#but then think of him as a blank page if paper that has yet to be dyed any colour

[oristian]

So how come we can tell that Elain wants azriel and is attracted to azriel but Eluciens claim they need Elain's POV to confirm she doesn't want Lucien??

Idk it's almost like thoughts and acts and verbal things she has said matter?? It's almost like... we don't need everyone and their mother's POV to tell very basic information??

Y'all acting like she is a complete black box just because we don't have her POV yet 😭😭

What if I said "oh we need Lucien's POV to tell he actual feels a bond and didn't orchestrate a fake mating bond to claim an Archeron sister after she got made?"

"But he wouldn't do that"

How am I supposed to know he wouldn't!! We don't have his POV either 🤪 he could be Koschei for all we know 🤷🏻‍♀️

And nobody better fucking bring up Feyre hating Rhys or Nesta kicking Cassian in the balls. Their words differed from their actions. They might've SAID they hated their love interests at the time, but their ACTIONS differed. Anyone who genuinely thought Feyre hated Rhys or Nesta hated Cassian is literally just lying atp because come on what do you mean you didn't pick up on that?? Nesta was willing to die for Cassian and Feyre was literally thinking Rhys was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Be so fr.

Elain's actions match her words. We don't need her POV to know that.

Good morning! This might be a long response, so hope you enjoy!

Elain Archeron is a book character. Books follow standards enacted by the stricture of narratives, and how stories are told overall—in short, the reader is being told something through a book. A story is told through settings, dialogue, characters, et cetera. While the reader may be able to create their own theories, pick up on literary devices, and generate predispositions, until the reader is fully informed by the intent of the author on page, it is speculation.

When people claim that we need Elain’s POV to understand how she is feeling towards Lucien, that is very much true. There is a plethora of reasons as to why she shifted her composure around him between ACOWAR and ACOSF. From asking if he is alright and inviting him to Velaris, to shrinking around him? Until we are in her inner monologue and seeing what she is seeing, the reader can only speculate. Is she now very horny for him, is the mating bond chafing when he’s around, did she have a vision of their future, is she wildly attracted to him, et cetera? The same way that people claim she is in love with Azriel is the same way we claim we need her POV—neither is true until Elain confirms it herself with her own thoughts, feelings, and words.

Now, I want to bring up “thoughts, actions and verbal things,” because, more often than not, it is misconstrued. The only instance where the reader might be swayed to believe that Elain feels anything for Azriel is the almost kiss in the bonus chapter. However, we only had Azriel’s POV. Compared to Wings and Embers bonus chapter with Nessian, the reader was lacking the female’s POV. With Nesta and Cassian, we read that both were feeling the pull towards each other in that chapter. In ACOSF, we were limited to just Azriel—why is that? As for the other lines of dialogue that are seemingly connected to Elriel, those are regarding Graysen. “I don’t want a male,” would also be applied to Azriel, no? “And that love would trump even a mating bond,” is about Graysen.

I have been asked before how I can confidently ship Elucien when Elain seemingly lost her “newfound boldness,” and, “shrunk in on herself,” when Lucien came during Solstice. While I do understand how some people can read that as a negative for the ship, I once again have to say that we do not know why either of those actions happened. There has been zero indication that Lucien is forcing himself on her, is bad for her, and/or is disrespecting her wishes, so why has Elain suddenly started acting like this? This is why we claim that we need her POV for all of these unanswered questions.

Essentially, Elain is a blank sheet of paper. Could she stay this newfound meek personality and live all her days in a small cottage with a garden, or will she revert back into her old personality and become the socialite that she once was? While the reader can understand some of her character, she is still more shifted towards the background and is lacking the substance that a fleshed out POV and aligned character development would offer to her. This is one of the reasons why so many people seemingly dislike her character, because she has not been able to explain her actions. This was similar to Nesta.

The example you brought up with Lucien and the bond needing clarification actually was solved very quickly in ACOMAF. When Feyre unleashed Helion’s spellcleaving magic and broke the bonds in Hybern, she would have broken any fake mating bond tied to Elain and Lucien. Feyre has also been inside of Lucien’s head while he was experiencing the tug of mating instincts. Elain has felt the tug of the bond and Lucien was able to experience her from the inside due to the bond. They both have experienced mating behavior towards each other. The reader has had a snippet of Lucien’s POV.

Feyre, Nesta and Elain are all similar in how they were reluctant to accept the bond at first—the only difference is that Elain is fully aware of the bond before she accepts it. Feyre and Nesta were stuffed into forced close proximity with both of their mates, which also differs from Elain, and her sisters also had access to their mates before they turned fae. Elain met Lucien the night she turned fae and had very little alone time with him. Feyre and Nesta both experienced firsthand the chaffing of the bond while being so close to their mates for so long, but Elain has not. Elain was in love and engaged to Graysen and was now suddenly tossed a fae male as her mate, while simultaneously losing her humanity? It is only reasonable that she would not be jumping for joy over this new revelation.

SJM is an author that uses similar patterns across her entire body of work. To say that we cannot compare how she wrote Feysand and Nessian to Elucien in the same series makes no sense to me. Now, I do believe that you have contradicted yourself in your paragraph regarding Feyre and Nesta. I agree, while they may have claimed that they wanted nothing to do with their mates, their actions showed the reader otherwise. Elain is similar with Lucien, however, she has not once said that she hated him, wanted him gone, wanted to reject the bond, et cetera. Anything she has said against wanting a fae male was because she wanted Graysen and to return to her mortal life. Her actions towards Lucien have included worriment for his safety, relief that he is alright, inviting him to Velaris, keeping all of his Solstice gifts, the half step, et cetera. Someone who planned on rejecting the bond with their mate would not have done any of the above.

If the reader does not need Elain’s POV, why would she need an entire book? If her thoughts, feelings, and actions are fully explained from another’s POV, why would she need to explain herself in her own inner monologue? She already has hobbies, friends, a lover, a home, joy, purpose, and family—what would be the point of her having a book?

I so hope I managed to answer your question. Have a good day!

[dudethatsmyundeaduncle]

DP X DC AU Danny & The Little Dead Girl

(title pending lol, Danny and Curare adventures pt 2!) Pt 1 here My AU art

__________________________________________

Monday comes, as it is won't to do, and Danny has to go to school which means the baby halfa has to come to school too.

" ok, so, one rule for today, big rule, you gotta be quiet in class. Uh-"

Danny pulls his phone out of his pocket as their bus hits a pot hole. Sitting right at the front means they catch the momentum first and he has to hold Curaré against his side lest she go flying into the aisle.

A couple voices grumble behind them at the jostling as Danny gets his text to speech open.

" Necessitas ser quieto en clase. ¿Entiendes?" The Google robot lady voice translates for him.

Curaré blinks at him from behind her little paper face mask and looks from the phone to him curiously.

This is the game they've been playing since last night, Danny says something in English robo lady repeats it in Spanish.

Danny doesn't know if Curaré understands how the phone speaks or even that it does but she's giving him her favorite little blank expression so he assumes she gets it. At least, she hasn't really disagreed or disobeyed anything he's asked of her yet so...not gonna look that gift horse in the mouth Danny boy!

..

School goes well, mostly.

They get through the metal detectors and bag checks at the front entrance just fine. The security guards barely glance at Curaré once they confirm she isn't hiding a Glock or something under her shirt. Which it's kinda sad to know gun control is a cross-dimensional American problem but it's on brand if nothing else Danny thinks.

They get to first period without stopping at Danny's locker and settle down in two desks by the back door. This is Danny's usual spot, well usual as of a month ago, it's mostly empty back here now but Danny used to have a seat partner.

(A seat partner who had a kind of shady tweaker vibe that Danny would have been worried about but that kid went home early one day and never came back so....it's Curaré's seat now.)

The little dead girl looks even littler sat in the desk-chair combo, she can barely see over the top. Danny stacks three dictionaries under her for a boost then he gets her set up with some pencils and paper and the single highlighter he found on the floor his first day here.

Curaré seems vaguely interested in his offerings ,after Danny shows her how to use them to mark the page, and starts creating cautious marks of her own.

She keeps glancing back up at Danny as if to confirm that this is still fine? And he nods his head every time trying to be encouraging as it becomes obvious that nobody taught this kid to write inside Fosters Home for Real life Assassins. Which Danny thinks is poor planning on there part because really? If your Assassin can't write how the fuck were they supposed to leave ominous threatening warnings? Or fake suicide notes? Or any number of written props to flesh out a cover story.

Whatever, obviously the assassins raising Curaré sucked ass all around so he can't say he's surprised but he is majorly disappointed.

As the bell rings for first period a whole slew of teens rush in ahead of the teacher Mr. Berk. Simple guy, grey beard, coke bottle glasses, smells like Vics vapor rub, the works.

He's like the most chilled out version of Mr. Lancer ever so he's alright in Danny's books. Plus he only has one "rule", as long as your butt is in your seat by the time he calls your name for attendance he won't mark you late. In Gotham, where everyone and their brother has enough late marks from shitty public transportion to get detention, it's a pretty sweet rule.

So Mr. Berk takes attendance like usual and only pauses on Danny and Curaré in the back for a brief moment.

Curaré stops drawing and stares down Mr. Berk like he's the T rex from Jurassic park. Frozen in place and without breaking eye contact. He stares back at her completely unphased.

" A small visitor then?" He says.

Danny nods. " My sister"

" Mhm" Mr. Berk says already moving on to the next student on his roster.

Danny breathes out huge sigh of relief, that was so much easier then he expected.

They more or less repeat this exchange the whole day. Mondays suck ass because it's one of the only days Danny actually has all 6 periods, but they make it through 1st, 2nd, and nutrition unscathed.

By lunch time Danny thinks they might actually be home free, if no one is gonna bring up the whole freaking child tagging along with him then he can probably just bring her with him everyday.

Maybe he can find her some work books and she can learn the alphabet? And addition? That's like on track for 4 year olds right? Danny can't remember being 4 but that feels right to him. He will educate the child in his care like the responsible almost adult he is. She will go to college!

At lunch Danny sits them at the back of the school right next to the teachers lounge because it's mostly deserted.

In Danny's exprience the best place to hide is in plain sight. He's been sitting here everyday since he enrolled himself and the teachers have never noticed him. Their way too busy trying to get any kind of break from teaching high schoolers to be concerned.Which Danny is greatful for because he has broken the rule about using his cell phone at lunch 50 times at this point.

Listen he has to do universe research when he has access to wifi! Which he only does at school. The administration should be glad he's using his lunch period to educate himself really.

So they eat by the lounge. Danny has Curaré face away from the door so she can take off her face mask and eat unencumbered.The cut on her face is still gnarly, it looks an almost enflamed purple as it tries it's best to heal.

Danny had given Curaré a little immuno-boost with his own ecto the night before to try to speed up her healing factor. But like any Halfa, basically just Danny's personal experience, you have to nourish the ghost half and the human half in equal parts to heal all the way.

It's not until home room, period 6/7, that the metaphorical straw breaks the metaphorical camels back. or the real straw to the metaphorical camel? Did camels even carry straw? where would it go? Between there humps? Not important Fenton!

Home room was a grade A disaster.

Mr. Perez, Danny's kind of ancient home room teacher, who was for almost all intents and purposes blind, had a freaking nose for trouble. It's like he could sniff out vapes and cell phones as soon as they hit the stale class air. Danny thought this would be the easiest class by far, Mr. Perez wouldn't even see Curaré let alone smell her.

And at first it seems like he doesnt, Mr. Perez takes attendance and skips right over Danny and Curaré with no fanfare.

Danny thinks that's the end of it and starts to breathe easy until 15 minutes before the final bell when Mr. Perez' TA asks him to step into the hallway with her for a second.

Danny generally liked Mr. Perez's TA, her name was Sabrina Kahn and she was the kind of girl Jazz would have hung out with.Straight laced, wore argyle cardigans, read books, the smart sort. She looked Jazz's age too, maybe 21ish and she always rolled her eyes when people gave dumb answers in class.

She looks a little embarrassed to be speaking to Danny which immediately sets him on edge.

" It's okay that you brought your little sister today but, I'm sorry, you won't be able to do that again. A bunch of your teachers made complaints with the front office and Mr. Perez got a call about it ..."

Sabrina had always been nice to him and now she was about to ruin his whole week.

" But Ms. Kahn-" Danny started.

She gave him a sympathetic look " Lemme guess, your parents can't take her to work so this was the next best option?"

Danny closed his mouth and nodded, that was actually a much better lie then he was gonna tell, thank you Ms. Kahn. ( But also Boooooo curse you Ms. Kahn!)

" Here, I know it can be hard to find childcare for metas, especially ones as ah-vibrant as your sister. My brother had the same trouble with my nephew."

Sabrina hands Danny a flyer, it's still warm from the printer, it looks like it's just a screenshot of an email.

"Thanks?"

The TA rolls her eyes, wow a lot like Jazz then.

" It's the address to that daycare and a referral. They only take kids by word of mouth, they're kind of... off the books. But their good people! I hope they can help you Danny."

The paper is on off yellow, as Ms.Kahn heads back into homeroom Danny feels all his hope go with her. Shit, what was he gonna do now? He looks through the little glass window in the door to the back where Curaré sits, she's already watching him. He tries to smile at her, be reassuring, he's not sure it works.

......

When the bell finally rings Danny picks Curaré up and puts her on his hip to avoid her being crushed by the rush of high schoolers who stampede out the door in front of them.

The flyer from Ms. Kahn feels like it's burning a hole through his pocket as they ride the bus towards the Narrows.

Danny cased the house from the flyer with maps street view as well as he could. It showed a skinny sublet house across from a small strip mall and laundrymat.

Inconspicuous sure, maybe even innocent looking but well...you could never tell in Gotham, all the buildings looked sort of evil by default. It was probably because of the gargoyles and the general low level stink fog that seemed to always be out.

The big city™ really made Danny miss the suburbs of Amity Park more then just the regular gut wrenching home sickness. Oh what'd he'd give to take a deep breath of air and not inhale the smell of piss when he walked down the street.

They get off the bus at the corner a block from the daycare.

Danny holds Curaré's hand which makes for slow going but seems like the right thing to do. She's never wandered off but Danny didn't want to give her the opportunity to either.

As he helped her climb the three short stairs up to the house Danny was suddenly hit with a wave of panic.

What the fuck am I doing? Am I really gonna take care of this freaking Halfa ghost baby for the next 18 years? Im not even an adult! I work weekends at BatBurger for minimum wage WTF?

