#his hair is so impeccably shaped here

[svtswhorehouse]

YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND

pairing: choi seungcheol x reader genre: mdni, smut warnings: reader’s birthday, little mention of bondage by ribbons, pussy eating, mentions of dom cheol, fingering, making out, slight finger sucking, pet names, mentions of a round two idk. word count: 1.8k side note: it’s my birthday today so here’s a little something!!! hellllllllo twenty-one, you’re not ready for me!! also, i wrote this so quickly cause i was trying to get it out by my birthday so i apologize if it’s not that great.

You have always looked pretty in pink. It was your favorite color — one that made you stand out and surely one that appeared spectacular against your skin tone at the current moment.

You glanced up at the pretty ribbon tied in a cute little bow around your wrists. The piece of fabric once used for your hair now bounding your arms to the bedpost, preventing you from moving. You laid flat on the mattress, your body completely bare and head elevated by a soft pillow as you anxiously awaited the arrival of your boyfriend. Claiming he had a very important task to finish, Seungcheol unfortunately left the room right as things were just beginning to get heated. Despite saying it wouldn’t take that long, five minutes seemed to feel like years as your body was hot and your heart was racing.

With your eyes narrowing in on the clock, the time read 11:58 p.m and it was only two minutes away from an annual milestone in your life. As if right on cue, as soon as midnight struck, the door creaked open. 

Your eyes flew to the entrance immediately, excitement on your face as your boyfriend entered. In his hands was a pink cake in the shape of a heart, sprinkles and edible glitter all around it to make it pretty. Candles displaying your age were lit at the top and waiting for you to blow them out as Seungcheol shielded the flame with one hand.

The boy smiled at you, walking closer to the spot in which you couldn’t move from. “Happy birthday baby.” He held the cake close to your face and you took the time to admire the beauty of it. Seungcheol was a man that took consideration and time into doing something, and although he didn’t make or decorate the cake himself, he definitely put thought into choosing it out from the bakery. 

“Thank you Cheolie.” You spoke looking at him with eyes full of admiration and love at the kind gesture. He was always someone who scolded others who didn’t wish him at exactly twelve a.m whenever his birthday rolled around, so you could surely count on him to be the first person to wish you when it came down to it.

Seungcheol’s eyes lit up in slight excitement at your gaze. A blush was beginning to form on his cheeks, however he cleared his throat and it died down rather quickly. “Make a wish.” He encouraged.

Closing your eyes, you did as he said before opening them back up again. Directly in your line of vision was Seungcheol who’s gaze never left yours once as he took some of the buttercream frosting on his index and middle finger, holding them up to your lips.

“Open.” He said, the words sounding like a command.

Listening obediently, you opened your mouth wide and happily took in his fingers. You sucked the frosting clean off, coming to the conclusion that it was rather delicious as your tongue lingered to swirl around his digits. You were doing an impeccable job at maintaining eye contact with your boyfriend, the simple action causing his pants to tighten as his cock grew even harder when you let out a moan. 

“Shit.” He mumbled under his breath, however it didn’t quite reach your ears as the only thing you could hear was the pop as soon as his fingers left your mouth. “What did you wish for pretty girl?” He asked, genuinely curious.

A seductive look was displayed on your face as you spoke in a whisper. “I think you know.”

Seungcheol waited a beat to gather himself before finally giving in and leaning down to crash his lips against yours. The kiss was soft at first, soon turning rough when he rested a hand on your throat. You let out a small sound of pleasure, Cheol taking advantage of the moment in which your lips parted to enter his tongue into your mouth. You allowed him to explore, your wet muscle intertwining with his in perfect harmony just as it always does.

As he pulled away to break the kiss, you were left with your lips chasing his, only to be held down by the restraint he put you in before. The boy chuckled as you tugged, looking at him with desperate doe eyes. 

“You’re too cute.” He said before dipping down to trail light kisses along your neck and down to your stomach. “My pretty, pretty girl.” The praise left you whining for more, his sultry eyes adding more fuel to the fire as he got closer and closer to your lower regions. Your breath picked up, getting heavy as you anticipated his every move.

In one swift motion, Seungcheol grabbed your knees to tear them apart from each other and admire the spot between your legs. 

The sudden act of your pussy being on full display for him caused you to shrink into yourself, feeling shy at his sudden attention on such an intimate part of your body.

“What baby?” Seungcheol asked, furrowing his eyebrows in fake curiousity as he noticed your timidity. “Isn’t this what you wished for.” He inched his face closer to your core with a shit eating grin — one that would of had you smacking the back of his head if it was any other time, but for now just had you begging for more.

“I-.” You tried to start, but was left speechless as the only thing you could pay attention to were the kisses he was beginning to leave on the insides of your thighs. He was far too close to the one spot that was craving the most of his attention, but it was left neglected as he skipped over it every single time. “Cheol.” You groaned, wiggling your hips as the impatience began to sink in. You were practically presented to him on a silver platter, but despite that he still refused to give you what you wanted.

Maybe he enjoyed seeing you suffer — or maybe he rather enjoyed the fact that he could see you getting wetter by the minute from his point of view the longer he made you wait. 

At last, he finally laid a gentle kiss directly on your clit. The action caused you to let out a loud moan as you bucked your hips up in an attempt to grind against his face. Laughing to himself, Seungcheol was quick to wrap a strong arm around your waist to prevent your lower half from moving any more than it already has.

“Patience baby.”

You rolled your eyes at his words and let out a huff to audibly let him know that you weren’t happy with the denial of your pleasure. “But it’s my birthday!” You protested.

Seungcheol sighed, knowing that you were in fact right and it wouldn’t hurt to let you get what you wanted at least just for one night. “And whatever the birthday girl wants, the birthday girl gets.” He gave in, eyes softening slightly. 

Although the inner dom in him wasn’t too happy about his choice of throwing in the towel, especially so soon — he still decided to grant your wishes, knowing that it’s your day and it’s what you wanted for the night.

A smile spread across your face as he spoke, but your mouth soon flied open and jaw went slack from the sudden connection of his tongue lapping at your cunt. “Fuck.” You mutter, head rolling to the side and eyes closing as his mouth explored you entirely.

You have been in this position about a million times before and still, every single time it never fails to amaze you just how talented your boyfriend is with his tongue.

His wet muscle pokes at your entrance, working in and out of you, occasionally trailing back up to your clit so he can trace circles around the bud. He switches from flicking to sucking, changing it up every so often just the way you like it.

“Feels good baby?” Seungcheol asks, his mouth unlatching for a split second to take in your expression.

“Mhm. S-so good Cheolie.” You found it hard to think as your boyfriend slowly slides a finger into your dripping hole. Whining at the intrusion, you wriggle your hips when he doesn’t move. 

“What?” He asks, almost in a mocking manner. “You want more?” 

You shake your head, nodding one too many times. “Yes please.” You answered nicely, hoping it does you some justice…and it does. 

Seungcheol adds another finger, wiggling his two digits inside of you before slowly working them in and out. “Since you asked so nicely.” All too quickly, he begins to finger you at an excruciatingly fast pace as he dives into you once again. He eats you out as if he’s a starved man and you’re his last meal on earth. 

You bit down on your lip rather hard, afraid that if you didn’t the neighbors might call the cops with a noise complaint. The sound of squelching reaches your ears as he finger fucks you, determined to make you cum all over his hand. He groans into your pussy, the vibration traveling up through your body and doing nothing but adding more to the pleasure. 

The stimulation of his mouth sucking at your swollen bud and digits buried deep in your sopping wet cunt has you seeing stars. He can sense you’re close to cumming as your hole clenches around his fingers, helping add more friction against that spongy spot inside of you. 

“Cum for me babygirl,” — and you do exactly that. With a loud moan ripping through you, your body begins to shake as your orgasm washes over. You can feel every bead of sweat gathering as well as your arousal dripping down and onto the bed, but you don’t seem to care as the only thing you can focus on is receiving what you finally wished for. 

“Cheol.” You moaned his name desperately, thrusting your hips against his face as he continued with his relentless abuse on your cunt. He was determined to help you ride your orgasm out and not once did he let up until he was sure you were done.

Moving back up to your face, he placed a passionate kiss on your lips, letting you taste yourself. You were breathless and tired, chest heaving from the intense orgasm that he just gave you. “Happy birthday pretty girl.” He says yet again with a grin, but this time there’s a mischievous glint behind it. His lips run along your jaw, leaving small kisses as he allowed his hands to tangle in your hair. “You did so good hmm? My pretty girl.” You could do nothing but roll your eyes into the back of your head at the praise, still coming down from the high you had just experienced. 

Out of nowhere, still smothering you with kisses, he spoke again. “You can give me one more, can’t you baby?” He asked.

You attempted to protest, but couldn’t do so as you felt overwhelmed by the feeling of his lips on your skin. The only thing you seemed capable of was watching as he found comfort in the space between your legs yet again. 

