and tend to your body fills you with a profound sense of gratitude, a feeling you’ve never experienced with any previous partner.

Soo-ah’s gasp beside Yoongi prompts a swift turn of her head towards you and Jimin, her eyes widening in disbelief. “He washes your hair for you?” She exclaims, her voice tinged with both surprise and admiration. The sight of her puppy-dog eyes and genuine happiness paints a poignant picture, her wistful longing palpable as she expresses her heartfelt sentiment. “That’s absolutely sweet,” she continues, her words laced with a hint of envy. “I wish I had a boyfriend like that, or even just a boyfriend at all.”

You offer Soo-ah a compassionate smile, your heart swelling with gratitude for Jimin and the abundance of love he showers upon you. His arms envelop you in a tender embrace, his words a soothing melody that resonates deep within your soul. “Anything for my love,” he murmurs, his voice infused with sincerity and devotion, reaffirming the depth of his affection for you.

You tenderly press your lips to his, intertwining your fingers with his as you lead him away from the kitchen and into the bathroom. Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you lock eyes with him, pouring your heart out in a soft declaration of love. “I love you so much, Jimin,” you whisper, sealing your words with another lingering kiss. With playful excitement, you gently guide him into the bathroom, a chorus of smiles and giggles filling the air as you close the door behind you, cocooned in the warmth of your love for each other.

Rumors have been swirling around town lately, particularly at the local bar, alleging mistreatment of horses at a neighboring farm—an unsettling notion that strikes a chord deep within Yoongi. Compounding his concern is the fact that some of these horses are the very ones you’ve spent countless hours training. Feeling a sense of responsibility and urgency, he grapples with the realization that action must be taken, though the path forward remains unclear.

Deep in contemplation, Yoongi grips his beer tightly, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavily upon him. With a determined resolve, he sets his drink down on the bar and strides purposefully out of the building, his steps carrying him through the winding streets and straight to the doors of the police station. There, he hopes to find allies in his quest to liberate the mistreated horses from the clutches of their neglectful owner.

Stepping into the dimly lit confines of the police station, Yoongi's determination radiates from every fiber of his being as he seeks out an officer, his plea for assistance delivered with earnest conviction. Yet, his hopes are dashed when he learns that without concrete evidence against the horse's abuser, the hands of the law are tied. Disheartened but undeterred, he offers a begrudging nod of gratitude to the officers before turning on his heels and trudging out of the building, the weight of his disappointment heavy upon his shoulders as he makes his way back to his truck.

As darkness cloaks the landscape, casting shadows that dance across his determined features, Yoongi’s mind churns with purpose. The officer’s words echo in his mind—a relentless reminder of the need for concrete evidence to bring justice to the abuser of these innocent animals. With a determined resolve, he inserts the key into the ignition, igniting the engine with a determined hum as he steers his car back towards Bell Ranch. But just as he nears the familiar route, he makes a split-second decision, veering off the path towards the ranch of the despicable man he's heard so much about. If only he had been aware when he sold some of your horses to him—had he known, he would never have allowed it to happen. Now, knowing that Holly, one of those horses, is among the mistreated, his heart weighs heavy with regret and anger. Unable to stand idly by while these animals suffer, Yoongi’s sense of duty propels him forward, his resolve unyielding in the face of injustice.

With a keen sense of caution, Yoongi refrains from driving directly to the ranch—after all, he’s no fool. Instead, he parks his car discreetly further down the road, determined not to arouse any suspicion. With his camera firmly gripped in his hand, he embarks on the remaining journey to the ranch on foot, each step a calculated move towards uncovering the truth hidden within its confines.

Indeed, this clandestine excursion had been meticulously plotted long before his visit to the police station—a testament to Yoongi’s unwavering determination to seek justice for the mistreated animals. With a resigned acceptance of the limitations of official channels, he had braced himself for the realization that the burden of action rested squarely upon his own shoulders.

As Yoongi stealthily approaches, his gaze locks onto the scene before him—a chilling image of cruelty unfolding right before his eyes. There stands the man, lazily lounging one of the horses, its fur matted and cut short along its legs, bearing silent witness to its mistreatment. His blood boils at the sight, a surge of empathy coursing through him for the suffering animal. In the man’s hand, a cruel whip glints in the dim light, its menacing presence a stark reminder of the pain and coercion inflicted upon the helpless creature to force it to perform.

Despite the rising nausea in his gut, Yoongi steels himself and raises his camera, capturing the harrowing scene before him in a series of haunting images. Every click of the shutter serves as a painful reminder of the injustice unfolding before his eyes. His heart aches with the urge to intervene, to rescue the suffering horse from its tormentor’s grasp. The crack of the whip and the horse’s pained whine fuel his righteous indignation, threatening to shatter his resolve as he fights the urge to rush forward and confront the evil man.

Yet, as much as he longs to intervene, a nagging sense of caution restrains him—instinctively aware of the potential repercussions should he act impulsively. With a heavy heart, he resigns himself to the agonizing reality that capturing evidence through his camera lens is the safer course of action, despite the torment it inflicts upon his soul. Each click of the shutter serves as a solemn vow to seek justice for the abused horse, even as it tears at the very fabric of his being.

With a heavy heart, he ventures deeper into the heart of the ranch, his steps echoing in the dimly lit stables. Each stall he passes reveals a new horror—every horse bearing the cruel scars of neglect, their once majestic forms now reduced to emaciated shadows of their former selves. Anguish courses through him as he stands witness to their suffering, his fists clenching in futile rage.

As he continues down the aisle, his gaze falls upon Holly—a wave of devastation washing over him at the sight of his old friend. She stands before him, a mere shell of her former self, her once graceful frame now reduced to a skeletal silhouette. Her hooves are overgrown, her coat matted and unkempt, a testament to the neglect she has endured. His hand trembles as he reaches out to comfort her, but she flinches away from his touch, a painful reminder of the betrayal she has suffered. A single tear escapes his eye, tracing a path down his cheek as he stands helplessly before her, consumed by a sense of despair.

His heart plummets like a stone to the floor, shattered by the heartbreaking realization that Holly no longer seems to recognize him. Her gaze is distant, devoid of the spark of recognition that once lit up her eyes, and the pain cuts deep into his chest like a knife. With a heavy heart, he raises his camera, each snapshot a painful reminder of the profound loss he feels inside. Despite the searing ache that grips his soul, he is determined to capture every detail of her suffering, a silent vow to stand witness to the injustices inflicted upon her.

With a heavy heart and a mind fraught with determination, he concludes that the harrowing scenes he's documented are evidence enough to expose the horrors endured by these innocent creatures. However, his mission is far from over—he must now navigate the treacherous path back to his car without drawing the attention of the ranch's owner or his cronies. Every step he takes is laden with tension, every rustle of leaves a potential threat, as he maneuvers through the shadows, his heart pounding with the urgency of his mission.

With his camera clutched tightly in his hand, Yoongi sprints back to his truck, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like wildfire, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Each breath comes in ragged gasps as he propels himself forward, his palms slick with sweat, the weight of his mission bearing down upon him like a crushing weight.

Finally reaching his truck, he flings open the door and slides inside, the engine roaring to life beneath him as he tears away from the ranch in a whirlwind of desperation. As the miles blur past, his mind reels with the stark reality of what he has witnessed—the sheer magnitude of suffering far surpassing anything he had ever imagined.

The image of Holly, once vibrant and full of life, now reduced to a mere shadow of herself, haunts him relentlessly. Anguish gnaws at his soul as he grapples with the knowledge that he cannot stand idly by while such atrocities continue to unfold.

Determined to be the voice for those who cannot speak for themselves, Yoongi vows to take action—to put an end to the cycle of cruelty and neglect that plagues these innocent creatures. 

As he pulls into the yard, Yoongi’s gaze scans the surroundings, his heart skipping a beat when he catches sight of you—your figure moving gracefully across the yard, a beacon of warmth and familiarity amidst the darkness of his thoughts. With a sense of urgency, he calls out to you, his voice cutting through the stillness of the night, and watches as you turn towards him, your steps quickening as you close the distance between you.

“What are you doing out so late, Yoon?” you inquire, a radiant smile gracing your lips, your eyes alight with a joy that Yoongi finds utterly captivating. In that moment, he can’t help but marvel at the sheer happiness radiating from you—more vibrant and infectious than he's seen in a long while. It dawns on him that maybe Jimin’s presence in your life has brought about this newfound joy, and despite any personal struggles he may have, he's genuinely thrilled to see you flourishing in the embrace of love.

His gaze snaps up to meet yours, a flicker of intensity dancing in his eyes. “Just taking some pictures,” he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of urgency as he raises his camera, its presence a tangible reminder of the weighty mission he's undertaken. Intrigued, you follow his gesture, your eyes locking onto the camera in his hand, curiosity sparking within you as you ponder the significance behind his late-night photography session.

You reach out for it, your hand extending eagerly as you inquire, “Can I see?” But in your eagerness, you bypass the customary waiting for his response, instead seizing the camera from his grasp with an impulsive determination. With practiced ease, you power it on, your fingers deftly navigating through the digital gallery of images, each click of the button revealing another glimpse into the horrorful world he’s captured through his lens.

He watches intently as your eyes widen in shock and a deep furrow creases your brow, your reaction a visceral testament to the gravity of the images before you. Each flicker of discomfort that crosses your features is like a dagger to his heart, a painful reminder of the suffering he’s witnessed and the burden he now shares with you. Despite his desire to shield you from such distressing sights, he remains steadfast.

“What’s this?” you inquire, your voice quivering with a mix of disbelief and unease as you return the camera to his outstretched hand. The tremor in your voice doesn’t escape his notice, a stark indication of the emotional toll wrought by the distressing images you've just been confronted with. In that moment, he’s acutely aware of the weight of his actions, grappling with the realization that his quest for justice has inadvertently exposed you to a world of suffering that he would have shielded you from if he could.

“I heard about this guy mistreating his horses, so I went to take a look for myself,” he explains, his voice tinged with a potent mix of frustration and righteous indignation. Each word carries the weight of his emotions, his tone a reflection of the deep-seated anger and despair that churn within him. “It’s horrible,” he concludes, his voice heavy with the weight of the injustices he's witnessed, his resolve hardened by the stark reality of the situation.

“We have to do something about it!” you declare, your voice ringing with a resolute determination that commands attention. As you speak, a fierce resolve animates your features, your eyes ablaze with an unwavering commitment to righting the wrongs you've just borne witness to. The subtle set of your lips into a firm line only serves to underscore the steely resolve that propels your words forward, a silent vow to take action in the face of injustice.

He scuffs, the sound underscored by a palpable frustration that permeates the air. “That’s why I gathered evidence,” he admits, his words carrying the weight of his determination and the gravity of the situation they find themselves in. 

“No, Yoongi. We can’t wait any longer. We have to save the horses, now,” you implore, your voice laced with urgency and a hint of desperation. With every word, you convey a sense of urgency that underscores the dire need for immediate action. Your plea carries the weight of compassion and empathy, a heartfelt call to arms in defense of the innocent creatures suffering at the hands of cruelty.

He gapes at you in disbelief, grappling with the gravity of your suggestion. The intensity of your conviction leaves him momentarily stunned—of course he wants to save the horses, but what you’re proposing borders on the edge of legality. The weight of the potential consequences looms heavy in his mind, a sobering reminder of the risks they would be undertaking.

“I don’t care about the potential repercussions. Those poor horses need us,” you declare with unwavering determination, your voice resonating with an urgency that brooks no argument. With each word, you convey a sense of righteous indignation and compassion, compelling him to action with the sheer force of your conviction. Your plea reverberates in the air, a rallying cry that demands immediate attention and action.

“Holly is one of the horses,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with defeat, a tinge of sorrow coloring his words. With a resigned gesture, he kicks at the stones scattered across the dirt, the sound echoing the weight of his disappointment and anguish. In that simple statement lies a world of pain and regret, as he grapples with the harsh reality of seeing his beloved horse subjected to such cruelty.

“What the fuck are we waiting for?” You exclaim, your frustration palpable as you confront him with a fierce intensity. It’s clear that you've reached your limit with his indecision, and with a swift motion, you deftly snatch the keys from his hand. Without hesitation, you move past him, swinging open the driver’s door and sliding behind the wheel, the engine roaring to life under your command. “Get in, Yoongi,” you command, your tone leaving no room for argument as you signal your unwavering determination to take action.

You sound furious, and maybe rightfully so—he feels the same anger coursing through his veins. Damn it, he wants to save them too. With a heavy heart, he slides into the passenger seat, yielding to your determination as you take control of the wheel. As you speed back towards the ranch, his directions guide your path, a silent acknowledgment of the shared resolve burning within both of you to make a difference.

The drive is brief, but each passing moment feels weighted with anticipation and purpose. He directs you to park in the very same spot where he had stopped earlier, a silent reminder of the urgency and gravity of the mission ahead. As you bring the vehicle to a halt, the air crackles with tension.

You both leap out of the truck, propelled by a shared sense of urgency and purpose, and advance towards the ranch shrouded in darkness. Despite the obscurity that surrounds you, you navigate effortlessly towards the stables, your determination cutting through the night like a beacon. With a heavy heart, he leads you to Holly’s stall, where he reveals the heartbreaking sight of her current condition. As you lay eyes on her, a deep furrow forms on your brow, your expression mirroring the anguish and sorrow that grips your soul at the sight of her suffering.

With a determined resolve, Yoongi cautiously swings open the stall door, his movements deliberate as he beckons Holly to approach him in the enveloping darkness. The dimness cloaks your actions, a deliberate choice to avoid drawing unwanted attention to your clandestine mission. In the shadows, you both stand poised, silently willing Holly to trust you amidst the palpable tension that hangs thick in the air.

“Come on, girl,” Yoongi murmurs in a soothing tone, his voice a gentle melody cutting through the stillness of the night as he endeavors to coax Holly out of her stall. Despite his best efforts, however, the bond between them appears strained, the connection faltering in the face of Holly's evident apprehension. Each whispered plea hangs in the air, an earnest plea for trust and understanding in the midst of uncertainty.

Suddenly, the harsh glare of light floods the stable, casting stark shadows that betray your presence in the otherwise darkened space. In that moment, a shared realization dawns upon both of you—an unspoken acknowledgment that your covert mission has been compromised. The abrupt illumination serves as an ominous harbinger of trouble, a stark reminder that your clandestine efforts to rescue Holly have been uncovered, plunging you both into a perilous predicament.

You move closer to Yoongi, seeking solace and solidarity in the face of impending danger. Side by side, you stand united in front of Holly, a silent bastion of strength amidst the encroaching threat. As the man draws nearer, the air crackles with tension, but you refuse to falter, bolstered by the unspoken determination to protect each other and the helpless creature before you.

“Who’s there?” his voice cuts through the tense silence, laden with an ominous weight that sends shivers down your spine. Each heavy footstep reverberates ominously, signaling his approach with a menacing cadence. As he draws closer to Holly's stall, the air hangs heavy with anticipation, the imminent confrontation looming like a shadowy specter. With bated breath, you brace yourselves for the inevitable encounter.

“What are you two doing here?” He demands, his voice a sharp echo slicing through the tension-laden air. His gaze pierces through you with a mixture of confusion and displeasure, each furrowed brow and narrowed eye conveying his suspicion and disdain. In that moment, you feel the weight of his scrutiny bearing down upon you, as if every syllable is a challenge that demands an answer—a challenge you must navigate with caution and cunning.

You seize Yoongi’s hand with a fierce intensity, your grip conveying a tidal wave of pent-up anger that courses through your palm like a surge of electricity, pulsating with raw emotion. In that charged moment, he can feel the seething rage reverberating within you, mirroring the tumultuous turmoil that churns within his own being. It’s as if the palpable fury radiating from your touch connects you both in a shared symphony of indignation, binding you together in defiance against the injustice unfolding before you.

“This is cruelty!” Your voice rings out, sharp and resolute, carrying the weight of your indignation like a battle cry echoing through the stillness of the night. With a pointed gesture, you direct the man’s attention towards Holly, your anger etched in every line of your face. 

The man scoffs, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips like a venomous taunt that pierces through the solemn air, leaving a bitter taste in its wake. Your reaction is visceral, a wince born of both frustration and disgust, as you recoil from the callousness of his response. 

“We are taking the horses,” Yoongi declares, his voice cutting through the tension like a clarion call, his stance resolute as he steps protectively in front of you. In that defiant gesture, he embodies a steadfast determination to stand against injustice, his words echoing with unwavering resolve amidst the turmoil of the moment. Beside him, you feel a surge of solidarity, your spirits bolstered by his unwavering courage in the face of adversity.

“You’re stealing them?” The man’s voice crackles with incredulity, his tone laced with a volatile mix of irritation and anger that threatens to erupt like a smoldering volcano. His accusatory gaze pierces through the darkness, locking onto Yoongi with a searing intensity that demands an explanation.

“No. We’re saving them,” you declare with unwavering conviction, your voice ringing out with a resolute clarity that cuts through the darkness like a beacon of righteousness. With your chest thrust forward and your head held high, you exude a palpable aura of strength and determination, commanding respect in the face of adversity. In that defiant stance, he finds himself admiring your unwavering resolve, your steadfast commitment to standing tall in defense of what you believe is right, no matter the cost.

“That sounds like stealing to me,” he scoffs, his laughter bitter and laden with contempt, a stark contrast to the gravity of the situation. With a cynical twist of his lips, he retrieves his phone, his intentions clear as he prepares to summon the authorities. Yoongi can sense the impending threat, the urgency of the moment weighing heavily upon him as he bristles with anticipation, poised for whatever comes next.

You both watch in dismay as he dials the police, the harsh reality sinking in as he locks the stall door, trapping you both inside with no means of escape. The metallic clang of the lock reverberates through the stillness of the night, a chilling reminder of your precarious situation. In that confined space, tension hangs thick in the air, your hearts pounding in unison with the weight of impending consequences bearing down upon you.

“The police are on their way now,” he chuckles with a menacing edge, his voice dripping with satisfaction at having cornered you in this precarious predicament. 

Aware of the imminent danger looming over both of you, Yoongi’s mind races with desperate determination. Amidst the chaos, a flicker of hope ignites within him as he recalls the evidence stored safely in his truck—undeniable proof of the atrocities witnessed tonight. If only he could reach it in time, if only he could present it to the authorities when they arrive. With every fiber of his being, he clings to this glimmer of optimism, his resolve steeling him against the encroaching darkness as he plots his next move, knowing that redemption lies just beyond his grasp.

He watches intently as you swiftly retrieve your phone, fingers dancing across the screen with purposeful urgency. In that moment, a wave of apprehension washes over him, a silent understanding dawning as he realizes you're likely reaching out to Jimin for help. 

As the tense minutes stretch on, Yoongi’s heart aches with a profound sense of helplessness. With Holly cowering in the corner, her fear palpable in the dimly lit stall, a surge of indignation courses through him. The sight of her trembling form ignites a fierce determination within him to protect her at all costs. Yet, the sinister presence of the man blocking your escape serves as a stark reminder of the perilous predicament you find yourselves in. Trapped within the confines of the stall, Yoongi’s mind races with fervent desperation, seeking a glimmer of hope amidst the suffocating darkness. Every passing second feels like an eternity, each beat of his heart a silent plea for deliverance from this harrowing ordeal.

As the heavy wooden doors of the stables swing open, revealing the ominous silhouette of two officers, a surge of mixed emotions washes over Yoongi. Among them stands the familiar face of the officer he had spoken to earlier in the night, recognition flickering in his gaze as it falls upon Yoongi. Caught off guard by the unexpected reunion, Yoongi's lips curve into a lopsided smile, a nervous habit betraying his attempt at nonchalance as he absently scratches his head. 

“What seems to be the problem?” The other officer, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade, directs his inquiry at the man standing before them. 

“These two here are trying to steal my horses,” the man’s accusation slices through the tension like a blade, his voice dripping with venom as he points an accusatory finger at Yoongi and you. 

Yoongi’s gaze remains fixed on the officers, observing their scrutiny as they shift their attention between you and the hurt horses. The weight of their words hangs heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation. 

“You’re aware that theft is a punishable offense, aren’t you?” Their inquiry is not just a question but a warning, echoing with the imminent threat of consequences.

“We’re obliged to bring you in,” the other officer asserts, his tone brooking no argument as he delivers the unwelcome verdict.

In a sudden, welcomed twist, Jimin strides into the stable with a confident swagger, a smile lighting up his face as he carries Yoongi’s camera in his hand, carrying the hope and evidence that you need.

“Officers, hold on a moment,” Jimin interjects, his voice carrying a firm but composed tone as he approaches them. The man’s gaze shifts from Jimin to you, his expression sour and unsettling, a silent testament to his apprehension. Yoongi senses the tension escalating, his concern growing with each passing second.

“You need to see this. It’s undeniable proof of what’s happening here,” Jimin urges, extending the camera to the police officers. With a sense of urgency, they take the camera and begin to review the images, their expressions shifting as the gravity of the situation sinks in.

Returning the camera to Jimin, Yoongi observes as Jimin casts a tender glance your way, his smile a silent reassurance. The officers then redirect their attention to the man, their expressions stern. “This constitutes animal cruelty, which is a serious offense,” they assert firmly.

“Please come with us,” one of the officers requests firmly, reaching for the man, who begins to resist, his actions reflecting his desperation to evade justice.

“What about them? They were trying to steal my horses!” He bellows in panic, his voice echoing in the dimly lit barn as the officers firmly escort him out, his frantic protests fading into the night.

“They haven’t stolen anything yet,” one of the officers declares, his voice cutting through the tense air like a beacon of reason, a reassuring nod directed at Yoongi, Jimin, and you.

Relief washes over Yoongi like a cool breeze on a scorching day. His hand instinctively finds its way through his hair, fingers threading through strands as if to anchor himself in the moment. A wave of adrenaline slowly recedes, leaving behind a sense of calm amidst the storm. That was too close for comfort.

He observes as you cast a tender glance at Jimin, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you. With purposeful steps, Jimin approaches, swinging open the stall door to free you both. Without hesitation, you leap into the waiting arms of your boyfriend, seeking solace and security in his embrace.

“Did you bring the trailer?” You inquire of Jimin, a grin lighting up your features as you lean in for a swift yet affectionate kiss.

“Of course,” Jimin chuckles, his hands settling on your hips reassuringly.

Yoongi gazes at both of you, a hint of confusion knitting his brows together.

“What’s going on?” Yoongi’s voice carries a tone of bewilderment as he directs his gaze between you and Jimin, his curiosity piqued.

“She asked me to bring the horse trailer so we could take the horses home with us,” Jimin’s words sink in, and Yoongi’s eyes widen with understanding, a glimmer of admiration flickering within them. As he turns to you, a silent gratitude fills the air, acknowledging your quick wit and resourcefulness.