Danny's hands began to sweat and his stomach cramped. Oh fuck, here was the existential crisis he'd been waiting for since he first decided to take Curaré from the leagues super secret baby basement.

Oh shit he couldn't breathe, what was he gonna do! OH fuck think!

What would jazz do? Call child services and offer psychological support. Not Uber helpful in this case Danny didn't know the first thing about psychology and Gotham CPS was actual prison.

What would Sam do? Assassin babies are hella counter culture but maybe find a cool rich eccentric family to adopt them? Nope, not gonna work Danny only knew one eccentric rich girl and she was a whole dimension away. FUCK THINK FENTON!

What would Tucker do? In this situation ask Google, homeschooling is big these days so maybe if you leave her in the apartment while your gone with an iPad-

" Hey you alright there dude, can I help you?"

Danny choked on the end of his anxiety panic badbadbad spiral and looked up.

The front door to the house was open and just inside the threshold stood a younger teen, maybe 16? With the kind of fade haircut Tucker always whined he couldn't pull off and a bright yellow hoodie.

Danny held his breathe for a moment making sure he felt it burn up his lungs and throat before letting out a big sigh.

" Yeah, yeah sorry kinda zoned out there I'm just uh kinda nervous I was told to come here for Daycare help for my little sister?"

Curaré looked at the stranger in the doorway with the same wide eyed blankness she stared at everything with. Funnily enough she was still holding Danny's hand, had held on through Danny's entire mental meltdown too despite the ecto sweat. Danny felt oddly touched by the gesture, even if it was more likely that the little girl wasn't bothered by his crisis then her being sympathetic.

The teen in the Yellow Hoodie raised an eyebrow at Danny as he fumbled the paper from Ms. Kahn out of his pocket to hand over.

Yellow Hoodie took it and looked between it, him, and Curaré.

" You're not a cop right? You have to tell us if you're a cop"

Danny made a face, " no, I'm not a cop! I would never be a cop, cops suck."

" Right." Yellow Hoodie said still suspicious " So you wouldn't mind if I called your referral up?"

" Be my guest dude."

The teen pulled out his phone and made sure to keep steady eye contact with Danny. Who could do nothing except not look away during this, the world's most impromptu staring contest, until Yellow Hoodie put his phone away.

" Just wanted to see if you were bluffing. Sabrina called earlier said she'd sent someone our way but you can never be too careful. Come on in. "

Danny felt the wind go out of his sails for the second time that day, what was with people and making him anticipate the worst.

.....

The inside of the house was old, homey, but old. It had very obviously been well lived in by a few generations of children, easy to see from the scuffed floors, chipped crown molding, and the sheer number of framed photos that hung on the walls.

There were signs of new life about too, some toys scattered on the floor, walls that were covered in butcher paper and crayon as high as little hands could reach, and oddly enough some scorch marks. Although, Danny's supposed that an unlicensed daycare for meta kids worth it's salt ought to have a least a few burn marks. For posterity if nothing else.

" I'm Duke, I volunteer here when I can but the place is run by the Mariscos, Mrs. Marisco specifically. She's been in the game for a long time" Duke nee yellow hoodie said as he stopped them in front of a closed door.

The hand made sign on the door said Office in nice scribbly lettering and it was hung on with a peg and twine. Real kitschy.

Danny could just make out the sounds of kids playing in another part of the house and was a little impressed that Duke had managed to keep Danny from seeing even one tiny tot during the impromptu house tour.

" I gotta go help Izzy with the kids, this is Mrs.Mariscos' office just knock before you go in, she might be on the phone."

Duke nodded to Danny, smiled down at Curaré and disappeared down the hallway.

Leaving Danny and Curaré alone in front of a closed door once again.

Danny looked down at Curaré and she looked up at him, she was characteristically silent.

" This feels like a job interview, did you bring your resume? "

Curaré blinked.

" Yeah, me neither. But I think if we both give her puppy eyes maybe our combined under aged-ness will activate her maternal instincts and she'll be forced to accept us?"

The nerves were back, they had never really left but now they had settled like a rock at the pit of Danny's stomach.

He couldn't bring himself to knock on that office door just yet so he fussed over Curaré instead. Kneeling down he straightened the collar of Curaré's hooded jacket and moveed her little backpack strap back up her shoulder where it had slipped.

" We got this. It's you and me now remember, even if this blows and you have to come to school with me for the rest of year it's you and me." Danny rested his hands on little shoulders and hung his head. " Jeez, I sound like my mom"

"No need to be so nervous Mijo! My Chiqis never met a kid she could turn away."

Danny's neck had never snapped up so fast in his life.

Curaré hadn't been looking up at him at all. No, Curaré was staring up towards the elderly woman floating near the ceiling.

Which was not great, because Danny for all the time had spent in Gotham had never seen another ghost. Not a single one.

Which was unsettling on its own but not bad per se, he'd thought maybe this dimension was just different, not enough spectral energy to manifest a ghostly body.

But no, again nope, this was so much worse.

No ghosts was easy enough to reationalize but one ghost? One ghost meant there was enough spectral energy, one ghost meant something was really really wrong with Gotham.

Because if there was only one ghost in a crime ridden pissed off city like this where the shit were all the others?

--------------------------------------------------

Yo! Just wanted to say thank u for all the support on part 1, did not expect people to like or care about it lol. Anyway back on bullshit, I've had this written for a while but didn't have the insp to post it until now.

Might write more, might not, you get one bat cameo for reading this time ur welcome.

Forgot to add this to the first post, it's in the reblogs, but TLDR Curaré is an assassin from batman beyond.

Note: if you wanna see cool art for this AU check the Danny and the little dead girl tag on my blog!

[prythianpages]

Too Good To Be True | Lucien x Reader

...you're just too good to be true...can't take my eyes off of you...

summary: in which your newest muse catches you red handed.

word count: 1,600

a/n: I do struggle writing Lucien but I had seen this tiktok and wanted to write a meet-cute over it and when I saw this fanart above made by IG user kri_stasss_, I took this as a sign lol. I also listened to the song can't take my eyes off of you like 100x while writing this.

With a sigh, you lean back into your seat, allowing your eyes a break. You had been sitting at the corner of the bustling cafe for over an hour, choosing to surround yourself with Velaris’s warmth and the smell of coffee in the hopes to finally draw something.  But your sketchbook is spread open on the table with a half-finished drawing.

You look at the view before you, the Sidra River shimmering like pure sapphire under the sun’s gaze. The leaves of surrounding trees rustling gently in the soft spring breeze and flowers vibrant hues adorn the riverwalk. It’s a beautiful sight–one that many stop and admire. Yet, it is not enough to fuel the inspiration you so desperately need.

The flowing water and distant laughter of children blend into a soothing symphony as you absentmindedly twirl your pencil between your fingers, thoughts drifting. Send me a muse, you plead to the Cauldron, yearning to feel that thrill again.That spark that ignites your passion of drawing. The very one that moves your hand effortlessly across the paper.

The sound of iron against pavement startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. You blink your eyes back into focus and instinctively, they land on the source of the noise. The table diagonal from you, that had been vacant for the past hour, now has an occupant. An occupant who is blocking your view of the Sidra River, the very one that is half drawn across your sketchbook.

But you can’t bring yourself to complain.

Not when there is a man of striking beauty seated there. 

His mere presence commands your attention, his red hair catching the sunlight and gleaming like fire. You feel your breath catch in your throat as your eyes trace the elegant lines of his face. Brutal scars mar the left side of his face–from his brow all the way down to his jaw. 

Despite this, the male is devastatingly handsome. Ethereal. 

Too good to be true, you think, finding yourself captivated by his eyes. His right eye, whole and russet-colored, holds a depth that draws you in. But his left eye…His left eye is a mechanical marvel, golden and intricate, and gleaming with an otherworldly light.  

And suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with an urge to touch him. To reassure yourself that he is real and not just a figment of your imagination. Gods, with a face and built body like his, he’d be heaven to touch…

A rush of excitement floods your veins and you feel a familiar thrill coursing through you. Your hands are turning the pages of your sketchbook until a blank page sits before you. And before you know it, you’re pouring your awe and fascination into each stroke of your pencil. Your eyes flicker up and down as you commit the details to mind, heart pounding every time with the fear of being caught. 

Though you're cautious about it, you’re too lost in his eyes to catch the way the male’s lips curve slightly upwards.

**

Lucien takes the last sip of his coffee, admiring the sight before him. The sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in twilight hues and dancing across the Sidra River. Along the riverwalk, Fae stroll leisurely. Couples walk hand in hand, children skipping along the cobblestone path, pausing to catch the fireflies that are now visible in the dimming light.

Velaris was proving to be more beautiful with each passing day—a sight he’d never expected from a place like the Night Court. All his life, he had only come to know the Court of Nightmares. A place that truly lived up to his name. And though there were children laughing and running freely, he couldn’t help but still be wary of the City of Starlight. It was still part of the Night Court, after all.

His eyes scan along the riverwalk, golden eye making a soft sound as it moves, in search of something. Or rather, someone. Just as a frown is about to settle on his face, he finds what he was searching for. The reason why he was at this cafe…despite the fact that the best espresso in town was at a little coffee shop in the Rainbow of Velaris.

You.

You are sitting at a bench, knees drawn up and a sketchbook nestled onto your lap. As the sun continues to make its descent, the street lamp near you croaks to life. It bathes you in its soft glow and he is able to appreciate the slight furrow of your brow, the slight way your lips purse in concentration. He wants to know what you're drawing.

Ever since he caught you staring at him at this very cafe, he had an inkling as to what may be hidden within those pages of your sketchbook. He had meant to approach you about it but you had been so into your sketch, he found the sight endearing and feared disrupting you. 

So he had left you to it and showed up to the cafe the next day at the same time in the hopes of seeing you again and he did. That time, your gazes had met and though it had been brief, it felt everlasting. He remembers the way your cheeks tinted with blush before you turned your head away, flustered at being caught. If only you had seen the way he had smiled softly to himself afterwards.

It’s been days since that incident. Though he didn’t find you in that same spot the day after, he came to the conclusion that this was your favorite area to frequent in Velaris. It slowly became his too, his eyes always finding you amongst the busy riverwalk. 

Lucien had never been the shy type–at least, not when it came to pursuing people he was interested in. He had just been waiting for the right time–for the right moment to talk to you. And as you closed your sketchbook with a light exhale, his heart fluttered as he realized what better time than now.

**

Calling it a night, you close your sketchbook with a soft sigh. The sun had been replaced by the moon and the street lamp’s light was too dim for your liking to continue you drawing. You feared messing up what you had meticulously spent hours on. As you rise from the bench and turn to make your way back home, you bump into a smaller frame than yours, the sketchbook in your hold falling from your grasp.

“Sorry, miss!” A lively voice chirps and when you look toward the source, the small child is already far away from you. Kids, you muse to yourself as you turn back around.

Your breath catches in your throat. Standing right in front of you is the male who has become your muse.

But he’s not looking at you.

No, he’s looking at the sketchbook on the ground. Your heart skips a beat, heat rising to your face. The sketchbook had opened to the pages you've been working on—the ones with multiple sketches of his eyes.

You’re frozen in horror, watching as he studies your work. None of you say anything for a moment. It’s when his gaze lifts to yours that you spring into action. “Oh,” you gasp, beginning to bend your knees to gather your belongings. You're absolutely mortified, praying to the Cauldron he can’t hear how fast your heart is racing.

“I’m so sorry.”

Before your hand can reach for your sketchbook, another hand beats you to it.

“Don’t be,” he says, his voice deep and enchanting, causing your hand to freeze in midair. There seems to be a magnetic pull in his words, a sincerity that makes your heart flutter. Is there anything about this male that is not attractive?

“I’ve never seen the beauty of my eyes until now.”

The words are spilling from your mouth before you can stop them. “You’re joking, right?”

He’s knelt before you, his hand hovering over your book. But instead of picking it up for you, he grasps for your hand instead. It’s warm and calloused yet feels so good against yours. Like heaven. His eyes finally meet yours, holding you captive. He slowly brings your hand to his lips, and you don’t think you’re breathing as he presses his lips against your skin.

“No,” he grins as he rises to his full height, using his free hand to grab your sketchbook before bringing you with him. “I’m Lucien.”

It takes you a moment to realize he is waiting for you to speak, his presence overwhelming but exhilarating.

“I’m—” you clear your throat to steady your voice. “I’m y/n.”

“y/n,” Lucien repeats with a smile, finally handing you over your sketchbook.

You take it, immediately clutching the book tightly to your chest and avert your gaze, casting it downwards. “I promise I’m not a creep. I was drawing the Sidra–well, attempting to, anyway. But then you came along, blocking my view and something came over me. You see, I’ve been struggling with artist block and your eyes–your eyes are so pretty”--and under your breath, you mutter–” All of you is, if I’m going to be honest…”–Lucien’s smile widens at that–”and I finally felt inspired–oh gods, I’m rambling. I should just shut my mouth.”

Lucien’s russet eye twinkles with amusement. “I inspired you?”

“Yes,” you answer quietly and bashfully.

“Then perhaps,” he says, his voice low and intimate. “I should let you inspire me as well.”

Slowly, you lift your head back up, meeting his eyes once more. A wave of relief surges through you as you find nothing but sincerity and shared interest in his gentle gaze. You find yourself mirroring his smile, and something warm blossoms in Lucien’s chest—the start of something beautiful.

And he can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, the Night Court isn’t so bad after all.

a/n: okay, that's enough Lucien for now. Can't keep letting him distract me because I need to focus back on the other Vanserra *cough* Eris *cough*

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen

[if-loves]

etude op. 10 no. 4 (torrent)

// Yandere Dr Ratio

Sum: When the rain falls, so too does your tears.

wc: 3278

warnings: implied depression, suicidal thoughts, implied suicide attempt, ooc ratio probably

a/n: sorry for the disappearance LMAO uni was holding me by the neck and not in the way i enjoy

also this was a whole load of yapping ngl maybe i projected too much xd

also pls let me know if i missed any tags!! i’d hate to mistag/forget any cw tags

likes & reblogs are appreciated! asks are more than welcome ❤️

As a student with the honor of studying directly under the one and only Veritas Ratio, you’re more than used to the bluntness of his words and his marking. After all, he’s the Dr Veritas Ratio, arguably one of the most intelligent people, beings even, in the cosmos, and you’re just a mere academic. Sure, you’ve had your theories and whatnot, but compared to someone like Dr Ratio you’re basically a child.