You were in for a long night, but happy birthday to you. 

[hazbin-writings-and-musings]

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader Smutty Headcanons

I promised on this LM x Reader post things would get spicy soon, so here we are, coming so far from my first post! Just the first of probably many more smutty Lucifer posts, because we all know this man fucks and we all want a piece.

Warnings: SMUT

- This man legitimately loves everything about eating pussy. He loves performing it, he loves bragging about how well he performs it, he loves giving tips because he believes in respecting the craft, and he loves putting down anyone too entitled to provide what he sees as this most enjoyable of services for one's partner. You don't even have to ask him to go down on you, it'll be one of the first things he offers, and he'll regularly ask if you're interested in letting off a little steam. Having the ability to extend and shapeshift his tongue into having an opposable forked tip makes him capable of techniques beyond your wildest fantasies, and whether you like to receive from above or below, he's equally down to have you seated on his face or laying back to enjoy yourself.

- He's not poorly or overly endowed for a man of his size, but he's also quite literally the one who originally proved that size doesn't matter in the slightest, and he's had thousands of years to perfect those original techniques. From position to tempo, he's mastered everything he needs to hit the G-spot with impeccable accuracy, and his hands will be quite busy seeking out where you most enjoy attention as he rides you with the power and virility of an untamed stallion. All this combined results in a mind blowing time for you, every time, and he's got the stamina to answer all of your repeated requests for another round.

- Nevermind the magic he can work with his tongue or his dick, the King of Hell is also a wizard with his fingers. He's even got a carpal tunnel roller just to keep his dexterity in top shape for when his skills are needed. Finding your clit is effortless for him, and he'll show it all the love he thinks you deserve, responding eagerly to your feedback in the moment and putting his mouth to use on your neck as he does so. Whether you want him inside, outside or both at the same time, he's happy to provide, and he'll gladly push his wrists to the limit if it leaves you properly satisfied.

- If you offer to be the one servicing him, he'll happily accept, and you'll quickly find his mannerisms shift quite considerably when he's on the receiving end. He starts out confident, offering banter to match your own, but as soon as your mouth gets to work, his demeanor changes. A grin becomes an open mouthed moan, his hands tenderly take hold of you to ground himself, and witty quips turn to soft and needy sighs. The more heated things get, the more he loses himself, but it's a great way for you to gauge how well you're performing. Growls and an appearance of his horns are a sign he's really having a good time, especially considering he's always got steam to blow off. Particularly rough days will result in him losing all control by climax; fully extended wings and horns, an unfurled tail he wraps about you, hair disheveled and clinging to a fine layer of sweat, and more than a few reality bending bursts of power surging around the both of you. It's his favorite way to end the day on a good note. He'll pull his fingers from your hair as he breathlessly apologizes for the show, but the both of you know watching him go feral is part of the fun.

- The afterglow is peak cuddle time for him, and he'll be in no hurry to get dressed if there's somewhere either of you needs to be, so more than a few of his duties will end up delayed thanks to post-coital bliss. All six wings will seek you out for a fluffy embrace, and if the two of you are at all winded, the otherworldly softness of Archangel feathers might make staying awake quite impossible. Should you have some energy to spare though, he'll want to actively enjoy the snuggle. Hearing you breathe, feeling his skin against yours, and engaging in pillow talk just make him the happiest little guy. Such moments really allow him to let his guard down, and you might hear him speak with a softness and hopefulness that rarely leaves the bedroom, but he's just as interested in listening as he is in talking. Don't be too surprised if he drifts off with his head in your boobs though.

[doumadono]

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

💥Late one night, while heading home, you realized someone was tailing you. Your pace quickened, and eventually, you broke into a run, with your pursuer doing the same.

💥Running in fear, you accidentally crashed into a solid chest. Gazing upward, you recognized the face of the pro hero Bakugo Katsuki, also known as Dynamight.

💥He noticed your scared expression and asked, "What's wrong?"

💥You shared what happened, and he handled it.

💥"Come on, doll, I'll walk you home," he said after handling the person following you.

💥You and boxer!Bakugo have been dating for a while ever since. Despite being quite different, things just clicked between you two.

💥He used his limited free time to train and get stronger, while you worked as a sidekick in a pro hero's agency.

💥He was well-known in town, and folks often wondered how a timid girl like you ended up with someone as tough and dangerous as Bakugo.

💥He was the best part of your life - your tough, strong, beefy boyfriend, and your cuddle buddy at the same time.

💥You weren't exactly a fan of his boxing hobby, but you still supported him.

💥After each fight, he'd return home victorious, winning every time. But, along with the victories, he'd also bring back cuts, bruises, and a heap of pent-up frustration.

💥Seeing him so broken broke your heart; the pain weighed heavier on you than on him. You'd carefully treat his wounds, bruises, and cuts, gently asking about his fights and questioning if he's certain about pursuing his side career while also juggling daily hero duties.

💥"I'm good, doll. No need to fret," he'd reassure you as you cared for his injuries. "I enjoy boxing. It's quite calming." Honestly, for a strong guy like him, the cuts and bruises weren't that painful. Still, he allowed you to care for his injuries because it warmed him to know his girl cared so much.

💥Boxer!Bakugo enjoys hitting the boxing gym regularly for training; it keeps him toned and in impeccable shape, ready to effortlessly pursue villains.

💥One day, you decide to visit the boxing gym Bakugo frequents five times a week. After finishing your shift, you enter the gym. A friendly lady at the reception offers help, but you decline, explaining that you're just here to see your boyfriend.

💥You see him right away; there's no mistaking him. He's wearing a snug, black tank top highlighting his muscular torso and six-pack, paired with dark grey sweatpants. Black boxing gloves adorn his hands, and a black bandana secures his hair, keeping it away from his intense crimson eyes.

💥You perk up hearing Katsuki's grunts as he throws punches and kicks at the heavy bag. Watching your boyfriend train gets you all excited. A quiet sigh escapes you as you notice sweat trickling down his forehead and nose, dripping to his neckline, and running under his black tank top. You bite your lower lip - he looks oh so fuckable.

💥Spotting you, he grabs a towel, mops his sweaty face, and strides to the edge of the boxing ring. "Hey, doll, what brings you here?"

💥You confess that you wanted to watch him train to get a better grasp of his world. Surprisingly, you admit you never realized how deeply he was immersed in the whole boxing thing.

💥He chuckles, "Yep, been telling you, doll. Okay, I guess that's all for today. Come, I need to change."

💥You follow Bakugo into a locker room after he assures you it's fine and no one will mind. The desires become too intense, and he pushes you against the door, shutting it firmly.

💥Protest? Not a chance. You just let out a little yelp as he catches you off guard.

💥His lips meet yours forcefully, his hands gripping your waist. You reach to remove his bandana and run your fingers through his hair.

💥Simply sharing these heated kisses with you ignites a fervor in boxer!Bakugo; he feels hornier than a teenager.

💥As he removes your snug uniform pants from your legs and casually kicks them away, his calloused finger slips in you, slowly stretching you out. You unfasten the top part of your uniform, slip it off your shoulders, then pull your arms back to peel your tight sports bra off, freeing your breasts; they bounce after being released.

💥Bakugo places wet kisses all around your exposed chest, his tongue poking out and flicking over your hardened buds as he slips another digit in you, stretching you out.

💥At that moment, you're already a moaning mess, and all of your shyness flew out of the window.

💥Bakugo emits a low growl as he senses the dampness seeping into his training sweatpants as he slips a third finger into your tight, wet hole, fucking you relentless, using his thumb to massage your clitoris. Boxer!Bakugo feels himself getting painfully hard as his cock twitches within his pants.

💥He withdraws his fingers, and there's an extra string of your wetness covering his thick digits. "Mmmm, look at ya, doll," he cooes, "already soaked, just for me."

💥Bakugo pulls down his sweatpants and boxers at one go, allowing them to pool around his ankles.

💥You yank his tight tank top off, revealing a muscular torso covered in sweat.

💥Bakugo uses the slick leftover on his hand from fingering you to lube up his rock-hard cock.

💥Gazing downward at the red tip leaking pre cum, a moan escapes your lips as you endeavor to press against his pelvis with a subtle grind as if to slide his cock in yourself already.

💥Boxer!Bakugo leans in, finally gliding the engorged tip of his dick along your dripping hole, which is clenching around nothing now.

💥He finally enters you, stretching you deliciously, and you clench around him blissfully, making him groan.

💥He promptly thrusts into you with a vigorous rhythm, yearning for the melody of your sweet moans, the snug embrace of your thighs, and the gentle contractions of your velvety walls enclosing his hard cock. Lifting you effortlessly, you instinctively coil your legs around his hips, securing your ankles behind him as your thighs press against his sides.