“Let’s bring Holly home,” you declare with determination, your smile radiant as you clasp Jimin’s hand in gratitude for his timely assistance. As you envelop your boyfriend in a warm embrace, Yoongi redirects his attention to Holly, patiently coaxing her out of the stall. Though it requires effort, his perseverance prevails, and soon Holly steps out into the dim light of the stable, her eyes reflecting a newfound hope.

He’s overjoyed by the favorable outcome, relieved that you and Jimin intervened to rescue him and the poor horses. And, goodness, you should be elated that the police officers didn’t haul your asses away for trespassing.

Every damn thing is agony. You’ve exhausted every remedy in your arsenal. You attempted riding, hoping movement might ease the ache. 

No dice. 

Ice and heat packs offered fleeting relief at best. But the pain? Unyielding. 

It’s a relentless torment, and you’re at your wits’ end.

Thus, you’ve sought solace in Jimin’s bedroom—or is it yours by now? After spending countless nights here, the lines blur, leaving you uncertain of where one space ends and the other begins.

You push open the door, your weary frame yearning for the comfort of the bed. Collapsing onto the mattress, your body meets it with a resounding thud, a symphony of exhaustion echoing through the room as you bury your face into the softness of the sheets, emitting a muffled groan of discomfort.

The sheets envelop you in their soft embrace, a familiar comfort that whispers tales of shared moments with Jimin – cuddles, tender kisses trailing along your neck. Infused with his signature musky scent, now mingled with your own, they offer solace to your weary mind, lulling your senses into a state of tranquility as you surrender to their gentle caress.

You draw your knees up to your chest, cocooning yourself in a protective embrace, silently pleading for the relentless pain to subside – a relentless companion that has plagued your entire day. In moments like these, you question how you manage to accomplish anything amidst this unyielding torment. Yet, surrendering to it is not an option; you refuse to grant the pain dominion over your spirit. Sickness is an unwelcome adversary, casting you into a disheartening abyss of vulnerability, a place you rarely visit.

You shut your eyes tightly, yearning for the solace of sleep to envelop you, if only to grant respite from the relentless ache gnawing at your stomach. The unwelcome arrival of your period compounds your discomfort, adding insult to injury. Oh, how you despise this monthly intrusion, an unwelcome visitor overstaying its welcome.

The door whispers open, and even before the hinges complete their eerie symphony, you sense his presence—Jimin, your ever-watchful guardian, silently slipping into the room. His quiet footsteps echo with a tenderness that speaks volumes, a familiar comfort that wraps around you like a warm embrace.

As the mattress yields to his weight, a gentle hand finds its place atop your hip bone, a soothing anchor in the storm of your discomfort. His voice, a soft melody of concern, washes over you like a gentle wave, carrying with it a warmth that beckons you to surrender to its embrace, “What’s wrong, love?”

“It’s just my period,” you murmur, the words heavy with discomfort, as you wrap your arms around yourself in a silent attempt to ease the ache.

His hand glides up your body, a comforting warmth that sends delicate shivers down your spine. “Let me help,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your troubled soul.

You whimper softly at his touch, feeling the tension in your body begin to ease as his hand settles gently on your stomach. Drawing you closer, he envelops you in his strong, reassuring embrace, his warmth seeping into your bones. The scent of his skin fills your senses, intoxicating and familiar, as he nestles his head against your neck, his warm breath caressing your earlobe, sending delicious shivers down your spine. With tender care, his hand applies a gentle pressure to your stomach, offering comfort in the midst of your discomfort.

“Is this alright?” He murmurs softly, drawing himself nearer, his presence enveloping you completely. You sense every contour of his form, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the rhythmic thud of his heart, his warmth seeping into your skin. Your senses are heightened, acutely aware of his closeness, from the gentle pressure of his body to the tantalizing proximity of his hips against yours, with his dick pressing on your ass. With every inch of him pressed against you, you feel a surge of electricity coursing through your veins, igniting a deep-seated longing within you. His powerful thighs brush against yours, his feet intertwining with yours in a tender embrace, as if seeking solace in your hold.

“Yes, Jimin. You’re incredible,” you whisper with a sigh, feeling the tension slowly ebbing away from your body. Finally, a sense of tranquility washes over you, as if his touch has the power to soothe all your worries and pains.

The sensation of his hand on your lower stomach is nothing short of heavenly, each gentle caress a balm to your aching body. His mere presence, his unwavering support, threatens to bring tears to your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his kindness. In this moment, with him by your side, you feel as if your heart could burst with an abundance of love and gratitude.

His lips trace a path of warmth along your neck, each kiss igniting a delightful shiver down your spine. A soft chuckle escapes you, but as his lips continue their tantalizing journey, you find yourself squirming in his firm embrace. A playful movement causes your backside to brush against his crotch, and in that instant, you’re acutely aware of his growing erection.

“Jimin,” you chuckle, but his lips continue their delicious assault on your neck, seemingly oblivious to your protest. With each tender kiss, you feel yourself melting further into his embrace. Finally, unable to resist any longer, you turn to face him, your eyes locking in a silent dance of desire.

“You’re hard,” you state, your voice a delicate whisper tinged with both softness and a hint of lust. Your gaze locks with his, a silent invitation hanging in the air, accentuated by the subtle nip of your lower lip.

“Yeah,” he rasps, his voice a husky melody that sends shivers down your spine. His laughter, like music to your ears, fills the room with a warmth that envelops you both. His hand, now back on your hips, moves with a gentle rhythm, tracing soothing circles that melt away the tension, leaving only the sweet anticipation of what’s to come.

You release a soft, involuntary moan as his touch ignites a fire within you. With each knead of your hip, his fingers trace a path of desire, sliding down to the curve of your ass with deliberate, tantalizing slowness.

As he skillfully works the muscles of your ass, your hand ventures downward, drawn to the undeniable bulge in his devilish black sweatpants. The outline of his dick is unmistakable, beckoning you with its tantalizing presence. With eager anticipation, you seize his cock through the fabric, eliciting a low, guttural groan of pleasure from his lips.

“I want to touch you, to make you come,” you implore, your gaze pleading as you offer him a glimpse of your longing. Despite the innocence in your eyes, he remains resolute, unmoved by your entreaty.

“No,” he insists firmly, gently removing your hand from his dick. “This is about you. Let me ease your discomfort,” he adds, his voice tender as he redirects your focus to your own needs. “Trust me, it’s fine,” he murmurs reassuringly, his touch promising solace and relief.

He rises from the bed, his silhouette carved by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, and sits up while you remain reclined. “Take off your clothes,” he instructs, his voice a husky murmur that stirs a tingle of anticipation. “But keep your panties on,” he adds with a hint of restraint, his hand threading through his tousled hair. Even in the dim light, you can discern the subtle tension in his body, the silent yearning echoed in the strain of his form-fitting sweatpants, showcasing his cock wonderfully.

While laying down, he assists you in shedding your garments with gentle precision. His fingers deftly navigate the buttons and zippers of your pants, easing them over your hips and down your legs until they are scattered at the floor. With a tender touch, he removes your socks, his fingertips grazing your skin in a playful dance that elicits a fleeting giggle from you.

His gaze lingers on your panties, a simple yet alluring black lace, and a soft admiration gleams in his eyes. “You’re stunning,” he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine appreciation for the sight before him.

His touch ignites a tingling sensation across your skin as his fingers dance over your body, coaxing your shirt off with gentle insistence. With a skilled touch, he guides you to sit up, his hands tracing a tantalizing path up your torso until they find the clasp of your bra. Effortlessly, he releases it, setting your breasts free, and his warm palms cup them delicately. “So soft and beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a velvet caress against your skin, as he revels in the intimacy of the moment.

Your breath catches in your throat as a soft moan escapes your lips, your body responding eagerly to his caress. With each lingering touch, a wave of arousal washes over you, igniting a fire within that yearns for more of his intoxicating embrace.

“Now lay down on your stomach first,” he instructs, his gaze tracing the curves of your body with hunger, his tongue darting out as if you’re a delectable feast waiting to be savored.

You sink into the bed, enveloped in his familiar musky aroma, a comforting embrace for your senses. His hands start at your neck and shoulders, his presence pressing gently over you, as he straddles your ass, his weight a reassuring anchor. With skilled precision, he works your muscles like a master baker kneading dough, each movement easing the knots of tension from your body. The touch is firm yet tender, and with each stroke, you feel the weight of the day lifting from your skin, leaving you adrift in a sea of relaxation.

His hands, like skilled artists, glide down your back, tracing the curves of your shoulder blades with delicate precision. The sensation is exquisite, sending tingles cascading down your spine. His touch is a symphony of pleasure, each stroke orchestrating a chorus of sighs and gasps from your lips. And beneath it all, you feel the subtle rhythm of his dick pulsating against your ass, a silent melody of passion that dances in harmony with your own.

His hands continue their journey, traversing the landscape of your back with a tender firmness that speaks volumes of his skill. Each movement is deliberate, mapping out a path of relief along your ribcage and tracing the contours of your spine with an expert touch. It’s a paradox of strength and gentleness, his fingers like whispers against your skin, soothing away the knots of tension with practiced ease.

He positions himself lower, settling onto your thighs with a deliberate intent, his hands now gliding over the expanse of your lower back. The sensation is exquisite, each touch sending ripples of pleasure through your body, evoking a deep, primal response. A needy moan escapes your lips, punctuating the air with a symphony of desire, and you can feel the immediate response of his cock against your skin.

With a gentle tug, he eases the edge of your panties down slightly, allowing him better access to massage the curves of your ass. A deep, guttural groan of pleasure escapes you as his skilled hands work wonders on your body, each motion a symphony of blissful sensations. It’s an exquisite dance of touch and response, leaving you utterly captivated by the sheer intensity of his ministrations.

Fuck it feels so good.

“Do you like it?” He inquires, his voice laced with a playful edge that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s as if you can feel the warmth of his smile in his words, his teasing tone igniting a spark of anticipation within you.

“Fuck, yes,” you moan, feeling as though you’re melting into the sheets beneath you, every nerve ending alive with pleasure. A bead of sweat forms on your brow, mingling with the dampness of anticipation, as if your body can't contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through you.

You think you’re drooling too, maybe from more than one place.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine, as he pulls your panties back up and shifts to sit beside you. His hands firmly grasp the curves of your ass, kneading with a skill that leaves you breathless. Every touch ignites a fire within you, a fierce longing that consumes your senses, driving you to the edge of desire with each caress.

His hands glide downward, tracing the contours of your thighs, down to your calves, and finally reaching your feet. With a gentle touch, he massages each toe, sending a delightful tingle through your body that elicits a soft, involuntary giggle from your lips.

“Turn around, love,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a playful tone, punctuated by a gentle spank on your ass.

You twist your body to face him, your nipples erect and inviting, a sight that elicits a tender smile from him. “You really like it, huh?” He chuckles, his eyes dancing with affection as you settle onto your back, eager for his touch once more.

He begins with your feet, cradling one in his hands and working his fingers expertly into the arch, easing away the day’s tension. Then, with the same care and attention, he turns to the other foot, his touch gentle yet firm, coaxing relaxation from every muscle.

With a feather-light touch, he glides his hands up your legs, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns on your skin as if each stroke is a whispered promise of comfort and solace.

As his hands start to massage your hip with the gentlest of touches, eliciting a soft moan from your lips, you’re overwhelmed by the sheer bliss coursing through your body. Every caress feels like a blissful release, easing away the tension and leaving you floating in a sea of pleasure.

His hands ascend to your stomach, and a cascade of shivers dances across your skin, ignited by his tender touch. Each stroke feels imbued with love and affection, as if he’s painting delicate strokes of adoration upon your flesh. Despite the sensations, a soft giggle bubbles from within you, tickled by the intimacy and warmth enveloping you.

Anticipation tingles through every fiber of your being as you await the touch you yearn for, expecting his hands to caress your breasts next. Yet, to your surprise, they bypass that destination entirely, gliding over your arms instead. Confusion flickers across your face as you lock eyes with him, seeking answers in his mischievous smirk, which only deepens the mystery of his intentions.

His hands glide over your arms with expert precision, tracing the contours of your biceps and kneading your skin with a delicate touch, as if each stroke is an ode to the strength and grace you possess.

With a teasing glint in his eyes, he finally descends to the part where your desires lie most fervently – your breasts.

His touch is both tender and assertive as he cups your breasts, his fingers skillfully exploring every curve and contour, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

His voice is a husky whisper against your skin as he murmurs, “Love these,” before lavishing attention on your right breast with soft, tantalizing kisses, igniting a fire of desire within you.

You arch your back, a soft moan escaping your lips, as you instinctively press your body closer to his tantalizing touch, craving more of his affectionate caresses.

As he straddles you, his weight presses against you, a tantalizing pressure that sends a shiver down your spine. Beneath him, you feel the unmistakable warmth of his dick against your crotch, a delicious friction that ignites your senses. Despite his weight, he feels weightless in your embrace, each touch and movement a delicate dance of desire that leaves you yearning for more.

His hands, strong yet tender, caress your breasts with an intensity that leaves you breathless. With expert precision, his fingers trace tantalizing patterns over your sensitive nipples, coaxing them to stiff peaks that ache with desire. Each stroke sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, heightening every sensation until you’re consumed by a whirlwind of ecstasy.

As he pinches them gently, he observes with a hungered gaze as your expression twists in the throes of pleasure, your lips parting in a silent gasp as waves of sensation ripple through you.

“Jimin,” you murmur his name, a plea hanging in the air, laden with uncertainty and desire. In the turmoil of conflicting emotions, you’re unsure of your own wishes. The idea of sex during your period feels messy and uncertain, yet an undeniable need throbs within you, pulling you in conflicting directions.

“What do you want, love?” His voice, a whisper of warmth against your skin, carries the weight of anticipation, lingering on the edge of a kiss yet to come.

His breath, a tantalizing tease, caresses your skin, igniting a longing for his lips to meet yours in a fierce embrace. Frustration mounts as he hesitates, but you refuse to wait any longer. With a desperate pull, you seize his face, drawing him into a kiss overflowing with the depth of your affection.

He breaks away from your lips, his gaze fixated on your face, where a flicker of discomfort dances in your eyes, mingled with a hint of bewilderment.

“I’m torn, Jimin,” you confess, breaths coming in ragged pants, frustration lacing your tone. “I’m so turned on right now, but the thought of sex during my period... it just feels so messy.”

“Of course, my love,” Jimin responds with gentle understanding, his eyes reflecting his sincerity. “I completely understand, and I never intended to pressure you. All I want is to soothe your pain and make you feel comfortable.”

With a soft smile, you draw him closer, savoring the warmth of his embrace. Your lips meet in a tender kiss, a silent exchange of affection and understanding. As you break away, you meet his gaze, your heart swelling with love. “Can you just hold me?” you whisper, your voice a gentle plea, seeking solace in his comforting arms.

His touch traces the contours of your face, a gentle caress that ignites a flutter in your chest. From the bridge of your nose to the curve of your cheeks, his fingertips dance with a tender grace, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Finally, they come to rest at your lips.

“Of course,” he murmurs, his voice a soft caress against your ear as he settles behind you. With a gentle sweep, he tucks the duvet around your mostly bare form, cocooning you both in its warmth. Drawing you close, he molds his body to yours, fitting together like pieces of a perfect puzzle. His lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of featherlight kisses that send tingles down your spine.

You’re acutely aware of the fact that you’re both turned on right now, the magnetic pull drawing you closer with each breath. Despite the electric tension, there’s something undeniably comforting about the way he envelops you, his embrace a sanctuary from the outside world. As his warmth seeps into your skin, mingling with yours, you find yourself entertaining the idea of drifting off in his arms, the allure of intimacy lulling you into a tranquil embrace.

“Do you want to come with me for my wedding dress fitting appointment?” Your sister’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she delicately lifts her glass of water to her lips, anticipation dancing in the air between you both.

“Yeah, when is it?” You reply, a soft smile mirroring the excitement in her eyes. You can’t help but wonder why she hadn’t brought it up sooner, but you're thrilled she finally did.

“Right this moment, actually,” she chuckles, a playful glint in her eyes as she runs her fingers through her tousled brown curls.

You chuckle at her predictable spontaneity. It’s classic her, always deciding things at the eleventh hour. But you don’t mind, setting down your glass of water on the table. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s hit the road.”

Jessi sets her glass down, and together you stride out of the house toward the purple truck. You climb in, and Jessi takes the wheel, navigating you both into town. Along the way, she fills you in, explaining how she’s arranged an appointment with the local seamstress, boasting about her expertise. You nod, smiling at her enthusiasm, eager to witness your sister transformed in a wedding gown. Knowing Jessi’s usual aversion to dresses, you're curious to discover the style she’ll embrace for this momentous occasion.

After the familiar two-hour drive, Jessi expertly maneuvers the truck into a spot in front of the boutique. The quaint storefront beckons with its modest size, yet inside, a vibrant display of mannequins showcases an array of dresses. Among them, you spot wedding gowns, bridesmaid dresses, and elegant gala attire, each one whispering tales of dreams and celebrations.

As you step into the store, a delightful aroma envelops you, filling the air with its sweet fragrance. The atmosphere exudes warmth and comfort, instantly making you feel at home. A friendly lady approaches, her smile radiant as she offers her assistance.

“I have an appointment to try on wedding dresses,” announcing her appointment with a hint of excitement, your sister catches the store lady’s attention. With a nod of understanding, the lady graciously guides you both deeper into the boutique’s heart, where plush couches await, adorned in a regal hue of deep royal red, accented with elegant gold details. The ambiance is further elevated by the cream-white walls, instilling a sense of tranquility and serenity throughout the space.

“Please take a seat, and have some champagne,” the lady invites with a gentle gesture towards the inviting couches and the sparkling champagne flutes that beckon. 

“I’m Hyorin and I’ll help you find the perfect dress for your wedding.” Her warm smile assures you of a journey filled with personalized attention and expert guidance in your quest for the gown of your dreams.

You both sink into the embrace of the lush couch, the rich fabric cradling you like a cloud of opulence. With glasses of champagne in hand, poured with Hyorin’s effortless grace, you take a drink of the champagne, its effervescence mirroring the excitement in the air.

“What kind of dress are you looking for?” Hyorin’s gaze beams with anticipation as she directs her question to your sister, her eyes aglow with genuine interest. Their golden hue, reminiscent of warm honey, adds a radiant charm to her already captivating presence. Her brown locks cascade gracefully over her shoulders, framing her face like a portrait, while her chic curtain bangs lend a touch of modern allure to her appearance.

“I would like something simple and elegant, but not too tight or princessy,” your sister’s voice carries a tone of understated sophistication as she articulates her desires for the perfect gown. Her words resonate with a refined taste, seeking simplicity intertwined with an effortless elegance. You find yourself nodding in agreement, not at all surprised by her choice, and a spontaneous chuckle escapes you, nearly causing you to choke on your champagne.

Jessi turns to you, her lips curved into a playful smile, teasingly prompting, “What’s got you chuckling over there?”

“I’m just not surprised,” you muse with a grin, raising the champagne glass to your lips for another sip.

Hyorin smiles warmly. “I’ll be right back with a few suggestions for you to try on. You can get ready in the dressing room,” she says, her voice filled with excitement for the dress-finding journey ahead.

As Hyorin strides towards the racks adorned with elegant wedding dresses, Jessi rises gracefully, disappearing into one of the changing rooms. Left alone, you sink deeper into the plush cushions of the couch, anticipation tingling in the air like champagne bubbles.

Hyorin returns, a vision of grace carrying three dresses like treasures from a bridal chest. Each gown, pristine white with delicate lace accents, exudes an aura of simplicity, elegance, and sheer beauty.

“I’ve curated a selection for you to consider,” Hyorin announces, presenting the trio of dresses to your sister as though unveiling treasures from a sacred bridal trove.

“Thank you,” Jessi responds graciously, snatching the dresses and whisking them into her dressing chamber, eager to unveil their potential allure.

With a flourish, she parts the curtain, revealing the first gown: a sweeping masterpiece. Its neckline plunges daringly, yet tastefully, inviting a glimpse of allure. Sleeveless, it caresses her curves with a perfect fit, offering both elegance and freedom of movement.

Your sister beams at you, her eyes alight with anticipation, as she gracefully lifts the skirt, revealing its fluid movement. “Well?” she prompts, her excitement palpable in the air.

“I think you look absolutely stunning,” you remark with a smile, admiring her from every angle. “But I’m curious to see how the other dresses compare,” you add, eager to explore the options further.

As she emerges from the dressing room, a new silhouette adorns her figure, this one an elegant a-line rather than the previous mermaid style. Yet, it’s adorned with subtle sparkles that catch the light, casting a magical glow around her. Observing her in the dress, you can’t help but wonder if the shimmer aligns with Jessi’s taste. She turns gracefully, the long sleeves adding a touch of sophistication to the ensemble.

Hyorin interjects, her voice tinged with anticipation, “How about this one? Does it speak to you?”

Jessi gazes at her reflection, her eyes lingering on the gown's shimmering embellishments. “The sparkles aren’t my thing,” she muses, “but I adore how the skirt flows—it’s not overly poufy, but just the right amount of volume for movement.”

Hyorin nods in understanding as Jessi retreats into the fitting room to slip into the third gown. The fabric is adorned with delicate lace, and as Jessi emerges, you notice the skirt’s voluminous size doesn’t quite match her liking.

“I’m not sold on the skirt of this one, but the top is lovely. Plus, I don’t mind flaunting a bit of cleavage,” she remarks, gracefully twirling in the dress.

Hyorin nods understandingly, collecting the three dresses from Jessi before gliding across the store to hunt for the next contender.

You rise from the plush couch, a glint of determination in your eyes. “I’ll scout out another option for you to try, sounds good?”

Jessi shoots you a thumbs-up from the dressing rooms, and you set off on your exploration of the boutique. Rows of stunning dresses greet you, each whispering its own tale of elegance and romance. Lost in the sea of bridal dreams, you ponder what you might choose for your own wedding someday, if fate allows. Amidst the glitter and sparkle, something catches your eye, beckoning you like a hidden treasure waiting to be discovered.

You delicately pluck the dress from the rack, and instantly, you’re captivated. An ivory masterpiece unfolds before you, its allure undeniable. The neckline plunges daringly, yet a sheer nude fabric veils it with a touch of modesty. Long, lace-adorned sleeves promise both grace and breathability, while the bodice, adorned with intricate lace, exudes charm. With its lace-up back, the dress offers a timeless elegance, reminiscent of fairy tales and romance. The A-line silhouette, though not voluminous, carries a subtle flow, enhanced by the delicate lace fabric of the skirt. As you hold it, you can’t shake the feeling that this is the one—the dress that encapsulates your sister’s dreams and desires.