Everyone tells you that you’re incredibly fortunate to be able to have someone as prestiged as him as your tutor, that you would take advantage of the opportunity and use it to further your own studies and knowledge, but you’re not quite sure if furthering your studies is truly what you desire. Coming to university was already an expectation from your parents, who in their right mind would reject them when they’ve already saved all that money exclusively for your studies?

You don’t think yourself to be especially smart or gifted in anything. To yourself, you are just a regular person who will go on to graduate, find a job, and maybe settle down if you were given the chance. You don’t expect much for and from yourself.

However, Dr Ratio clearly seems to think otherwise; or else why would he choose you of all people to be under his tutelage?

It has been almost twelve cycles of the moon, and you have yet to figure out why. The agreed period of mentoring is coming to its end, and he expects a full length thesis and three separate reports from you concerning your studies and experience under him, and you cannot for the life of you think of anything that could ever satisfy him. In the whole period of his guidance, he has never once scored you above a low thirties. The more it happened, the more you thought it was more of a him issue than yours - but that’s what people who can’t take criticism say, so perhaps you’ll refrain from thinking that thought.

The sun had long set, leaving your side of the planet at the mercy of the night. In front of you, a too-bright screen from your laptop glares at you with a blank page, as if demanding you finally do something instead of staring out of the window wistfully as if you were some widow lamenting the loss of her husband.

It takes you everything not to just give up and curl up in the warmth of your bed.

With the nth sigh of the day, you woefully start typing, frustration in the pits of your mind. What in the world could you even write about, anyway? The spinning of the sun? No, you’re sure there’s thousands of papers written about that, similarly for the moon; you’re not one for mathematics either, so that was out of the question. Science isn’t really your forte either, so your options for a paper that would gain Dr Ratio’s approval is about zero. Maybe you should just drop out.

When the world is asleep, you remain awake, and so too does something else.

~~~

There are still a few days left before your thesis and reports are to be submitted, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve written utter nonsense.

What in the world are you talking about? Even you didn’t know. Something about some mythicised substance known as Xuixzedlm, that’s apparently supposed to be what the deep oceans of your world is made of, but none have been able to explore said oceans due to their size, toxicity and the creatures lurking beneath its surface. In fact, almost 99% of the oceans have remained unexplored.

You kind of regret choosing such a substance to be the main part of your thesis, considering how little information there is of it. Sure, the main point of a thesis is to propose a theory to be proved, but for something like this where the research is extremely minimal, you’ve ended up circling back to your previous points due to the lack of ideas and, of course, proven research. Not that he’d care about your excuses.

Your days leading up to the submission date are spent typing, deleting, and referencing your paper. You’re a little less stressed about the report because it didn’t exactly require the same thinking as a thesis did, so you managed to finish those in a week. You’d still need to proofread them a few more times to ensure grammar and whatnot was perfect, but ultimately, its priority was far lower on your list.

However, something odd has happened recently.

One evening when you had finally arrived back home after spending most of the day at one of the university’s libraries, you found a silver key with lilac purple highlights and a strange symbol in the middle. You’d asked your parents, but they hadn’t a clue either, leading to some concern that your room may have been broken into. There were a few off parts about that theory, some being that none of your belongings were missing, there was no evidence of lock tampering on your windows, and most of all, why said person would leave an expensive and important looking key on your table.

The sudden and suspicious appearance of the key led to you keeping it on your person at all times, for a reason you’re not exactly quite sure of other than because it felt right. There’s an inexplicable familiarity to it, as if it belongs to you, but you can never seem to recall where you’ve seen it before, if you ever have in the first place.

Another weird thing has been happening ever since you found the key - you’ve been feeling a strange desire to enter the toxic ocean.

The sounds of the waves splashing against the shore invites you in your dreams, and you always take a step forward, one step after another until the water almost touches your toes. The sun is setting upon you, the breeze gently blowing; the sight in front of you is the picture of ethereal. Just as you take one more step, just as you fall into the abyss, someone pulls you back and you are jolted awake.

Scholars say dreams are the subconscious taking its turn, toying with fantasies and fears indiscriminately. Sometimes they mix, giving birth to hopes that only end in hopelessness, happiness that only ends in despair. If this is true, does your subconscious desire death?

~~~

Veritas Ratio has always thought himself as logical. Most have thought the same of him as well, the rest thinking him some sharp-tongued snake that will not hesitate to bite them should he see fit.

When it comes to you however, he feels an unexplainable feeling in his chest and head, a desire that has only grown since the moment he chose you to be under his guidance for a year. His harshness may not reflect it, but it is merely his way of showing he cares - by being extra critical of your work so that you know how to improve. Veritas Ratio truly wants nothing but the best for a student like you.

Lately, this feeling has grown much in size and desire, leaving him finding trouble in resisting it. It lingers like a persistent headache, and acts up when you are around, leaving him in a constant battle for retention of sanity. His mental fortitude currently leaves him with the upper hand, but who knows for how long.

For someone who prides themself on being logical, he sure feels illogical as he stares at your student ID photo.

It’s one of your least flattering pictures he’s sure, but he finds himself staring at it all the same. The nuisance in his head keeps telling him frankly worrisome thoughts, but he feels no desire to act upon them… at least, the sane part of him doesn’t.

He knows there’s something special about you, and some selfish part of him doesn’t want this mentorship to end, to let you go. There’s no way of being able to guarantee ever seeing you again, so what if…

No. Irrationality has no place in his ideals, let alone in his life.

~~~

You’ve submitted your thesis and reports to him, and now you sit in front of him with your heart pounding in your chest. Is there anything scarier than the judgment of your teacher?

Your hands are laid on your lap, the key in your pocket. The coldness of it transcends the fabric of your pants, a constant reminder of the mystery it holds, and the thoughts it brings. Even now, you find your heart yearning for the sea.

You’re afraid to look at him. You’re afraid of what his expression could tell you, of the disapproval you’re expecting. You’re afraid of disappointing him once again, afraid of his rejection and the harsh words that will inevitably leave his lips. He will berate you once more, and you will be left to silently take it because truthfully, you know he’s right.

The silence continues, and you feel a sudden dizziness and the urge to throw up. You wish the sea would swallow you whole.

“I do not have enough time to finish reviewing everything today, so proper feedback will be given one week from now in person. As for the next few days, they shall continue as normal, as you are still under my tutelage. Do not forget, you still have readings to finish before tomorrow’s class.” He shuts his laptop and takes his alabaster head with him, once again leaving you to drown in the torrent of self-deprecation.

The sea embraces all, doesn’t it? It will lap up all those who dare to offer it their lives, no matter what achievements the person has made in their life, no matter if they are even a person at all. The sea… welcomes all.

(It’ll welcome you, right?)

~~~

After you left the university, you found yourself on the train to the beach. Night is upon the city, but the ocean doesn’t sleep.

People filter out of the trains one by one, until only you are left in the carriage. Announcement after announcement of stops and the sound of the train’s wheels scraping the tracks below it are the only disturbances in the otherwise peaceful silence. Despite the quietness, you cannot hear yourself. The key in your pocket feels like it is burning itself into your skin, but it is also the only thing keeping you awake, a reminder that you are still alive.

You wonder if the ocean too will eat the key, or if it will sink into its depths. Will you sink to the depths?

The train stops at its end, and your legs automatically move. You walk until you hear the sound of waves crashing onto the shore, until you are stopped by a barrier. In an act of madness (or is it desire?), you scale the wall until there is no more to scale, until you see the other side.

There is a certain beauty about the ocean that you can’t quite describe to anyone, that pictures cannot replicate. It brings you a sense of peace, like all will be right in the world. If you could just…

The jump down from the barrier is no easy task. It is a long way down, and the sand can only soften the drop so much; yet, you jump.

Something hurts, but you’re enamored by the sparkling surface of the water. It beckons you, inviting you to a new world beneath its surface, a place to be free of all worries and pains. A place to sleep peacefully, no nightmares or dreams to plague you. It offers you everything the world cannot.

You feel your bag drop off your shoulders, like a weight lifted. A hand takes the key out, holding it tightly as you walk towards the promise of a home. What mysteries will be answered by this new world?

You’d like to apologize to your parents for the disappointment that you are. You had neither the mental fortitude nor the drive to be a success, and you’d like to apologize to Dr Ratio for wasting a year’s worth of his time on an incompetent student like you. His time would have been better spent on honor students, not a mundane, average student like you. You are destined to be just another cog in the wheel, and once you rust, you will be thrown out just like everyone else has and will be.

You find yourself a step away from the water, just like in your dream. You think you see a door. The key in your hand burns hotter. The world pauses. You take a step.

The feeling of the liquid never comes, but being pulled does.

“Just what in the universe are you thinking?!” This voice… is familiar. This voice… Who is it? It can’t be Dr Ratio, no…

But those amber eyes, so familiar, it has to be…

But why? Why?

“I…” Words fail you, just like they always have. What could you possibly say to him? He must think you mad, unfit to graduate, unfit to live perhaps.

“Do you wish to be swallowed by the gaping abyss? For what? To prove the existence of Xuixzedlm? Do you think your life so worthless that you think sacrificing it for nothing is what will make it meaningful?!” He is… angry. You’ve never seen him like this. Dr Ratio doesn’t get angry. “So? Say something, anything, that could possibly help me understand why you’d attempt such an act of foolishness!”

“Why does it matter to you?!” You shout, wringing your arm free from his tight grip. He has pulled you far enough from the gentle ocean, far away from the door. You look back at it, and it remains floating above the water. The key is still in your hand.

“Are you so dull that you need to ask such a useless question?” He scoffs. He moves to grab your arm again, but you instinctively bring the hand holding the key to your chest, afraid that he would take it from you. His eyes, shades of intense amber, follow your hand and lock on to the key you hold. He frowns.

“Yes! Yes, I am! I am so utterly stupid that teaching me is a waste of time, that you should leave me alone! If… if I wasn’t here, then there’d be one less stupid person in the universe! Isn’t that what you want?” Are tears running down your face, or is the sky weeping on your behalf?

He stares at you, and his lips do not move. It goes on like this, until you are both drenched in the rain, clothes wet and only the tempting sound of the ocean, and the pitter-patter of raindrops blending into the dark waters. Moonlight briefly shines upon the both of you, and you see his face clear - there is no anger, only contemplation.

“If you have nothing more to say, then leave me alone.” You turn around and set your sights upon the floating door once more, the key still held to your heart. With a resolved mind, you once more walk towards the beckoning arms of the abyss, the promise of no tomorrow.

Dr Ratio doesn’t stop you until you are one foot in the water. There is a searing pain, but you are one step closer to the door, to a stagnancy that life could never offer you. You are one foot in the water when a familiar symbol appears on the door, like an eye staring at you. You are one foot out of the water when you realize what it is.

“You have lost your mind.” He says, pointedly. You struggle in his grip, but he doesn’t falter. If anything, his hold only tightens. The pain from the water is nothing compared to the pain of losing freedom.

“Let- me- GO!” You desperately push against his chest, legs swinging. Why couldn’t he just let you go? Why did he care so much? What value do you bring to him, other than more evidence that he is far more blessed than the rest of the universe ever could be?

“Struggling will do you no good. Stay still, and I would not have to restrain you like this.” He glares at you from the corner of his eye as he brings you further away from your salvation, and the final straw is when he wrestles the key out of your hand. You’re inconsolable as he takes you past the barrier, brings you to his vehicle, and takes you to the place you can only assume is his apartment.

You let him guide you to the bath and clean your injured foot with a gentleness that is unbecoming of him, and he runs you a bath all while you grieve. Both of you say nothing as he treats you like a child, and you let him bind you to the bedpost without any struggle. To struggle is to fight, to fight is to have a desire to spread your wings; you lost that the moment he took you away.

Dr Ratio, or rather Veritas as he insists you call him, has shown you such a different side of him that you don’t know what to make of it. He holds you at night like you’re lovers, kisses you like he means it. He dutifully takes care of you, and you do not respond in kind. Despite this, he treats you all the same, with no trace of the Dr Ratio you’ve known for the last year, and only of the Veritas that you’ve met ever since that night.