💥While he's fucking you, he begins uttering the most lewd words into your ear. "Yea, you like that, don't ya, doll?”; "Yea, baby, squeeze me tighter, give it to me, give it all to me!”; “Fuck, it feels so fucking good, doll.”

💥As you start moaning like a whore, Bakugo skillfully places his fingers into your mouth, a move aimed at tempering the volume of your pleasure-filled noises as you continue to moan around them.

💥You're uttering incoherent words and moans around his fingers — part desperate pleas, part unintelligible expressions —as he relentlessly fucks your tiny cunt.

💥As your cunny clench tighter around his throbbing cock, he withdraws his fingers from your mouth and descends them to firmly stimulate your clit.

💥“Yes! Please, Katsy! Right there, right there!" you moan like a cheap whore, trying to roll your hips for more friction.

💥You're trembling and convulsing as he feels you cream all over his throbbing cock. Bakugo emits a loud moan at the sensation and can't resist following suit, filling your swollen, abused pussy to the brim with his warm, thick cum. Yet, he doesn't cease there; oh, not at all.

💥With his cock still inside you, and with the mix of your cums dripping out of your pussy and down your thighs, Bakugo initiates a more rapid and vigorous rubbing against your swollen clit than in the previous instance.

💥"Come on, darling, one more for me. I know you've got it in you. Just one more. I've been fucking missing for you all day, doll."

💥Your mouth hangs agape as pleasure consumes you, drool trickling from the corner of your parted lips. "K-Kats!"

💥Katsuki spits on his hand and moves it down where you both are still conjoined, intensifying your arousal; the slick is dripping from you onto the floor as he continues to rub your wet, glistening folds.

💥You release a slight cry as you gush and squirt on his cock, spraying and covering his abdomen with the wetness; some of your juices is trickling onto the floor.

💥"Yes, doll, I knew you had it in you. Show me more, unleash everything you've got," he chuckled with a dark undertone.

💥He swiftly becomes hard once more, and thrusts in you at an unrelenting pace; occasional droplets of slick juices are squirting out of you and landing on his toned abs.

💥Boxer!Bakugo is chasing his second orgasm, basically using you as his own fucktoy; his hold is firm around your waist, and he effortlessly brings you up and down on his throbbing dick, his hips pistoning into yours.

💥At this stage, your juices are beyond control - every thrust Bakugo gives is met by a gush of your wetness, creating a pool on the floor. "Kats! Kats! O-Oh! OH! Fuuuck!"

💥Bakugo halts abruptly, executing a series of preliminary thrusts before you feel his warm cum shoot into your abused pussy once more.

💥You cry out, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks, as Bakugo gently lowers your feet to the ground.

💥After he pulls his flaccid dick out of you, the blend of your cums trickles down your trembling thighs.

💥"You did so well f'me, doll," he whispered before kissing you again. "Well, looks like we both could use a shower. Fuck, you've worn me out more than a hardcore training session, doll."

[withleeknow]

moonstruck.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, angst if you squint; they're in love <3, mentions of menstruation, there's a bit about orpheus and eurydice so you're not familiar you might want to look it up beforehand idk, not as edited as i'd like. not a lot of warnings here tbh it's just pretty mild and mellow saur 🤷‍♀️ (also i don't exactly love this but i hope you'll still tolerate it anyway lol) word count: 4.7k playlist 🎧: moonstruck - enhypen // this is how you fall in love - jeremy zucker ft. chelsea cutler // pansy - taemin // tightrope - zayn

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

Minho is the kind of love that you thought only existed in movies and fairytales. Make-belief, too good to be true, out of reach.

When he rests his head on your shoulder, drifting in and out of sleep like he’s been doing for the past hour or so, you give into the urge to stare at him in wonder. An angel on earth, if there ever was one.

His long eyelashes that you could only dream to have, the slope of his nose, his pink pouty lips, his impeccably sharp jawline, and even his fluffy hair that’s ticking your cheek as you look at him as if you don’t get to see him like this every day. But that kind of beauty is something that demands to be showcased in the world’s most exquisite museum and admired by anyone who comes across it.

Minho is beautiful in every sense of the word.

And you adore him. You do. You love him with every single beat of your pathetic little heart and then some.

Surely, you must’ve saved a nation in one of your past lives to deserve someone as ethereal as him.

Turning your face to the side, you press a kiss against his forehead. The touch makes him stir awake, eyelids fluttering open as he groggily looks around and stretches out his limbs, in the limited space that he has anyway. His sleepy voice asks you, “Are we there yet?”

“Not yet. I think they said we still have about forty minutes before we land. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Minho shakes his head, covering his mouth when a yawn forces its way out. He straightens his back to his full height sitting down, then slumps against the seat a little bit. He rests his cheek against the top of your head while his hands find one of your own to hold in his lap.

He rubs the skin of your fourth finger for a moment before he eventually stills, lightly snoring again while you look out the window, gazing at oddly shaped clouds and blues and the reflection of the sun on the waters below.

–

After you’ve checked into the hotel, freshened up and readied yourselves to explore the scenery, Minho takes you down to the beach. It’s a little chilly, spring hasn’t yet settled into summer. Even with a light jacket on, you still shiver every time the wind rushes by like it’s playing with the waters. But it’s nice – the sea breeze in your hair and the sunlight on your face, your lover by your side, his fingers intertwined with yours as you walk along the shore together. The blue of the sea almost blending in with the sky where they meet somewhere out there on the horizon. Seagulls flying overhead, families enjoying their relaxing vacation, children playing in the sand way down the shoreline where all you can make out are blurry silhouettes dancing about.

It’s paradise on earth. It’s an escape that you desperately needed. Exhilarated doesn’t even begin to describe how you felt when he told you that he’d booked a Jeju trip for your anniversary.

He’s always been the perfect partner. Always knows just the right thing to do for you whenever you need a pick-me-up. He may not seem like it, but Minho is beyond caring and considerate. He’s a man of few words but he certainly makes up for it with his actions.

“Hey,” he says, pointing somewhere ahead of you. “Remember what happened there?”

“Hmm?” Your eyes try to follow the direction of his finger, until they find a spot where two people are sitting, watching the water in front of them, content smiles passed between lips as they talk animatedly. “Didn’t you confess to me there?”

He smiles as the memory resurfaces in his mind. “Did you know I almost chickened out?”

You two started out as friends way before you got together.

Three years ago, just a few months after you’d both graduated from college, Minho asked you to go to Jeju island with him. You thought it was a little strange – though not that strange since you had been on trips with him before, but it was always in a group setting with all of your other friends. Never just the two of you.

Nonetheless, you agreed. You wanted to get out of the city anyway. You needed a change of scenery to clear your head and to recharge. Everything was starting to become too much for you - being 22 and in limbo. You felt like you kept falling behind no matter what you did. Everyone was moving forward and you were running in place no matter how hard you tried to get out of that slump.

Everyone around you was outgrowing you and your little life, and all you could do was pretend you were fine.

It was one of the lowest you’d ever felt, and you suppose that was why you said yes to Minho’s invitation. A vacation didn’t seem like it would help much, but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

A few days away, with nothing but the sun and the sea to help you get out of your own head.

A tropical paradise and Minho. It wasn’t the end of the world. There were worse things you could think of.

That, and the fact that there had always been something between you and him. Not crazy sexual tension or anything, but just enough of a noticeable spark. An inkling of something that neither of you ever acted upon.

“Did you?” you ask. “Didn’t you plan the whole trip back then to confess?”

“What? No. Why would I willingly do that when you could’ve rejected me? Then I would’ve been stuck in a hotel with you and on the plane ride back.”

You squint at him. “Then why did you take me on that trip?”

Minho shrugs. “Friendship trip to cheer you up.”

Years with him and he still makes you feel as warm as he did the first time you kissed. You gaze at him with what must be the world’s most lovestruck look plastered on your face. You reach up to press your lips to the corner of his mouth, then watch as a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“You did confess though,” you argue.

“Well, yeah, but that wasn’t planned,” he tells you. “You just... We were sitting right there,” he tips his chin toward the same spot again, “and you had my jacket on because you were cold. You were watching the sunset and you looked so pretty. I couldn’t help it. Almost chickened out though.”

You stop walking, and this makes him stop too. Minho glances at you with his head slightly tilted, wearing a puzzled expression.

“You never told me that,” you say.

“You never asked.”

Pouting, you tug him toward you until he’s close enough for you to wrap your arms around his neck. Minho is good, so incredibly good for you that sometimes you can’t possibly fathom how you even deserve him. He never meant to get anything out of it; he just saw that you were struggling and wanted to make it better for you.

Maybe you didn’t do a very good job at pretending, not if Minho could see right through you.