You cradle the dress in your arms, feeling its weight as if holding a treasure. With each step, anticipation swells within you, a silent prayer that this gown may be the key to your sister’s bridal bliss. Approaching Jessi, you extend the dress to her with a gentle urgency, a silent plea echoing in your eyes. “Try this on, Jess,” you urge, your voice a whisper filled with hope and excitement.

Hyorin glides over to you, her hands cradling two delicate dresses like precious secrets. With a graceful flourish, she presents them to Jessi, a silent invitation to discover the magic within. As Jessi disappears behind the dressing room curtain, anticipation hangs thick in the air, each passing moment pregnant with possibility. You exchange a glance with Hyorin, sharing in the silent anticipation of witnessing Jessi’s transformation.

As Jessi parts the curtain, her radiant smile bursts forth like sunshine breaking through clouds. In the shimmering gown you discovered, she spins with effortless grace, a vision of confidence and joy. 

“What do you think?” She beams, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, awaiting your verdict on her newfound elegance.

“Absolutely stunning! Jungkook won’t know what hit him,” you exclaim, your voice brimming with excitement and admiration. The dress envelops Jessi like a dream, affirming your belief that it’s the perfect choice for her special day.

“I feel incredible in it, but I doubt he’ll be able to keep his hands off me, he’ll probably just want to rip the dress off my body,” she chuckles, her laughter infectious as it fills the room. You can’t help but join in, the joy of the moment contagious, even Hyorin finds herself laughing along with you both.

“I don’t care what he does, that dress was made for you,” you affirm with conviction, your admiration for your sister evident in your voice. Damn, she looks stunning.

“This is the one,” Jessi declares with a radiant smile, her joy palpable as she moves gracefully in the dress, completely at ease.

As the morning light pours in, casting a golden glow over everything, it feels like the perfect day. The air is crisp, the sun’s warmth wraps around her like a comforting embrace, and the sweet melodies of birdsong serenade her every step. Each footfall is buoyant, as if she’s walking on air, filled with anticipation for the days ahead. Her heart beats with excitement, knowing that her big day is drawing near, and she can hardly contain her joy.

She revels in the comfort of Jungkook’s presence, cherishing every moment spent in his company. Witnessing her sister’s radiant happiness with Jimin fills her with a profound warmth. Never before has she seen Jimin so utterly content in a relationship, and it melts her heart to witness their love blossoming. Everywhere she looks, love seems to weave its enchanting tapestry, wrapping her in its gentle embrace. In this moment, surrounded by love and joy, she feels an overwhelming gratitude for having everything she’s ever wished for and more.

Jessi dances through the halls of Jungkook’s home, her joy infectious and her spirit light. As she twirls amidst the familiar surroundings, she can’t help but entertain the thought that maybe Jimin might summon the courage to take the next step and propose to her sister. The idea has been floating around her mind for some time now, especially knowing that Jimin has been holding onto an engagement ring, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to pop the question.

Since you accompanied her to her dress fitting, Jessi couldn’t help but notice the unmistakable look of devotion in your eyes, a silent declaration of your readiness and unwavering commitment to Jimin. But now, she finds herself pondering a question that weighs heavily on her mind: how can she nudge Jimin towards proposing to you, or maybe even inspire you to take the leap and propose to him? Tradition and conventions hold little sway over her; all she desires is to witness the radiant joy of her beloved family as they step into a future filled with happiness and love.

With an infectious energy pulsating through her veins, she sways to an imaginary melody in the kitchen, her movements a symphony of anticipation. Suddenly, the distant hum of tires against gravel draws her attention, and she rushes to the window, her curiosity piqued. Through the glass, she spots an unfamiliar vehicle winding its way up the driveway, sparking her intrigue even further.

Eager to welcome the visitor, she strides outside, her smile radiant with warmth. But as her gaze falls upon the sleek, crimson sports car, a sudden chill washes over her, like a shadow eclipsing the sun. With a sharp intake of breath, she senses a storm of emotions brewing within, a tempest of memories stirring to life. That scarlet vehicle triggers a cascade of recollections, each fragment dancing on the periphery of her mind, teasing her with familiarity. Where had she seen it before? 

Despite the heavy weight pressing upon her, both in her heart and on her shoulders, she continues to move forward, each step an arduous journey. Every footfall feels like an uphill battle, as if gravity itself conspires against her progress. Yet, propelled by a mix of curiosity and apprehension, she persists, determined to confront whatever awaits her at the end of this daunting path.

With each inch the car draws nearer, her memories awaken like a dormant beast, stirring from its slumber. Images of the past flood her mind, each one a jagged piece of a puzzle she never wanted to solve. The car’s color triggers a cascade of recollections, transporting her back to the day of the accident, a day etched in pain and regret. As the truth dawns on her, fury simmers within her veins, boiling over like a tempest unleashed. Her fists ball up, knuckles whitening, while her teeth grind together in a symphony of anger and anguish, a bitter melody echoing the depths of her soul.

Vividly etched in her memory is the sight of that crimson car careening onto the wrong side of the road, a reckless intruder in her world of order. She recalls the split-second decision, the desperate swerve to avoid a collision, the sensation of losing control as her vehicle skidded off course, hurtling towards an unforgiving embrace with destiny—a collision with a tree that shattered her sense of safety and left her broken, physically and emotionally.

The car grinds to a halt, and her muscles tense with a mixture of apprehension and frustration, her arms folding protectively across her chest, a silent barrier against whatever or whoever emerges from that ominous vehicle. With each passing second, impatience brews within her, a fervent desire for the intrusive presence to vanish, to leave her to the serenity of her solitude. She fixates on the car’s door, her gaze an unyielding challenge, daring the unknown occupant to unveil themselves and confront the consequences of their intrusion.

The silence stretches taut as the stranger emerges, his movements deliberate, almost calculated, as if he’s orchestrating a grand entrance. With a polished precision, he plants his first foot onto the ground, clad in sleek, designer shoes that exude opulence—a stark contrast to her indifference, maybe even disdain, for such material extravagance. She suppresses a scoff, her lip curling with distaste, a silent protest against the superficiality that seems to accompany him.

As the man steps fully out of the car, his gaze sweeps the surroundings before settling on Jessi. Her expression remains stern, a subtle furrow forming between her brows, her lips pressed into a thin line betraying her impatience. One foot taps rhythmically against the earth, a silent declaration of her readiness for the stranger to break the silence enveloping them.

As the stranger remains silent, Jessi takes a moment to size him up. True to her initial assessment, is a city slicker; his brown hair meticulously styled with gel, giving him a sophisticated yet laid-back appearance. His heart-shaped face boasts a pointed nose and sharp eyes that seem to miss nothing. Clad in a loose silk shirt tucked into sleek black dress pants, he stands out amidst the rustic surroundings with an air of effortless elegance. Feeling the weight of his silence, Jessi clears her throat, a subtle signal to draw his attention.

“Some balls you have,” she begins, her voice laced with the simmering anger that clouds her thoughts and judgment.

His expression twists into confusion, but she can feel the heat rising within her, pushing her to raise her voice at him.

“Get out of here!” Her voice reverberates, echoing the anger pulsating through her, each word a thunderclap demanding his departure.

As footsteps and doors creak open behind her, you, Jungkook, and Jimin approach her, enveloping her in a protective circle. Your arms wrap around her, seeking answers to her distress, but Jessi’s vision blurs with rage, seeing nothing but crimson swirling before her eyes.

“He’s the one who caused my accident,” Jessi’s voice cuts through the tension, still charged with anger as she jabs her finger accusingly at the stranger.

You turn to gaze between your sister and the stranger, a surge of disbelief coursing through you. Suddenly, everything clicks into place, and you realize why your sister trembles in your embrace, her fury palpable.

Jungkook and Jimin move protectively in front of you, their gaze fixed firmly on the stranger standing before you. Jungkook takes the lead, his voice firm with an undercurrent of caution. “Who are you?”

The stranger clears his throat, his demeanor cautious yet oddly composed. “My name is Taehyung, and I’m—”

His words come out in a low, rumbling growl, cutting off Taehyung’s attempt to speak further. “Are you the one responsible for her accident?”

Taehyung’s gaze drops to the ground, his expression clouded with a hint of remorse, his hands retreating into his pockets.

“I’m sorry. Yeah, I am,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with regret, his eyes flitting nervously among all of you, unable to meet any one gaze.

Your sister hisses, her fists clenching again, and you can feel the tension vibrating through her, a palpable desire to break free from your hold and maybe slap some sense into the man, but you cling to her tightly, refusing to let her go.

Jimin’s voice cuts through the tension, his gaze assessing Taehyung from head to toe. “What are you doing here?”

Taehyung shifts uncomfortably, his laughter tinged with nervousness as he kicks at the dirt, his hand absently smoothing his sleek hair, disrupting its neatly styled appearance.

“I came to speak to my family,” he murmurs, his gaze sharpening once more, a flicker of resolve crossing his features as he braces himself for your response.

“Then you came to the wrong place, mate,” Jungkook utters through clenched teeth, his voice laced with simmering anger, though beneath the surface, you sense his effort to maintain composure.

You don’t know what Taehyung means by speaking to his family; none of you know him, and he’s certainly not part of your family.

“I’m your brother,” Taehyung says, his voice carrying an unexpected calmness that sends a ripple of disbelief through the air. Your eyes widen in shock. How can he remain so composed amidst such a damning accusation? You turn your head to glimpse your sister’s reaction; her eyes mirror your incredulity. Glancing at the others, you notice Jungkook and Jimin standing frozen, their expressions a mixture of confusion and surprise.

As the weight of Taehyung’s revelation settles in, you release your grip on your sister and stride towards Jimin, while Jessi gravitates towards Jungkook, seeking solace in his embrace. Together, the four of you stand, an image of disbelief and confusion. What is the meaning of this?

Taehyung’s gaze shifts between Jimin and Jungkook, his expression a blend of hurt and confusion, his eyes reflecting a deep-seated disappointment or maybe sadness. “You didn’t know?” he ventures, his voice tinged with an undertone of caution, as if unsure of how his revelation will be received.

You sense Jimin’s body tensing within your embrace, his muscles coiling like tightly wound springs as he grapples with the sudden influx of information. His fists clench, knuckles whitening with the intensity of his emotions, a silent storm raging within him.

“I don’t believe you,” Jungkook hisses back, his voice tight with tension, his fists clenched at his sides like coiled springs ready to release. “Our parents never told us anything of the sorts.”

Taehyung simply nods, his expression pained yet resolute. “Well, my mom recently told me about you and my father—our shared father.”

Both Jimin and Jungkook scoff, disbelief etched on their faces, their eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Dad would have told us,” Jimin’s voice is strained, his attempt at composure evident in the way he clenches his jaw. You reach out, soothingly tracing your hand up and down his arm, feeling the tension coiled within his muscles. With your other hand, you firmly grasp his hand, anchoring him in the moment.

“Are you sure? Seems like the guy got around a lot,” he remarks casually, shrugging his shoulders. Beside you, you notice both Jungkook and Jimin flinching at his words, their expressions betraying a mix of disbelief and discomfort.

“You,” Jungkook seethes, his voice edged with barely contained fury. From the corner of your eye, you see him attempting to break free from your sister’s grasp, but she holds onto him firmly, refusing to let him go.

“I can prove that I’m your sibling with a DNA test,” he states casually, his demeanor unsettlingly composed. You can’t fathom how he can maintain such calmness amidst this chaos. Doubt creeps into your mind, questioning his intentions. What does he seek from the guys? Money, maybe?

You can feel Jimin’s heartbeat against your chest, a rhythmic drumbeat echoing his uncertainty. He clears his throat, his voice edged with skepticism, “Then come back with proof. Because we don’t believe you.”

Taehyung nods, his demeanor nonchalant, “I just need some DNA from you and I’ll be on my merry way.”

It feels like a scene ripped straight from a surreal drama as Taehyung produces a small plastic bag, and both Jimin and Jungkook pluck out a hair from their heads, handing it to Taehyung with a mix of reluctance and defiance. Their expressions betray a cocktail of emotions, but it’s clear they’re doing it more out of defiance than genuine cooperation. Taehyung calmly plucks a piece of hair from his own head.

“Thank you,” he says with a pleased smile, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he waves before disappearing into the sleek red car. With a smooth maneuver, he gets behind the wheel and drives off, leaving behind a cloud of uncertainty and a lingering sense of unease in the air.

You all hold your breath, a tense silence enveloping the group as his car disappears into the distance, leaving nothing but a swirling cloud of dust in its wake.

“What a douche,” Jungkook’s voice seethes with a mix of anger and exhaustion, his words heavy with disbelief and frustration. “I really hope he isn’t our brother.”

Jimin turns towards you, his expression a blend of confusion and desperation as he seeks reassurance in your eyes, silently pleading for answers you’re not sure you can provide at this moment. Nevertheless, you envelop him in a tight hug, hoping your embrace can convey the support and comfort he needs.

You offer a soothing rub to his back, your touch a reassuring anchor amidst the swirling uncertainty. “That was so weird. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this. What could he possibly want?”

Jimin’s warm breath against your neck sends a shiver down your spine, and you hold him tighter for a moment, finding solace in each other’s presence. As he pulls away, uncertainty lingers in his voice. “Yeah. I don’t know if I like this.”

You intertwine your fingers with his, offering a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here for you, Jimin. Whatever comes our way, we’ll face it together.”

You find yourselves immersed in a search through old papers and documents together, scouring for any hint of a connection from the guys to Taehyung. The disbelief hangs heavy in the air, and you empathize with their skepticism. It’s like watching their world tilt on its axis, leaving them grappling with uncertainty and confusion.

Despite days spent sifting through mountains of old documents, the evidence of Jimin and Jungkook having a brother remains elusive. The mystery hangs heavy in the air, fueling speculation and unease. You engage in discussions, contemplating the possibility that Taehyung may be orchestrating some sort of scheme.

As anticipated, Taehyung fulfills his promise, returning a few days later, his sleek red car gliding into the driveway. With a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, you and the others step outside to confront him once again.

Taehyung emerges from his car, exuding the same impeccable style as before, his attire as refined as his demeanor. A confident smile graces his lips as he approaches, clutching a piece of paper in his hand, his eyes glinting with a sense of purpose.

He strides purposefully toward Jimin, extending the paper with a determined yet enigmatic air. “Proof,” he states simply, his gaze locked onto Jimin’s, a hint of anticipation in his eyes.

You position yourself behind your boyfriend, stretching on tiptoe to catch a glimpse over his shoulder, eager to discern the contents of the document. As your eyes sweep across the page, there it is— the undeniable confirmation, the positive result staring back at you, setting your heart racing with a mix of astonishment and disbelief.

You position yourself behind your boyfriend, stretching on tiptoe to catch a glimpse over his shoulder, eager to discern the contents of the document. As your eyes sweep across the page, there it is— the undeniable confirmation, the positive result staring back at you, setting your heart racing with a mix of astonishment and disbelief.

Frustration and disbelief surge through you. You can hardly fathom it. Without a word, Jimin passes the paper to his brother, his silence a testament to the tumult raging within him as he grapples with the sudden upheaval of his reality. In a bid to anchor him amidst the storm, you envelop him in a reassuring embrace, feeling the weight of his uncertainty and turmoil pressing against you.

Jungkook’s gaze flicks over the document, his features contorted in a mixture of skepticism and disdain. “You may share our blood,” he begins, his voice edged with a steely resolve, “but you’re no brother of mine.”

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

Remember the Q&A that is coming in the Epilogue— if you want to send in some questions for the characters, you can do it now (and later too) → Ask the characters (or me), anything ❣️

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[mosaickiwi]

Meowdy~

I'm Momo/Mosa c: either one

I like to write!!! Except it's just for 14DWY 99.999999% of the time sorry. I need to reformat this pin at some point... 🧍‍♀️

if u wanna support me here's a kofi link :3c

anyways ur here for some silly fics??? have a list ⬇⬇⬇ most recent ones are at the top and/or highlighted!

14 Days With You

Patience

Leaping In

All Clean!!!

Kabedon (politely)

Little "Love" Notes

14DWY as a Drama (AU)

Fall Unto Me (Demon!Ren AU) part one, part two, part three, part four, epilogue

Everything and Anything (pls read cw tags)

Soft - Light

Hide and Seek

Illusion of Choice

"Bad" Gift Giver Angel (head canon list)

Nails, TV, Moving

Sick Nasty

Someone in Between, Something Intertwined

Masterlist of NSFW [REDACTED] fics and blurbs

These aren't posted publicly at the moment, so it's a WIP

REQUESTS: CLOSED!!

while i work on current requests

Request Guidelines

~PLEASE READ~

While I currently don’t write smut for requests, 14 Days With You is intended for an 18+ audience, so please keep that in mind and have your age visible in your bio! If you prefer to be anon remember to send another letting me know it's you from your main account! <3

ALL REQUESTS ARE FOR 14DWY [REDACTED] AT THE MOMENT (i might do things for other games in the future but not for requests!!)

Please be clear and concise about what you want. A few sentences works great, but if you do want to paint a bigger picture, 70 words at most! <- This applies to the request itself not the entire message! Feel free to get silly in my asks otherwise.

Please don't direct me/give me a script! Gentle reminder that I am not a bot.

Additionally, since some requests might be similar in content I may combine or do only one of them if I receive them in the same batch.

With that said, please don’t rush me! I have other things I’m working on + irl c:

All fics are a gender neutral reader unless otherwise specified in the request through certain topics.

If any of these are unclear, ASK so I can clarify <3

Requests CAN be:

SFW, fluff, angst, comfort, implied/mentions of smut i.e. aftercare, roleplay before the action, ~vaguely~ alluding to school/college/etc., AUs as long as they aren’t someone else’s (unless the creator has stated to be okay with it)

Requests CANNOT be:

smut/explicit NSFW, cheating, self harm, gore, death, student life stuff (studying or something similar is fine just pls spare me from having to think about college/campus bullshit 😭)

Request List (please check to avoid repeats!)

Anxious, Clingy, Nervous Angel

Lazy Cuddle Day

Low Motivation Angel

Super Obsessed Angel

A Little Free Time

Touch Averse Angel

Wedding Day

Literal Domestic Fluff (Fox Ren)

A Sick Angel

A Riding Lesson

Your Actual First Kiss

Flip the Script(s) - Isekai AU

Very Cherry

Redecorating

Shorts

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I don't know who else to tell 🫣🫣 Steve feeds my little pain kink so much 😔 he looks good bloody 😳😳😳😳

Anon, have you been spying on my AO3 history?

You can tell me this shit aaaall day 😘

I just worked my way through "The Least Difficult of Men" from isozyme. It's a stony fic (and I bet that one anon from the other day will be baffled by that 💀💀). Typically, stony isn't my cup of tea, no disrespect to the people who prefer the drink, BUT I am weak, weak, weak for masochistic Steve, and the tags drew me in. How could I resist? And I have not been disappointed at all! It is so fucking good, I finished it a little bit ago and there's so much visceral ✨️pain✨️

The imagery in that fic fuck.

I think a lot about Steve in general--let's be real--but I think a lot about the faces Steve makes specifically, and lately, I've had Steve's face in (consensual, of course) pain in my head.

Who wouldn't want to see that pretty face contorted in pain, enjoying it perversely. Taking something that should be so awful but feeling it so good. It's intense and hot and stinging and painful, but god, it hurts so good.

So good.

Imagine...

((stucky masochism/sadism below the cut))

Imagine Steve, struggling beautifully underneath the weight of the biting sensations he's being made to feel. Controlled and commanded. He's strung up, restrained, and totally helpless to the assault Bucky is waging on his body. Steve's arms are stretched out to his sides, straight, so he can feel the strain in his muscles every time he breathes--heaving, chest expanding, then contracting, shoulder blades shifting, muscles over his ribs rippling, his stomach clenching. The ropes coiled around his wrists tightly paint red across his fair skin. He doesn't need to move, so his ankles are also bound, not as wide--he can stand, but it's not so easy on him. That's part of why he keeps tensing and squirming. But it isn't the whole story. He's squirming and tensing, his muscled body tight, because Bucky keeps hurting him.

Oh, God.

Steve chokes, his blue eyes welling until they glisten like jewels. He's so close to overflowing, nearly sobbing, but not yet. He can hold out for longer... right? He won't start crying yet?

But-!

Bucky's fingers are delightfully, horribly cruel--scratching deep lines in his fair skin until he looks like he's been mauled by a wild animal, lines down his back and across chest and up his thighs, lines underscoring his desire; slapping bruises across his ass until his poor backside is nearly purple, throbbing with heat; biting and pinching his hips so they're dotted with fingertip bruises like obscene flower petals; twisting his nipples until they get puffy and swollen, abused hotly; thumbing the slit of his pulsing cock until Steve feels raw and achy, leaking all over himself, making a mess. All of that torture and more. So much more that Steve can't fucking keep track of it all. It's so overwhelming. He can't--

He doesn't--

He doesn't know what's happening. He just knows that it makes his nerves all burn and crackle with an inferno he can't get anyway else. Nothing else sets fire to him so completely.

Nothing feels like this.

Fuck, he doesn't know what to feel because it all feels so good. It's so overwhelming in every way. Steve doesn't know where to look. He can't look at Bucky with that evil, gorgeous smile on his face--all teeth, dangerous and divine. He can't look at nothing, focused somewhere out in front of him, because then all he has to go off of is the way his skin sings.

And he can't fucking look down at himself because then all he sees is the evidence of how far he's willing to go for pleasure. The evidence of his pure depravity written across his skin as if he's a book. If he dares to look down at himself and feel the throb of flooding arousal, his teary and blue, so blue, eyes find hazily that his skin is blushing. He's sweating so much that he's glistening. Glowing red. And, Christ, his nipples are so red and hard over his round pecs that move with his gasping chest. His chest! Steve squirms as much as he can--his chest is scored with marks. Below that, if he can keep his blurry eyes open, his stomach is tight with lust, but his eyes skim over it much easier to stare down at his weeping, twitching, throbbing cock. He couldn't be harder if he tried.

Jesus.

Pain takes him from every angle, but it sharpens and deepens until he's wailing when Bucky flicks the head of his cock. Bright. Bright. FUCK. It's so bright and awful and good. White hot, teeth-gritting pain that cuts through him. Slices into his chest and makes it so he can't breath. The sensation viciously rips up from his cock into his belly and, and, and--

Steve screams when he does it again. Flicking the overly sensitive head of his dripping cock.

He's sobbing.

There's no choice in it. Sobbing. Steve can't choke it down or bite it off. He's sobbing whether he wants to or not now. He doesn't have a choice when he's burning alive, relishing in it. Maybe he's insane but, GOD, it hurts so good that he never wants it to stop. Clenching his fists until the bones in his hands creak.