You never see the key again.

~~~

One day, he has packed up everything. You briefly wonder if this meant that he’d be leaving you behind, but to your disappointment, he brings you along. He has cuffed you to himself, a reminder of the rights you have lost when you let him have his way with you.

“Veritas,” his name tastes like poison. “Where are we going?”

“The IPC has assigned me to Penacony, the land of dreams.” He responds without hesitation, turning to face you. “Naturally, you’ll be coming with me.”

You want to say no. You want him to leave you here, to give you back your key, to bring you back to the sea. The scar on your foot is a reminder of what could’ve been, what he has taken from you, and you haven’t - or rather, will never - forgive him. He will never deserve your forgiveness.

“Have… have you told my family?” You whisper, your throat as dry as the sand on the beach. Your hands fidget, and you find yourself unable to look at him; but truthfully, you don’t need to. He has ensured that every part of him has been engraved into the depths of your brain, and carved into your heart.

“…There is no point dwelling on the past. I am your family now. Clinging to such bygones will only serve to erode your mind, and limit your ability to live life.” He is firm, sounding more like the Dr Ratio you knew. He holds the hand that he has chained to his own and brings it to lips, the band of silver gleaming in the sunlight. It is a reminder. A firm, cruel, reminder of who he really is.

Veritas Ratio is nothing more than an illogical, selfish, arrogant, cruel and lovesick beast who allowed his heart (if you could even call it that) to take the reins.

Veritas Ratio is nothing more than a liar.

[yellowjestertfs]

The Billionaires secret

“Hi there. Find what what you were looking for?” I ask in my customary upbeat yet soul-dead customer service voice.

“I think so. Going to give this one a try.” She says handing me a copy of a book called The Billionaire’s Secret from the romance section. I can see why she picked it, on the cover a man in a suit lay on a bed with the buttons of his dress shirt undone showing off his impressive six-pack and strong hairless chest. Brownish red eyes smolder seductively outwards from a masculine face. High cheekbones, soft lips, and a wide square jaw adorned with black stubble that connects to a short-styled head of black hair.

“I’m Bridget by the way,” she says, obviously a bit embarrassed to see me eying up the cover. “Oh, and this is Dan.” She says gesturing at the man standing a few paces away, engrossed by some mobile game on his phone. 

“Nice to meet you, Bridget.” I scan the book. “That will be $17,” I say. 

She glances over at Dan, he doesn't seem to notice so she retrieves her credit card from her purse and taps it against the machine. “I don’t know why I expected him to offer.” She tells me in a conspiratorial whisper “He’s broke. I mean not that it matters to me, but it would just be nice to date a wealthy man or one who at least pays attention to me.” 

Customers often confided in me. I wish I could say it is because of my open honest face or charismatic demeanor but it probably had more to do with a book I once ate about a bartender people told all their secrets to.

I look around. There are a few consumers browsing the book shelves and my manager is sitting at his desk in the back, no one close enough to notice. Bridget seems sweet, too sweet to be with a man like Dan. Poor girl just wants to escape with some fiction, so why not indulge her a little.

“Did you get a chance to check out our books on sale?” I ask Bridget diverting her attention away. She looks over at the shelf I pointed at giving me enough time to crack my knuckles, take a deep breath, and begin.

I place my hands over the cover of the book and it springs open, the pages start to turn themselves slow at first then speed up. Words start to flow from the book as the pages flip past. The letters lift from the page like a sticker being peeled, floating into the air to spin around me. They form a cyclone of black ink as the pages that flip by are left blank.

I feel the lines as they flow off the paper. The first line reads. “Kustav tower is 400 stories tall, rumor has it, it’s smaller than Dane Kustav’s dick.” 

I directed the words towards Bridget’s boyfriend. The ink splashes into him, absorbing into his gray hoodie but leaving no mark. None except for the fact that his basketball shorts start to thrash like a wild animal is trapped inside. Dan didn't look up from his phone even as his dick doubled and then tripled in size to match the one described in the book Billionaires Secrets.

I tried to be sparing with my abilities. Fiction is great so long as it stays fiction, otherwise you have evil robots or sparkly vampires running around. Still, every once in a while my heroic urges will take over and I am called to help someone with my power to bring words to life. Bridget is one of those people.

More words flowed off the page. “Dane Kustav is well dressed at all times. One would be hard-pressed to ever see Dane not in a suit. If one did see him without a suit, it would be in the bedroom where they would be very, very hard pressed indeed.”

The words spin around me once then drift over to Dan again on an invisible wind. This time his clothes were affected by the words. His grey hoodie which he wore with the hood up, melted off his body, the threads unwinding then rebinding themselves into a far higher quality dress shirt and black jacket complete with a blue tie. His shorts became black dress pants and his sneakers a pair of brown loafers. The outline of his much larger dick was clear in his new tighter pants. A few seconds passed with no changes then, slowly his tie undid itself and each of the buttons on his dress shirt opened so that he was sporting a matching look to that of the man on the cover of the book. Unlike the cover, however, Dan lacked the chiseled face or body to pull off the open shirt. His slight gut and saggy, hairy chest made the outfit look awkward rather than sexy.

Bridget looked up from the sale rack and glanced at her half-nude boyfriend with a chagrined glance. In her mind, he was always dressed in the finest clothes even if he still acted like a man-child.

“Dane Kustav towered over everyone be that in stature or in business.” 

I directed the words into him. Dan shot upwards, his modest 5’10” frame becoming a proud 6’3”, clothes growing to match. And though it wasn’t visible Dan’s head was also filled with business smarts he had lacked before. The game on his phone shifted from Fruit Ninja to Hey Day.

The pages continue to flip, their words leaving the page to float in the air under my command.

“Dane Kustav's muscles were like that of a brass statue, smooth, hard, and golden. Each curve could only have been sculpted by the hands of an artist for nature could never make anybody so perfect.”

I look over at Dan’s soft pudgy body. Not the words I would use to describe him, at least not yet. I float the sentence to him.

Instantly Dan’s belly flattens. One by one his abs pop into being as if pushed out from the inside like one of those pop-it toys. His man boobs visibly transmute from fat to muscle, perking up and then growing into a strong chest like that of the man on the cover of the book. Inside the sleeves of his dress shirt, his arms thicken into a pair of round vascular biceps while his legs below do the same. A tan, like oil spreading over water seeps across his body until his exposed muscles really looked like sculpture bronze turned to life. The few hairs that had looked sloppy before now lent his body a rugged masculinity.

Bridget looks at her boyfriend with a new lust. Her hands start to roam his abs and chest but Dan, still on his phone, only bats them away. 

Man-child indeed, a man in the body, a child in the face and the personality. I divert my attention back to the flipping pages looking for words I could use to fix that. The book is reaching the end, and the main character, assistant to the billionaire, has finally seduced her boss in a very steamy scene. High-class writing it is not, but at least it gives me plenty to work with.

“I ran my hand down his sharp square jaw.” 

I throw the words at him. The shape of his face shifts to be more masculine.

“He looked at me through squinted sexy amber eyes.”

His eyes shift from a pale blue to an amber so rich it almost looked red. He finally looks up from his phone and deep into Bridget's eyes. She returns the stare with a smile. 

“He brought my hand up to his cheek, I felt each bristle of his short sharp stubble.”

Dan moves Bridget's fingers up to his face which is now covered in a sexy two days' worth of growth.

“Then he kissed me with his soft sensual lips hard enough to make me weak in the knees.”

The words flow off the page and into him. His lips grow pillowy and pink and interlocked with Bridget’s. He wraps his muscular arms around her, keeping her steady as she collapses into him. 

“I warp my fingers into his jet-black quaffed hair as I prepare for him to take me.”

His hair gains a stylish cut and is dark as pitch, body hair and stubble do the same. Bridget greedily runs her hand through his new dark dew.

“He smelled like sports deodorant, woody cologne, and sex. I wanted nothing more than this man to take me.”

The bookstore fills with his scent. I am surprised to find myself turned on by the whole thing. I have reached the end of the book, the final page.

“It was then that I learned the billionaire's secret.”

This was the good stuff. I leech the words off the page and send them to Dan, or rather now, Dane.

“His secret wasn’t that he was hot, or rich, or could make any girl swoon.”

Their kiss intensifies. Dane started to undo Bridget's blouse.

“No, the billionaire's secret was.”

Suddenly Dane pulls away.

“The billionaire was gay.”

“Sorry Bridget,” Dane says taking a few steps back and looking at her with sudden realization. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

His eyes wander over to lock onto mine, rich amber orbs seeming to really take me in. He winks. “You thought, I think that could work. What are you doing after this?” He asks smoothly “Want to go get coffee in Paris on my jet? My treat.”

[wannaeatramyeon]

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Letters

Final chapter spoiler! G/N. Taehoon in the military and you ask for-

"Letters?"

"Yep!" you grin, popping the 'p' as Taehoon looks on incredulously.

"Why the fuck would I send letters when I can just text you?" 

"Because," you tip onto your toes and reach up to kiss him, "It'll be romantic."

Profanities are mumbled under his breath.

.

.

Taehoon feels like an idiot. He feels so cringe he's going to crawl out of his skin.

He texted you today, video called you last night. Yet your request for letters runs round and round his head.

Rattling like an incessant, annoying bug. Reminding him of your request accompanied by hopeful eyes and a sweet kiss.

Fuck.

The paper looks so very blank. Large and looming and intimidating. Like an exam sheet 5 minutes before the end and nothing has been scribbled down.

How is he even supposed to start this?

'Dear Y/N,' 

-is immediately scratched out, scrunched up then tossed towards the garbage can.

.

.

You receive a letter a few days later. 

Your name and address written in scratchy chicken script. The fact that it was delivered successfully is a miracle in and of itself.

With uncharacteristic patience and utmost care, you peel open the envelope. 

A few paragraphs fill half the page. You read over his words, feel the hesitation between the lines, and soak up the love that you know has been poured into this act. Just the fact that he has done this says more than enough.

.

.

Taehoon is snippy, snippier than usual on video call tonight. His short dark hair and uniform seemingly amplifying his hard edges.

You know his leg is bouncing out of shot.

"Haven't you received it yet?" He cuts you off mid-sentence.

"Received what?"

"What do you think?"

“Your letter?”

Taehoon confirms it with a scowl.

You give him a grin, brushing past his question and leaving his mood sour.

.

.

There's mail waiting for him. Correspondence.

In a plain white envelope, with simple stamps.

But the writing- 

His name, with your particular slant of characters and loops as unique to him as your laugh.

The way he opens the envelope is the opposite to you. Teared open, fingers urgent.

(When was the last time, anyway, that he received a handwritten letter?)

His eyes scan the words. What could be cringe, he finds endearing. What could be sappy, warms him. 

Feels your absence more than ever after reading, counts down the days until he can see you again. 

He regrets his letter. That he has none of your poetic ramblings, or interesting turn of phrases. That he isn't able to express his emotions, taking pen to paper like a duck to water, as well as you do.

He’ll have to do better with his next one.

Yet- 

Taehoon is left love drunk, mood light and floating on air when sleep takes him that night.

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: you two have a son together, mention of being married, old man Bakugou

older retired pro hero Bakugou, who you find hunched over his desk one night. it’s late and the day was long and your son was whinier than he usually is. you’d think the old man would be in bed right now, but alas—he’s not beside you.

instead, as you round the corner to get a full look at him, he’s wearing his reading glasses, adorning an old ratty tank, his arms still big but softer than the years from before. he has a book open in front of him, desk scattered with pictures you can’t see from your angle, scissors, stickers, glue sticks.

“What are you getting up to at this hour, old man?” You ask softly, smiling when Bakugou doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing. his tongue is sticking out in the corner as he cuts a squiggly line on a picture, posing it beside another on a blank piece of paper.

“Therapist said I should get into crafting,” he grunts, finally looking over at you from over his glasses. “Do things with my hands, feel busy, get my mind off’a shit.”

you pad over to where he sits, the overhead lamp on his desk focused on the big baby blue book with white pages. peeking over his shoulder, you rest your head on top of his, chin nestled in the still unruly blond and silver locks, overseeing his work.

and honestly? it almost makes you wanna cry. it’s a scrapbook, the page open to pictures of your wedding day, how pretty you looked, how big he smiled at you. you can see other scattered pictures on his desk—when you got a promotion at work, when he was number one for seven months in a row, a positive pregnancy test, the cutest baby you’ve ever seen, two little teeth coming in, baby being held in dads big ole arms that will always protect him.

“After this page, I gotta do the honeymoon.” Bakugou speaks gruffly, setting down a picture to wipe a hand down his face. “And then life accomplishment shit, the baby, his first steps.” He sounds so tired, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his shoulders, sliding down to smush your face against his own.

“You always have tomorrow. Come to bed.” You say against his cheek, squeezing him when you feel the rejection start up in his belly. But he deflates, pulling his glasses off, reaching around to pull you in his lap. He looks so grumpy, with his frown lines and crows feet, and yet so handsome with his small smile and soft eyes.

“I’ll print more pictures tomorrow. And maybe go by the store to get some more stickers, too.” He tells you in between kisses, his words soft, his hands rough through your pajamas. You hum against his mouth, holding his nape, afraid to ever let him go.

“You do that. Now let’s go to bed.” You whisper, standing up and pulling him with you. He closes the scrapbook for now, and you glimpse at the cover, heart melting at the picture of you two holding up your son, both kissing his cheeks. The picture is captioned with “Our Life” and you don’t think you’ve ever been more grateful to have met him.

[flowercrowngods]

Who even writes letters anymore?

It feels a little ridiculous, interrupting the process of baring his heart and soul to the paper, the pen, and the walls of his room, to ponder the frequency of the hand-written word. It makes him falter, though, the sentence half finished on the paper before him, his desk lit only with candles because it’s two on the morning and long past the time for any kind of lamps, desk and ceiling alike.

Who even writes letters anymore? Letters like this, somewhere between a confession of love and an apology. Emotions that don’t do well, being said out loud, and that do even worse in a text message.

The written word, ink on blank sheets of paper, weeks and months old and nowhere near finished yet, was invented for situations like this. For feelings like this.

For Steve. For Eddie. For Steve and Eddie.

The eternal What If. The little lump in his heart that feels so real even though it can’t be. The thought in the back of his mind, a calling presence that is imaginary at best. The vision of a future that is no more than wishful thinking.

And thinking, he does. Oh, does he think. And always, always about Eddie.

Eddie, who wasn’t brave enough to love him, and whom Steve never gave the space to be. Eddie, who did love him, but showed it in different ways than Steve was used to. And when he realised, when he recognised, it was all in hindsight.

They were both too scared. Twice. Scared and stupid and—

But Steve’s not scared now. It’s late, he knows, and it might be too late.

It’s fine if it’s too late, he writes, and he means it. But I want you to know. I need you to know. I want to be brave, and I‘d rather be brave too late than not at all.

There is no filter, he finds. The ink unforgiving and unjudgmental alike, guiding his hand across the page from one word to the next, until suddenly there are six of them, and Steve could keep going forever.