Before him, you had a fear of heights. Not the literal kind, but rather the kind of heights that often accompanies big leaps, big changes. A fear of falling, maybe that would be more accurate. Falling and failing and hitting rock bottom with no way to climb back up. A fear that you would always be stuck with this life forever, trapped in an existence you never asked for. A fear that no effort to escape your reality would be enough, and you’ll always be trailing ten steps behind even if you try twenty times as hard.

You pull him down so you could properly kiss him, your lips slotting together perfectly like he was made for you, like he’s the only person you’re ever meant to kiss in this lifetime. You can taste his smile, minty and happy as he moves against your mouth, his arms sliding around your waist to hold you to his body by the small of your back.

“If I had known,” Minho pulls away slightly, mumbling against your lips, “telling you that would get me brownie points, I would’ve told you ages ago.”

You roll your eyes with affection.

“So all this time,“ he says, “you thought I asked you on that trip just to get into your pants?”

“You did get into my pants on that trip!”

“Let me remind you that I only wanted to do something nice for you. You were the one who almost jumped my bones right then and there after I said I liked you.”

You slap his chest as he throws his head back in a hearty laugh. Minho takes your hand in his once more as he drags you along, savoring the cool sea breeze and the golden daylight dancing on glittering waters before the sun bids you goodbye.

Minho is the kind of love that makes you want to curl up into a ball and ugly cry for an hour straight.

In a good way, of course. In the best way possible.

So that’s what you do, on a fine Tuesday afternoon, sitting on a couch surrounded by three cats as you wait for him to come home, perfectly sheltered from the harsh sun outside.

He returns eventually, toward the end of your crying session. When he sees the pile of tissues on the coffee table, soaked with your tears and snot, his heart nearly falls out of his ass.

Minho drops everything, rushing to you like you’re on the verge of spontaneous human combustion because clearly, this is a normal reaction to have when you come home to a girlfriend who’s been sobbing in the dark for god knows how long.

That, and the fact that said girlfriend doesn’t cry very often. Not by herself and certainly not in front of others.

Doesn’t mean that you’re immune to the occasional bouts of tears whenever shark week closes in, though.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Another rush of tears breaks as you look at him. You wipe your eyes and your nose with the tissue you’re currently holding, before throwing it on the table to join the pile you’ve accumulated.

You launch yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. The sudden force takes him aback, makes him gasp a little.

He freezes as you cling to him like a desperate koala, before his hands slowly land on your back, rubbing slowly, hesitantly, as though he’s afraid he’s hurting you.

“What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

“PMS,“ you hiccup your answer out, to which Minho only responds with a relieved Ah, his hands now moving more assuredly on your body.

“Anything hurt? Sore?”

“No. Just… missed you today. Love you a lot.”

There’s something saccharine in his gaze when he pulls back and regards you with his big doe eyes, softened and endeared, yet there’s still a twinkle of mischief peeking through the sugary glaze.

He moves to make himself comfortable next to you on the couch but still makes sure to keep a hand on you so you don’t grow impatient.

Once he’s effectively squished between you and the armrest of the sofa, he says, “You missed me so much that you started crying? You could’ve texted me, or called. I would’ve come home sooner, crybaby.”

“I didn’t cry because I missed you. I cried because I love you.”

He pretends to think for a moment. “I honestly can’t tell if I should be offended or not.”

You jab a finger at his ribs.

Sure, the mere thought of Minho brings tears to your eyes sometimes. It’s not really a secret anymore.

There’s something about him, just him, how wonderful he is and how all of the stars in the sky must have aligned themselves to make you and him happen. He’s the love of your entire life, there’s never been any doubt about it. Your other half, perfect for you.

You’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and you’re positive that you will never feel this way about anyone ever again. Your love for him runs so deep, so powerful that it overwhelms you at times, drowns you in nothing but affection for him and only him. A love that spreads like wildfire through your calm and sacred forest.

It’s cliché beyond words, that one day you would be having these thoughts about someone. You used to watch this kind of sentiment romanticized in movies, used to cringe and laugh at sappy lines in books and TV shows though there was always a part of you that longed for that kind of love.

You didn’t talk about it often, not even with the people closest to you. You always found it a little embarrassing to admit that you wanted love. To love and to be loved. There was something so utterly vulnerable in the act of yearning and isn’t it such a scary thing? To be vulnerable? You never saw the appeal in showing someone the deepest, darkest parts of you.

What if they leave? What if you bare yourself to someone and they deem you not worth staying for? How would you come back from that kind of rejection?

You suppose it always held you back - the fear of being open that goes hand in hand with the fear of being left behind. Maybe you have more fears than you’d like to admit.

Then came Minho.

No, that doesn’t sound right.

He didn’t come crashing into your life like a tidal wave and unraveled your every belief.

He was always there by your side, a calming presence that you could lean on when things got tough. A friend, a solid foundation. He’s the relief after every monsoon, the first day of sun after a long and harsh winter.

He saw you for who you were, all the messiest parts of you, and loved you anyway. In spite of your mess? Because of your mess.

He taught you that love isn’t always extravagant gestures and grand declarations that Shakespeare would applaud.

Love is acceptance. Love is staying with you on your gloomiest days and holding your hand through your dreariest moments. Love is lingering glances by the doorway before he goes to work because you’re half asleep but you’re still trying to reach for him even in your dreams.

It’s sharing joys and burdens alike. Reminders to eat and gentle wake-up calls. A photo of you in his wallet, a silly picture of him as your phone’s wallpaper. Giggling with him after he tells a joke not because of the punchline itself, but because his manic chortle is even funnier.

Love is Minho cradling your face in one hand and holding onto your shaking fingers with the other, his steady gaze holding yours, and his voice whispering gently in the darkest of nights, “Your storm is my storm.”

At the end of the day, love is pretty simple. Love is him.

“Do you ever think about Orpheus and Eurydice?”

Minho laughs, the sound vibrating where you lay your head, his hand still absentmindedly rubbing the skin of your waist over your shirt. “No, I don’t think about Orpheus and Eurydice.”

You figured as much.

Your fingers trace invisible patterns on his chest as you hum your acknowledgment. Then you ask, “If it was me, if you were Orpheus, would you look back?”

His hands pause their ministrations, a little taken aback by the question you suppose. Your brain tends to pingpong between the most random things sometimes.

“You know,“ he says with an even voice, though the corner of his mouth still curls upward in amusement. “Other people just ask the worm thing.”

“The worm thing is boring. And we both know you wouldn’t love me if I was a worm.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I was a worm either.”

“That’s true. I don’t like worms,” you agree, chuckling while your boyfriend scoffs. “Answer the question, would you look back?”

There’s no right answer because you’re not expecting a correct response. It’s a hypothesis that can never be tested because you aren’t a nymph and Minho isn’t a bard with the ability to sway all life with his music. It’s a silly thought but it’s one that you’re curious about nonetheless, just to hear what he would say. Why not?

You’ve read many interpretations of the tragedy. In some, Orpheus hears Eurydice stumble and turns to catch her fall. In others, he can’t hear her at all. The story will forever be among your favorites, one of the things that never fails to turn you inside out no matter how many times you mull over it.

Minho is quiet for a moment. You think he’s about to shoot back with a witty retort that he always has up his sleeves, probably something about how he would find a loophole and trick his way out of the deal, or that he would personally fistfight Hades to get you out of the underworld. This wouldn’t surprise you at all.

Instead, he says, “Yes, I would look back.”

But regardless of how you choose to view the myth, the ending does not change. Orpheus always turns around.

He turns around because he loves her.

Minho’s fingers slip under your shirt to brush your bare skin, angling his head sideways so he could kiss your forehead. 

Maybe he’s just saying it for the sake of being romantic, for the sake of saying what seems to be the right thing. It’s an answer that you can never give substance to, but you believe him with all your heart.

You believe him. You do.

“If it’s you, I would look back.”

Minho is the kind of love that eclipses the sun and dims the light of the moon. The kind of love that drowns out all the noise and makes everything a little more bearable. Not just the most horrible things – your fears and struggles alike – but even the smallest, most mundane things.

If there’s one thing that you absolutely hate, it’s the smell of nail polish. You hate the way it lingers in the air even after the bottle has been capped, hate how the smell of toluene stains your fingertips even after washing your hands several times with scented soap.

Though, the only time you try to tolerate it is when Minho convinces you to stay in and pamper each other. Pizzas that he picks up for dinner and tiramisu ice cream for dessert. Face masks and fancy candles that you save for special occasions. SoonDoongDori napping on various surfaces in your living room, an old vinyl playing from the record player he got you for your first birthday you shared together after you started dating.

You each take turns doing the other’s nails on the carpeted floor. It’s become somewhat of a tradition that you indulge in every month, where you would spend cozy Friday evenings indoors just because neither of you can be assed to indulge in a “proper“ date night. Being hermits together sounds infinitely more appealing to you than any other alternative.