Flick. Flick. Flick.

Ah! AH! AH!

It hurts so bad that he wants it to stop right now. Never. Stop. Don't. He cries harder. He moans louder.

Steve struggles so hard under the eating, all-consuming sensation that he loses his footing, gasping, the ground disappearing beneath him with a terrifying suddenty. Heart thudding in his chest like it might speed out of control, rising into his throat.

Scrambling with muscles melted, Bucky has to help Steve back to his feet to give him what he craves. More pain. More pleasure. More torture--merciless and so goddamn perfect.

Bucky. Bucky.Bucky.Bucky that's all Steve has besides glorious pain.

Bucky.

Bucky is so good to him. Marking him up, stripping him down completely to his bare bones, killing him by how alive he makes him feel.

Bucky is so good to him.

Bucky could use an implement on Steve rather than his hands, something, anything--a crop, a flogger, a paddle, vampire gloves, clothes pins, clamps, anything. Anything. But he isn't. He's taking Steve apart with his bare hands, making him whine rustily and cry desperately and ache for a taste of mercy.

Using nothing more than his hands to leave his mouth hanging open, sobbing, squirming pathetically weakly, sweetly garbling, "h-hurts! AH! It huurts!" when he can't take it anymore, he's gonna fucking cum. It's so much. So good.

Bucky cocks his head to the side, "aww," he clicks his tongue, pouting at him as he steps in closer, intentionally rubbing his thigh against him so Steve can feel the raw head of his dick catch Bucky's pants, the friction making him want to scream all over again, muscles tensing and quivering, wrecked, "it hurts, does it, baby?"

Steve moans low in his throat, exhausted in the best way, hanging his head, barely nodding.

"Poor thing," Bucky wraps his arms around Steve's neck, playing innocent while pressing his knee to Steve's heavy, tight balls. Totally unrelenting as he flinches and sings for him, crying out in pain.

"Nnngh!" Steve whines raggedly, stretching to get onto his toes. The pain of his balls getting smashed against the thick, corded muscle of Bucky's killer thighs is, is... it's gonna, yeah, God, it's gonna kill him. He's gonna die. He's gonna cum. Now. Bucky is ruthless, making him hurt deliciously everywhere. Fuuuck.

[cheshiresense]

Anon:

Fandom: Harry Potter (CLV kinda?)

Character or Ship: Hadrian from CLV, I love Hadrian/Orion but that might not work here so it's totally up to you!

AU/Trope: I'd love to see an AU where instead of the CLV dimension, Hadrian is sent to a universe still with BWL!Neville but more similar to canon. Maybe with Slytherin!Hadrian and Hadrian taking some of the other Slytherins under his wing? I just really like the idea of a world where the "good guys" win and instead of (or in addition to) Orion it's the Slytherins who need Hadrian in their corner. Doesn't have to be all of them, whoever you prefer writing is fine. I am also down for bashing if you need to work that in. Thank you!

Tags: CLV AU, Slytherin!Hadrian, Canonical Prejudices, Draco Malfoy Bashing, kind of?, tbh this is more or less how I see him in canon lol but I know he's a fan favourite so fair warning, he's not the CLV version here, at least not yet.

-0-

Author's Notes: Hello, it's been a while since I've worked on these. I think I mentioned before that my tumblr inbox got glitchy so I actually couldn't find the other 6 requests from the last batch of 10 you guys sent in for 5+ Headcanons. So I set up an airtable form instead and got someone to test it, and this was the one they sent. It works, so in the future, I'll toss out a new post with the form link for more requests, and maybe I'll get through them in a timely manner lol.

If you're not in the UraIchi server, then you might've noticed that I've sort of been MIA on the writing front for a while now, the last time I wrote and posted something was like back in May last year, and honestly I've been kind of tired and burnt out ever since, and real life is kicking my ass a bit, so when I do have spare time, all I feel like doing is reading fics or webnovels and sleeping. But the winter hols were a nice break for me, and I've started on a couple new fic ideas and added to some wips on and off over the past few months, so I'm slowly getting back into it, and this 5+ Headcanons prompt was one of the things I've been working on. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back into posting fics soon.

ANYWAY, on to the stuff you actually care about: Slytherin!Hadrian, so basically amp up the hardened war vet and dial down the friendship magic XD Way back when I first started CLV, I did consider Slytherin for his House but it felt like everybody did that, plus the politics I would have to get into gave me a headache and I felt like I couldn't do it justice anyway, so I went with Hufflepuff. Slytherin does give me more options to play with a powerful Hadrian who has less morals about flinging that around to get what he wants though since he would be viewed as a halfblood at best and he'd need that currency to make sure nobody messes with him, especially if this universe is more canon than CLV (lbr, almost everybody is at least 50% nicer in CLV lol). So okay, let's give this a spin.

(AO3 Link Here -- I’ll add this to the collection fic on my AO3 to make it a round 15 but this one will be the last for that. If I do more, I’ll start a new fic.)

-0-0-0-

1.

Hadrian ends up being a Hatstall. He sits on the stool for a full seven minutes as the Sorting Hat sifts through his bloodstained memories with a silence so grim Hadrian is tempted to comfort it. Then it proceeds to send back memories of its own, the major points of recent Hogwarts history that would best help Hadrian fit in - Neville, the Boy-Who-Lived; an image of Hadrian's counterpart and an entire family still alive; Quirrell vanquished in first year, a basilisk slain and a diary that bled itself to death in the second, Remus teaching in the third but no Pettigrew in sight; Neville at odds with Potter, Gryffindors at odds with Slytherins, and Death Eater children who hadn't managed to come out of the last war as financially and politically secure as families like the Malfoys, subtly shunned for their parents' sins, while children from the Light side, the winning side, with parents who'd openly defied Voldemort, can do almost no wrong. On the surface, everything looks bright and happy. Beneath it, malcontent and despair bubbles and brews with hardly anyone the wiser, and those who are, are glad to look away.

The Sorting Hat offers no opinions of its own after it is done, only continuing on to extol the virtues of all four Houses while making an argument for why Hadrian would be perfectly suited for each of them in equal measure, before finally leaving the decision in Hadrian's hands.

"Even I cannot be certain where you would do the most good," the Sorting Hat tells him. "Nor do I know which House would do you the most good. There are many children in this school who could use a helping hand such as yours, and likewise, you too would benefit from the same. Who am I to decide which is more important? Perhaps it is most accurate to say that no matter where you end up, who you will help, and who you will allow to help you, a new future will unfold, one made possible only by your existence. Yours is a fate that demands change, Mr. Evans, for better or for worse. But when peril looms on the distant horizon, when our society insists on blind stagnancy, and its people have long stood divided, change is exactly what this world needs. Thus, I leave the choice to you. Where do you wish to go?"

Hadrian says nothing - thinks nothing - for a long deafening minute. The mounting whispers in the Great Hall are easy enough to tune out, and within the confines of his mind, the Hat too remains patiently silent.

The truth of it is - Hadrian is tired. Even now, in this moment, in this place, one year and an entire dimension and seven years away, he still feels like he does on most days— as if he's just walked off a battlefield at the end of one of those kinds of days that can break a man even when you think there's nothing left to break, yet still hyper-alert for the next enemy, the next fight, the next death, because he doesn't know how to do anything else, how to be anything else. On all the rest, of course, it feels as if he never left the battlefield at all.

He is tired, and he honestly doesn't feel like he's capable of helping anyone, not children, not the reflections of his loved ones, and certainly not an entire world that's rapidly revealing itself to be as stuck on a one-way train to hell as his original world had been.

He doesn't want to be a hero, doesn't know how to be one even after all these years, even when other people had always so desperately wanted him to be. A hero, until he'd proven unable to meet their expectations, and then he'd been their villain, right up until they'd needed a hero to stand in front of them again, and round and round and round they'd gone.

The only thing he could never be was just Harry, just himself, and now even Harry Potter is no longer his to claim.

But maybe that's not so bad, not when Harry Potter has always been more story than reality, a patchwork fairytale portrait of a boy, a man, a weapon, a sacrifice, stitched together by every hand except his own.

Maybe Hadrian Evans could be something different.

Gryffindor feels too much like repeating history, and Hadrian would rather not be forced to stare at the majority of those long dead to him day in and day out. Hufflepuff is too prone to crowding together for his liking, persistently eager to be friends with their own members even if they're quick to turn on those who aren't, and Hadrian doesn't think he can bear the overenthusiastic socializing that would require.

 Ravenclaw might be best, a House where even the most introverted can find a home if they have a thirst for knowledge, but at the same time, for a lot of them, once they latch on to a question unanswered or an opinion that doesn't fit their worldview, they won't let go until the question is exhausted or the opinion has conformed to what they consider acceptable, and Hadrian has too many secrets and no more patience to be what others what him to be to fit in with those sorts of people anymore. Besides, he's never quite forgiven that House as a whole. Marietta Edgecombe had been Ravenclaw. Quirrell and Lockhart and Trelawney had been Ravenclaws. Every single one of Luna's bullies had been Ravenclaws. He'd worked with members of that House over the years, taught them back when the DA had been up and running, and even been friendly with some of them beyond just Luna, but generally speaking, he has no positive emotions regarding Ravenclaw. He knows that he isn't being entirely fair, because Voldemort had been from Slytherin, and Pettigrew had been from Gryffindor, and the worst of the lot who'd spearheaded the damaging gossip and baseless accusations incriminating him - first for the Heir of Slytherin debacle in second year, and then the Cup nonsense in fourth year - had all been from Hufflepuff, but still, Ravenclaw simply stands out as that one House that holds no appeal for him.

That really only leaves one place he can go though, and Hadrian finds that he minds that a lot less than he once would've. Slytherin will have its own problems, him being a halfblood at best with a very obvious muggle surname, but Slytherins also respect power, and most of them have the sense to back off if they realize they're picking a fight with an opponent they can't beat. And once that's dealt with, Hadrian will most likely be avoided and left to his own devices, with only the occasional curse to his back to worry about. From a bunch of schoolchildren, that's a negligible issue.

In his head, the Sorting Hat chuckles. "Very well then. If you're sure, better be-"

"SLYTHERIN!"

But Mr. Evans," the Sorting Hat says in the seconds before it's removed from Hadrian's head. It sounds thoroughly amused. "Do not be so quick to underestimate your own heart."

And with that last ominous statement imparted to haunt him, Hadrian stands to lacklustre applause and makes his way to his new House as his tie settles into green and silver stripes.

The briefest of glances over the stretch of the Slytherin table tells him that none of the students seated where most of the fourth-years are gathered have moved to make room for him. That's fine. Hadrian would rather not be boxed in anyway. He takes a seat at the end of the table, smiles at the suspicious first-years around him, and then waits for Dumbledore's opening speech to finish so they can start the feast.

Fifteen minutes later, one treacle tart and a glass of pumpkin juice is all he can manage. He sips at some water for the rest of dinner even as he wishes it was something a lot more alcoholic. He speaks to no one, and no one tries to speak to him, although plenty of prying eyes and sneers of disdain find their way to him throughout the meal.

It makes him feel, Hadrian thinks with some humour, almost nostalgic.

Near the end of the evening, he thinks about going over to the Gryffindor table to find Neville, Ron, and Hermione. But he's in Slytherin now, so he doesn't know how they'll react, and after another moment of contemplation, he decides against it. Not much can embarrass him anymore, but he'd still rather not be put on the spot if the Golden Trio rejects his overture of friendship. It won't help his reputation in Slytherin either if he ends up making a spectacle of himself like that. There's plenty of time tomorrow to see how they'll feel about maintaining ties with a Slytherin without too big of an audience watching, and if they're against it, then, well, it's not as if Hadrian hasn't been living as a recluse over the better part of the past year anyway. He sees no problem carrying on exactly as he has.

Fate sent him here against his explicit permission but she sure as shit can't make him dance.

-0-0-0-

2.

Hadrian ends up shuffled into a dorm room with five very familiar Slytherins - Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott. He gets the remaining bed that's presumably been empty since the others' first year, and a very pointed silence coalesces at his back as he starts unpacking his clothes into his wardrobe.

He ignores it. Instead, he absently begins a count of how long it will take for someone - he's betting Draco - to put their foot in their mouth first. He casts a glance at the floor-to-ceiling window next to his nightstand; like the Gryffindor dorms, the room is circular so everyone has a view to the outside, but here, instead of winds and open skies, it's lake water that shimmers against the glass, with the shadows of passing aquatic life flickering by. It's not bad, just different; the ambience of it is almost soothing.

Someone clears their throat behind him. Hadrian hangs up his winter cloak before moving on to his books. They each get a desk too, complete with a mini bookcase, which the Gryffindor dorms don't have. They have to do their homework on their beds or in the common room. How unfair. But at least Hadrian gets to benefit from it now.

Someone clears their throat again, louder this time. Hadrian smothers a twist of a smirk and bends over his trunk again to fish out his towels and toiletries. His more personal belongings can remain inside, although he'll have to ward everything to the nines anyway.

A displeased noise that comes out gilded with that distinctly familiar Dudley-esque whine of a child who's been spoiled since birth and has never known hardship reaches his ears, and then finally-

"Are you deaf, Evans?!" Draco demands, and oh, look at that, Hadrian wins the bet.

He straightens and turns, idly fiddling with a packet of quills as his gaze falls on the blond standing puffed up and bristling by the bed opposite Hadrian's on the other side of the dorm. He looks him over, looks at Crabbe and Goyle bracketing him with twin expressions of oafish scorn, looks at Zabini standing a ways away, watching the whole room with a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes, looks at Nott who doesn't look at anyone at all.

His attention returns to Draco, considering him for a moment longer before asking mildly, "Did you say something?"

Draco's cheeks flush pink even as he draws himself up and snaps, "You should at least have enough manners to introduce yourself!" His face narrows into a sneer, and Hadrian can almost predict his next words. "But I suppose even that might be too difficult for a mudblood to learn."

For a second, Hadrian wonders if he should tell him he's a halfblood. Then again, it doesn't really matter, and also some people consider halfbloods to be mudbloods too. And now that he thinks about it, the person he is in this world might actually be a muggleborn. But he was homeschooled so at least one of his fictional parents had to have known magic, right? Then again, they could've just been related to a witch or wizard but were muggles themselves. Who knows. Certainly not him since Fate couldn't be bothered to inform him.

"Evans, are you listening to me?!"

Hadrian blinks out of his thoughts. "Yes, I'm listening, what is it?"

Draco glares. His features are so… pointy at this age that the expression doesn't really carry the impact he's probably going for, but Hadrian figures it would be unnecessarily mean to mention it, so he doesn't. Instead, he quickly reviews everything Draco has said, and there wasn't actually a question anywhere in there, as far as Hadrian can tell, but maybe Draco really does want an introduction. Seems like a waste of breath though.

"Is there a point to introducing myself?" He asks. "Everybody heard my name at the Sorting. You even just used it so it's not like you don't know."

Draco splutters as if that wasn't what he expected Hadrian to say. He recovers after a moment and opts to glower harder instead, as if that would hide the way the pink in his cheeks is slowly turning red. Poor bastard. That's what you get when you have a pale complexion and fluster easily.

"Are you actually a mudblood then?" He demands contemptuously.

Hadrian honestly doesn't know, but he can't say that, so he volleys back, "Does Slytherin accept muggleborns?"

He knows they take halfbloods, but he can't remember any muggleborns in Slytherin, although if there are any, he doubts they would be willing to broadcast it, even if it means inventing a magical parent in their family tree.

"Of course not!" Draco refutes, sounding scandalized.

Hadrian can't tell if that's actually true, or if that's just Draco's own belief, but it does make things easier. "Then…" He shrugs. "If you already know, why are you asking?"

A beat of silence passes, then two. The red deepens in Draco's face as he hisses dramatically, "Are you mocking me?"

Hadrian suppresses a sigh. He probably is being too flippant for someone as high-strung as Draco, but it's still a far sight from mockery. He can definitely do better if he wants to taunt someone. Had his world's Draco been this easily riled up? They hadn't even really gotten into any exchange of insults yet. "I wouldn't say I'm-"

He stops.

Across the room, Draco has pulled out his wand, and when he realizes that Hadrian's broken off mid-sentence, the flush recedes from his face, and a triumphant smirk instantly takes its place instead.

"Since you've been sorted into Slytherin," Draco announces, raising his wand with a ridiculously showy flourish that makes Hadrian twitch with the desire to correct his posture. "You should know your place. Mouthing off to your betters is a good way to get cursed around here, especially when you're in the presence of someone like me." He sneers down his nose even as his chin tips up, all peacock proud. "My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Even the likes of your kind should've heard of my family." He looks smug, as if a mere surname can protect him from anything when it comes down to it. "You'll be staying here for the next four years, Evans, and I guarantee you'll have a miserable time of it if you get on my bad side. But today's your first day at Hogwarts, so I can be generous. If you apologize, I'll let you go just this once."

An expectant hush falls as Draco finishes his little speech. Hadrian doesn't say anything right away, still turning over the packet of quills in his hands, still waiting. When nothing happens after a good five seconds tick by, and the silence gradually becomes strained, Hadrian finally nods at Draco's wand, "So are you going to use that or not?"

The stunned look of outrage on Draco's face is gold.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Evans!" Draco snarls, jabbing out with his wand. "Oscausi!"

Hadrian has time to arch an eyebrow at the choice of a pseudo-silencing charm before he's flipping a quill into the fingers of his left hand. A swipe of his thumb leaves a chain of runes glittering along its shaft, and then he brings it up, catches the oncoming spell with the tip, and swats it aside with a flick of his wrist, all in one fluid motion. His right hand doesn't stay still either as his wand slides neatly into his palm, and a single wordless modified Expelliarmus darts out and attaches itself to Draco's wand.

The white light of the Mouth-Sealing Charm is sent soaring across the room, shattering against the door in a shower of harmless sparks, and in the heavy silence that follows, Hadrian smiles.

He thinks it's a very bland smile, if he does say so himself. At the very least, he's careful to not look too intimidating or too unhinged, the way he can sometimes get, if some of his dead friends were to be believed, back during the war. Nevertheless, it still makes Draco blanch white, makes Crabbe and Goyle shrink back, makes Zabini lean further back into a convenient shadow and Nott go utterly still from where he's sitting on his bed.

Hadrian glances down at the remains of his writing utensil, most of the barbs now burnt black. It was a regular quill after all, not exactly made to withstand so much magic. He looks back up, at Draco who has a white-knuckled grip on his wand, and with his own wand, he gives the other's a tug, just enough to make Draco's eyes go wide with something like panic, but not enough to actually disarm him and - considering the sheer amount of honed intent in the charm that even Draco can undoubtedly sense - most likely bend the wand's allegiance.

Hadrian holds it for a moment longer, and then lets go. Draco staggers back a step, jerking his wand down and reflexively pressing it into his chest as if he's trying to protect it, or maybe assure himself that it still belongs to him.

Hadrian tucks his wand back up his sleeve before stooping down to pick up the rest of the quills he'd dropped. The burnt one goes in the bin by his desk.

Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves. So Hadrian does.

"That took you almost five seconds," He begins almost conversationally as he opens a drawer to stash his remaining quills away. "From when you decided to fire that spell to actually firing it. And that's not even counting all the time you wasted saying the stuff before that, after you already took out your wand. It's stupid. When you draw with the intent to harm, you shouldn't give any warning at all. And the spell itself was slow. You should work on that."

He pauses, and there's still no response, which he supposes makes sense. He doubts anybody here wants to listen to him preach. He should just wrap things up since the plan is moving along so neatly.

"Anyway, this is pretty unfortunate," He switches gears and smiles again, as fit-for-public-polite as he knows how to be. It doesn't seem to make anyone feel better, but he also doesn't feel like he was that heavy-handed earlier, was he? Ah well, can't change anything now, and it's still in line with what he wants so it doesn't matter.

"I wasn't really expecting to make any friends since I know the average Slytherin's views on blood isn't exactly in my favour," He continues in light tones. "But I was hoping that we could at least remain on civil terms and get along as schoolmates, if only because we'll be living together for the rest of our time at Hogwarts. Since that doesn't seem to be possible anymore though, how about we just go with the simplest solution?"

Hadrian surveys the room and smiles some more. "You ignore me and I’ll ignore you. You attack me and I'll retaliate. An eye for an eye, so to speak. Everybody just needs to mind their own business, and there won't be any problems. That's fair enough, don't you think?"

His gaze settles once more on Draco. "Since you're the only one who's said anything so far, I'll assume you speak for everyone in this dorm. Draco Malfoy, right? So then, do we understand each other now?"

Across from him, Draco shivers imperceptibly like a rabbit caught at the wrong end of a predator's line of sight, but he also swallows and nods and gingerly puts his wand away. It looks like it costs him, but - at least for now - he seems both too shocked and too afraid to try anything else.

"Great!" Hadrian says cheerfully before cocking his head as a thought occurs to him. "Oh, right, one more thing."

He lets his smile fall away. Lets his expression smooth over into marble. And then he lets his magic flare, lets the pressure of it roll across the room like the black merciless depths of a storm-tossed ocean, lets it eclipse them all like death come to call, and then he brings it crashing down, not most of it, not even half, because he hasn't forgotten that these are children, that they're still young, and they can learn, they can be better, and Hadrian doesn't actually want to traumatize them permanently.

But he also remembers Draco - his world's Draco - telling him once, in a fit of aggravated exasperation during one of those times when they'd devolved into insulting each other's House traits yet again because they still hadn't understood what made the other tick, but they had also reached a point in their friendship where they'd started trying to, and kept trying.

"Slytherins respect power," Draco had said, not for the first time, but then he'd also added, for the first time, and haltingly as if he hadn't known why he'd had to explain it at all, "How else are you going to know they're worth your time? Or I guess worth befriending, in your Gryffindor terms."

"You don't decide whether or not to make friends based on how powerful someone is."

"Slytherins don't have friends. I only said friend because you're a Gryffindor and you don't understand anything else."

"Fine, you don't decide whether or not to associate with every single person you come across in your life based on how powerful they are either."

"Why not?"

"Why would you??"

"How else would you know they're strong enough to stand with you? Or competent enough to protect themselves? Power is a good starting line. If they're powerful enough, then they won't be afraid to face your enemies with you, and you can trust them to be capable of keeping themselves safe without having to keep an eye on them every minute of the day. Only brainless Gryffindors prefer doing things like throwing themselves in the line of fire and dying dramatically for each other and calling that a win. Let me tell you something, Potter - it's not a victory when you're forced to suffer a loss. You haven't won anything if you're not around to enjoy the aftermath. So the best allies must be ones who are powerful enough to not only achieve their goals but also survive them."