I want to love you. I think I want to love you, not just the idea of you. I want to give you the space you need and learn to love and be loved. I want to do it right. I want to take your hand and hold it. I spend days just thinking about holding your hand. Holding you.

It’s not a love letter. He doesn’t even mean to send it, just wants to get it all out and not have his friends tell him it’s a bad idea, tell him Eddie doesn’t deserve him, Eddie’s not right for him.

Steve doesn’t believe that.

He just wants a chance. A conversation. They never really talked — not the first time, and not four years later. He wants a real chance this time, wants to be brave and talk and see.

And he wants to give Eddie a chance, too. A chance to mess up, a chance to speak, a chance to be brave and talk and see for himself, and a chance, maybe, to try again.

For real this time.

So he writes the letter; doesn’t care if people even do this anymore. He does. For Eddie. That feels like it’s all that matters.

He ends the letter at the bottom of page six.

I’m not writing you because I want to get back with you. I’m writing because I need you to know that I can’t stop thinking about you. And because I want to talk. A lot. And because I think they’re all wrong.

And I’m writing because I spent the party last weekend looking for you, hoping to see you. My friend told me to finish this letter and send it if you mean so much. And you do. Endlessly.

But it’s okay if all this is one-sided. It’s okay if you don’t even read until this point. It’s okay if it’s too late.

Steve

He takes it with him the next day, just on a whim, not entirely sure if he’s gonna send it or throw it in the trash, the coil in his stomach lightened since the last word’s been written.

In the end, he misses his train back home and has to take the long way with the bus that’ll only take him halfway there. He decides to walk the rest, taking a detour and passing Eddie’s apartment building.

He finds the name Munson on the doorbell nameplate outside. He stares at the door, the drizzle picking up until it’s pouring, and still Steve is staring.

He tries the front door. Another whim. It’s not supposed to open. Someone unhooked the latch. It gives in to Steve’s gentle push, and warmth envelops him as he suddenly finds himself face to face with Eddie’s mailbox.

The letter is in his bag. Secure. Heavy.

His heart, however, is light as he fishes it out and slips it past the lid, the thump as it gently hits the bottom the only sound in the universe.

Outside, the rain is pouring.

Inside, Steve’s heart lies in Eddie’s mailbox.

[shadowbriar]

Regulus Black - Asking for a Friend

Pairing : Regulus Black x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 4.4k Warning : I'm not sure if there's any, but let me know if I missed any. Synopsis : Regulus comes to the realisation that the admiration he holds of her was more than a platonic one and it just so happen that Valentine's day was just around the corner. Notes : Post no 2 for my 1 Year Anniversary Celebration. Don't forget to fill the form here if you'd like to be tagged for my future works. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕ Regulus Black's Masterlist click here. Taglist : @jsjcue @coffeehurricanes @ell0ra-br3kk3r @kaz-mf-brekker @sofiacblair @when-you-cant-think-of-anything

“Have you ever had a friend that you're just so fond of and you wish that your partner would be just like them?”

Regulus’ question broke the stillness of the table, making his study mates to look up. Now Pandora, having been known to be the most studious of the group, has always hated it when someone causes any distraction in their study sessions yet for this one particular topic, she seems to be intrigued rather than looking bothered. It isn’t everyday your best friend of 5 years would talk about their romantic interest, after all.

“Elaborate.” Pandora says, her brows knitted together.

“I mean, you know.. You wish that your partner would be just like them.”

Evan squints his eyes, seemingly confused at his brief explanation, “I’m not sure I’m following you, mate. Doesn’t that just simply mean that you fancy them?”

The nonchalant expression on Regulus’ face turns blank in an instant. As if someone has just flicked the light bulb on top of his head, clearing the haze that has been fogging his mind. The sudden clarity has knocked him for six. Is that truly what it means? Days spent silently praising her beauty and nights wasted recalling their conversations were because he fancies her?

Over the years Regulus would find more of her personality to be his weakness, growing the softest spot in his heart specially reserved for her. He would always admire her witty comments, how she always conveyed her mind with the most articulate and intelligent words. Her friendly and warm nature is always something he adores and the way she would always listen to every worthless remark Regulus has with that magnetising smile and understanding eyes, it was impossible for Regulus to not wish his partner would be someone like her.

“So,” Barty asks, nudging on the raven haired boy with a teasing smile “Which friend do we fancy?”

Regulus’ cheeks turn rosy. All hell would break loose if Barty or Evan found out about it. Those boys are as good as a toothpick for a door bolt. The moment they knew about his growing affection for her, they would most immediately spill the beans and make things awkward between them.

And no, Regulus could certainly never have that.

“No one.” Regulus lies as he looks back down to his parchment paper “We fancy no one.”

“Oh come on now, Big Boy.” Barty whines “You’ve ripped off the bandage, might as well show us the scar.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, attempting to look as nonchalant as he could, “You’re fond of Evan’s presence, doesn’t mean you fancy him now, do you?”

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t say that’s impossible.” Barty jests as he begins to make fake kissing expressions to Evan.

“Oh, my Darling, Barty Bear.” Evan indulges in his best friend’s stunt, fake snogging Barty.

Regulus’ lips twitch into a smile, amused at the play-act his best friends are performing. He let out a relieved sigh, knowing that he’s just flee himself from being pestered by questions about his crush, but when he turned his gaze to the only girl at the table, Regulus knew that the little smirk plastered on Pandora’s face would be a form of nightmare he’ll be facing from that day onwards. He knows that she wouldn’t rest until he gives out a name and though she looks like she already knows who the lucky girl is, Regulus is certain that Pandora wouldn’t show him any mercy from the teasing and taunts.

—-

Dinner has been hard to swallow ever since the realisation of his budding infatuation for her. Regulus finds it impossible to not glance at her table, watching her from his peripheral vision as she chats and laughs with her group of friends. Whatever joke Barty throws or moans Evan has about his class have entered and left his ear like an insignificant noise, mind completely enamoured with her candid beauty.

His grip on the fork only tightens as he realises that she was walking to their table, a brilliant smile decorating her face as she takes a seat next to him, “Evening my favourite Serpents.”

“Fantastic, you’re here!” Evan exclaims gleefully, taking her hands to his that made Regulus’ stomach drop a little “Regulus here has been so out of it since this afternoon, we think he’s broken.”

Barty nods eagerly, “He didn’t even twitch a muscle at my joke and mind you it was bloody brilliant!”

She let out a chuckle, looking at Regulus lovingly (at least in his mind) before turning back to face Evan and Barty. Now the words exchanged between the five of them have gone from a trifling noise to a completely deafen sound. His eyes were glued on hers, taking mental notes of all the little gestures she made. How she would close her eyes shut whenever she laughs, how her brows crinkled more often than not, and how her cheekbones pop wherever she smiles, making her look a thousand times more hypnotising.

Now it was nothing out of the ordinary for Regulus to be the most quiet party of the table, but the little to no words uttered by him was making her suspicious. Sure it wouldn’t be the first time he would watch her intently and just agree with whatever is being discussed, but something’s different this time. The way his shoulder relaxes and how the small curl on his lip never waters was making her feel a little bit flustered to say the least.

“You’re awfully quiet,” She says as she turns to the lovestruck boy, resting her chin on her palm to stare back at him “Cat caught your tongue?”

Regulus blinks, gulping at the close proximity, “Just— Didn’t really have anything to say, is all.”

“Really?” She asks with a raised brow “That’s very unlike you.”

“How is it unlike me?”

“Well, you always have something to say. Whether or not you speak of it is an entirely different conversation to have, but you always have something to say, Regulus.”

Regulus bites his inner cheek. How is it that she could read him like an open book? Was he really that transparent or was he really that spellbound in her charms?

“Don’t bother him. Big boy here is trying to sort his feelings out.” Evan retorts.

“Really?” She replies, amused “What sort of feelings?”

“The loving, sappy kind of feelings.” Barty mocks “Regulus is in love.”

“Shut up, Barty!”

Regulus turns to her, uneasy over the fact that she might figure out his little secret but the look on her face was disheartening. As much as he wished he could have just half of her ability to read him, it was nearly impossible for Regulus to decipher her expression. She was staring back at him, her brows knitted as if she’s trying to read through him too but wasn’t sure on what to look at. It was a whole new expression he’s never seen before.

“Reggie wouldn’t give us the name,” Evan continues, completely oblivious of the awkward tension rising “Can we take a guess, Reg? Say yes if we guess correctly?”

“I bet it’s that girl Regulus always sits next to in Potion.” Barty mutters.

“Or that girl Regulus did his Herbology essay with. They spent weeks on that assignment, remember?” Evan counters “Or maybe that Gryffindor—,”

“It’s not any of those girls,” Pandora cuts.

“How would you know?” Evan asked.

“Oh, I just do,” Pandora says with a confident shrug, turning to Regulus “Don’t I, Reg?”

Regulus shakes his head, still trying to do the most possible damage control though he knew that such effort seems fruitless now. Cat’s out of the bag. It would only be a matter of time now until she realises that she’s the girl he’s been swooning over.

Ironic how long it took for him to realise that he fancies her yet it took no time for the secret to be spilled.

“Don’t push his buttons, guys,” She says with a warm laughter “If Regulus doesn’t want to drop names, then let him. It’s not our business now, is it?”

Now Regulus frowns a little. Her words sting a way he was never familiar with. What does she mean that it isn’t their business? Does she not care about who he’s crushing on?

“If you say so,” Pandora said to her, winking as if there was some secret message sent between the two.

Regulus studies her expression intently, trying to see if Pandora has cracked his secret and is now spilling it to her. Salazar, Regulus hopes that that wasn’t the case. He needs time to sort out his feelings, as Evan said, and if she found out about his budding infatuation before he could figure out a proper way to profess it— Well, Regulus hoped that it would never get to that point. Ever.

—-

If Regulus was ever asked, which of the following could ever compare to the beauty that is her: sun, moon, or star, Regulus would argue that she is the beautiful crescent moon with its bright yet soft light washing over his skin as he stares at her silently on his window pane. Regulus would argue, if he ever allows himself to be so bold, that she is his ideal. Her intelligence not to mention beauty would be the sweet honey to his tea, the butterfly to his garden of flowers.

But Regulus was never half as confident as she is. Never half as open and friendly to others. He was reserved, quiet, oftentimes perceived as cold and callous. But not to her. She could always see him through his distant exterior, involving him in every discussion they would have and perhaps that was the one thing that made him yield his heart to her.

Regulus never paid any mind to big dates and celebrations, but something about the upcoming Valentines date shakes his core. Perhaps it was the fact that it fell on the very day of their Hogsmeade trip this week, or the fact that all of his friends were buzzing about who they're going to ask to be their Valentines date, or maybe the fact that for once, Regulus might have a proper chance to ask her to be his date.

Chance. That word felt too optimistic for his presumptive mind. It was as if she ever looked at him that way.

“Regulus?” She called and squeezed his forearm lightly, making him burst his bubble of thought. He turns to her, cheeks slightly rosy from the shame of having ignored her. Just how pathetic he is to zoned out about her when she's sitting right beside him “Are you alright? You've been off of it all morning, I’ve noticed.”

He nods, flashing a shy smile, “All is well, no worries.”

She smiles, taking her hand off of him and continues her work.

Regulus turns his head, stopping at the sight of some Ravenclaw boy asking some Hufflepuff girl by the library entrance. The bashful gesture he’s showing and the giddy smile she shows makes it easy for him to tell the situation is happening at the spot. Another couple for the Valentine's Hogsmeade trip, he reckons.

A little twist in his stomach grows. With the many people asking each other out for the Hogsmeade trip, it would only be normal for him to ask her too, right? The timing was right, they could just go as friends in the worst case scenario. All he has to do is ask, but why are the words stuck at the tip of his tongue?

“Actually,” Regulus starts, secretly playing with the hem of his robe in nervousness “I have something to ask you.”

She looks up, meeting him with a warm smile, “Shoot.”

“I was wondering if you have a date for the Hogsmeade trip?”

“Oh,” She answers, utterly taken aback by his question. A hint of rosiness spread on her cheeks, something Regulus has to convince himself has nothing to do with his question. She always has that natural flush on her face, surely it must be nothing as pleasant as his stupid heart is hoping for “No, I don’t have a date at the moment. Why do you ask?”

“Just.. Asking for a friend.”

Regulus mentally slapped himself, having to be defeated by his anxiety once again that he has to come up with a lie. She stares at him with a confused look, the glimmer on her eyes dims down from the words he uttered. It was as if she was disappointed at his answer.

“I see,” She says with a nod “Do you plan to ask anyone?”

“Not sure,” He answers truthfully “Do you have anyone you hope would ask you?”

She plays with her quill, tapping it to the parchment paper as if she was piecing the right words to reply to him, “I suppose I do but I’m not counting on it.”

Regulus frowns, ignoring the slight crack of his heart, “Who?”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Regulus pursed his lips, acting to be in a deep thought, “No.”

She chuckles, turning back to her paperwork.

“But, if—” Regulus calls again, not wanting to end their conversation just yet “If my friend were to ask you, would you say yes?”

“Well it truly depends on which friend you’re talking about now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but what is the possibility of you saying yes to my said friend? 50%? 60%? Or are you fully waiting for your prince charming to ask you?”

She stares at him with a smile, looking completely amused at the questions thrown at her. If she didn’t know better she would think that Regulus was asking for himself from all the persistent queries, but then of course, we all know how Regulus Black is. No girl in this castle is good enough for him and this rule applies to her too.

“Why don’t you just tell this friend to come to me himself, hm?” She answers, resting her chin on her palm and stares at him fondly “I truly can’t give you any answers unless you give me a name, Reg.”

“It’s Evan.” He blurts, cheeks feeling hot from her gaze.

“Rosier?” She asks with a raised eyebrow “I thought he’s going with Pandora? I was sure she told me he asked her last week.”

“Did I say Evan? I meant Barty.” Regulus fake coughed, clearing his throat “Barty wanted to ask you to be his date.”

The soft and gentle expression on her face turns into an appalled one, bewildered at the answer Regulus gives. His brain has haywired that he neglected the fact that Barty was her cousin, and though cousin romance is deemed acceptable in the wizarding world, Barty and her would never pursue each other romantically for one too many reasons. If Regulus could just tame his nervousness for just a degree, he would’ve realised how idiotic his answer was.

“Barty wants to be my date?” She asks, trying to confirm his answer that sounded like a death sentence for her.

Regulus nods, “He does.”

She narrows her eyes, trying to catch his lie but the stern and rigid expression on Regulus’ face makes her question her own mind. Regulus was never one to be deceitful yet the idea of Barty wanting to ask her to be his date is just as illogical. The only plausible reason behind such a stunt would be them trying to pull some prank on her, but even with that, Regulus was never one to ever indulge in the mischief her cousin and Rosier would always find themselves in.

“I— Well, I guess you should tell him to ask me himself?” She answers, questioning herself.

“I’ll do that,” Regulus nods firmly, trying to keep his act in place “I’ll tell him you said that.”