“I’m not done,” you say, snatching Minho’s hand back after he pulls it away to admire your work. You blow on his fingers to make sure that the layer of black polish you applied earlier is dry, then you’re reaching for a bottle of beige polish sitting amongst the ones scattered on the floor. You take a tiny brush from the nail kit - one that’s rarely ever touched because neither of you knows how to do nail art - and dip it into the sand-colored polish.

“What are you doing?“ he asks, watching as you trace some squiggly lines on his middle finger, the lighter color settling nicely on top of the black even if he has no idea what you’re trying to draw. “What is that?”

“Soonie,” you say simply. “When you flip people off, you can show them Soonie.”

You don’t need to look at him to know that his attention is fixed on you even though he doesn’t give you a response. You feel his gaze on the side of your face, soft and warm and never leaving for even a second. He doesn’t say anything while you work though, maybe he doesn’t want to mess up your concentration while you’re so engrossed in what you’re doing. He only chuckles at your answer, then nothing afterward.

You don’t mind the lack of conversation. It helps you focus better on what you’re doing because you’re no artist by any means. You can’t draw to save your life, let alone master something as intricate as nail art, but this is therapeutic. It’s perfect to help you unwind after a long week - doodling your beloved cat on your boyfriend’s nails while Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls sets the ambience. You’ll get the ice cream when you’re done with your impromptu project, along with a little headache from inhaling too much of the polish scent perhaps, but isn’t that a small price to pay?

You take your sweet time with the teeny tiny details, like Soonie’s delicate whiskers and the darker strips of fur on his face. He still turns out a little wonky, a little lopsided here and there but it’s not like you expected it to turn out like a Picasso.

The real Soonie seems to sense a disturbance in the force when he wakes up from his nap and saunters toward you curiously. You pick him up and sit him in your lap so he doesn’t come too close to the fresh polish on Minho’s nails. “Look,” you say with a proud smile, pointing toward the small cat doodle. “That’s you.”

He studies it for a moment, focused on your portrayal of him but then he’s quick to decide that he’s not interested anymore before wiggling away from your lap to go join Doongie on the couch. You chuckle lightly, watching him as he walks off, wondering if this is what it will feel like when your future children enter their teenage years.

When you turn back to Minho, he’s still staring at you, a dazed look in his eyes as he blinks slowly, his hand resting limply on his thigh.

“What?” you ask. “Do you not like–”

“Marry me.”

The rest of your question dies in your throat, wilting away like cherry blossoms when summer nears. He doesn’t break eye contact, still that dreamy gaze when he peers at you. Nothing has ever changed in the way that he looks at you.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to speak. You think anyone would be when their boyfriend drops a proposal out of nowhere while you’re doing each other’s nails in your comfiest sweatpants.

Everything that you’ve been afraid of comes bubbling to the surface, every doubt, every fear, even every fleeting insecurity. They manifest as a ringing in your ears, a buzzing in your head that makes it hard to think about anything at all.

But then he shuffles closer, closer and closer until his warm breath fans your cheek, his nose nudging your cheekbone gently. It’s similar to what Doongie does sometimes when you’re lounging in bed and he just wants some love.

When Minho takes your hand and laces your fingers together in his lap, everything stills. The rumbling comes to a halt, the distant thunder fading slowly into the background of your mind palace until it’s reduced to mere white noise. “Marry me,“ he says again, and his voice is so tender that you ache. Tender and sweet and so full of wonderful adoration. If you ever have to describe what love sounds like, you would say it’s him and his voice, right here and right in this exact moment.

“A little dramatic to propose just because I drew your cat.”

He chuckles, presses a kiss to your cheek before he ducks down to deliver another kiss on the side of your neck. Then he pulls back, just enough to get a clear view of you and your now glassy eyes.

“Bottom drawer in our bedroom,” he tells you. You can’t lie; you have half a mind to leave him here and go check. “I bought the ring two months ago, but I knew I wanted to marry you two years before that. I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to do it but I realized the perfect moment doesn’t exist, because every minute I spend with you is perfect. I love you so much. It’s not because you drew me my cat, by the way. I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.

“I love your weird brain and your blanket-hogging ass. I love that you’re crazy enough to listen to a song literally over a thousand times without getting bored. I even love you when you set ten alarms in the morning and still manage to sleep through all of them. I know you hate your smile but it’s my favorite smile in the world. Did you know my favorite color is the color of your eyes? The best part of my day is when I get to come home to you and the kids waiting for me. I want all of you forever. I promise I’ll love you twice as much on days that you don’t love yourself. When we’re old and gray and we look like raisins, I’ll let you go first so you won’t have to spend a single day alone. I’ll–” He stops when you let out a teary giggle, no bite in his voice at all when he says, “Please don’t laugh at me during my big romantic speech.” 

It only makes you laugh harder, though it’s just as emotional. If you focus on the other part of his sentence, you’ll only crumble into a million pieces right here.  “How very romantic of you to include the visual of us as raisins in your speech.”

Minho rolls his eyes – fondly, of course. When he pretends to squirm away from you, you tug him back by the collar of his shirt to plant an apologetic kiss on his lips which he eagerly accepts.

“Please continue,” you say, smiling against his mouth. “Tell me all the ways that you’ll love me.”

“You ruined it. I retract my proposal,” he grumbles, but his arms betray his words when they tighten around your frame, holding you close to him to steal another kiss. Then another, and another, until your faces are wet with tears and you realize that you’re both crying.

“I’m sorry,” you say through sniffles and tears. “Please keep going.”

“Make it up to me first.”

“How?”

“Marry me,” he repeats a final time. “I’ll give you a better speech on our wedding day.”

Years and years from now, when you’re old and gray and look like raisins – as he so poetically put it – you’ll remember this moment down to every miniscule detail. How the cats’ peace is disturbed by your tearful giggles and the strange look they give you before wandering out of the room, in favor of somewhere without two crying idiots. How the record starts skipping but neither of you can be bothered to do anything about the obnoxious sound. How the material of his shirt feels when you bunch the fabric in your hands because you need to kiss him, need him to be as close as humanly possible.

You’ll remember the sob that he hiccups when you tell him through choked up whispers, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” and how his lips feel when they tremble against your skin. You’ll remember the way he holds onto you like a lifeline, because he’s always been your salvation for as long as you’ve known him. You’ll remember what happens after, later that night when he finally slips the ring onto your finger. The words he whispers into the crook of your neck, “You mean the world to me,” and the emotions in his voice when you both realize this is the start of the rest of forever.

You’ll remember everything, all of it, every clumsy touch and every graceless kiss. Ugly crying on the floor and yet, it’s more perfect than anything you can ever dream of.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 13.07.2024]

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗧𝗜𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗞 𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗦 | 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟰

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: 4 times that Y/N and Matt made a couple's trend on tiktok.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Kinda?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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1. Decorating my boyfriend's car super girly and seeing his reaction

Going downstairs quietly so as not to wake anyone, considering it was still too early for any of the triplets - and even Y/N - to be awake, Y/N entered the garage. Matt's car, an impeccably clean black one, was there, parked and oblivious to what was coming.

The girl turned on the room light and made sure she had closed the door before finally unlocking the car ones by simply touching the small control in her hands.

Opening the driver's door with her unoccupied hand, Y/N climbed in, sitting down on the seat, a sound of complaint escaping her throat as she noticed how far and low the seat was - obviously adjusted for Matt's height. She quickly adjusted the position of it until she felt comfortable and, finally, put her phone in the support attached to the lower center of the windowshield, exactly where the boys supported their camera during car videos, her right hand instinctively flying towards the ceiling lights, turning it on.

Y/N unlocked the device and quickly browsed through the apps until she found TikTok, opening it and entering the recording space, adjusting the focus to ensure that every detail was captured, and pressed the red button.

"Good morning, TikTok!" The girl muttered in a low tone, a mischievous glint clearly apparent in her eyes. "Today, I'm going to do the biggest trolling of all in my boyfriend's car. Let’s turn it into a real preppy car!"

Y/N started by taking the first piece from the box of items she had prepared: a pink fuzzy cover for the steering wheel. The cover was a vibrant pink, with a soft, cozy feel to the touch.

Y/N carefully slid the cover over its right place, making sure every inch was covered and fitted perfectly. The fluff glowed below the yellow light, giving the steering wheel a luxurious, exaggerated appearance.

Then, she picked up two pink cup holders, filled with glitter, both twinkling every time the light hit one of them, as if it was full of little stars. Y/N laughed to herself as she placed them on the center console's cup rests, fitting them in and smiling widely when she noticed how perfect the size was.

"Matt will love putting our morning Starbucks here, for sure.” The girl murmured, looking up and sending a wink towards the camera.

The next step was to decorate the air conditioning vents. Y/N had bought several mini pink decorations, also full of glitter, each one more extravagant than the last. There were little hearts, stars, and even some fake diamonds. She carefully attached each to the air vents, adjusting until they were all secure and at a good enough distance to notice them all.