"…"

"Well, I will grudgingly admit that I didn't put quite that much thought into it when I was younger, but who did? …It's what I believe now though. Did I finally get it through your thick skull this time, Potter?"

After that particular conversation, Hadrian had understood a little better, even if he hadn't entirely agreed with it all. But he hadn't forgotten a single word, and Draco was right— as they are, these kids definitely aren't thinking that deeply, but Hadrian thinks that the core of it at least is the same. Slytherins respect power. And he has power in spades, so at the very least, he can make them respect him.

Of course, if that also happens to make them afraid of him, then, well, he was never aiming to be their friend or even ally anyway. So long as they leave him alone, it's fine.

He brings his magic to bear, allows the weight of it to fall and fall and fall, and he watches dispassionately as Draco goes grey, as Crabbe and Goyle's knees buckle, as Zabini flinches back like he wants to melt into the walls, as Nott curls into himself and may or may not have stopped breathing.

Hadrian catches Draco's eye, and doesn't let him look away. "I have no betters. Do I make myself clear?"

He'd spent half his life being beaten down by the Dursleys, told over and over that he was worth nothing, that he didn’t deserve food or clothes or kindness, that he was a waste of space and better off dead. He'd spent a good chunk of his Hogwarts career obliviously dancing to Dumbledore's tune, and then some more of it knowingly dancing to it because what else could he do with a target on his back. He'd spent over twenty years shackled to Voldemort, to his parents' legacy, to a war that had loved him a whole lot more than he'd ever loved it. And he'd been Fate's everything since before he'd ever even been born.

Some days, he wonders if he even knows what freedom is anymore. Or if he's ever known at all.

But one thing he is sure of is that he will never passively tolerate anyone controlling what he can or cannot do ever again.

Draco whimpers something like agreement, like deference, like surrender, and- that's enough. Hadrian reels it all back, all his magic hidden away again, and in the dizzying wake of its abrupt disappearance, Draco collapses, barely catching himself and his dignity with the edge of his bed. Crabbe and Goyle do crash to the ground, while Zabini has to steady himself against his nightstand, and Nott sways like he might faint.

Too much, Hadrian thinks distantly, and tries to feel bad about it because he really hadn't meant to go that far, but his lines in the sand have also long since blurred away beneath a tide of blood and corpses.

Mostly, he just feels tired, and it has nothing to do with his displays of magic tonight.

He breathes. Turns. Grabs a towel and his underwear and pyjamas and pretends everything's fine. It is fine, now. He's gotten what he wanted. "It's getting late. I'll shower first. Won't be long."

And then he's exiting stage right, straight into the bathroom, and it's a relief to close the door behind him.

Of course, that sentiment is one that's shared by probably every single person in the room.

-0-0-0-

3.

Theo is awake before anyone else the next morning. Or at least he thinks he is because he usually is. But everybody's curtains are drawn, and after last night, he doubts anyone was able to sleep right away, if at all, with the exception of their new roommate.

Hadrian Evans. Great Merlin, where had this person even come from? Even just the memory of his magic - vast and endless and utterly uncompromising - pressing down on them like the sky had fallen on their heads, makes his hands want to shake all over again. For a long, suspended, suffocating moment that could've lasted an eternity, Theo could've sworn he was going to die last night. And the most terrifying thing is that he is absolutely certain that Evans hadn't even been trying that hard.

Evans had radiated enough raw power to force all of them to their knees if he'd really wanted to. But he'd held back. He'd only given them a glimpse, just enough to warn them off. The rest of his magic had been out of reach, but present. It was there, reined in and waiting, but the shape of it and the depth of it had felt… unfathomable, as if it had no limits.

And that doesn't even account for the spellwork he had done. Theo had recognized the Disarming Charm, but last he checked, the average Expelliarmus only deprived a wizard of their wand. A more powerful one might send the target flying and even knock them out, but he's never heard of one that can… threaten to disarm your opponent at your leisure and - if Theo wasn't mistaken - force the wand to forsake its owner. Everybody knows that that's always a possibility in a real duel; if you win and take your opponent's wand, then that wand might not work for its owner anymore. But most of the time, you have to mean it, you have to set out with the intent to do it, the buildup of magic in the duel itself gives that intent a foundation, and there has to be an actual possibly life-threatening conflict of interest between the parties too, a real enmity that even last night - however excessive the exchange - shouldn't have qualified. Squabbles between students just don't count. If it did, with the Disarming Charm being taught in school, there would be a lot more students in need of new wands. The only way Theo can rationalize it happening anyway is that Evans must've been strong enough to compel the wand itself to leave its owner.

Pity he hadn't gone through with it in the end. Evans is powerful, but he's also… Theo is hesitant to call him soft, but if it had been Malfoy, if it had been Blaise or even himself or pretty much any other Slytherin, they would've done it. He's unsure of why Evans hadn't.

And then there had been the thing with the quill. Theo can't even explain that, and he'd mulled it over for half the night. He has the… incidental fortune of occupying the bed closest to Evans', so as soon as Evans had ducked into the bathroom last night, and the others had been distracted with pulling themselves together and possibly trying not to wet themselves, Theo had chanced a swift peek into Evans' wastebasket.

It really had looked just like any other regular quill, one that'd been burnt completely black and missing most of its barbs, but it had been a quill. He'd been tempted to open Evans' desk drawer to check the other quills, but - with Evans' ultimatum still ringing in his ears - he hadn't been that suicidal, so he'd refrained. But from what he could recall, the pack it had come from had looked just like the mass-produced writing utensils one could find in any stationery shop in Diagon Alley.

Whatever he'd done though, he had made it look like child's play. A quill and a Disarming Charm, so fast that Theo could've blinked and missed it. Could someone like that really have remained in obscurity all this time? Evans had apparently been homeschooled up until now, and they haven't even attended their first class yet, but by anyone's definition, after last night, he can't claim to be anything less than a prodigy.

It's… unbelievable. And not even because of any of the blood purity ideals that Malfoy likes to preach about. Theo doesn't think much of muggleborns or halfbloods, but he also doesn't think much of most purebloods, so he's fairly certain it's not high society prejudices that's driving his disbelief. It's just… He's never met anyone - not even his father, and Merlin knows Theo's been afraid of him for as long as he can remember - as effortlessly powerful as Evans had shown himself to be, and he doesn't understand how nobody has heard even a whisper of a rumour of this boy before he'd arrived at Hogwarts.

Someone like him shouldn't exist. Or perhaps there has been one, and that had been how the Dark Lord had made so many people bow at his feet or cower in their homes, but Theo had never met him in person, and so all he has is Evans' example to draw from. And not a single witch or wizard whom Theo's ever met could compare.

Has Evans just been hiding himself? Maybe his family hid him before they deemed him ready to face the rest of the world, and he's certainly proven that he can hide it when he wants to. But what kind of family can bring up this kind of wizard? Evans is only fourteen. None of them had thought him anything special before he'd revealed exactly how wrong they were. And he probably wouldn't have done even that much if Malfoy hadn't immediately taken a go at him, always so obsessed with making sure everyone knows he sits at the top of the food chain.

Well, he certainly doesn't anymore, and if Theo hadn't been caught up in the confrontation last night just like everyone else, he would've been tempted to applaud the spectacle of Malfoy being taken down a peg or ten. Before Evans' arrival, Theo was the one Malfoy liked to take jabs at every few days, and it was only partly because he'd had a halfblood mother. The Notts could've been said to be respectably rich once upon a time, but after the war had ended, with his father's political clout being almost nonexistent and most of their extended relatives either dead or in Azkaban, they'd been easy pickings for the Aurors. His father had escaped prison time with the Imperius excuse and some bribes, but that hadn't prevented multiple raids on their home and a hefty list of fines that had left their vaults near-depleted. And what little fortune they have left is reserved almost entirely for Theo's father's alchemy obsession that's more often focused on illegal research topics than not, as well as his black market dealings, although neither of those at least is widely known, or who knows if they would even have their ancestral manor left after the Aurors were done with them?

Malfoy loved reminding him of almost every one of those things as often as he could, and the most absurd thing is that - more than being born from a halfblood mother or poverty or loss of prestige - Theo's pretty sure Malfoy's biggest reason for disliking Theo is because Theo had refused to follow him around like Crabbe and Goyle back in first year.

So here they are now, and after three years, Theo had more or less become inured, not to mention it wasn't as if Malfoy only bullied him, or even bullied him the most - nobody could top that list while Potter and Weasley were around to fight for first place on it - but it had still been annoying and stressful because Theo was the only one who had to share a dorm with him. Considering the Malfoys' standing in society however, all he could ever do was stay silent and bear with it.

Admittedly, he'd been a little happy when Evans had been sorted into Slytherin, because between Theo and an unknown halfblood-at-best with no allies and no significant family background to speak of, the perfect prey in every way, Malfoy would definitely enjoy targeting the latter more, and even if the blond ponce still came after Theo, it would at least take some of the pressure off of him.

Now… well. That will still probably pick back up sooner or later, but Theo resents it less when he thinks about how it will take at least a few weeks before Malfoy will be able to strut around again after last night's humiliation. And also…

He thinks again of last night, of how Evans had basically smacked Malfoy down like he was nothing more than an unruly upstart getting above himself, and of that quiet oath too - I have no betters - and it hadn't even been pride or arrogance or superiority, only stone-cold certain fact.

He thinks of the fear he'd felt, but behind that, beneath that, more than that, there had also been nothing less than a breathless, heady, wondrous sense of reverence that had settled itself behind his ribcage, in his lungs, in the sudden hungry swell of curiosity that he'd just barely managed to lock behind his teeth, and it had only grown stronger after a night of fitful sleep.

He wants to see that magic again. He wants to know what else Evans can do.

And most importantly, he wants to know if he can do it too.

-0-

Ten minutes later, Theo hears Evans pull his bed curtains back. Very cautiously, he twitches his own curtains open half an inch to watch Evans get up, stretching languidly and scrubbing a hand through his messy black hair before gathering up his toiletries and a change of clothes. Like this, he looks completely normal, nothing at all like someone who could flatten all five of his roommates with a thoughtless flex of his magic. Even his eyes are just green now, no longer glowing like the light of a Killing Curse.

Of course, then Evans waves a hand at his window curtains, which obediently sweep open in response, and… yes, why not? Wandless magic seems par for the course for Evans, even if Theo has only ever heard of a handful of seventh-years capable of some very basic wandless spells if they concentrate hard enough.

Evans leaves for the bathroom as if casual uses of wandless magic is an everyday occurrence for him, and only after the door has closed does Theo let himself relax.

Evans had never even glanced over, but somehow, Theo thinks the other boy had known he was being watched anyway. But he'd said nothing, hadn't even given any indication that he'd noticed, let alone minded. Theo still isn't sure why he'd let Malfoy off so easily yesterday - because on hindsight, when it came down to it, all Evans had really done was scare them and scare Malfoy most of all; despite the verbal abuse and even the Dark charm Malfoy had shot at him, Evans hadn't actually hurt any of them in return - and Theo doesn't get it but maybe part of it is just because Evans doesn't take offence easily.

It seems unwise to Theo to not at least dole out some injuries as a reminder when that offence had been as insolent as Malfoy's, but perhaps Evans has his own measure of such things. Besides, Malfoy's known to say worse. Theo's looking forward to what happens if Malfoy forgets himself and says something even more loathsome. It's not impossible. Malfoy has been unchallenged since he came to Hogwarts. He's used to saying and doing whatever he wants, even to the upper years and those outside his own House. Most people ignore him when they can and indulge him when they can't, or otherwise manage or placate him with their own methods, but the one thing no one has ever done is tell him no, tell him to stop and make it stick. Potter and Weasley tend to give as good as they get, what with how short their tempers are, but they're louder and more obvious about it, so they get caught more often, which just makes them even angrier, so it never actually feels like they win, even when Malfoy doesn't either. Certainly, no amount of lectures or point loss has managed to deflate his ego.

But now there's Hadrian Evans. Theo doesn't need a second demonstration to know that Malfoy is outclassed in every way, but funnily enough, Malfoy himself might need it.

Theo eyes the bathroom door for a moment longer before finally getting up himself. He's barely set his feet on the rug before Blaise - in the bed on Theo's other side - also whips open his curtains, looking far more alert than he ever has this early in the morning.

For several seconds, they stare at each other in silence. And then - because he isn't sure if the other three boys in the room are awake yet - Theo pitches his voice even lower than usual and says, "He said Malfoy spoke for us."

Blaise blinks twice, and then something like distaste curves up at one corner of his mouth. "I heard."

Theo nods. They're on the same page then. Neither of them is particularly keen on this opinion that Evans has regrettably formed, Theo because of obvious reasons, and Blaise because he's Blaise.

Blaise has always been strange. He's the type who gets along with everyone and gets along with no one. You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone - biased Gryffindors aside - who would say a bad word about him, but they'd probably have to think a while if you asked them to describe something of personal significance about him too. It's not that he's average - he's never failed a class, and he's especially good at Potions - but for all that he can carry a conversation in a way that makes everyone feel comfortable and included, and he could probably talk rings around a politician without making them feel stupid, he also never lets anyone close enough to actually get to know him. He's approachable, but only when he wants you to approach him. He's generous with his smiles, but sometimes, it feels a little like he's laughing at you. He might say something condescending or spiteful to you one day, but he has the kind of charisma that makes you forget that the very next. People might call him friend and invite him over for a chat or a game of chess, but most don't make any attempts to go beyond that. And if you know what to look for, as Theo has learned to do, you would realize - Blaise views the world like it's one big boring joke, and his estimation of most of the people in it is probably somewhere around the level of dancing clowns.

Theo doesn't mind. The two of them aren't friends either. They're also not enemies though, and occasionally, they can be allies, but only when Blaise feels like it. Sometimes, the other boy will distract Malfoy from messing up Theo's potion in class or launching yet another diatribe on all of Theo's deficiencies, but Theo will never ask him to because he has nothing to repay Blaise with.

It works for them. Blaise does what Blaise wants, and even Malfoy can't control him. Theo is secretly envious of that— with the Zabinis' seat of power in Italy, it means they don't have that much clout in Britain, and yet nobody messes with Blaise, not even the few who don't buy into Blaise's charm or simply hate him because he's a Slytherin. Not even Malfoy messes with him, and even Theo can't tell if it's Malfoy's self-preservation instincts kicking in to ensure that he isn't about to go insulting someone with a black widow mother like Blaise's, or if Malfoy genuinely hasn't noticed that Blaise doesn't respect him at all no matter how pleasant his words can be. Honestly, when it comes to Malfoy, there's a decent chance of either option being true.

With all that in mind though, it's not a surprise that Blaise isn't pleased with being slotted in as one of Malfoy's lackeys, especially by someone as impressive - or, as Blaise might put it, entertaining - as Hadrian Evans has swiftly proved himself to be.

"It's fine," Blaise says next, rolling out of bed to get ready for the day. He's already regained his typical lazy slouch, as if he hadn't been just as terrified as the rest of them last night. His eyes slide to the bathroom, then away, unreadable but more focused than Theo's ever seen them. "We live in the same dorm, and we'll attend at least most of the same classes. He'll see soon enough that we don't share the same opinions as Malfoy."

Theo watches him dig into his wardrobe. "And then?"

"Then?" Blaise tips a more familiar look of knowing amusement at him. "Then you do what you want, and I'll do what I want, and at the very least, we'll have the good sense to not throw ourselves straight onto a hippogriff's talons like dear Draco."

Theo smothers a snort and rises to his feet. Neither he nor Blaise take Care of Magical Creatures, but everybody had heard of Malfoy's idiocy last year. The phrase "my father will hear about this!" had reached a record high by winter's end. Not much had come of it, not when Hagrid had had the likes of James Potter and Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore championing him. Even Lucius Malfoy would - and had, more than once over the years - find it difficult to contend with the British wizarding world's vaunted war heroes when they join forces. In the end, Hagrid could continue teaching so long as he did it alongside a second professor hired by the school, and even the hippogriff got to live. Malfoy had not been happy, and he'd made sure everybody knew it too, but at least he'd also whined less about it once Slytherin House had learned to snigger about it where he wouldn't hear.

But 'throwing oneself onto a hippogriff's talons' had become rather popular vernacular ever since, subtle enough that even Malfoy couldn't call anyone out on using it without embarrassing himself, but funny to everyone who understood, and nobody could even say who'd started the phrase. Theo's money would be on Blaise though.

The bathroom is spelled so that nobody outside can hear anything when the door is shut, but they can hear the lock click open just fine, and almost in tandem, he and Blaise both immerse themselves in picking out their outfits for the day as if it's a task that requires every last bit of their attention.

Evans walks out. True to his word, he ignores them completely, neither greeting them nor sparing them a glance as he moves back to his section of the dorm. Theo watches him out of the corner of his eye as the boy folds his pyjamas away before proceeding to pack his bag. He catches a glimpse of an Ancient Runes textbook, and his mind abruptly flashes back to the quill. But… that can't be right.

Evans shuts his bag, pulls on his robes, and toes on his shoes. Like this, there's something vaguely familiar about him that Theo can't place right away, and the thought is gone again as Evans slings his bag over his shoulder and strides for the door.

He still doesn't look at any of them, and he's gone from the room a moment later. They might as well have been empty air.

Theo's fingers tighten around the shirt he's holding. Somehow, he-

-doesn't like it.

-0-

Malfoy gets up two minutes after Evans is gone, moving around with an exaggeratedly unaffected sort of poise that makes Theo want to roll his eyes. At least the blond doesn't try to make conversation until Crabbe and Goyle wake up as well.

Evans aside, Theo is the first out of the room, as per usual, although this time, Blaise accompanies him up to the common room and out of the Dungeon. It takes no time at all to arrive at the Great Hall, and this early, most of the four House tables are still empty of students, although more and more are gradually drifting in in groups of threes and fours.

Unlike the other Houses who like cramming into whatever space they see, Slytherins are more political about it. The end seats are left to the outcasts or first-years who don't know better yet, while the midway point of the table is typically reserved for the most influential students, such as those with the best grades or the largest range of social connections or the strongest family background, or some combination of the three. And everybody else arranges themselves between the two extremes accordingly. The only time that changes - from what Theo has heard - is when someone is so magically powerful that they can overwhelm everyone else. Then it doesn't matter what grades or connections or background they have because magic is respected most of all, although they would usually have some qualifications in those other areas. But either way, they would be given reigning place of pride in the middle with their chosen followers around them, and everybody else would sit where they're told to sit, regardless of their accomplishments.

Someone like that hasn't come along in fifty years though, not since the Dark Lord was still at Hogwarts.

So it's jarring to see Evans seated at the very end, furthest away from the High Table, with a book open in front of him and a steaming mug in one hand, but Theo supposes it shouldn't be. He's newly transferred in, and a halfblood besides, so he probably doesn't know about the traditional seating arrangement, and since it's still just the second day of school, it's not as if anybody else outside their dorm knows that Evans is anything but the unfortunate fourth-year with a muggle surname sorted into Slytherin, so he really can be considered an outcast.

Theo exchanges a look with Blaise before tentatively taking a seat at their usual spot a few feet away from the halfway point of the table. It doesn't feel right to… go over Evans' head like this, but it's not like they can really do anything about it at the moment. Theo in particular is technically sitting above his station, but his family is still one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, no matter how far it's fallen, and he gets decent grades in almost every class. He's also on friendly terms with Blaise, and the fact that he shares a dorm with Malfoy is a double-edged sword. Malfoy has the status to sit near the middle ever since he was a first-year, and it wouldn't look very good for him if he's seen completely spurning a Nott in his generation. So Theo is largely left alone so long as he looks like he's nominally part of Malfoy's group during mealtimes.

Theo spends the next five minutes sneaking sidelong glances down the table. Blaise does the same, and neither of them is obvious about it so nobody comes up to ask them any questions. Other Slytherins begin filing in, and more than one wrinkles their nose or sneers when they pass Evans, as if they've smelled something repulsive.

Theo has to make an effort not to wince every time it happens. Blaise watches with a shallow smirk hitched across his face and something cold and callous and thoroughly amused in his eyes.

By the time Malfoy - with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him - sits down across from them, about half the table is full, plates of breakfast have started appearing, and Evans still hasn't looked up from his reading.

Malfoy - much less subtle - shoots something sulky and resentful with just a dash of fear down the table and mutters, "Doesn't even know how to sit properly."

Theo really does roll his eyes this time, although he makes sure to do it down at his scone. Before anyone can say anything else though, Evans unexpectedly straightens, his attention finally lifting from his book. Malfoy immediately stiffens as well like he thinks Evans had heard him from all the way down the table, which Theo wouldn't put past Evans's ability but also doesn't think that Evans thinks that Malfoy is worth that effort to eavesdrop on.

Evans looks around, but not at any of the Slytherins. He cranes his head over one shoulder, seems to catch sight of whatever he's looking for, and gets up, shutting his book and tossing it back in his bag. Then he's making his way across the Hall, past the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws, straight over to the Gryffindor table that's only partially filled at the moment but is also hosting the Golden Trio, who had just come down for breakfast.

 Evans stops a few feet away, and Longbottom, Weasley, and Granger turn to face him. What Theo can see of their expressions indicate that they're surprised and a little wary, but they also seem like they know each other. They converse about something, Weasley makes some exaggerated hand gestures, Granger smacks him, and then Evans says something else that makes the Gryffindors burst into laughter, startled but bright.

And then Evans moves forward and-

-sits down.

At the Gryffindor table.

Longbottom and Granger are smiling, and even Weasley - with his hatred for everything Slytherin - seems fine with it, going back to plating more food for himself while passing some sausages over to Evans.

In Theo's peripheral, Malfoy's face has lost so much colour that he could pass for a ghost. Theo can't tell if he's just that offended or if he's actually managed to comprehend the fact that he's already alienated possibly the most magically powerful student at Hogwarts from Slytherin House, to the point where that student doesn't even want to eat at the same table as them, and classes haven't even started yet.

Theo can't tell, nor does he care, but if he'd ever needed any more reasons to despise Draco Malfoy, this would be it.

He averts his gaze from Evans, even if the mere thought of him preferring a bunch of Gryffindors - and those Gryffindors at that; the only ones worse would be Potter's lot - over his own House is… grating. But staring isn't going to win Theo any favours and might just tick Evans off. Besides, there are plenty of others who have noticed a Slytherin sitting with Gryffindors, and they're staring enough for ten of him.

He starts on his breakfast. School has just begun. There's plenty more time in the future to observe Hadrian Evans.

-0-0-0-

4.

Within the space of a week, Theo is cautiously pleased to find that he shares all nine classes with Evans. The core subjects are mandatory of course, but in addition to Ancient Runes, Evans also takes Arithmancy, both of which Theo is also studying, and after three weeks, he gets a slightly more detailed picture of what Evans is capable of.