—-

A couple of days has passed ever since that incident of him blurting Barty’s name at the library. Regulus was still ever so stressed out to ask her himself that he still hasn’t realised the stupid mistake he’s done. Now with the Hogsmeade trip coming closer, Regulus really has no other time but now to ask her.

Yet before he could do so, the universe crushed his dream.

Barty entered the Slytherin Common Room with the brightest grin on his face, making Evan, Regulus, and Pandora look at each other from the strange sight. He jumps to the sofa, sighing with delight as he lay on it and rests his feet to the hand rest. Barty turns to see his friends who now still look at him with a baffled expression, enjoying the sight and looking forward to stomping on one of them in the next minute.

“Gentlemen,” Barty greets before turning to Pandora “My Lady.”

“What’s with you?” Evan asks, an amused smile plastered on his face “You look like you’ve just won a lottery.”

“Even better, I just got a date.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, “A date? Who?”

Barty coos, saying her name.

“Wait, isn’t she—”

“Brilliant, indeed.” Barty cuts, not letting Evan to correct the fact that they’re cousins. He shot him a look, one that conveys I’ll tell you later and Evan nods in understanding.

Colour drains from Regulus’ face. Just when he finally gathered enough courage to come forward, he just has to be beaten to the race. By Barty of all people. Supposed she came and asked Barty about their conversation that day and knowing Barty, he would never let such an opportunity slip. Who would ever not want to have her as their date after all?

“Who would’ve thought, right?” Barty fawns, pouring Regulus’ jealousy with petrol “Barty Crouch Jr having such a beautiful bird as his date for Valentine's.”

Evan was eyeing his friend with a sceptical look, clearly lost at the scheme Barty was pulling, “Barty, can I see that Transfiguration homework you promised me now? I have quite a lot to catch up on.”

“Sure,” Barty says, catching Evan’s bullshit right away as he stood from the sofa “It’s in my room.”

And so the two boys left, leaving Regulus who looks like he’s second away from vomiting all contents of his stomach and Pandora who’s casually flipping the pages of a magazine in her hand, an all knowing smirk present on her lips.

“Pandora,” Regulus calls, eyes still vacant “Do you have your wand with you?”

Pandora hums.

“Please hex me to death right now.”

The girl laughs at his request. Pandora put down the magazine and looked at Regulus with a teasing smile, “Why would you ask me that, Reggie?”

Regulus glares, “You know why. I saw your smile the other day when she came to our table. You know about it, don’t you?”

“About what?”

“That I was crushing on her.”

Pandora shrugs, “Maybe.”

“Ugh,” Regulus crowls “What am I to do now?”

Pandora chuckles, patting Regulus’ shoulder in an attempt to console him. Pandora felt cruel now to be the one to suggest the prank, to tell her and Barty to go on a fake date just to mess with Regulus. In her defence, out of the five of them, it seems like Regulus is the only one who doesn’t realise his growing affection for her. It was a public secret for the group now that he’s been sending her heart eyes. All he needed was a push and Pandora felt like it was her duty to help him.

Even when Regulus would surely throw a fit once he knew she was the mastermind behind his distraught now.

“Why don’t you just come to Hogsmeade, Reg?” Pandora suggests, playing the innocent supportive friend now “If their date doesn’t go well, you can go and rescue her.”

Regulus turns to see Pandora, his eyes hopeful at the advice, “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Pandora encourages “I mean, how many similarities does she have with Barty? Almost none. I’m pretty sure their date will turn downhill the moment they step into Madam Puddifoot’s shop.”

“How do you know they’ll go to Madam Puddifoot’s?”

Pandora shrugs, “Don’t all couples go there?”

Regulus bites his inner cheek as he gives it a thought. The idea of her going to such a sappy tea shop with Barty peels his skin. It should be him and her, not Barty and her. What was in her bloody mind to ever say yes to Barty’s invite in the first place?

“Fine,” Regulus says with an exasperated sigh “I’ll go to Hogsmeade.”

—-

Regulus’ tea has long gone cold, untouched as he impatiently waits for her and Barty to enter the tea shop. He figured, if they wanted to have their date here, where else would be the best place to spy on them than the very shop itself? So he got himself a table, ordered himself tea and biscuits that only served as props on his table, while his eyes were glued to the door. Every jingle of the bell felt like an invisible blade thrown to pierce his heart.

He looks down to his watch. It’s been more than an hour now. When would they come? How long should he wait? Will they even come to this tea shop like Pandora said?

Before his head could explode with more questions, Regulus’ breath was held on his chest as she finally entered the establishment. Her cheeks were rosy, probably from the cold wind outside. Regulus wished he could take a picture of her now because Merlin, just how hypnotising could she be?

To think that she dressed up for a date with Barty crushes him, but where even is Barty?

Regulus’ brows were raised now. Did Barty stood her up? Is that why she’s alone now? But she doesn’t look the slightest bit annoyed or sad if such a scenario did occur. She has her eyes scanning the tables now, looking for something, someone, and when their eyes meet, her smile blooms and walks closer to him.

“Hello, there,” She greets, pointing at the empty seat in front of him “Is this seat taken?”

Regulus shakes his head, in loss of words as he tries to assess the situation happening.

She happily took her seat, ordering herself something to drink before turning back to Regulus. Her gaze met his, hands clasped on the table. Her brilliant smile was still evident and it’s making Regulus feel like he could melt and die right on that instant.

“So,” She started, her tone cheerful “What are you doing here, Regulus?”

“I— Uh—” Regulus stutters “I— I was supposed to meet someone.”

“Really?” She asks, intrigued “Who?”

“Just— No one important.” He answers, running his palms to his trousers in nervousness “What are you doing here? I heard you have a date with Barty today. Where is he?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Did he stood you up?” Regulus asked, his anger starting to rise. How dare he stood her up?

“Oh, no, he didn’t. I just cancelled our date.” She says nonchalantly “I find it too cruel to proceed so I bailed on them.”

“Cruel? Them?” Regulus asked, confused “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you sweet soul,” She says with a gentle chuckle, taking one of his hands softly and caressing the back of it with her thumb “Who is it again that you said was asking me for a date?

“Barty.” Regulus says with a nervous gulp.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t truly him now, was it?” She asks “Cause I’m pretty sure Barty would never be interested in me in that way, seeing that we’re cousins.”

Regulus closes his eyes, letting out an embarrassed sigh. That day in the Common Room must have been some sick joke the other’s were pulling at him. How Barty entered with such a huge grin and Pandora’s pitiful yet teasing look at him. They both must have been the miscreants behind this humiliating act.

“I’m going to kill them,” Regulus mutters, not meeting her eyes.

“Please, don’t,” She answers with a laugh “They mean well, I promise you.”

“They’re making me look pathetic in front of you.”

“That’s debatable,” She remarks “I find it cute and adorable, to be honest. And to be fair, it was you who lied to me first. They’re just following your ruse.”

“I’m sorry,” Regulus says “Are you angry at me?”

“No,” She says, shaking her head “I was appalled at first, but then I realised that you might just be shy about it so I just brushed it off.”

Regulus nods, smiling at her weakly from her understanding.

Now what? He thought. Cats out of the bag, for good this time. What should he say now? What should he do? Would she like him to say anything about it? Do anything about it? What if she’s just here out of a friendly gesture? That she doesn’t want to embarrass himself further in front of the others?

But the tender gaze she gives to him now, the understanding smile and the gentle touch she’s giving him, it all feels like a supportive push for him to go forward. To finally embrace his realisation of affection and hand his heart to her now.

“So I guess you know already..” He begins “About my feelings.”

“I have a rough idea of it.” She teases.

“What do you think about it?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, do you think it was okay? For me to fancy you?” Regulus asks, uncertainty bleeding out of his voice “Would it be okay if I like you?”

“If it wasn’t okay with me I wouldn’t be here with you, would I?” She argues, her kind smile still tugging on her lips “I do have to confess that I expected more than just ‘fancy’ or ‘like’. I thought we’ve gone past that phase already.”

“We?”

She raised an eyebrow, “You didn’t really think that this flows one way, did you?”

“I— I don’t know.”

“Oh, you blind child,” She chuckles “I fancy you too, Regulus. Perhaps even more than that.”

“I— Really?” Regulus asks, blushing yet still trying to understand her words as if she’s been speaking in a different language “This better not be another prank you and Pandora or Barty or Evan is pulling on me.”

She chuckles, “It’s not, I can assure you.”

“Prove it.”

She squints her eyes, giving his challenge a thought before standing a little from her seat. She begins to lean in, inching closer to his face and closing her eyes when their hot breaths begin to meet each other’s skin. She gives the lightest brush to his lips, so soft that it felt feather-like but still sent jolts of electricity down his spine. 

She pulls away a little, still so close to him that their noses brush with each other. She gazes into his eyes, lovestruck and content, “Was that enough of a proof?”

“No,” Regulus breathes, whispering “Do it again.”

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Death

Yandere!Kidnapper x f!Reader

warnings: fanatic behaviour, kidnapping, unreliable narrator—split perspectives—contradictions, mentions of self-harm, suicidal tendencies, mentions of sexual topics, touching without consent, heavy religious themes, yandere has taken somewhat the role of a caretaker, forced infantilization

Note: Read at your own risk tbh, I perceive this story as pretty disturbing, however if you can handle heavy topics, then enjoy. :)

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

He was righteous, has been all his life, or well, had been until he met you.

There just wasn't a way to stop himself, no, to stop the demons haunting him from taking you in his grasp, imprisoning you in his humble home.

Perhaps he was doing you a favour? Chaining you to the bed placed in his basement just for you, white ruffles decorating the sides of the countless pillows and the duvet cover. Everything pristinely white—linen, handpicked for you.

He even dusted it and cleaned it, installed an old-school TV and even got you coloured pencils and endless amounts of paper of all kind!

And it all was just for you. How romantic, don't you think?

Your captor was nice—he was soft, even his edges didn't hurt you. He never raised his voice, couldn't even imagine hurting you, even if it was just a hair on your precious head.

You were his entire life. His gift from God himself.

However he quickly realised that you didn't quite share his opinion. You weren't horribly hostile, tried to appease him in fear of his sometimes rash and almost fanatic behaviour, fearing one day he might just flip the switch and obsess over breaking a bone in your body, yet you never were overly soft. There was this wall between you two that bugged him greatly, but he just didn't know how to destroy it.

To top it off, you feared death at his hands, at first. However as days faded into weeks and then into months—and before you knew it a year had passed with no one succeeding in rescuing you from the obsessive stalker clinging to you—you started fearing a life with this man.

It started off with small things, like you eating less, your leftovers slowly increasing in size or you would leave the paper completely blank instead of scribbling something onto it.

Until it started affecting other areas of your very limited life like you starting to lose interest in watching TV, the only luxury that connected you to the outer world. Until that penetrating dark cloud hanging over your head affected you more severely, so much so, that it worried him.

You his sacred bride losing your excitement for life was terrifying. He couldn't imagine a life without you—he refused to even think about it, the sheer thought was too painful.

You refused to eat, laid around all day, didn't even fidget when he would not so subtly try to seduce you. Well he was a kidnapper, but he would never force you to spread your legs for him! So he was still waiting for your heart to warm up to him, however instead of warming up, you started fading away from his grasp.

It was so petrifying, so much so that he started asking his pastor for help, then his colleagues—he even searched through the internet at the computer of his local library!

Depression.

in big bold letters was what popped up first, a page dedicated to mental health. He was mortified reading through everything, the symptoms and what it could possibly lead to. Death. The word daunted him and haunted him.

He rushed home, your captor breaking out in a cold sweat, only experiencing sweet relief seeing you curled up beneath the covers, pale in the face as always.

Days have passed and now he clung to you like glue. “Sweetheart—Sweetheart you have to eat!” he whined, the spoon once more missing your mouth as you twisted your head away. He bound you to the chair to keep you still and yet you kept on avoiding his attempts at feeding you.

“Say Ahh love! C’mon for me! Be good? Please, sweetheart!” he pleaded and begged to no avail, you gazed at him empty-eyed and shook your head. That was when he finally caught sight of the red streaks down your neck and collarbone.

At first he thought it was an allergic reaction, then he remembered you hadn't consumed anything but water in the last few days. Then with a glance down at your shaking fingers, feeling over the broken and bloodied nails he realised.

Your own nails. You hurt yourself with your own nails.

He lost it. The bowl of boiling hot soup landed on the ground, porcelain shattering as he lunged forward, grasping your hair and tilting your head back to gauge the damage to your holy skin.

“How could you?—” he spat in revulsion, face mirroring the rage that was consuming him inside, yet he never could be mad at you for long.

“Sweetie—Sweetheart—” your kidnapper's voice faltered, face pulled into a grimace, he let go of your hair, easing the sting of your scalp, sinking to his knees in front of you, pleading with his eyes.

“Please talk to me baby, please tell me what's wrong. Is it the TV? I can buy you a new one. Do you want new pencils? Do you want crayons? Maybe watercolour? I can get you new clothes if that is the problem!— Sweetheart please, please talk to me.” he broke down, fat tears running down his cheeks, pathetically clinging to one of your calves, licking a strip up your knee.

“Baby—baby.” he whimpered, crying into your two knees, fingers now grasping your lap in such desperation that if it wasn't the man that kept you captive you might have felt more sympathy for him. It wasn't as if you hadn't considered just carving in by now and accepting him as the person that would be beside you till death, yet the thought hurt. It dug a hole in your heart and left you wanting to pluck each individual hair follicle out of your scalp.

You just couldn't bear stand his constant whining and begging, humping you dry from behind like a dog when he thought you were deep asleep, preaching that he was a devoted believer to god, when he had kidnapped you, forced you down here, kept you still chained up, with only limited times when you could use the restroom and then always with the door a split open to ensure you didn't flee from the narrow window placed over the toilet. Showering was even worse, he would insist on staying, waiting behind the shower curtain, eyeing your shadow. When you would step out he would be bright red, averting his eyes and adjusting himself before finally draping a towel over you that always managed to smell like his musk. It was disgusting.

Even though he claimed that he would never hurt you, he had overly violent episodes, where he would just throw things around, rip up the extensive pages upon pages of your emotional rant, threaten you with a broken glass bottle, before always falling to his knees, crawling on the floor begging and pleading for forgiveness.

All in all he was a walking contradiction and never could be trusted. So wasn't it clear why you would prefer death over being stuck with the constant fear of what's to come?

“Baby” he whined incessantly, clinging to you like a lifeline. Bastard. You kept on ignoring him. It wasn't just this day, but all the following days, opting to just leave yourself to rot away.

However it seems you didn't calculate that he was so transfixed with you, that he would protect you from anything and anyone, even if that someone was yourself.

“Sweetie” he whispered oh-so sweetly into the shell of your ear, still weary from your restlessness the night prior, you didn't even want to turn in your bed to face him. Big mistake.

Before you could see it, you felt it. Fingers grasped your jaw, some sort of fabric draped over the lower half of your face, a strong scent engulfing you all while he rocked your head back and forth, stroking your hair lovingly.