"Get ready for style and glamor to be blown throughout the car when Chris asks Matt to turn on the air conditioning during videos." She joked while still adjusting the last small items.

The car's gearshift could not be forgotten. Y/N pulled out a smaller sized pink fuzzy cover, specially designed. It was soft to the touch, matching the steering wheel cover perfectly. She slid it over the gear, adjusting it so it was secure, her right hand closing around the cover, smiling as she felt the small hairs caressing her palm.

Finally, to complete the look, Y/N took a pink diamond-shaped pendant, stretching her upper body upwards and extending her hands, hanging it around the rearview mirror. The pendant swayed slightly by itself, reflecting the light and casting small colored reflections throughout the interior of the all car.

"I feel like I'm in Barbie: a Fashion Fairytale." Y/N said, letting out a nasal laugh, resting her back against the backrest of the seat so that her eyes could analyze every corner of the car, admiring her final work.

She then turned her attention back to her cell.

"Alright, guys, the car is ready. Now we just need to wait for Matt to wake up and see his reaction."

The video stopped at that moment before it returned seconds later.

"I went upstairs after fixing the last details and woke up Matt, I made up that I was hungry, but that I wanted to have breakfast at a café." Y/N began with a hushed tone, now sitting in the passenger seat, her phone now in her hands. "I waited for him to get up and get ready before telling him I would wait for him in the car."

It didn't take long and soon Y/N heard Matt's footsteps coming down the stairs that led to the garage, her eyes looking up in time to see the silhouette of her boyfriend appearing in the doorway. She pressed her lips into a thin line in an attempt to contain her laughter.

Her eyes followed Matt's steps, who walked quickly towards the driver's seat door, the sound of the door opening echoing through the small space was followed by anticipation on Y/N's part, who looked at the camera to Matt and back again, waiting for his reaction.

"Hey, sweet girl, I'm sorry it took me so..." He interrupted his own sentence, his movements instantly stopping for a few seconds. "Y/N! What- What did you do to my car?!" Matt's voice echoed in a tone of disbelief, the surprise evident on his face not yet visible to the phone camera.

"Come on, babe, sit down so you can take a better look at this incredible work I did just for you." The girl asked in a fake sweet tone, smiling openly and leaning her upper body over the console, extending her right arm so that her hand could touch Matt's, holding it firmly and pulling him inside.

The boy, still wide-eyed and surprised, obeyed, sitting on the leather covered seat - already arranged again to his own taste - and closing the door with a thud.

"Where- When did you even get all those things?" Matt questioned again, his blue eyes quickly traveling over every pink detail before turning his attention back to Y/N, his mouth slightly open.

"Yesterday, duh." The girl answered as if it was obvious, shrugging her shoulders before her neutral expression broke into a smile again. "Did you like it? It's pretty, right? I'm sure your videos will be much cooler now."

"Babe, oh my God." Matt's voice sounded airy, eliciting a laugh from Y/N. He didn't know where to focus his attention, different shades of pink calling his eyes from every corner. "I can't lie. It looks so good." The boy finally reached out with his hands, his fingers curling around his steering wheel, pressing lightly against the extremely fluffy fabric over his palm.

"I know, right?" Y/N responded excitedly, briefly glancing at her cell that was still recording them. "Look at the cup holder, babe!" Her tone rose as she reached out toward the console, pointing to the pink cup holder with her index finger.

"So I can put in your favorite Starbucks drink every morning, huh?" Matt lowered his gaze to the item, shaking his head amusedly as he heard his girlfriend agree excitedly.

"Next step: getting the car wrapped in pink."

"Are you crazy?"

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2. Pretending to be asleep to see my boyfriend's reaction

Y/N was home alone, comfortable silence filling every corner as she waited for Matt to return from the street. He had gone out to get a specific sweet that she had been asking for for days, and the only place where they sold it didn't deliver.

Sitting comfortably on the grey couch in the living room, the girl was immersed in TikTok videos when a new couple trend appeared on her For You Page, catching her attention; Pretending to be asleep to see my boyfriend's reaction.

Y/N didn't think twice before making the decision to join the cycle of famous couples replicating the trend, quickly leaving TikTok, and opening the location app she shared with Matt. Watching his icon move across the colorful map, she calculated that she still had a few minutes before he arrived, rising from the couch seconds later, running down the small hallway that led to their room.

First, she took the plush, gray bedspreads off the bed, folding it and leaving it on Matt's gaming chair. The soft light from the already turned on lamp created a calm and welcoming atmosphere, perfect for what she had in mind.

She then adjusted her phone on the nightstand on her side of the bed, ensuring the camera was pointed directly at the mattress and the space Matt would enter, propping it against the lamp and organizing the minimal decorations that was always above the furniture around the device in a way that it disguised its existence there.

Checking the app again, she saw that Matt was just a few blocks away. Y/N hurried to lay down, adjusting herself comfortably but naturally.

She turned slightly to her back, rescuing Matt's pillow and hugging it to her chest, not stopping herself from lightly exhaling the natural scent of her boyfriend's male shampoo and cologne that permeated into the fabric, closing her eyes and regulating her breathing to make it seem like she was actually sleeping.

A few minutes later, she finally heard Matt's footsteps echoing across the floor, going from quieter to louder, indicating that he was getting closer to the room. She kept her eyes closed, trying to contain a wide smile as her heart beat fastned.

Matt's footsteps approached the door, the sound of it opening echoing after, the familiar sound of the paper bag he was carrying filling Y/N's ears.

"Babe, I found the one that you wanted, and guess what? They had just made it!" Matt started talking as soon as he entered the space, his voice excited and loud, before noticing the silence in the room.

The boy looked up, his eyes running around before noticing his girlfriend lying on their shared bed, lowering his voice when he noticed her apparently sleeping figure, his expression softening immediately, a small smile settling on his lips.

He closed the door behind him with a soft click, walking with steps of a feather towards the bed, the sound of his sock-covered feet tapping against the wooden floor gently echoing through the four walls.

His busy hand placed the bag with the sweet on the nightstand beside his side before he approached the edge of the bed, admiration written all over his face as he looked at Y/N.

He bent his knees slightly, curving his upper body over the mattress and bringing his face closer to Y/N's head, using his left hand to support his own weight, just watching her sleep for a few seconds, a tender smile on her face.

Matt then lowered his head so that his face was close to hers, sealing his lips over her forehead and head repeatedly, but very lightly and slowly, without the intention of waking her up.

"You're so beautiful when you sleep, you know that?" He whispered, his voice filled with affection, stroking the side of her face lightly with the tip of his nose before reaching out with his right hand, gently brushing away the loose strands of hair with his fingertips, taking them away from her eyes, being careful. His touch was light, almost like a gentle breeze.

Matt looked around, noticing the phone on Y/N's nightstand, but didn't suspect anything thanks to the low brightness of the screen. He just smiled, enjoying the moment, taking note of how the surroundings seemed as calm as ever.

Taking the corner of the duvet that was at the foot of the bed, he gently pulled it over his girlfriend, making sure she was comfortable and warm, petting the thick fabric lightly, molding it to his girl's body.

Then he got up again, reaching his hands to his bedside table, taking the bag with the sweet he had brought between his fingers. It was an angel cake with strawberry filling and whipped cream, Y/N's favorite.

The boy took the box with the cake out of the bag, being careful not to make any loud sounds, leaving the brown paper bag on the wood surface before walking towards Y/N's bedside table slowly, leaving the frame of the phone's front camera for a few seconds, placing the small white cardboard box above it.

"Hope you like it." The brunette murmured again, more to himself than to her.

Matt then returned to his side of the bed, resting his right hand on the mattress and taking off his socks before finally laying down next to her, being careful not to make too much noise or sudden movements.

After snuggling as best he could under the duvet, he turned on his side, bringing the front of his body closer to the back of Y/N's one, wrapping an arm around her waist slowly, gently pulling her closer, his hand automatically finding its way under the oversized t-shirt that covered Y/N's upper body down to her thighs, snaking his hand across the soft skin of his girl's stomach and finding home beneath her right breast, just as he did every day, not seeming to notice the shiver that ran through her body, closing his eyes.

Y/N couldn't help but relax her body even more under her boyfriend's gentle touch, snuggling closer, feeling a deep peace settle in her chest, momentarily forgetting that she was even recording something.

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3. Trying the spray trend on my boyfriend

Y/N was in the bathroom she shared with Matt, her hands working on resting her phone on the marble sink in a way that it wouldn't be obvious that she was recording, the screen with low brightness already open on the TikTok app. She made sure the frontal camera was well positioned, capturing the perfect angle from the bathroom door to the area where she would be standing.

Then, Y/N bent down slightly and opened the cabinet under the sink, her right hand retrieving a spray deodorant she had recently purchased, taking off the cap and setting it aside. With everything ready, the girl turned to her cell again, pressing the record button with her thumb.