In class, Evans doesn't stand out, or at least not in a way most people would notice. He doesn't take the initiative to answer questions posed by the teachers, and his spells and potions aren't particularly dazzling when they're assigned practical classwork.

But every time a professor calls on him, Evans always answers correctly. Every time they have to practice a new spell, Evans doesn't clamour to be the first to show off, and he isn't the one who produces it with the most eye-catching burst of magic, but when he's asked to show his progress, he always does it exactly the way the teacher demonstrated it at the beginning of class. Even in Potions, all he does is work discreetly in the back corner on the Slytherin side of the room. He never finishes early, but he also never finishes late, never failing to turn in a textbook-perfect potion ten minutes before class ends, and a couple times, Theo catches Snape watching Evans with an inscrutable expression after the boy quietly hands in yet another flawless potion.

After three weeks, Theo can conclude that while Evans doesn't deliberately dumb himself down, and in fact is performing spectacularly across the board, he does it in such a reserved, inconspicuous manner that even most of the professors probably aren't going to notice until they've graded a good few months' worth of homework and tests.

He does it for every subject. Every single one, except Ancient Runes, and Theo is convinced that that's less because Evans didn't try, and more that… well, some brilliance just can't be hidden.

In the third week, when Babbling hands back their first assignment - Acceptables and Poors all around of course; some days, Theo isn't sure if he wants to strangle Babbling or himself, just to put himself out of the misery that is attempting to understand anything their Runes professor says - she holds Evans back at the end of class, and half the students snicker like they think he's in trouble or did so badly that even Babbling can't stand it, and it's the best joke they've ever seen. But two days later, some papers that Evans has left out on his desk while he's off doing something else, probably with his Gryffindor buddies, catch Theo's eye while he's on his way to his own desk. More specifically, the symbol of the Department of Magical Education stamped on them catches Theo's eye, and after some very hasty and very undignified neck-straining and squinting from a prudent five feet away, he more or less understands.

Babbling hadn't held Evans back because he was doing badly. Babbling had held him back because he was doing so good he would be sitting his Ancient Runes O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams on the twenty-third of October.

Three minutes after that revelation, Theo's still sitting somewhat dazed in his chair when Malfoy returns, Crabbe and Goyle in tow. The blond also spots the papers on Evans' desk and - after suffering day after day of, in Malfoy's increasingly belligerent opinion, being disgraced by Evans due to all the time he was spending with Gryffindors, and even three of the ones Malfoy hates most - practically lights up with a malicious sort of glee at the opportunity to get a little revenge.

He seems to have already forgotten that first night's lesson, and it hasn't even been a month yet. Sometimes, Theo is honestly baffled by Malfoy's Sorting into Slytherin. What ambition is there in a boy whose solution to everything in life is to fall back on his father and surname and family money? What cunning is there to speak of when he so often acts without even considering the option of leaving himself a way out, just in case his taunts and schemes backfire on him one day?

Or perhaps the real mystery is how he's managed to go this long without anyone telling him that the world won't always bend to his demands.

"O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams?" Malfoy says loudly as he wanders over to read the papers. He scoffs. "No matter how much magic he has, there's no way that's possible. He's just a fourth-year. And a halfblood! I bet he paid Babbling to sign him up for them. Everybody knows she's not all there so Evans wouldn't even have to pay her a lot to persuade her."

Theo flicks a glance at Blaise, who'd brought up the rear, a few seconds behind Malfoy, and had entered on near-inaudible footsteps in time to witness this latest snowballing disaster. The taller boy's lip curls, and his next words come out in such a nonchalant drawl that it takes a moment for Malfoy to register the bite of them, "Why would he do that though? He's not you."

Malfoy flushes an unflattering shade of red. "Zabini! That's not funny!"

Blaise's insults are always taken as jokes. Theo thinks that's the only way Malfoy can weather them, because he doesn't truly dare to cross Blaise, so even if he does know better, he still has to feign ignorance.

"It can't be possible," Malfoy repeats, turning back to the papers. "Otherwise, why hasn't he said anything about it? If it were me, I'd let everyone know! Obviously, he knows he'll fail, so he doesn't dare to spread it around."

Theo tries to wrap his mind around that logic, fails, and gives it up as a bad job.

"Then, why is he taking them?" Crabbe suddenly pipes up, blinking with a befuddled air in Malfoy's direction.

Malfoy rolls his eyes. "Obviously, Crabbe, it's to impress the Boy Who Lived. You've seen how Evans is constantly fawning over Longbottom." And there's the jealousy leaking into his voice even as it strengthens as if he's gaining confidence in his conjecture the longer he speaks. "He's still just a vulgar halfblood with subpar upbringing after all. He needs political connections if he wants to make anything of himself in our world. And Longbottom's a soft touch, and an idiot besides at everything that isn't digging in the dirt. Just trying to take the exams is probably enough to make him think Evans is a genius."

He takes another step forward, almost hovering over the desk now, childish spite tarnishing his features. "Let's see what the rest of Slytherin thinks of this. We are in the same House so Evans should look for support from real purebloods. I'll help him out."

Malfoy reaches out, and Theo goes still, staring, avid and unblinking.

(Greedy.)

Hadrian Evans does not disappoint him.

Malfoy's hand lands on the papers, and it's as if a miniature explosion takes place. There's no warning as the desk ignites with enough interlocked, interwoven, bloody intricate runes to send anyone reeling. It blankets the entire desk in layers of circles and lines and eye-watering spirals, before even those disappear in a blaze of brilliant silver light that pulses once before bursting outward and knocking Malfoy clean off his feet.

Malfoy screams as he's sent flying across the room in a tangle of flailing limbs and flapping robes. Coincidentally - or not? - he lands on his bed in a graceless upside-down heap, the bag he's still wearing smacks him in the face, and the momentum tumbles him straight over the far side of his bed and onto the floor with a final muffled thump that cuts Malfoy's shriek to a yelp.

The light disappears, along with the runes. The room goes eerily quiet, and for a long moment, nobody moves.

It's Blaise who reacts first.

He laughs.

It's enough to snap Malfoy out of his stupor. The blond scrambles to right himself, pushing to his feet, fury and humiliation writ large across his face as he opens his mouth to shout, "Shut up, Zabini! Wait until my father hears about this! Evans will regret-"

There's a clatter. The door opens.

Malfoy shuts up so fast Theo wouldn't be surprised if he bit his tongue.

Evans steps inside, and then stops. He looks around, looks at his desk, looks at a still dishevelled and increasingly pallid Malfoy, and then he shuts the door behind him and heaves a very deep sigh.

"Seriously?" He asks in rhetorical tones. "I just went to borrow a library book. I couldn't have been gone for more than thirty minutes."

Nobody says anything. Evans sighs again before striding over to his desk. He raises a hand and combs his fingers through the air— or perhaps something only he could see, and that's proven correct as a runic array shimmers into existence, swirling together before reshaping itself into-

-a memory.

Specifically, it's a replay of everything Malfoy had said and done as soon as he'd gotten within three feet of Evans' belongings, complete with sound and colour. It's basically a pensieve without the pensieve or the removal of memories to supply it.

Theo wants so badly that his teeth ache with the leashed desire to ask a million questions immediately.

Patience, he reminds himself.

"Hm," Evans says once the memory's run its course, and the runes wisp away once more. Theo is both surprised and not when the other boy proceeds to pull out his chair, sit down, and dig out his library book, clearly intent to continue his work.

Behind him, Malfoy seethes, and before he can think better of it, or he simply doesn't think, he barks out, "Do you think you can treat me this way, Evans? Do you know who my father is? When I tell him about this-"

"Tell him then," Evans interjects, leaning back to slant a cool look at Malfoy. "Tell him you tried to steal my things, and my wards tossed you onto your bed, and the only thing it really bruised was your ego. Or you can lie and make up something that would make you more of a victim, and big bad mudblood Hadrian Evans bullied you terribly. What's the worst that could happen? Expulsion?" He huffs a laugh, and as far as Theo can tell, the thread of mirth that laces the sound is astonishingly sincere. "Malfoy, I don't actually care. I don't need Hogwarts."

He really doesn't. Worse comes to worst, which other school would be daft enough to not scoop him up if they see what he can do with runes? And that's not even getting into everything else he can do. Any school would accept him in a heartbeat and then laugh themselves to tears if Lucius Malfoy actually managed to get him ejected from Britain's sphere of influence on some trumped up charges just because his son went crying to him. Besides, since Evans had been previously homeschooled, he could always just return to that as well.

Malfoy opens his mouth, then closes it, and he does that a couple times, eyes wide in his face like he's never met anyone who has stonewalled him this way, who has challenged his authority so directly, more than once, and yet remains utterly unintimidated and untouchable.

Evidently, he never has.

Evans regards him for a few seconds more before sighing once more. "I thought I was clear enough that first night, but apparently not. When I say 'attack', I don't just mean with a wand. All my things are off-limits unless I say otherwise, so if I were you, I would keep my hands to myself. You don't want to know what my wards will do to you if they sense intentions worse than just petty theft. I hope you won't forget again."

He holds Malfoy's faltering gaze for a moment longer before turning back to his books and papers. Malfoy stumbles back a step as if he's been physically released, and he looks like he wants to pitch a temper tantrum but also doesn't dare. In the end, he storms out of the room without even straightening his robes or smoothing back his hair, and nobody tries to stop him or go after him, not even Crabbe or Goyle, who've both retreated to their beds, shoulders hunched, almost bowed, angled almost in Evans' direction.

Evans is already poring over his library book though, quill in one hand, inkwell set out, fresh parchment beside it. It's clear he's done interacting with the lot of them.

Theo almost lets it go, as he has every other time he wants to speak to Evans, to ask him questions, to know. He's already biting his tongue and swallowing down the words and opening his bag to fish out his homework.

Except-

It's been three weeks. Theo can be patient when he has to be, but more and more, it's… starting to feel like he doesn't have to be. He's had an entire childhood's worth of practice at dissecting emotions, at looking at a person's face and words and actions and taking all of them into account to figure out how they really feel, if they're angry at him or upset with him, if they're about to lash out even when they're smiling, or if there's still time to appease them even if they look like they're about to go for their wand.

Evans is harder to read than most, but at the very least, Theo can tell that he doesn't get angry often. In fact, there's only ever been that one time, that first night, and even for most of that incident, Evans had only acted to secure his own safety in their dorm once it became clear that Malfoy wasn't going to leave him alone otherwise. None of it had been driven by rage, not even when he'd nearly drowned them in the undertow of his magic over that particular handful of words Malfoy had jeered at him. And ever since then, Evans hasn't done anything except go about his business while ignoring theirs. That went for the rest of Slytherin too, and even some students in other Houses who don't like the fact that he's a Slytherin. Sometimes, they make snide remarks, usually behind his back, sometimes within his hearing range, and to a man, every student in their House has openly shunned him since he went to sit with the Golden Trio that first breakfast, but Evans has never given them a second glance, or really even a first glance, not out of anger or embarrassment or distress, and certainly not out of any desire for them to accept him, which just seems to offend them even more. But Evans is simply… indifferent to it all.

 Most importantly, as much as Theo has been able to conclude, Evans isn't prone to violence. He always seems calm and easygoing when he's with the Golden Trio, and quiet the rest of the time. And from the very beginning, he's never done anything to harm any fellow Slytherins, not even Malfoy. Even his wards seem to have some kind of function worked into them that would rate the level of threat first and only respond with the same degree of damage.

Actually, not the same— if Malfoy had been caught taking another Slytherin's documents without permission, important or not, it wouldn't be too much even if they cursed his hands in return. They probably wouldn't, because it's Malfoy, and people are used to being more lenient with him, but normally, even Malfoy wouldn't do something that gauche anyway. No matter how much they've spoiled him, his parents have at least taught him pureblood etiquette. He's never even tried to rifle through Theo's belongings.

 Admittedly, Theo had committed a slight faux pas as well when his curiosity had prompted him to read those Ministry forms, even if they were laid out on Evans' desk - unintentionally seeing them in passing was fine but the polite thing to do would've been to keep walking - but at least he hadn't been stupid enough to get too close, let alone put a single finger on them. Malfoy really only has his own poor impulse control to blame for going too far yet again, and Theo has every right to judge him for it.

 Although since it was Evans, Malfoy had probably categorized him as someone who doesn't deserve a pureblood's courtesy.

Even then though, Evans hadn't retaliated with anything more than the ward equivalent of a watered down Knockback Jinx, which is basically a common prank amongst rowdier students. Malfoy's pride had - once again - been hurt, but nothing else, even when it would've been Evans' right. And he hadn't gotten angry this time either.

Of course, Theo isn't foolish enough to think Evans isn't capable of violence when he wants to be. If he's pushed far enough, Theo is certain that the other boy could and would inflict some significant damage that would at least end with a visit to the Hospital Wing. Perhaps it was his magic, the relentless weight of it that said it wouldn't hesitate to crush them if they proved themselves a real threat. Or perhaps it was Evans himself, who looks at Malfoy after each stunt like he's putting up with a recalcitrant child that he has to go easy on because said child is too young to know better, except the detachment in his gaze also says that he's weighing Malfoy's age on a scale and waiting for the day his youth will no longer be able to compensate for his actions.

Frankly, Theo hopes that day will come soon. But that's his pettiness talking, and Malfoy in general is none of his concern. What Theo really wants is to learn all those things for himself. Well, not all, he's more than self-aware enough to know he's nowhere near as powerful as Evans, but some of those things - the spellwork, the runes - surely those things can be taught to others even if they don't have incredible amounts of magic? Even if it's slow-going and difficult, Theo isn't afraid to work for it.

So long as he learns even just a little of what Evans knows - and he clearly knows so much, knows the things that can actually be useful in real life - then perhaps, one day, maybe even before he graduates Hogwarts… escaping his father won't be a fool's hope anymore. And if there's a chance that he can do that, then no matter how exorbitant the price Evans names, Theo would be willing to pay it, even if it takes him the rest of his life to honour the debt.

But nothing's going to happen if they're not even on speaking terms. It's been three weeks. Already three weeks. Only three weeks. Maybe it really is still too soon, but at the very least, Theo doesn't think Evans will do anything worse than say no.

 At his back, he can feel Blaise's eyes on him, but he doesn't turn around.

 "Is that-" His voice doesn't crack, thankfully, but it comes out croakier than normal, giving away his nervousness. He bites back the urge to hex himself and tries again. "Is that taught by the time we graduate?"

 Evans… doesn't react, doesn't even look up. For several tense and increasingly awkward seconds, Theo thinks maybe the other boy will just continue ignoring him, or maybe he even thinks Theo is speaking to one of the others, not him.

 But then he writes something down and flips a page of his book, and then he raises his head and shifts away from his desk to face Theo.

 It's a little daunting, to suddenly have that piercing bright green regard aimed straight at him, but there's also no hostility that Theo can see, and that settles some of his nerves.

 Evans looks at him, then frowns, then asks in return, blunt, but amazingly, willingly enough, "You mean the wards?"

 Theo nods carefully, making sure he doesn't look too eager or too demanding. Masters of their trades are always rightfully reticent about their knowledge and skills to anyone who isn't their own mentor or apprentice, unless they're a teacher. Evans may not be a master signed and sealed and authorized to practice, but nobody who can write the exams at fourteen can be considered an amateur.

 Evans shrugs. "I haven't exactly flipped through the Ancient Runes syllabus of every year so I can't really say. If it continues at the same pace as third-year and fourth-year though, then probably not. You'd maybe get to the point of basic wards, but not much more than that. Compound wards like these-" He raps his knuckles against his own desk. "-put crudely, requires the use of runic coils to weave together multiple basic arrays, on multiple levels, in varying sequential order depending on how multifaceted you want the wards to be. It's not that difficult once you start getting some practice in, but from what I hear, you guys don't even begin practical work until after your O.W.L., which… I don't really get, but maybe Hogwarts is big on theoretical learning. But yeah, at that rate, I don't see how you could be constructing something like this by graduation."

 Theo's head is spinning. He didn't understand… anything in that summary except perhaps a general idea of "basic arrays". It's rare for him to feel so stupid.

 Evans is still watching him, and he doesn't seem impatient for their exchange to be over, or irritated that it's taking place at all. He looks like he's waiting for Theo to reply, so Theo hurries on to keep the conversation afloat.

 "So you didn't learn Runes following the Hogwarts curriculum when you were homeschooled," He surmises. "Does that mean the standards here fall short of the international schools?"

 It wouldn't be the first time. Britain's educational requirements have been growing more and more lenient for years. Correspondingly, their elective options have also been reduced to four due to budget cuts and lack of interest in anything harder than petting animals and making up death predictions. Every year, more second-years choose to sign up for Care and Divination than they do Arithmancy or Runes. It's one reason why the number of incoming students has been gradually declining and consists of more muggleborns than purebloods. Foreign schools are strict about accepting any children outside of their designated countries, but those in Great Britain and Ireland who want better for their kids and can afford the higher prices tend to prefer sending them to one international school or another instead of Hogwarts.

 But Evans shakes his head. "I wouldn't know that either. I didn't really follow any official curriculum when I was learning." He pauses a beat, like he's thinking about how much to reveal, or even why he's revealing anything, but then he seems to decide it doesn't much matter. "The person who taught me was a bit… unconventional about it. He was a very good teacher, but he wasn't actually a teacher with the degree and whatever else you need to be a Ministry-approved professor, so he didn't really care about following some checklist of what a student attending a magical school was supposed to learn. Plus he was kind of a genius at runes. Ward-cracking and disassembly in particular since that's what he majored in - he was a Curse-Breaker - but he was pretty good at almost everything else too, which meant he found the basic stuff pretty boring. So when he taught me, and he realized I didn't have any trouble getting the foundations down, and I could mostly keep up even when he skipped ahead to more advanced stuff, he basically ended up just jumping between the subjects he liked most, filled in any gaps along the way, and gave me free rein to research whatever I found interesting. And whatever topic I picked was the one he lectured on, or helped me look up if it was one of the few areas he didn't know much about."

 His expression turns wry, if only for a moment. "Apparently though, according to Babbling, that means there's nothing left for Hogwarts to teach me. But I don't know how I would compare to students in other schools."

 He finishes and falls silent. It's the most he's said since that first night, and it's clear as day that whoever this Curse-Breaker tutor was, Evans respects him a great deal, great enough to ramble on about him to a roomful of near-strangers, and considering what he'd had a hand in molding Evans into, he deserves every bit of that respect too.

 Theo envies it. He is oft a creature of envy, and it hollows him out a little more every time it rears its head, but he's resigned to it. He wonders why Hogwarts can't have a teacher like Evans' instead of the whimsical mess that is Babbling, who can never get through a single class without her train of thought wandering away like an untrained dog off its leash.

 "Then," Theo continues, carefully neutral, carefully watching for any signs of displeasure on Evans' face. "Once you pass your exams, will you simply have an extra study period slot? Or will you be required to attend another elective?"

 Evans blinks at him. "The first, I think. I might see if it's possible to take an owl-distance university course or something, but spare time in my day isn't bad either."

 "Then," Theo forges on, watching as Evans's mouth twists a little, like he knows that this is what Theo has been aiming for from the beginning. Theo can't tell if he disapproves though - he doesn't think so - and it's too late to divert his course anyway. "What do you think about tutoring?"

 Evans cocks an eyebrow. He doesn't say anything for several anxiety-inducing seconds, just scrutinizing Theo with a face blank enough to rival Snape's when he bothers to stop sneering. The quill in Evans' hand taps-taps-taps against his desk before the boy swings around in his chair completely to face Theo.

 "Tutoring," He repeats. "You want me to tutor you in Ancient Runes?"

 And at least he doesn't sound derisive, nor does he put any particular emphasis on any part of that question. It does make it harder for Theo to gauge how he should respond though.

 "Yes," He confirms, because straightforward seems to be what Evans prefers. He thinks, briefly, of including Blaise, but he doesn't actually know if Blaise would like tutoring as well, and even if he does, Blaise can ask for himself. Theo isn't that charitable, and Blaise might even take offense if he tries to be.

 "I can compensate you for your time," He adds, because he's poor by pureblood standards, but not so poor that he can't afford decent education, especially with the nest egg he's been secretly building on the side since he turned eight and realized his inheritance was only going to get smaller at the rate his father was drawing from it for his… extracurriculars. His seven years at Hogwarts at least have already been paid for, robes and supplies and even some pocket money included, because even Silas Nott isn't going to let his son go into public at even more of a disadvantage than he already is. So as long as Evans doesn't ask for a huge sum of money, or even if he does, and he's willing to take part of that payment in favours, then Theo should have enough from his own funds to cover the cost.

 Evans leans back in his seat and doesn't say anything about payment. Instead, he looks almost puzzled as he asks, "Why do you need tutoring though? Even if you want to learn stuff like this," He motions at his desk. "I wouldn't be able to even start teaching you how until you got at least the basics down, and that's what Hogwarts teaches, so is there any point in getting more of the same lessons from me?"

 For a moment, even Theo can't come up with a way to say 'yes, because Babbling can't teach worth a damn, and I don't actually know how I passed last year but I definitely won't this year with the way her lectures keep getting lost somewhere between class and Atlantis every bloody week' but in more polite terms, if only because Evans might not appreciate anyone badmouthing her since she's obviously the one vouching for Evans' qualifications in order to let him take his exams so early.

 Fortunately, Blaise has no such compunctions.

 "Have you seen the way Babbling teaches?" The other boy enquires in his usual lackadaisical tone, just aggrieved enough to sound invested, but mild enough to leech the provocation out of it. It also gives Blaise a foot in through the door, drawing Evans' attention to him without making it seem as if he's interrupting.

 Theo glances behind him at where Blaise is now lounging in his own desk chair, emptying his bag of textbooks and papers even as he glances over to meet Evans' gaze, and his expression has eased into an invitation to commiserate over Babbling's questionable teaching methods. All of it is designed to look casual and cordial, to keep this fragile first exchange lighthearted, if also full of a resigned sort of exasperation, funnelled together in order to lower Evans' guard.

 And it seems to work too, like it does with everyone Blaise turns his charms on. At the very least, the way Evans' mouth quirks in response looks reflexive enough to be genuine.

 "That's fair," Evans concedes, a wry sort of humour suffusing his voice. "She's not the best at… staying on topic."

 Theo has to suppress a snort, but something of it must show on his face anyway because Evans' eyes snap back to him, and a moment later, a quicksilver grin flits across the other's face, bright in a way that lights up his whole face, and perhaps Blaise will have to try harder after all because Theo realizes that this is what genuine looks like on Evans.

 "Okay, I get why you might want a tutor," Evans acknowledges. "But isn't there anyone better for that?"