When you woke up, unbeknownst to you, you succeeded in losing all your privileges.

“Sweetheart! How are you feeling?” he chirped, the basement now completely padded, decorated in pink, filled with toys and plushies. That wasn't all—because you regretted looking down.

A diaper. You were wearing a diaper. You breath staggered, horror written across your features.

He snickered, stepping closer to you, kneeling down to your level on the floor. “Sorry Sweetheart, but— you just wouldn't listen to me. You were starving yourself! It was obvious that no one ever taught you properly. You didn't receive proper parental care—they didn't care for you enough, they didn't love you as I do. So I am just going to start from zero and reteach you everything! How does that sound? Good right? You will love it!” he cupped your wet cheeks, the real nightmare starting just now, with the prospect of being saved already having slipped from your mind, understanding that this hell was your new reality.

He leaned forward, lips brushing against your scalp as he whispered something so gut-wrenching you hoped that he would swallow his own tongue and choke on it.

“Cuz’ Sweetheart I gotta teach you real good, so when we get our own baby you will be a good mother, yeah? A great mother! The best mother!”

he laughed.

[layzeal]

picturing poor teenji in modern era growing up in the 2000s. he's in computer class. the lesson already ended but there's still time until the bell rings, so the kids are allowed to play flash games or visit any allowed website. wei ying slides his chair next to him and tries to annoy him into playing a flash version of smash bros (they'd share the same keyboard to play?? 😳😳) but he ignores him and brushes him off until he eventually gives up and goes bother jiang cheng instead. then, lan zhan overhears a group of girls giggling as they click on a Love Calculator at girlsgogames and then typing out different names and combinations, then loudly yelling and laughing at the results until the teacher tells them to tone it down

at home, he finishes his homework early and all his lessons, but neither brother nor uncle are home yet, so he decides to go use his uncle's computer to find and print some more music sheets. as he's browsing, his mind takes him back to class, and to the girls giggling. he brushes it off, focusing on seeing which music sheets he can practice, but his mind keeps wandering. after a long time, his cursor finally hovers to open a new tab. he types G, stops, then IRLSGO, stops again, sighing in frustration. why is he even doing this?

but the search function suggests the website a few rows down. somehow, he convinces himself that it's fine if he's just clicking a link, rather than typing it. the website opens, bright and colorful, and on the lower left in a small square, he sees that Love Calculator is already recommended as one of the most popular games, behind some doll dressing up, barbie games, and one with a girl with lasers in her eyes followed by a line of floating men. strange games that his female peers seem to play, he thinks

anxiously, his cursors hovers again, the arrow turning into a hand, pointing to the very middle of the heart, enticing him to click. he doesn't. he shakes his head and returns to the music sheet website, scrolls a bit, finds a few sheets, and finally sets it to print, but not without his eyes repeatedly glancing to the girlsgogames tab, still open next to it.

unfortunately, his uncle printer has always been a bit fickle, and it takes a while for it to understand the command. he sighs again, leaning his back on the chair to wait, and while he does, that cursed tab catches his eye again.

teenji purses his lips, biting the inside of his cheek. his hand moves, the tab reopens, and the colorful pink heart stares at him, daring. the printer is still making noises, but hasn't begun to print, and in his impatience, accidentally or not, he clicks on the game.

now this is the worst part

"your name" and "his or her name" sit blank on the screen as the heart in the center sparkles. lan zhan is thankful, at least, that it doesn't spell something ridiculous such as "your crush's name" or "your soulmate's name". this is distant, and doesn't necessarily signify romantic love (despite the sparkling hearts dancing on his monitor). it might just be a silly compatibility test, regarding two person's personalities and their affinity. lan zhan was young, but he knew there were many types of love. one could type the name of a friend, a family member, or an annoying classmate, and it wouldn't mean anything at all. it's just a ridiculous computer game, after all.

with this in mind, his chest feels lighter, and his hands don't tremble as he types "lan zhan" and "wei ying" respectively. the printer makes another sound, and the paper slides into it as the music sheet slowly takes form. finally, with just a bit of hesitation, he clicks on the bright pink button written in cursive font, "calculate".

the love meter fills as the hearts and names bubble and dance flamboyantly, and his printer sucks up another page. he doesn't stare at the screen, because as established, he does not care much for it, but the colors jitter on the corner of his eye, and he pretends not to pay attention to it, watching as the black notes and line come alive on the previously blank pages.

then, the screen changes, and something like confetti and sparkles move as the animation switches, signifying the result of the calculation was complete, and lan zhan does not move to look, the peripheral colors taunting him as he continues to watch the printer do its magical work.

but every respite has its end, and as he collects the papers and gathers them nicely on a thin pile, he realizes he must now turn around to close the tabs and shut off the computer. a voice in his mind reminds him of the big, bright button on the CPU — one click and he won't even need to look at the screen, and simply turn the computer off and leave the room, but he painfully turns the idea away. the teacher has said that this was not a good way to shut off a computer, and besides, what if the tabs stay open? what if next time his uncle turns on the monitor, he finds a bright heart flashing with his and wei ying's name, and the extremely high results of their relationship compatibility? no, the mere thought of it was nightmarish. he must face the girlsgogames tab alone if he wishes for his crimes to go unnoticed by any other soul.

so, slowly, with eyes slightly unfocused, he turns on the chair, and reaches for the mouse again, and a fleeting thought wishes he'd had removed his glasses before doing so. thus, impassive, lan zhan looks back at the screen, eyes focused on the red X at the top right corner, but for as much as he'd tried, the bright and colorful animations caught his attention, listless to his efforts, and right before the window closed and the vast green field and blue sky of his uncle's wallpaper welcomed him with open arms, a large, pink number had burned into his retina, and his cursor sat motionless over the "shut down" button for longer than he'd ever admit.

after that day, for reasons which lan huan is still not certain of, his didi became quite enthralled with the percentage of 33, even asking if it really was a low number or if there were any significances to it that they were not familiar with. lan qiren, however, could only wonder why the ads on the corner of some websites had begun to flash in pink, purple and white, suggesting girly games website which he'd never even heard of.

[tnt-kokoo]

Study date

Isagi Yoichi ×fem!reader

summary: you were originally meant to study with your boyfriend Isagi Yoichi, but instead, you drew him the whole time.

warnings: short

"Do you know the answer to question number 9..?" Isagi Yoichi, your boyfriend, asked as he had been trying to figure the answer out himself but failed miserably.

"Huh? Uhm let me see," you began as you turned to look at his papers to look at the question, "Uhmm I think the answer is... actually I don't know."

With a quick apology to Yoichi, you turned your papers back and began writing further.

Your boyfriend on the other hand was feeling down, considering he has to get his grades up since he has been too focused on football.

Ignoring question 9, he moved on with the 10th question,

"..... What?" He mumbled frustrated not even understanding the question. This made you look at him and then at his papers (which were pretty blank).

"Can you help me Y/n?"

"Oh uhm, sorry buy I haven't been doing math.. I was working on Japanese.." You say trying to sound as honest as possible, knowing you were in reality only drawing the different faces of frustration of your boyfriend while he was doing math.

"Yea maybe I should too. It's too late for me to do math now." He grumbled. While he was getting his Japanese work out, he took a quick glance at you and your work.

'What were you doing?' He asked himself and tried to move over to get a better view but tge moment he did, you turned the page but weirdly really fast.

'Were you hiding something??' your boyfriend thought again.

"What have you wrote yet?" He questioned curiously. "Continued to write an essay about stuff."

"Stuff? Let me read." You tried to pull your papers but you fought back and ended up pulling the paper from both sides, which caused them to rip and fall down on the ground.

"Shit, sorry!!" Isagi said as he quickly picked the two halves up and saw his face?

"Were you drawing ne this whole time?" He deadpanned at you.

"What?? No, I filled out the date." You tried to argue that you did do something.

"But apart from that, I just found your frustration funny and wanted to draw them" you laughed as he let out a sighs.

Not long after were all the school stuff abandoned and you two on his couch, watching a movie. You hug him pretty close and mumble quietly, "You know that I love drawing you?" He looks at you and planted a kiss on your forehead in a silent way to say 'I see'.

[eliluvschan]

Polaroid Memories

pairing: lee know x reader

word count: 700

warnings: just a cute Minho

genre: fluff

a/n: Lino has been wrecking me a liiittle too bad so another imagine for him today hihihi (next one is bang chan again i promise:)) + polaroid pics are by me :)

standing in my parents’ attic, i rummage through a box and find an old polaroid camera at the bottom.

“hey, look at this!” i call to Minho from across the room, holding the camera up for him to see.

he comes over and takes it from my hands, turning it in his hands and observing it.

“oh wow, haven’t seen these in so long. think it still works?” he asks.

“i don’t know. is there a film in it?”

Minho shakes the camera and we hear the film rattle around inside.

“jagiyaaa.” Minho sings as i look up at him.

there’s a bright flash and a few seconds later, the blank film slides out from the bottom of the camera. Minho shakes the film a few times, and soon my face develops on it.

“beautiful.” he says as he admires the photo of me.

“beautiful? if you told me you were gonna take one, i’d smile.” i say as he smiles. “let me take one from you then.” i say, taking the camera from him.

he looks at the camera, his lips in a thin line and i click the shutter button, the flash going off and capturing his incredibly handsome face.

we end up having a mini photoshoot, using old coats, hats and whatever other trinkets we can find to enhance our photos. we make each other laugh with crazy poses and silly faces.

eventually we use up the last of the film left in the camera after compiling a huge stack of polaroids.

“i love these.” i say as i shift through each of the photos. “but i love you more.” i say as i lean over and give Minho a peck on his cheek.

“i love you too. and by the way, i’m stealing all of these pictures.” he says, taking the stack from my hand.

“what? why? i want some.” i exclaim.

“you’ll get them back. i just want to do something first.”

“fine, but you better not ruin them.”

“trust me, i won’t.”

— ❀ —

“can i open my eyes yet?” i ask as Minho’s big hands cover my small ones over my hands.

“almost.” Minho replies and i hear some rustling from the table in front of me. then he takes his hands off of my eyes.

when i look down, i see a wrapped gift, resting on the table.

“can i open it?” i ask eagerly.

“of course.”

i rip off the wrapping paper to reveal a simple black scrapbook with the words ‘now and forever’ inscribed in gold lettering on the cover.

“what’s this?” i ask, even though i already have a feeling of knowing what it is.

“open it!”

when i flip the cover open, i see pages and pages full of all the polaroid photos we took that day in my parents’ attic. and some new ones that i hadn’t seen yet. he even had some photos of Soonie, Doongie and Dori.

beneath each one, were neat handwritten captions. in Minho’s pretty handwriting.

“i told you, you’d get them back.” he says.

“i should’ve believed you.” i say, giggling. “i love it. i’m going to look back at this forever.”

“i’m glad you like it. oh! and i wrote a little something on the inside of the cover.”

i glip back to the front cover and see a handwritten note addressed to me.

my dearest Y/n,

i told you that i would give these back to you, didn’t i? i just wanted to say how much i love you. i will cherish all these little moments with you and the kids. all the spontaneous photoshoots, goofy moments, and never ending laugh fits, for the rest of my life. 1 4 3 <3

kisses forever,

Minho.

when i finish reading his note, tears of happiness stream down my face.

“thank you so much, Min. this is the sweetest gift i’ve ever received. i love, love, love you.”

Minho takes my face in his hands and presses his lips against mine. just like every kiss we’ve shared in the last two years, sparks fly and butterflies erupt in my stomach.

how did i get so lucky?

~

[rollinouttahere-writes]

So. It's kinda random but what if Platonic Yandere! Strawhats with Y/n who is an artist? And maybe one day they saw how Y/n drew one of them but doesn't want to show any?

Let me see!

Yandere Straw Hats x GN!Reader

1.4k words

It was rare to get any time to yourself around here. Ever since you got mixed in with the Strawhat Crew, you felt like you always had someone attached to your hip or hovering over your shoulder. This made indulging in your personal hobbies difficult. Granted, it’s not like any of them would stop you from doing it, but you wanted to keep at least one thing for yourself.

Today was one of those instances where you were actually being left alone. You’re not sure how it happened this time. Maybe they all thought you were already spending time with someone else. Whatever, you’re not about to waste these precious moments pondering it.

Quietly slipping into your room, you pull your sketchbook and utensils out of their hiding spot. You curled up in your bed and flipped through the book until you found a blank page. Twirling the pencil between your fingers, you contemplate what to draw.

Despite your.. Complicated relationship with the crew, you couldn’t help but be inspired by them. Well, artistically speaking at least. They were constantly doing all these incredible feats and looking cool as hell while doing it. That, and it’s not like you saw much else besides them anyways.

After mulling it over, you start sketching, having decided on drawing Luffy today. He was an incredibly fun person to draw, what with his admittedly adorable baby face and his cartoonish anatomy. 

It didn’t take long for you to really get into the zone and be only focused on putting new lines onto the sheet of paper. You’re so focused that you don’t hear the door to your room open, nor the sound of sandals slapping across the floor until it’s too late.

“(Y/N)! Why are you hiding in here, I’ve been looking for you!” Luffy giddily rushed towards your bed and threw himself onto it, and subsequently you.

Frantically, you try to hide the sketch book under the covers, but he already saw it. Perking up, he tries snatching it out of your hand, “C’mon, why are you reading a book when you could be playing with me?!” 

Yes! You might be able to get out of this yet. If he thinks it’s a book, he definitely won’t try to read it and discover what it really is. “I like reading, Luffy. I just want to curl up with a good book once in a while,” as you’re saying this, you narrowly avoid letting it fall into his grabby hands, and slip it underneath yourself to sit on it.

He pouts and rests his face on his hands, still focused on the book, “Is it really that good that you want to read it more than hang out with me?”

You cringe a bit at how pointed the question was. There was no good answer here. Either you say no and he’ll immediately drag you off, or you say yes and run the risk of hurting his feelings. Then you’ll have to deal with a temper tantrum from him, and being admonished by the rest of the crew for being mean. “It’s not about it being better than hanging out with you, I can like doing more things you know.”

Luffy huffs at your indirect answer and begins tugging on the book again, “What’s it’s even about then?”

Oh shit. Um. Hm. Now you need to improvise. “It’s about,” you dart your eyes around looking for any inspiration to help you out. You’re in a plain room on a boat in the middle of the ocean, and of course the plot of literally every book you’ve ever read has completely vacated your brain.

You were apparently taking too long to tell him, so he just ripped it out from under you to investigate himself. “It can’t be that good if it’s that hard to explain. Why would you-” Luffy’s sentence died on his tongue as he opens it, right onto a picture of himself.

Panicking, you launch yourself onto his back in a desperate attempt to confiscate it, but he simply stretches his arms to keep it out of reach.

“This is awesome! Why didn’t you tell me you could draw so good?” Much to your chagrin, he starts flipping through it, now seeing sketches of the other members, too.