Y/N smiled playfully at the camera before turning away from the device and extending her right hand, opening the bathroom door.

"Matt!" The low, muffled sound of Matt's voice shouting back echoed down the hallway leading to the bathroom. "Babe, can you come here for a minute?"

She waited, listening to her boyfriend's footsteps approaching. His figure quickly appeared in front of the already open door, a confused look on his face.

"What's wrong, babe? Do you need help with something?"

"I bought this new deodorant that says it's unscented, but I think it has a slight lavender scent. Can you smell it and tell me what you think?" Y/N asked, her tone sounding naive, holding the spray deodorant at the height she knew would be ideal for him to reach it, and pointing the hole where the product exited upwards.

"Sure." Matt nodded, still a little confused, but willing to help. He entered the bathroom completely and approached Y/N, tilting his head closer to the area where his girlfriend was holding the spray.

Y/N pressed the button on the top of the deodorant, creating a white cloud that slowly rose. Matt leaned even closer to smell the scent, a look of genuine concentration written across his face, and at that exact moment Y/N moved quickly, closing the distance between their faces and pressing her lips softly against his.

The kiss was quick and surprising, and she could feel Matt's slight shiver of surprise, a sound of shock escaping his throat.

When she pulled away, Matt's eyes were wide, his eyelids blinking rapidly as his brain tried to assimilate what had happened, his cheeks slowly turning into a bright red hue, a small smile appearing on the corner of his lips.

"What?" A loud laugh escaped Y/N's mouth as she watched his reaction, noticing his shy expression.

"You're a little devil." Matt shook his head comically. His tongue acted on its own as it escaped his mouth, passing his lips carefully, the taste of mint flooding his palate. "Is that mint?"

"Maybe." Y/N replied with the ghost of a smile, vaguely remembering how she had applied the Space Camp mind lip balm a few minutes earlier.

"Can I have another taste of it?"

"Matt!"

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

4. Using my scary dog ​​privilege to walk alone at night

It was a quiet, cool evening as Y/N and Matt were taking a walk after a nice dinner at a home-cooked Italian restaurant close to their home.

Y/N's eyes swept the deserted streets in front of her, quickly looking back over her shoulder, taking note of Matt a few steps behind her body, vaguely remembering a TikTok she had watched earlier that day, the environment around them reminding her a lot of the one in the video.

With that, she decided to record one, too.

And how she was when she was beautiful

The girl was now holding her phone in her right hand, her screen with TikTok already open in the recording area staring back at her, the sound of the Babooshka song melody playing at a low volume from her speakers.

Her half-closed eyes were fixed on the front camera, which recorded her face contorted into a small smirk, her hair moving around her face as if it was planned, a consequence of the light wind that surrounded her and her measured steps, which never stopped.

She signed the letter

Y/N slightly raised her hand that was holding her cell so that the camera now captured the view from behind her back.

All yours

The video captured the image of Matt following in her footsteps, his body completely covered in black clothing, making a perfect contrast with the yellow night lights coming from the tall poles above their heads.

His posture was erect and his head remained high, his arms crossed so that his biceps were visible against the thin fabric of his black shirt and a serious expression resting on his face - as usual -, his eyes fixed straight ahead, as if he was on alert of everything, accompanied by his furrowed eyebrows, giving an impression of anger to anyone who saw him from afar.

Y/N, watching the image through the tilted phone screen that was still recording her boyfriend, felt a shiver run down her spine; a small, satisfied smile blooming on her face.

Matt was definitely a scary Doberman by her side.

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[ninibeingdelulu]

Paris, la ville de l’amour ✧

Plot: Sae, in Paris for an incoming game, visits your pastry shop.

A/N: guysss I wanted to write something in Paris bc it’s my cityyy. It was so fun to write in my native language tho.

The bell above the pastry shop door tinkled merrily as it swung open, letting in a warm breeze tinged with the aroma of fresh-baked delicacies.

You glanced up from behind the counter with a brilliant smile already curving your lips in welcome - only for the words to die in your throat.

Frozen halfway between reaching for a new tray, you could only gape as the most impossibly attractive man you'd ever laid eyes on stepped over the worn tiled threshold.

He paused with equal surprise marring those striking chiseled features, clearly just as stunned by whatever he'd unexpectedly stumbled across here too.

You watched his throat work in a convulsive swallow as cool jade eyes suddenly swept over you in one long, scorching perusal from crown to toe.

"Um...huh, je peux vous aider?" you stammered out at last in your native French tongue.

Ducking your chin slightly as you felt an embarrassed flush creeping up towards the high planes of your cheeks under such an intense inspecting look.

This seemed to jolt him out of his brief reverie. With a sharp clearing of his throat, he finally spoke - the deep timbre of his low rumble sending delighted tingles skittering along your nerves.

"...Bonjour," he attempted in terribly mangled pronunciation.

As if the French language were an awkward, ungainly thing struggling to break free from his throat rather than flow.

For some reason, his bungled attempt at communication only proved impossibly more charming to you rather than off-putting.

Your own pretty features scrunching up in a delighted giggle you made no effort to disguise.

The man's green gaze somehow sharpened further, narrowing into twin viridian laser points flickering down to your freely curving mouth with intent- as though committing the shape and hue of your upturned lips to permanent memory.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, here let me try this again..."

Taking pity on his apparent linguistic shortcomings, you smiled warmly and tried once more in lightly accented yet impeccable English instead.

"May I help you with something from our bakery today, sir?"

Those mesmerizing jade irises lifted back up to meet your direct stare, some of the initial tension bleeding out of his broad shoulders and rigid stance now that you'd switched languages.

"Just..."

A beat of loaded silence stretched out while he visibly gathered himself. Long graceful fingers scrubbed through a tousled mess of pink hair in what seemed a nervous gesture before dropping back to his sides.

"Just...a croissant, please. Plain."

The low words were carefully enunciated and measured - as if afraid of allowing even that much speech to potentially betray him further.

You gave a little understanding nod, minding yourself to smother any possible outward reaction to his dulcet rasp of a voice undulating along your very bones.

"One plain croissant, coming right up! Please, feel free to have a look around while I get that ready for you."

With that, you cheerfully bustled off to retrieve his order, movements light and airy as your hips swayed subconsciously in time with the background French cafe music wafting from the speakers.

Once the flaky golden-brown pastry was carefully bundled in wax paper, you swiveled back towards the front counter with a friendly grin...only to nearly jump out of your skin.

For standing there merely a foot or so away, nearly pressed up against the worn wooden display case was him- eyes boring into you unblinkingly with that keen, predatory regard of someone determined to solve the world's greatest mystery.

"Ah...sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he offered in that molten gravel drawl upon seeing your obvious surprise.

Though the fiercely magnetic set of those sculpted features didn't shift even slightly.

Regaining your composure quickly, you set the croissant down between you two - muscles tensing slightly as his much larger, wider palm easily swallowed your own in passing when you recited the total with a sweetly lilting: "That will be 3.50 euros, please..."

He paid in silence, face carefully neutral as a carved marble bust while thumbing through a wad of unfamiliar bills.

Every movement infuriatingly measured in a way stoked your bubbling curiosity about this strange, compelling man even higher.

The tension only broke as your fingertips brushing during the exchange made the electricity crackling between your joined gazes spike to near unbearable levels.

A muscle in his angled jaw ticked, throat muscles jumping in another harsh swallow before he snatched his hand away, pastry in tow.

You forced yourself to break eye contact first, flushing hotly as you ducked your head to hide the wistful yearning swiftly blossoming behind your ribs.

A soft, airy exhale floated up to trace a stray lock of your hair tickling across your forehead.

"Au revoir, j'espère qu'on se reverra," you called out on impulse as your mystery customer turned sharply on his heel to leave.

And your words made him falter.

For there, frozen halfway between the last rays of afternoon sun slanting through the windows and shadows clinging to the cafe interior, you saw a tiny quicksilver flicker lift the corners of his sculpted mouth into an almost imperceptible curve of a smile.

It was gone as swiftly as it ever existed - the shop door swinging shut on his retreating silhouette.

Yet that bare glimpse had already kindled a feverish determination coiling low in your belly, spreading like wildfire outwards.

Oh yes...something told you that this beautiful, fascinating stranger would most certainly make it a point to wander back into your tiny corner of the world again...just as surely as the rising sun awakening the morning.

Even when the evening rush was well behind you, long after flipping the Open sign to Closed, you found yourself absentmindedly wiping down the same spotless countertop over and over - gaze endlessly drawn back to the front windows.

Consumed replaying that momentary connection on visceral loop within the private theater of your mind's eye...