 Theo blinks at him. "Better than someone who's ready to take his exams in a month?"

 Evans' eyebrows go up briefly, and something in his eyes sharpens. "No. Better than someone who's a halfblood orphan in Slytherin, stuck in a one-sided grudge-match with a pureblood brat who has all the maturity of a toddler and isn't going to be very happy if his friend starts hanging around the guy he wants to curse into the Hospital Wing."

 Orphan? is Theo's first thought, followed by, I wish Malfoy was around to hear that. But all of it is superseded by a defiance that bursts out of him before he can curb it, "We're not friends."

 Evans waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know, Slytherins don't have friends. What I mean is-"

 "No," Theo says, wincing internally at how he'd cut Evans off mid-sentence. "I mean, we aren't friends. Normally, we aren't even civil acquaintances most days."

 Evans eyes him for a long moment like he can hear all the things Theo isn't saying. Theo's pretty sure Evans doesn't know about his family's circumstances - How would he? Why would he even care to look it up? - but he seems to be able to glean at least the gist of it in a single glance because he seems to accept it easily enough, and the next thing he says is, "Alright, but that doesn't change the fact that he's still not going to be happy about it."

 "Good," Theo says, once again before he can stop himself, and with more relish than he should convey. Even if he's often thought that anything that made Malfoy unhappy was a good thing, he's certainly never expressed it out loud. He doesn't know what's come over him, only that there's something about the way Evans is watching him, patient and without judgement, that makes him… bolder than he normally would be.

 And since he's already opened his mouth, he might as well keep going.

 "So long as you're willing, I don't mind what other people might say," Theo says as firmly as he knows how to be. "I need to raise my grades for Ancient Runes before I take my OWLs next year or I'm never going to pass. I would appreciate any tutoring you can spare the time for." He hesitates, but only for a beat. "If you want, in addition to monetary compensation, I can also snub Malfoy at dinner somehow. And you would know it wouldn't just be some show we put on either. Malfoy doesn't have it in him to be humiliated in public, even as a stunt."

 It's far more outspoken and far more audacious than Theo is accustomed to being, and he can feel Blaise's eyes on him again. But he gets the impression that if he doesn't put his cards on the table - that he really does want to learn from Evans, that it's his main motivation, even if it isn't the only one - then Evans might think Theo is playing some kind of trick on him, possibly on Malfoy's orders, and that's the last thing Theo wants him to believe.

 Besides, this is also an opportunity. Theo had been resigned to living under Malfoy's temperamental rule for the duration of his Hogwarts career. It wasn't as if he wouldn't be doing more of the same as an adult, after all. Considering the difference in their social status, Theo would still have to bow his head, and jump when told to jump, and remain courteously - or at least forbearingly - deferential in front of Malfoy whenever they see each other. At least this more childish version at school is giving him plenty of practice for the future.

 But now, there is Hadrian Evans, whose existence no one had expected and no one thus far can control, who isn't afraid of Malfoy, whom Malfoy is afraid of instead, and Theo honestly can't see that changing. Of course, the real world is very different from some squabbles between teenagers, and Theo has only known Evans for less than a month. But… call it instinct. Even if one day the Malfoy family can really make it so that Evans can no longer live well in Britain, Theo gets the sense that the other boy would rather up and move to a different country than ever submit to anyone.

 People with inborn power like Evans won't bow. They don't know how to.

 And if Theo can get even a fraction of that protection that openly siding with Evans might earn him, then the choice is obvious. He's long known that he isn't powerful enough or ambitious enough or even brave enough to stand on his own. That in order to thrive, or even to simply live a satisfactory life, it would be best to choose someone's shadow to settle in. Preferably, that someone would be willing enough to leave Theo alone most of the time and wouldn't ask too much of him, but he already knows he wouldn't be able to get that from his father or Malfoy.

 Then, there's no point clinging to either of them. Before, there had been no other choices, and between his father and Malfoy, Malfoy was the better bet, though it wasn't as if the blond ponce could've gotten him out from under Silas Nott's thumb either. But at least being - loosely - affiliated with Malfoy would, in the future, offer Theo some protection from his father's obsessive tendencies. It wouldn't do for one of Malfoy's circle of acquaintances to disappear under mysterious circumstances after all.

 Now there's a new player on the field. Of course, Evans probably doesn't see himself as one, and wouldn't care even if he knew. But that doesn't change the fact that his shadow casts a long and looming line, and somehow, it feels more like a refuge than anyone else's Theo has ever come across. Evans might not be willing to protect him, if only because he would have to make himself known to do so, and if there's one thing Evans has shown over the past few weeks, it's that he much prefers staying in the background. But even if he isn't willing to protect Theo, at the very least, he can teach Theo how to protect himself. So, Theo might as well take his chances with Evans, and the first step in doing that is to make it very clear to all and sundry that he's throwing his lot in with the halfblood Slytherin transfer.

 He hadn't quite been prepared to go this far when he'd first decided to speak to Evans today, but doing things by half measures doesn't bode well for him either. Prevaricating or at least being vaguer about his intentions might leave him an extra hand to play, a way to retreat in case associating with Evans becomes too dangerous one day, but no one likes a fence-sitter.

 In Slytherin, every decision is a power play, whether it seems like it or not. An insignificant word or action might result in large consequences that aren't always obvious until the waves and ripples have settled. And Theo's never been much of a gambler, preferring safety over potential riches. But the things he can learn from Evans are too tempting to pass over. Put in plain terms, he's technically using Evans as a means to an end, which no one in Slytherin wouldn't approve of, but for a good chunk of this House, Evans' blood would definitely outweigh any usefulness he might have, especially since he hasn't publicly proven himself in any way at all. And the way he spends all his free time with Gryffindors hardly helps.

 Still, it's a risk Theo's willing to take. And now the Quaffle is in Evans' hands, and all that's left is to wait for his answer.

 Of course, if Evans says no, then Theo can only hope Blaise is feeling magnanimous today and won't go spreading this little story around. Then again, there's Crabbe and Goyle too, and they'll definitely tell Malfoy, so it will get out either way.

 Such is Slytherin, where the only shared secret you can trust to remain a secret is when all other parties are dead.

 In front of him, Evans only raises his eyebrows for a moment before amusement quirks one corner of his mouth. "Well you don't have to go that far."

 Theo can't tell if the other boy understands the implications of publicly cutting ties with Malfoy, but he's relieved to hear it anyway. He'd do it if it's a condition Evans sets, if only to alleviate any concerns Evans might have of being played, but it's not as if he wants to do it. He would happily see Malfoy humiliated any day of the week, but Theo is at heart an introverted person. Open confrontation of any kind will always make him uncomfortable.

 Evans studies him for a while longer as if weighing his sincerity. Eventually, he says, "I'm not opposed to tutoring. Actually, I'm already doing that for Hermione every Wednesday and Saturday. Adding one more doesn't make much of a difference. It's just that I don't love tutoring so much that I want to do it more than twice a week. So," He smiles, and this time, his expression is one of a sharp sort of curiosity. "If you want me to tutor you, then you'll have to be okay with Hermione. And I don't just mean tolerating her presence enough to sit at the same table as her. I mean if you say one bad word about her blood, I'll take that as an attack on me and react accordingly. Understand?"

 Theo blinks once, twice, digesting that ultimatum with something like disbelief because- "Is that all?" And then, because it couldn't possibly be that easy, he hastily tacks on, "How much would you like to be paid?"

 Evans blinks back at him, looking like he's re-evaluating Theo on the spot. Then he makes a dismissive gesture and says, "I'm not short on money. Also I don't make Hermione pay so it wouldn't be fair if I made you pay." He sits back with a finality that starts bringing an end to their conversation. "Wednesdays and Saturdays, 4-6pm in the library. I know we share all the same classes so that shouldn't be a problem for you. Showing up isn't mandatory, you can just come whenever you want, and I'll tutor you in whatever you need help with. My only condition is that you treat Hermione with basic respect. Of course," His mouth twists into a strange smile. "That goes for her too. And her friends if they happen to stop by."

 Theo has to suppress a grimace at that, but it's mostly out of reflexive distaste. Even if Weasley starts flinging insults, he's sure he's heard worse than anything a Gryffindor could come up with, and his tolerance is high, so it doesn't much matter whether Evans can prevent it or not. Actually, it's already pretty novel that he would try at all. This is by far the easiest and weirdest deal Theo has ever been offered, which only makes him that much more suspicious, but Evans also adds no other terms, so Theo is forced to conclude that this really is all Evans wants from him.

 The sheer unfairness of what each party is bringing to the table is jarring. Does Evans not understand what's happening here or is he seriously willing to offer up his time and knowledge on a silver platter at basically no cost?

 Part of Theo wants to ask again, to make sure Evans really doesn't want anything else, but since they've come to this point, even if Evans were to ask for something in the future, Theo would have no obligation to give it. It's admittedly somewhat uncomfortable, to receive so much in exchange for giving back so little when he wasn't even the one manipulating Evans towards this outcome, but at the same time, wouldn't he just be stupid if he keeps pushing the issue? Complaining about not having to spend any money or owe any favours seems rather counterproductive, and even though Theo is willing to pay for a chance like this, that doesn't mean he wants to if he doesn't have to. Of course, he supposes it isn't very honourable of him to not at least insist on some form of compensation, but that's why Theo isn't a Gryffindor.

 So then.

 "Very well, I agree to your terms," Theo says, letting himself relax a bit more when Evans' expression doesn't change. And because even a Slytherin should acknowledge genuine goodwill, he shoves past his own discomfort and manages, if a bit stiffly, "Thank you, Evans."

 Evans makes a face that's something left of embarrassed. "It's just tutoring, you don't have to be so formal. Besides, you're still the one who's going to have to put up with Malfoy pitching a fit once he finds out."

 Theo almost shrugs. That's not anything new. He might have to field some curses hurled his way once other Slytherins realize he's no longer under Malfoy's "protection" and is seen spending time with a halfblood, but it's not as if he has no way of protecting himself from most spells that a student can get away with using in public at Hogwarts. He already has a few family wards set up around his bed too, so Malfoy can't get to him while he's asleep, and the only time he spends in the Common Room is when he's crossing it to leave the Dungeon or return to his dorm, so his Housemates aren't likely to be able to corner him there either. So long as he's careful, he'll be fine.

 Blaise's voice cuts into his thoughts, speaking this time with the lightest touch of concern seeping out from behind a thin veil of indifference that would've fooled even Theo if Theo didn't know the way Blaise can change his approach like he's changing clothes depending on his assessment of the person he's talking to. "You sure you don't need to ask Granger first before letting a Slytherin join your tutoring sessions? She might not be too happy to have Theo there. And her friends definitely won't."

 Evans' attention shifts again, and as with Theo, his gaze is neither friendly nor hostile, but it's different all the same in a way Theo can't quite name. "Is that my problem?"

 The room is quiet for a beat.

 Evans smiles, careless, casual. "I'm the one doing the teaching. Who I teach should be up to me, shouldn't it?"

 Blaise stares, unblinking, hands finally gone still. "Aren't those Gryffindors your friends though?"

 "Sure," Evans agrees. "Still doesn't mean they get to tell me what to do just because they're biased against Slytherins." He shakes his head. "I doubt it'll be much of a problem though. Like you said, they're my friends, and aren't I a Slytherin too?"

 Nobody says what Theo is certain they're all thinking— that in many ways, Evans isn't anything like your average Slytherin.

 (And in others, Evans is the very epitome of one, but the Golden Trio probably doesn't know that, do they?)

 "Are you saying other Slytherins are welcome in your tutoring sessions then?" Blaise says next, and it's the most straightforward Theo has ever seen him, skipping at least three prevarications and five backhanded compliments that Theo could've sworn Blaise would normally include just because he doesn't know any other way to speak. Apparently not.

 Except Evans' response is to huff a breath that sounds like laughter, except not in any way they've heard before, not as amicable, and Theo sees Blaise's smile grow a little fixed.

 If they were in the business of distributing vices, then excessive hubris would undoubtedly go to Malfoy, but only because Blaise doesn't have the same reckless self-defeating habit of flaunting what he has everywhere and retaliating like a rabid lapdog the moment he feels slighted, the latter of which is helped along by the fact that he doesn't hold many people in high enough esteem for them to offend him. After all, you wouldn't get mad if a ghost or a goblin or even a house-elf - as unlikely as that is - is rude to you, would you? At most, you'd punish the latter and move along with your day. And for those who do register enough as people in Blaise's eyes, well, Blaise far prefers retaliating when the other party least expects it.

 It's the same now, in the way Blaise blinks twice rapidly but doesn't otherwise react. Of course, since this is Evans, he won't be able to retaliate later either, not with any kind of success, so it's doubly impressive that the other boy manages to keep his pride nailed down and tucked away.

 "You know," Evans says lazily, mirth or perhaps mockery gleaming in his eyes. "You could just ask. Take a leaf out of Theo's book; it wastes less time."

 Because even Blaise's straightforwardness needs to take a stroll or two around the block first, and apparently, Evans had caught onto that possibly since the first time Blaise had opened his mouth since this conversation began.

 Blaise's lips thin, but after a moment of no doubt weighing the pros and cons, he shrugs gracefully like it doesn't sting and asks, "Then, may I join your tutoring sessions, Evans? I would also appreciate some assistance with my Ancient Runes studies. Of course, I will abide by the terms you've set as well."

 Theo listens and wonders just how much self-control those three sentences took. Before today, he hadn't even known Blaise was capable of it, and the fact that he is, for this, actually says a lot more about his regard for Evans than Theo had realized even just a minute ago.

 At least Evans doesn't make it harder for Blaise than that.

 "Sure," The other boy acquiesces with the air of a predator sitting back on its haunches. "On your own head though."

 At this, a trace of a smirk - his real one, beatific in its cruelty, instead of his regular fit-for-public one - cuts across Blaise's face for the span of a heartbeat. "No problem."

 Evans levels another long look at him before shaking his head with another twist of a smile. "Okay then. We're all good now?" He looks from Blaise to Theo and even spares half a glance in Crabbe and Goyle's direction before nodding, satisfied. "Fantastic. Back to work for me."

 He spins back around to face his desk, reaching for his quill, and the rest of the day passes as usual, without another word traded between them, even when they all get up for dinner. Malfoy comes back shortly before that, stalking over to his section of the dorm with the mulish single-minded intensity of someone unwilling to even acknowledge Evans' existence, although that probably won't last once he finds out what Theo and Blaise have agreed to.

 Later, in private, Theo remarks to Blaise, "I didn't expect you to care so much about your Ancient Runes grades."

 Blaise slants an indecipherable look at him even as a shallow smile stretches the width of his mouth. "Who wouldn't care about their grades when someone's offering to help raise them for free?"

 It's a rhetorical question and answers approximately nothing, but Theo wasn't expecting anything of substance anyway.

 Besides, when it comes down to it, he supposes it's not so surprising that Blaise can also see which way the wind is blowing, hard enough to tell anyone with decent enough instincts that a major shift in power is imminent.

 And no one likes a fence-sitter.

 -0-0-0-

 5.

 Hadrian would like it to be known that he isn't quite sure how he's gotten to this point in his life.

 Well, that's a lie, he sort of knows, or at least he can pinpoint all the decisions that got him from Point A to Point B, but he supposes he just wasn't expecting a couple Slytherins whom he'd always assumed - even back in his original world - were just Malfoy's lackeys in school, to commit, and commit hard. They hadn't even participated in the war on either side, as far as he was aware— Nott had died relatively early on under mysterious circumstances, and Zabini had by all accounts returned to his home country. To Hadrian, they'd been little more than faces in the background that he'd never even exchanged five words with in total before coming to this world.

 But within the first week after they've asked to join his tutoring sessions, Nott and Zabini - Slytherin/Pureblood Rule Number Who-Knows-What: you can't use someone else's first name until you're invited to - make it really fucking obvious who they're… supporting? Have sided with? Because Slytherin is a nest of brewing factions and shifting alliances and political doublespeak and even a couple blood feuds, and this is precisely why Hadrian doesn't want anything to do with this House.

 Except apparently, agreeing to tutor Nott and Zabini means he's… joined the power struggle? Formed his own faction? Decided to vie for in-House supremacy and possible world domination? Who knows because Hadrian sure doesn't, and he's determined not to know, because surely if he just continues doing his own thing, it'll become clear sooner or later to all and sundry that he has no interest in fighting a bunch of schoolchildren over whatever they think he wants to fight for.

 It's just that he can't quite do that either, because not even three weeks after Nott and Zabini start joining him in the library every Wednesday and Saturday with a wary but accepting Hermione, something that translates to them moving their seats to sit with him in class and - when they can make it look natural, if still deliberate - walking with him in the hallways, the displeasure and animosity in Slytherin House reaches breaking point.

 It's not as if Hadrian hasn't already been the target of multiple hexes and curses from his own Housemates. He's a halfblood who hangs out with Gryffindors— it's to be expected. But so far, the spells have always been in the realm of reasonable, ones that might make him trip down the stairs or rip his bag or screw up his potion, and he's been able to block or avoid them all, so he'd figured it wasn't that big a deal. He'd put the fear of a Horntail in Malfoy early on because he has to live with the berk, and he doesn't much feel like returning after a long day of classes just to have to butt heads with him every single time. But he basically has no intersections with the rest of the House, so he just hasn't bothered paying attention to any of them.

 Then, perhaps rather suddenly, Nott and Zabini are there, not so much orbiting him as they do hover from afar. But they join his tutoring sessions, and they're serious about learning from him, listening earnestly and asking questions and even checking out the books he recommends they read if they have time. There are holes in even the most simple of their fundamental knowledge of Runes - Babbling, read a how-to book on teaching for Merlin's sake - so Hadrian has to more or less start from the ground up, as he had with Hermione, but both of them quickly prove themselves more than intelligent enough to keep up, and they're startling enthusiastic - by Slytherin standards - about everything he teaches them. Nott is more obvious - more ravenous - about it, but even Zabini - who likes to pretend he's only there for the novelty of it or something and therefore tends to play up a laidback sort of indifference - never fails to complete the optional exercises Hadrian writes up for them once a week.

 And outside of the tutoring sessions, it's like they've decided that being tutored by him means that he's now their new Malfoy or something. Not that Malfoy was their Malfoy before, if Hadrian had understood Nott correctly, but they'd at least acted like they were part of Malfoy's groupies. Now they've done a one-eighty, and it's not as if they follow him around all the time the way Crabbe and Goyle do with Malfoy, honestly if you don't count classroom and dorm room, they're not even around him half the time, especially Zabini, but when they are around, when they move their cauldrons next to his in Potions class despite working separately, when they go down to breakfast with him despite splitting off at the entrance, when they trail behind him back to the Slytherin Dungeon after a tutoring session, they're so damn conspicuous about it that they might as well be waving neon-bright signs above their heads.

 In contrast, they don't even sit next Malfoy during mealtimes anymore, much to the blond's increasing red-faced ire that vaguely resembles a Silenced teakettle on the brink of boiling over. But now they sit at the end of the Slytherin table, which Hadrian has gradually gathered that that's not a good thing, but he doesn't know how to fix it either, and neither Nott nor Zabini seems to mind.

 They also talk to him now, not often, not just in private, and not just about Runes, although that does still take up the majority of their conversation topics, if only because they don't know each other that well yet. But in their dorm or in class or in the library or in the halls, sometimes, Nott would say something completely normal, like whether or not he owns an owl or if he's noticed Snape's increasingly intent attention on him or if he's found the secret passageway connecting the Dungeons to the sixth floor yet because climbing six flights of moving stairs isn't what anyone would call a good time. Zabini on the other hand prefers sharing obscure gossip that even most of Slytherin isn't aware of, sordid little secrets like whose parent has a mistress (or three) on the side that will very likely cause an inheritance problem down the road, who killed a cousin over the summer due to jealousy but has done a decent enough job of covering it up as an accident because said cousin had been the heir apparent, and even who had to go to Pomfrey for an Abortion Charm just last week but will likely have to break her betrothal contract - and consequently have her magic bound, as per the terms of said contract - in the future anyway because there's no hiding the loss of her virginity from the olde family magicks no matter how frantically she searches for a way.

 To the former, Hadrian responds the way he would if Neville or Ron or Hermione were to ask him similar questions. To the latter, he says, "You have serious issues, Zabini."

 Nott never smiles, but his body language is a little less closed off and his eyes look a little less hunted with every random conversation they have. Zabini is almost always smiling, and in response to Hadrian's incredulity, he only laughs like it's the grandest joke he's ever heard.

 They grow on him, is the thing. One's probably abused at home, and the other is honestly half a psychopath already, and Hadrian shouldn't care but he's always had a bit of a soft spot for broken people, people who don't quite fit in no matter how well they fake it, people who remind him of himself. And the war he'd survived had only served to destroy what little compunctions he'd ever had about getting too close to dangerous things.

 So they grow on him, day by day, and half a month in, the other Slytherins apparently can't handle it anymore.

 Hadrian's just coming back from dinner. Nott and Zabini are with him, having joined him once he'd bid Neville, Ron, and Hermione goodnight. They're halfway across the common room when Hadrian catches movement in his peripheral, and he has half a second to decide what to do, to abort the reflex to go for his wand, to cancel the shield ward sparking at his fingertips, to pivot around on the spot and abruptly swing himself right into Nott's personal space, which means Nott immediately puts on the brakes, and - behind him - Zabini has to do the same.

 Hadrian senses more than feels the curse that grazes the back of his robes and splashes against the far wall between a pair of suspiciously empty armchairs in an area that's normally a popular hangout spot. There's no sound, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way it oozes a sickly viscous purple that puddles to the ground and eats straight through the carpet before finally evaporating into nothing.

 He doesn't turn his head, doesn't challenge anyone into a duel the way his hands are itching to do. Instead, even before the spell disappears, he's already asking, "Did you copy down the Potions assignment from today? I just remembered I forgot."

 In front of him, Nott's turned three shades whiter, and he's already pale-skinned to begin with, so he obviously recognizes the spell. Zabini clearly does as well if the way he's gone gargoyle-still is anything to go by.

 If they'd continued walking, that curse would've hit Nott right in the ribcage. His left ribcage.

 A beat of silence passes. Then Nott takes a breath and answers in a voice that doesn't waver but is even more inflectionless than usual. "Yes, I wrote it down. I can show you."

 "Cool, thanks, let's go."

 Nobody else speaks, nobody even moves, as Hadrian leads the way back to their dorm.

 Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle aren't back yet so they have the room to themselves. As soon as the door is shut, Nott almost slumps onto his bed, hands shaking. Zabini pulls out his chair to sit, a smile hooked at one corner of his mouth, but absolutely nothing about the rest of him says amusement.