“Luffy! Give that back! I didn’t say you could look at that!” Blood rushed to your face from the embarrassment of being caught.

He peers over his shoulder at you, looking bewildered at your statement, “What’s the big deal? Don’t you want to share your talent?”

“No, I don’t! Just give it back and don’t tell anyone about it! Please!” You scrambled off the bed and leapt for the book, but he just snapped his arms back and continued the game of keep away.

You could see the gears turning in his head, trying to make sense of your words and actions. His eyes suddenly widened and he grinned as something clicked for him, “Oh I get it! You don’t know how good these are! You just need some help realizing it!” With that, he took off out of your room, sketchbook in hand.

“Get back here!” You sprinted after him, hoping you could get it back before he showed everyone, but deep down you knew it was already too late.

You were at a massive disadvantage here. Luffy was fast, especially when he had something he wasn’t supposed to. By the time you make it onto the deck, you’re horrified to see he’s already acquired an audience. Nami and Robin were seated at the table, with Sanji serving them some tea and snacks (which were currently being inhaled by Luffy while they were distracted by the book).

“You aren’t supposed to see that!” You hope that you’ll be able to get it out of Robin’s hands, but Luffy wraps one of his arms around you, leaving you immobilized at his side. Before you could beg them to please put it down, Luffy shoves a tiny cake into your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Go back a page, I think I saw one of me!” Nami was pestering Robin and trying to get it to herself, but any attempts at grabbing it were thwarted by an arm sprouting from the table and swatting her hands away. 

“In a minute, Nami, I’ll let you see when I’m finished,” Robin was entirely unbothered by her pleas (and yours), choosing to casually flip through each and every page with a small smile on her face.

Sanji was looking over them, smiling at the artwork, and was the first to acknowledge that you were standing right there. “These are incredible, though I’m not surprised that you would be so talented~!”

The sweet and genuine compliment almost made you cave in to accepting the situation, but you dismissed it. Swallowing the cake, you can finally speak again, “Please stop looking at that, I don’t like people looking at my sketchbook!” Especially not when the people in question kidnapped you and are actively holding you hostage.

“Oh? Are you shy about it? How cute,” Robin teased.

“It’s not-” you were once again cut off by another cake being stuffed into your mouth.

“What are you guys all looking at?” Chopper was now approaching with Usopp not far behind. Great. Why not just let everyone see it! 

Robin flipped to a page with Chopper on it and showed it to him, “(Y/N), took the time to draw all of us, it seems.”

Chopper’s eyes sparkled at the drawing, and against all logic he was somehow blushing??? “Oh I don’t look all cutesy like that, you jerk!” His dopey smile easily contradicted his words.

“I didn’t know you were also an artist. You should have told me sooner, I could’ve been teaching you! I’ll have you know I’ve tutored many famous artists! In fact, this reminds me- You drew me too?!” Usopp’s tale is cut short when Robin shows him a sketch of himself. 

You finally stop struggling, instead choosing to flop against Luffy in defeat. What’s the point? Damn near everyone has already seen it, you’re sure Zoro will wander on over here soon enough anyways. 

Upon feeling you give up, Luffy lets go and looks very pleased with himself. He unceremoniously shoves the little remaining food into his mouth and runs off calling for Zoro while Sanji gives chase, scolding him for eating all the food.

You just stood there, not knowing what else you could do. With Luffy gone, everyone else was crowding around you, lavishing you with compliments and asking questions all at once. You couldn’t even bring yourself to answer, all you could do was sulk as the last thing that you had just to yourself was taken away and thrown out into the open.

It was bound to happen eventually, you suppose.

[astermath]

my muse.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: a short oneshot of steve's girlfriend painting him, and him being able to see his own beauty through your eyes.

word count: 1.1K

notes: got this cute idea out of nowhere, thought maybe steve would like to know how beautiful others think he is.

let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for further steve harrington related content!

“Is it done yet?”

Steve sits on a stool in front of the window in your atelier. The slowly dimming light of the sun setting illuminates him from the back, the lamp you have set up besides you letting you see him from the front.

“Almost Stevie, be patient.”

He’s been sitting perfectly still for over an hour. An admirable feat, to be honest. He’s not usually one for sitting idly at all, always fidgeting one way or another or wanting to move about.

But he’s been doing quite well. He wants to do well. For you. So you can do your thing.

He’s been secretly wanting to do this ever since he’s seen your paintings. You’re incredibly talented, something between a Monet and a Renoir. An incredible eye for colour and composition, but most of all, you like to paint people.

You do a hell of a job at capturing someone’s likeness, even through the lens of an impressionistic art style. Steve is sure you’ll make it big with your art one day. You told him most painters only get famous after they die, and that didn’t exactly sit well with him. He'd rather have you alive and famous, but mostly the first part.

You’d been going through a bit of an art block, and so you’ve went through your old sketchbooks. You realised there is a surprising, almost embarrassing, amount of drawings of your boyfriend in there. Like… Pages, upon pages. You’ve always thought he has this effortless, beautiful air about him that just made every pose look like it should be captured onto paper forever.

When you asked him if he wanted to model for your next painting, Steve's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He's always adored your art, supporting you and your passion every step of the way, so to be immortalised on one of your canvases is a huge honour to him.

He was a bit nervous though. He knows you think he's the prettiest boy alive, and though he does think he's serviceable, he's not sure if he's painting worthy.

Still, who is he to deny his sweet girl of using him as a reference?

At first, it was hard. How in god's name do you capture someone as beautiful and complex as Steve Harrington onto something as simple as a blank canvas? You want it to be perfect. You want it to reflect the type of person he is. You want the adoring glint in those gorgeous brown eyes to come through, the dimple in his cheek when he smiles, the constellations of freckles and moles gracing his skin. In a sense, it has to be your best piece yet.

"Alright," you lean back for what feels like the hundredth time already, getting a good look at your work. You take a moment, deciding not to let your nerves get the best of you and not overthink it. The urge is there, but you'd feel awful about letting your boyfriend sit there for yet another hour.

"I think... I think I'm done." you put down your brush, clasping your paint clad hands together in your lap.

Steve perks up in that adorable way he tends to do when he's curious. "Really? Can I come see?"

You bite your lip, unsure once again if the painting truly reflects the beauty of its subject. You sigh, knowing nothing probably ever will. You nod, lifting your hand so you can beckon him over.

He can barely contain his excitement, breaking into a little jog as he makes his way over to you. His arm drapes over your shoulders as he positions himself besides you.

"Woah..." His eyes widen as he takes it all in. The entire artwork exudes warmth. A mix of yellows, oranges and pinks surround him in the way a beautiful sunset would, and his smile looks as if it could cure anything. The brush strokes are a bit experimental, but not messy. Nothing is accidental, every placement and detail has a reason. A purpose.

You nibble on the back of your finger, anxiously awaiting his approval. You find that the longer you look at your art, the more flaws you notice. Now you're conflicted. You just want to do Steve's pretty face justice.

"D'you like it?" You look at him, all nervous.

But Steve looks like he has stars in his eyes. And tears. Yeah, he's definitely about to cry.

"Stevie? You okay?"

He blinks a few times, a stray tear rolling over his cheek as he clears his throat. "Yeah, I, uhm-- wow, it's-- it's beautiful." He looks at you, those pretty eyes he loves, all confused at him.

"Are you sure?" you smile a little sheepishly.

"Peach..." He leans in and presses a kiss to your head. "I love it. It's beautiful. It's just, I... I'm amazed you think I'm so beautiful too."

"I just painted what I saw. 'N what you make me feel."

Steve feels like he's going to melt, your words fulfilling every bit of his loving fantasies. You don't even mean to, and yet you know exactly what to say to pull on his heartstrings.

"Makes me feel so appreciated. Thank you baby, I love it." He grins, all boyish excitement.

"Yeah, I love it too... I think this one's my favourite, actually." You look up and capture Steve's lips in yours in a chaste kiss. "Might have to frame it, hm?"

"I have a better idea."

"I'm listenin'."

"Could you paint the two of us? Like on that polaroid in my wallet?"

He's referring to the polaroid you took when you first met. It was a party, and you were both fairly inebriated. Somehow, you'd started talking, and you hadn't left each other's side all night, leaving the dancing to the others and instead opting to entertain each other. Robin captured the moment the two of you were stuck in a laughing fit together, and Steve has kept it in his wallet ever since. It warms your heart to know he's kept you with him even far before you two got together.

"Yeah, I can do that. What do I get in return?" You smile, faces so close your noses are still rubbing together.

"One million kisses."

"Hmm..."

"Two million kisses."

"You drive a hard bargain, Harrington."

"Three?"

"Sold."

"Sold."

"Good." you peck his lips, "better start that down payment now."

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@inkluvs @palmtreesx3

[svaints]

May I request something small for Rollo giving kisses that gradually turn to hungry ones?

I'm hyperventilating...🎀

𝕽𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝕱𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖒𝖊 | 𝖓𝖘𝖋𝖜

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫: 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡, 𝐓𝐨𝐩!𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨 × 𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐀𝐮𝐜𝐮𝐧! (𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞)

"Quit moving away, I'm not done with you yet." He spoke with heavy pants while his hand moved to the back of my head and kissed me again, his body pressing mine against the counter...my head feeling light headed, I'm surprised with how much stamina he has to keep going..

We weren't doing much but studying for final exams and everyone was stressed out, overwhelmed with the idea of not passing especially since our scores were going to be sent to our future universities we're planning to attend to.

"Wake up." I hear as I open my eyes feeling my shoulder being nudged on until he sees I'm awake. "This wouldn't happen if you slept your hours y'know." As much as I wanted to comeback with something, an excuse, I couldn't because he was right. I had stayed up reading a few...."books" until 3 am.

"We've been studying for three hours could we not get a break?" My head continued to lay on my arms while he thought about it, his gaze down to meet mine and then the papers on the table with our study guides. He sighed closing his eyes, "I suppose. We'll study again in 15 mins." Rollo softened a bit trying to be less tense and worried but he couldn't. He was a perfect A+ student passing effortlessly but this test determined his entire future career. It was like that for everyone.

I see his eyes staring down his lap, seated in silence until he looked at me, "Am I being hard on you?" His facial expression was blank but his eyes showed worry as if he was holding me with the same standards he held himself to.

"No, you're not..you just want what's best for me." My posture straightened to lean closer and hold his hand assuring him that was the case. His lips curved to a smile as he exhaled to relax.

"Yes, I do, but that's not a reason to push you as much as I do to myself. You have your limits and boundaries dear.." I didn't like it when he worried too much, it got him anxious even if he didn't express it or allowed me to see it, I knew it was a lot to keep under control for him.

All I did was stand up and stretch a bit, "Let's grab something to eat, we only have 10 minutes, everything's okay." He gave a nod and a smile before following me to my kitchen.

We had fruit cups while standing up to avoid sleeping or becoming too relaxed since we still had five more sections of the test to study for. I leaned on the counter a bit and began thinking about those books I read yesterday, my cheeks suddenly flushing red at the thought of the one page that had me kicking my legs at how new I was to the experience.

"Are you okay? You're face is red." He asked throwing his cup away, finished and washed his hands. I could only nod assuring him it was nothing before thinking, "Ro...what do you know about stress relievers?"

He turned to look at me and then down before walking over, drying his hands. "They're obviously to calm down and have you in a more peaceful state of mind. There's a lot one can to relieve stress. Why?"

"I was wonder if you'd allow me to do show you one that I was interested in trying..." I was going to go by the book, lame, boring honestly but it was my first time actually putting it to action....

With an eyebrow raised, he gave a nod. I came closer, tip-toed and pressed my lips against his, eyes closed and my hands holding his wrists.

My heart raced feeling his lips on mine, they were surprisingly soft and tasted like cherry chap stick unless it was mine but who knew since it was mid-winter.

I pulled away, opening my eyes and saw his beat red cheeks as he looked at me surprised, he looked upset to me. I thought I may have crossed a boundary, making me feel guilty. "I'm sorry..."

"Why'd you stop?" He asked coming closer, was he more offended I had pulled away than suddenly kissing him??? "I thought it made you uncomfortable.."

Needless to say, I didn't.

We went from taking a 15 min break from studying to having his hands gripping my sides, pressing me against the counter I was leaning on. My hands on his chest while he made sure there wasn't a gap between us.

His tongue was pushed into my mouth making sure he was taking control of the situation by holding the back of my head to angle it better without being harsh.

I let out a small whine once he began getting bolder, sliding his hand up my shirt to caress my breast. I moved my head away to get some air until he stopped and frowned.

"Quit moving away, I'm not done with you yet." He spoke with heavy pants while his hand moved to the back of my head and kissed me again, his body pressing mine against the counter...my head feeling light headed, I'm surprised with how much stamina he has to keep going..

Small groans of pleasure escaped from him, our bodies feeling the heat of the situation.

I could tell the session was getting the better of him once he began pressing his hips on mine, the layers of clothes he had in the way of his desire.

If we were to ever get further, I didn't want to do it here. Especially with the window curtains open for anyone to see. He stopped again panting and leaned his chin over my shoulder holding me tightly, "You're fun to kiss..." He spoke breathlessly.

My cheeks flushed more before cupping his face and kissed him again going fully into it as I began trying to undress him already despite saying I didn't want to do it here before.

He took me to my room to continue getting visibly impatient out of nowhere as he layed us down and climbed over me to take everything off.

His hat, tassels, shirt and clothing along with a few more items scattered on the floor. My clothes mixed with his.

I was only left with my bra and panties while he had his last layer of clothing on still. His hips rythimically moving against mine as we made out, his hands gripping the sides of my waist rocking my body. I could feel how desperate he was, how hard it was.

Our kisses became sloppy once we were near climax. Now thinking about it, it would've been better with out the last few layers of our clothes but we had an exam to study for and we were only trying to take the stress away dry humping one another.

He looked down at me with so much love and desire trying to satisfy his needs and mine, making sure I was the one enjoying it above all.

Before we knew it, he had jerked his hips up mine holding on to me tight as we came.

His breath was heavy petting my hair and moving it away from my face. I hugged him nuzzling into his neck. "Do we really have to study?" I asked looking at him, pleading we continue.

He thought about it before letting out a small laugh, "Let's just relax a bit.."

We ended up holding on another exhausted, soon falling asleep forgetting about studying. I know we're doubling the hours now that I side tracked him...

꒰ঌ໒꒱

𝐼 𝑚𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝐼 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠, 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑒𝑠. 𝐼𝑓 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠, 𝑙𝑚𝑘.