 (Slytherins don't have friends, and Zabini doesn't seem to know how to have friends, but Nott's probably the closest to one that his disposition will ever allow.)

 Hadrian looks from Nott to Zabini and back, and then he asks, "Who was that boy? The one surrounded by that group by the fireplace."

 The one who'd fired the spell. Don't think just because a bunch of students were arranged in front of him that Hadrian had missed the way his arm had moved, the jab of a wand, the blossom of light at its tip before the curse had flown across the room. Did they think he was blind?

 Nott blinks up at him, features still pinched. It's Zabini who answers, soft as silk, "Malcolm Avery, seventh-year."

 Hadrian takes a moment to digest that, to press that face into his memory before filing it away for later. He focuses on his roommates again instead and presses on, "Has this sort of thing happened before?"

 Because even if they're spending time with him, Nott's an old pureblood name, isn't it? And Zabini is Zabini, and everybody's heard of his mother. Even if they're shunned a bit, jeered at a bit, even hexed a bit, any serious assaults should only be aimed at Hadrian, right?

 Well, apparently not. That curse earlier had been a much Darker cousin of the Bone-Vanishing Spell, a variation on the more public-friendly Bone-Breaking Curse. If Hadrian hadn't seen it coming, if he hadn't stopped Nott in time, that thing would've not only shattered the left half of Nott's ribcage but also stabbed the resulting fragments directly into the nearest organs before dissolving into the bloodstream as a lethal poison— in this case, it would've been the heart and a lung. Nott would've been dead in under a minute, drowning in his own blood in extreme pain, and it's a tossup if even Hadrian would've been able to save him.

 Zabini - unsurprisingly - shakes his head. For all that he doesn't have an old bloodline to rooted in Britain, he still has enough family clout to grant him a strong backing. And that's not counting his own means of protecting himself. Hadrian had actually gotten the feeling very early on, from the moment they'd had their first conversation, and he'd only been proven right as they'd gotten to know each other a little better— Zabini has all the best traits of a quintessential Slytherin. And thereby also all of the worst. Magic-wise, Hadrian can overpower him in a second, but that's why Zabini knows not to make an enemy of him, knows how to bend and stretch and profit while he's at it. He doesn't need anyone to protect him.

 Nott on the other hand doesn't reply right away, and when he does, it's an evasive, "Spells like that would be an instant expulsion from Hogwarts, especially coming from a Slytherin, and from a seventh-year, they'd go straight to Azkaban. There are portraits all over the school. I'm not stupid enough to wander into places where there aren't any."

 Hadrian aims a flat look at him. "That's not what I asked."

 Nott purses his lips and stares at his lap. Hadrian waits him out.

 "…They've tried cornering me," Nott finally admits, grudgingly, almost resentfully. "There's no avoiding a couple areas with no portraits. But they never used a curse this Dark before, and I've always been able to slip away."

 Hadrian swallows the first three things he wants to say, to shout, because at his core, he likes to think he has a long fuse, but when someone crosses his line in the sand, his temper has always been explosive and violent, which won't help here.

 Besides, hadn't he more or less told these two to handle the consequences of letting him tutor them on their own? Even if they weren't Slytherins and actually had the mind to reach out for help, they probably wouldn't have come to him after what he'd said, so he has no one to blame but himself and the fact that he'd underestimated just how deep some Slytherins' senseless hatred runs.

 So he breathes through his first instinct, his second, his third, and then he pushes off the desk he'd been leaning on in favour of pulling out parchment and ink and the appropriate books.

 "Alright, come here," He beckons, spreading everything out on his desk. "I'm gonna teach you a Fourfold Rebounder Ward so you can wear it on you from now on. The variation I'm thinking of has a chameleon element, so it'll be both strong enough to deflect a curse on the level of the one from earlier and also camouflage it when it's bounced back at whoever attacked you. It's based off of intent too, so it won't act up in a scuffle or a practice duel or something, the other person has to really want to harm you with deadly intent, so keep your guard up for other stuff, and honestly, this should just be for emergencies, you should still try to dodge it because it's not good to grow overly dependent on stuff like this. I'm confident the runes won't fail when I'm the one making it but your reflexes will get rusty if you get lazy. It's a bit- okay, a lot more difficult than anything you're learning right now, but I'll do most of the work, you just watch and provide the magic at the end, and once your foundation is a bit more stable and we can move ahead to more interesting things, I'll come back to this first so you'll be able to learn how to do this yourselves one day."

 A long silence follows. Hadrian looks up. Neither of his roommates has moved. "What's wrong?"

 Another few seconds tick by. It's Zabini who gets up first, an odd smile on his face, one that Hadrian's never seen before. But all he says is, "Nothing's wrong. I was just hoping if we waited a bit, Malfoy will get back in time to see what we're doing and finally keel over from high blood pressure."

 Hadrian snorts with laughter. "Get over here. If that really happened, we'd be the ones who'd have to waste time carrying him up to the Hospital Wing."

 Zabini's expression says that that wouldn't be his problem but he only smirks and saunters over to Hadrian's desk with his chair. When they both turn to look, Nott is already on his feet as well. He doesn't say anything, but he looks steadier, and he's watching Hadrian with a strange gleam in his eyes that makes them look almost feverish.

 They settle down around him, eager - by Slytherin standards - to learn in a way that reminds Hadrian exactly why he likes to teach.

 He gets to work, explaining each step even though he knows most of it is going over their heads. That's fine though; for now, these wards just need to protect them properly, and in the future, he'll teach them how to protect themselves.

 -0-

 Of course, things aren't over just like that, because Hadrian's temper is an explosive and violent beast, and the only things that's changed from when he was still a teenager is the fact that he's gotten a lot sneakier about it as an adult.

 They aren't friends. But Nott and Zabini are his roommates and his students and kids that he's starting to genuinely care about, and nobody gets to walk away scot-free after fucking with the people under Hadrian's care so long as he's still alive to do something about it.

 Malcolm Avery is seventeen anyway. That's an adult by any magical community's measure, which means Hadrian doesn't have to hold back.

 It takes a week. A week of slipping out after curfew and eavesdropping on conversations, of finding out what the seventh-year's next practical Potions class will be working on and scanning all of Avery's belongings to see what Dark spells he's been mucking about with, and finally of filching Avery's cauldron for an afternoon while he's in class and replacing it before he returns to his dorm.

 When it happens, Hadrian isn't even in school. Even if he were, it wouldn't matter because he'd made sure to time everything just right, and all the fourth-years - and most of the rest of the student body too - are already in the Great Hall waiting for lunch to be served. Seventh-year Potions is in the morning block, and Avery always goes overtime when there's a practical.

 Hadrian isn't even in school, sitting his Ancient Runes exams at the Ministry all day instead, but he certainly hears all about it when he gets back that evening.

 A few minutes before noon, a silver doe Patronus comes bounding up from the dungeons with an urgent summons for Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. Nobody hears what is said, but the three staff members rush off even as the food begins to appear, and nobody hears from them again until half an hour later when whispers start going around about Healers from St. Mungo's being called and one Malcolm Avery being carried out the front doors on a stretcher because his condition is too unstable to be transported through the Floo. The professors don't really tell them anything except that there was a Potions accident, but - as these things do because the rumour mill at Hogwarts is healthier than ever, and there'd still been a few other seventh-years in class with Avery at the time - everyone more or less knows what happened anyway by the time afternoon classes start. Potions is cancelled for the rest of the day, because no one else was injured but Snape was too busy furiously documenting what had happened after running multiple diagnostic spells over the remains of Avery's cauldron to teach. Also, he has to submit said documentation and a Pensieve memory to the Aurors investigating the accident, which doesn't exactly say great things about his mood, so nobody's unhappy about being able to give Potions a miss.

 Apparently, Avery had been using his cauldron to make other potions - banned potions - in his dorm room. His roommates had been willing enough to keep mum and even give him a hand, and the book he'd been learning from had been found in his trunk. Thankfully, he hadn't managed to make anything too terrible yet, and his failed attempts hadn't managed to kill anyone, but he also hadn't cleaned his cauldron properly, and so there'd been a mess of residue potion and Dark magic clinging to the metal. Coincidentally, it had ended up reacting quite badly to the potion that the seventh-years were to work on that day, and the end result was a magnificent explosion that Snape had barely managed to protect himself and the other students from in the nick of time. There'd been no helping Avery who'd been standing right next to the unholy concoction.

 In the aftermath, the explosion had caused bad enough burns to disfigure Avery, but time and Healers would fix most if not all of that. Far more serious had been the potion damage to his body— the liquid had seeped right through his skin and disintegrated the majority of his left ribcage, and then it had gone on to chew even further, straight into his heart and left lung, an insidious venom that had dissolved into his bloodstream and sent him into convulsions that had wrung scream after agonized scream out of him until Pomfrey had deemed it safe enough to knock him out, although even then, his body wouldn't stop seizing from the pain.

 He'd still been alive when he'd been rushed out of the castle. Word has it that he's still alive now in St. Mungo's, except the Healers have no idea how to even begin treating him. Mixing multiple failed attempts at Dark potions, most of which even Avery's own roommates couldn't list all the names of or in which order he'd made them, together with one N.E.W.T.-level potion but in an explosion that had caused the maximum amount of entropy in the magic imbued into it— Merlin himself wouldn't be able to fix it with just a wave of his wand.

 By dinnertime, everybody is talking about it, and the professors have given up trying to stop them.

 (In truth, the outcome probably wouldn't have been quite so serious if Hadrian hadn't added a spell to amplify the toxicity and volatility of the residue in the cauldron, as well as several looping single-use runes to hide the volcanic buildup and also bind the whole thing to Avery alone so that it wouldn't have hurt anyone else even if Snape hadn't reacted in time. Without Hadrian's interference, it would've still exploded sooner or later, but Snape might've seen the danger signs in time to evacuate everyone from the classroom, and even if he didn't, the effects of the potion on Avery probably wouldn't have been so terrible.

 But then, that wouldn't have been enough. After all, lessons like these should stick.

 Avery will live, but he sure won't enjoy it.)

 It's almost ten by the time Hadrian gets back to the Slytherin Dungeon. Snape drops him off at the entrance before sweeping off to his own office in a dramatic billow of irritably flapping robes. He'd been at the Ministry for half the day just to piece together what had happened for them, but as Hadrian had ensured, the Potions master had been cleared of any negligence in the matter. The potion had very obviously shown no signs of exploding - three other experts had verified - and students are expected to take care of their own cauldrons from third-year onwards without the professor having to do weekly checks. Snape had been released by dinnertime, but he'd apparently decided to simply eat in the Ministry cafeteria and return with his student and Babbling, so here they are.

 Except-

 Just before Snape makes to leave, he turns and pins Hadrian with a long appraising look, clinical and penetrating. Hadrian stares back serenely, and maybe the fact that his mind is a steel trap wrapped around a battlefield would be highly suspect to anyone looking in, but he also doesn't feel so much as a brush of Legilimency from Snape whatsoever. The professor really is just looking at him.

 It's a strange new world.

 In the end, Snape doesn't say anything before walking off, and Hadrian is left to blink after him before letting himself into the common room.

 Everything goes eerily silent the moment everyone realizes he's back. Even if he hadn't said anything, someone - let's be real, it's Malfoy - had spread the news of Hadrian taking his Ancient Runes exams early, so pretty much everyone had known where he'd gone today. It was never a secret though so Hadrian hadn't cared, except when he steps into the room, it's very obvious that everybody is focused on him, and just as obvious that nobody is willing to make eye-contact with him.

 The younger students should've already retired for the night. At least everybody still in the common room, studying or playing chess or chatting with each other like any standard evening, are fifth-years and up, so most of these students had probably known - or had been told after the fact - exactly what that curse would've done to Theo Nott that day, and exactly who had been the one to attack him.

 And everybody knows what had happened to Avery today. More specifically, they know that what had happened to him today had been an almost perfect mirror of what he'd wanted to do to Nott one week ago. Nobody here believes in coincidences, and there's only so many people who would've had the motivation to orchestrate the entire accident down to the smallest detail.

 Most of them have known Nott and Zabini for at least a few years. Perhaps they're not on speaking terms, but they'd still been Housemates for a while. Something like this isn't really Nott's style, and while it is Zabini's, neither of them has the ability.

 The only real unknown is Hadrian Evans, and if they still can't put the pieces together at this point, they might as well sell their brains.

 The area by the fireplace, normally always occupied by Avery's group at this time, is empty today. Avery's at St. Mungo's, his roommates are in overnight lockup at the Ministry, and any who aren't but were part of Avery's faction are probably hiding up in their rooms. Nobody else has taken their seats, not even the students who usually do when Avery hasn't claimed it for the day.

 Hadrian walks towards the doorway leading to the boys' dormitory, and no one stops him. It feels like the entire room is holding their breaths. Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves until Hadrian is out of earshot.

 The dorm is likewise very quiet when Hadrian enters. Malfoy's bed curtains are already drawn, as are Crabbe's and Goyle's, but Zabini's are open, and he's lazing against the headboard with a book in his hands while Nott is still at his desk doing homework.

 They both look up as soon as the door swings open. Zabini stays on his bed but Nott even stands up as Hadrian shuts the door behind him. His whole frame is tense with a restless sort of energy, and he's staring at Hadrian with shining eyes. They both are, although in different ways. Zabini looks equal parts ecstatic and hungry, while Nott just looks the kind of deeply confused and deeply grateful that makes Hadrian want to set fire to someone, preferably whoever stitched this very expression into Nott's range of emotions out of the pieces they'd torn from him.

 Nobody says anything right away. Hadrian squints at them as he makes his way to his own bed, feeling vaguely perturbed, because he hadn't truly expected them to not connect what happened to Avery back to him, but he hadn't thought they would be so fixated on it either. Maybe a roundabout tactful thank-you from Nott, an offer of a favour at most. But not… this, whatever this is.

 He laments the fact that these two aren't more stupid when it comes to this sort of thing. Ron would be oblivious. Hermione would be determinedly oblivious. Neville… would actually react a bit like Nott, Ginny would react a lot like Zabini, Luna wouldn't react at all but she'd be extra cuddly for a few days, and gods, Hadrian needs saner friends.

 Not that these two are friends of course.

 He manages to get through a shower, brush his teeth, and climb into a bed before Nott is suddenly at his side, eyes still shining with something Hadrian really doesn't want to put a name to. Thankfully, he doesn't burst into any heartfelt speeches that would probably embarrass everyone within hearing range. Not so thankfully, he honest-to-fucking-Merlin bows, all archaic and meaningful in every way Hadrian has never learned and so doesn't understand, but even he can sense the weight and deference behind every word as Nott murmurs, "All of mine is yours, until the end of days. I would be honoured if you would call me Theo."

 "Jesus fucking Christ," Hadrian mutters, because sometimes wizarding swears just don't have enough oomph to encompass the never-ending circus trainwreck that is his life. He scrubs a hand over his face, peeks at Nott - at Theo - who's still halfway bent over, and of course, it's just his luck that he has no idea how to respond in the proper pureblood way.

 He would've preferred the heartfelt speech.

 "I'm a halfblood, I don't know how to respond appropriately," He says bluntly because he doesn't know what else to do. But he also flicks a Silencing Ward at Malfoy's bed, then at Crabbe's and Goyle's as well because you can never be too careful, and then he leans over and hauls Theo upright and catches his gaze and holds it, "I'll call you Theo if you call me Hadrian. One day, you'll be strong enough to take care of your enemies on your own, and you won't need anyone else to do it for you if you don't want them to, but until then, if all of you is mine, then your enemies are too, so I'll deal with them if it turns out that they still haven't learned after today. That makes us allies from now on though, which means we're equals, and that means you never, ever bow to anyone again. Not me, and not anybody else either. Understand?"

 Theo stares again, wide-eyed and lost and so terribly young, and sometimes, Hadrian wonders what it says about just how messed up the world is when broken kids can be bought so easily.

 Finally, almost dazedly, Theo gives some semblance of a nod.

 "Hadrian," He says, and something about him straightens, grows steel, settles.

 "Hadrian," He repeats and dips his head, not a bow, but respectful all the same, and his eyes are still bright with that unnamed creature, but at least he looks at Hadrian head-on. "Thank you. Goodnight."

 Hadrian sighs and figures that this is about the best he's going to get tonight. Maybe it'll dial back to normal in a few days. "Goodnight, Theo."

 Theo smiles, tiny, crooked, a little awkward. It's the first one Hadrian has ever seen from him, and that at least he can't be upset about.

 They can finally go to sleep though. Theo returns to his own bed, Zabini is still watching them both from his bed like they're his new favourite show, and Hadrian resolutely pretends he doesn't see anything else as he takes down the Silencing Wards before drawing his curtains, rolling over, and promptly making a sincere attempt at smothering himself with a pillow.

 His life.

-0-0-0-

End Notes: Ok wow so this got hella long and I didn't really get to all the stuff anon wanted whoops. Theo just… wouldn't stop thinking lmao, and also this AU has the potential to get so big so I ended up cramming in worldbuilding wherever I could. So unfortunately all you get is sort of a starting snapshot of where this is going and how Hadrian is going to turn out and a shitload of Theo's character. I kind of wanted to do him and Blaise's POV but I could only fit Theo, and I feel like getting Blaise through Theo's POV actually added to his character just as much as a personal POV would've. Anyway, those two are basically blank slates in canon so ofc I would pick them to write lolol.

[possession1981-moving]

Can you believe I recently (well, over a month ago now definitely, but I'm lazy so let's ignore that) hit 5000 followers on this blog because I sure cannot. Either way, I did and I am soooo sososososoooo grateful for ever single person who follows me and who appreciates my dumb jokes (such as this perfectly on-brand, tacky, campy, ridiculous but beautifully made gif of Shinee) and who reblogs my gifs and edits, especially when you put very very sweet comments in the tags it's a joy to be able to have a space to share my little creations that may not really mean much to the outside world but they do to ME.

Anyways! As a token of my appreciation I have decided to do a little gif request event which will be open until I say it's not anymore tbh... No set time limit we'll just see how my stamina is I suppose. The request rules will be at the bottom of this post. However, first I want to give a quick shoutout to SOME of my most beloved mutuals who make scrolling on this stupid website so much better. (As you know, there's a cap on how many tags we can add to posts, so to those mutuals who may not be mentioned here know that I love you SOOOOOOO much still, and I kith u!)

@aintgonnadance 🖤 @awek-s 🖤 @baeseongyeob 🖤 @berryjaellie 🖤 @byunbaekhyunie 🖤 @catchmewjsn 🖤 @cheolmatez 🖤 @dokyeomini 🖤 @dongkwan 🖤 @duovxq 🖤 @exidtual 🖤 @filmopen 🖤 @flops 🖤 @gaykey 🖤 @glowinseong 🖤 @got7 🖤 @hoshifromkpop 🖤 @hozierbyrne 🖤 @hwangcha 🖤 @hwiyoungies 🖤 @hyunpic 🖤 @hyunseungs 🖤 @jeonwonwoo 🖤 @jikyu 🖤 @juyeonis 🖤 @kangyeosaang 🖤 @kyubins 🖤 @librapropaganda 🖤 @moonsua 🖤 @notyuta 🖤 @park-doha 🖤 @ryudaeng 🖤 @seonghwasblr 🖤 @shnryjn 🖤@smartrabbit 🖤 @smingi 🖤 @sodacreams 🖤 @stepmom 🖤 @sunmisbf 🖤 @sunwoonie 🖤 @taeminie 🖤 @taeminnomuyeppeo 🖤 @wantbytaemin 🖤 @yejiswife 🖤 @yirenz 🖤 @yoohyeontual 🖤 @yukuz 🖤 @yunkyoung 🖤 @yunwooz 🖤 @yutaslaugh

REQUEST EVENT RULES AND REGULATIONS I will be taking three kinds of requests for this event! Two are music video requests, and the third is a fun option if you want a surprise.

Full music video - this is exactly what it sounds like. You may request that I gif any kpop music video, however I reserve the right to choose not to gif it if it's an artist or group I don't want to gif (I won't list them, but it's a pretty standard group), or I can't find a file that lets me gif to the standard I want to keep.

Member music video - very similar to the former, you may request gifs of any single member of a group from a specific music video and I shall be at your command, although the same reservations as above apply. Since these are much faster to do than full mv sets, they are preferred over the latter.

My favourite x - this is the option if you want to venture outside of music videos, and it's here because my beloved Eri suggested it. You may request gifs of my favourite of whatever you want. Favourite hairstyle on x idol? Favourite era of x group? Favourite styling for x group? etc. etc. The same reservations as above apply, however. Don't ask me for my favourite beet member.

Okay, that's all I think! Please send asks via my ask box only, and please have some patience because well, I'm mentally ill. Requests are open for anyone who wants to send one, and I take them on anon as well. Once again, thank you soooooooo much for the 5k I love you all.

[askyaad]

Ask Yaad Intro post!

Hello, and welcome.

My name is Yaad. I am afraid I don't quite understand this device or the applications of using it yet, and I have been told I use emojis like someone's grandmother? That was so sweet of them to say. 🥺💕😂😺

That aside, please feel free to ask me anything. My knowledge is not unlimited, but I will do my best.

🕺🕺🪩👢😊😊😊👻😻😻😻

Oh I do like the heart eyed cat...

Ooc beyond this point

Howdy. I'm pretty chill, thought I would prefer to stick to short form if that is okay! I am not a minor, but I am not comfortable with NSFW asks, if you send any they will be ignored.

Anyways, ask the pancake anything.

I am also making a side blog for post canon/inhabiting Delgal Yaad under the name ResumingTime.

On second thought, I may just include both forms here. If you have a question for a specific vessel of Yaad, then just specify!

I do have some silly little headcanons that may pop up in the tags, like I cannot un-think that Yaad is the way he is because of some self imposed obligations to the people around him. I like to think he promised Delgal that he wouldn't resent Thistle, right before his grandfather left for the surface. Silly little things like that, things that don't matter much in the grand scheme of things.

My excuse for fitting both versions of Yaad in here is my oh so canon(/j) idea of a rare species of changeling mushroom that would allow Yaad to shift into the form of his original body for short periods of time-cinderella style I guess. It is just a funny concept to me.

Please use general common sense. No racism, slurs, ect.

Also! I cannot guarantee how active I can be everyday, (I have a lot to do, and a fic I am writing), but I will try and check in regularly. To think I almost made three of these.

Please be patient too, I have never done one of these. They just looked fun, so I wanted to try. If I get flow of responses in chains, or tags, or anything wrong- please just let me know! I will fix them gladly.

Edit: Please don't flirt with Yaad. I am not comfortable with that.

Lastly, this is a side blog, and so it has side blog limitations! I'll have to sign asks in anon.

This post is subject to change as it is needed.