[yuoimia]

DAY 1: FIRST FALL OF SNOW ❅⋆⍋

summary: activities you do in the snow

characters: albedo, childe, diluc, wriothesley.

notes: wc: 260-300 per character, roughly 1.1k total, gn! reader, fluff, mentions of reader being lost in the snow in childe’s, petnames, the madness begins.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ dreamy december event masterlist

albedo - how to build a snowman

All year round, Dragonspine is inundated with thick layers of gleaming snow.

Twinkling in weak sunlight, an ethereal sight both close-up and afar.

However, there was always something particularly striking about waking up to a fresh new coat of snow. Impeccably perfect, its raw beauty enthrals you each time. It was a privilege, you knew. Not just anyone could climb such an intimidating mountain, and the only reason you got to experience such phenomenons, the one who introduced you to this very mountain—was someone you’d never imagined to meet. Much less be more than acquaintances, a renowned genius, who currently stood completely blank in the suggestion of building snowmen.

"So, ah… I just add another pile on top?”

For the hundredth time this morning, you shake your head with an expression of amusement. “No,” you mutter, rolling the pile next to him into the shape of a sphere before placing it before him. “You need to make it into a ball shape, then place it on top. That will be its middle.” You point accordingly, an encouraging smile plastered on your face.

Albedo still doesn’t get it.

Instead, he watches silently as you enjoy yourself constructing a snowman. How interesting, creating little figures out of snow. He watches from afar as you unravel your own woollen scarf and wrap it around its uneven neck. He watches as you judge a variety of sticks to pick the most suitable to be its arms.

Albedo watches as you stand proudly beside it, a dazzling smile etching your face as he too, unravels his woollen scarf and gives it to you.

childe - snowball fights

You catch your breath behind a large cedar tree.

Was it a surprise? Surely not. Challenging Childe in any form of fight was the equivalence of battling in an arena, playful or not.

It also didn’t help that you were winning. For now, at least.

A strong gust of frosty wind brings a blizzard of newly formed snowflakes, collecting delicately on your hair and clothing. The fierce howls mask up any forms of sound, and the gradually falling snow covers up any traces of footprints.

Moreover, the temperature was severely dropping by the minute.

Perfect weather, you curse internally.

Your hands swiftly grab handfuls of the snow all around you, leaving a deep indentation in the shape of a ring all around you. Painfully obvious evidence that you were here, but at this point in time, you were more than ready to surrender. Between the choice of victory or frostbite, you’d willingly lose.

Cradling a dozen snowballs, your eyes are alert and searching as you attempt to outline any signs of a human. It’s hopeless; the wind is intensifying, swirling the frost like a snowglobe.

An anguished sigh escapes as you look down at the heavy layers of snow. Perhaps it was time to resort to something more desper-

Smack.

Something cold lands on the side of your face before falling to bits next to your feet. Another flies right past you.

You’re supposed to be mad; you’re supposed to shout and blame him for putting you in such a perilous and stupid situation, but you don’t.

As he catches you in an embrace, a contrast to everything you felt mere seconds ago, so frantic and tight, you realise how scared he was—scared enough to be rendered completely and irrevocably silent.

diluc - snow? my eyes are on you.

How long has it been?

How long have you been gazing, lost in your thoughts, through the window of your shared bedroom?

It’s quiet, but a comforting sort of quiet. The sort of quiet that you could appreciate for years and years and enjoy as if it were freshly discovered. Perhaps it was because of Diluc and the reserved and reclusive ambience he always carried. Whatever it was, you understood why he sought it so much.

Kaeya told you to expect snow tonight.

You love snow.

As soon as Diluc stepped one foot into the entrance of Dawn Winery, you had notified him most excitedly, “It’s going to snow tonight!”

You made sure not to mention that it was Kaeya who told you, though.

Being the gentleman he was, Diluc reciprocated your happiness most thoughtfully. Across the candlit dinner table, you swapped memories and dreams, all down until the last few tired murmurs sealed with a tender goodnight kiss planted on your forehead. A fond, “Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” as he drifted off to sleep.

Time steamed on; it must’ve been hours, according to the grandfather clock in the farthest corner of the bedroom, yet never once did your eyes stray from the window. You had long abandoned your previous sleeping position and now cozily huddled your legs, although still buried comfortably within the blankets.

Diluc seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

For a while, you observed in slight awe, the little rises in his chest as he inhaled, the serene expression decorating his face. It felt so intimate, so softly vulnerable—simply two people treasuring a moment in their lives so unknowingly—is what made it magnificent.

The first glimmers of snow lightly shimmered through the night sky as a familiarly snug hand pulled you beneath the covers.

wriothesley - ice skating

The many fountains in Fontaine had been frozen from the frigid weather, transforming the statues to behold graceful arches that glinted divinely in the feeble sunlight. Bound to be presented gloriously on the front page of the Steambird for the next three months or so.

Additionally, smaller bodies of water had completely transformed into ice, making it a perfect opportunity for extravagant winter activities. After all, Fontaine was never short of its flamboyance and charming flair when it came to anything of that sort.

That was the reason Wriothesley had spontaneously suggested going for a skate on the ice.

You had promptly declined at first, leaning over his desk, brushing the idea off with a brisk excuse of, “I can’t skate.”

Wriothesley had looked up from his stacks of documents, followed by a falsely exasperated roll of eyes, saying, “That’s what you said about dancing.”

"I'm not a very good dancer, you know that.”

“But I successfully taught you, didn’t I?" he confidently answered, standing from the overflowing desk.

You made a non-committal noise, shaking your head as Wriothesley chucked and wrapped an arm around you. “C’mon, let’s give it a try, all right, darling?”

This is precisely how you landed yourself in such a predicament.

The skates were easy enough to get on, but the process of skating, like you anticipated, was no easy skill.

Wriothesley, being the superb lover he is, let’s out a muffled snort as he watches you topple over for what could’ve only been the hundredth time that evening.

“Instead of laughing, you could actually help me like you promised, you know.”

With one last terribly hidden chortle, Wriothesley seizes your hands and gently guides your movements alongside his, careful and patient, as you both skate until the winter sunlight ebbs over the horizon.

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11

MDNI-----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, youngest member

warnings: wet dream between 2 men, evelyn needs to be spayed or smth, fainting, creepy men

A/N: hiiiii gorgeous, lovely, beautiful human beings thank you so much for the support on this fic, I LOVE YOU ALL!!!! <3 let me know if you want to be adding to the tag list

ALSOOOOOO my requests are open for aaron hotchner and spencer reid!!! I would love to write some drabbles/one shots so shoot me a message! <3

HAPPY READING!

Chapter Ten:

Gasping for air, Evelyn emerged from the depths of her dream, the vividness of it lingering like a second reality. She swiftly pressed her back against the headboard, her fingers weaving through her sweat-soaked hair. The dream's details were smeared in her memory, but the visceral ache it left behind was crystal clear. Hotch and Spencer--their hands that were insistent upon her, their mouths that explored every inch of her. She scolded herself for the image--what is wrong with her? She felt like a pervert, imagining both men in such a way.

Her legs brushed against the fabric of the sheets, her actions freezing as she became aware of the dampness enveloping between her legs. Her mind turned to Spencer--his hair a soft curtain on her skin. His hands, always in motion, leaving no fragment of her unexplored. His mouth, the way his tongue felt inside her.

Evelyn's fingers instinctively started to play with the waist band of her pajama shorts, moving closer to the swollen bundle of nerves. Her thoughts drifted to Hotch--his shoulders and build, how easy it would be for him to overpower her, and she secretly wished he would. This was crazy, she thought. Despite her mind's protests, her fingers continue to wander, tracing gentle circle against her clit. 

She let out a puff of air, her back arching slightly off the mattress as light began to seep into the room. She thought of Hotch positioned behind her, showing her no mercy, finally pounding her attitude out of her. She pictured Spencer before her, his cock working its way into her mouth. Her fingers pushed into her gently, her gasps coming out short and desperate as she pictured her own fingers being replaced by Hotch's.

The imagine coaxed a moan from her, a sound that seemed too loud in her own ears. The knock at the door was abrupt, freezing her in place, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Evelyn's heart hammered against her ribs, panic seizing her as she scrambled out of bed. Her feet barely touched the carpet as she rushed to the door, flinging it open with a force that echoed through the silent hallway.

Hotch, a study in precision, stood there--impeccable in a charcoal-gray suit that made her want to drool. And his tie, a navy silk affair that lay flat against the white shirt, hinted at meticulous order. But it was his face that betrayed him--a subtle furrow of his brow, the pinch of annoyance around his mouth that suggested he'd been waiting longer than he card to admit.

Evelyn's heart did a clumsy somersault, her cheeks betraying her, turning a shade that rivaled a traffic light. One-half of her fantasy--or rather, the less enthusiastic version--stood there. "Hotch," she managed, "what are you doing here? And, um, what time is it?"

Evelyn's heart-shaped pajamas clung to her, the soft fabric revealing more than it concealed. Her cheeks flushed with urgency, mirrored to disarray of her hair. The hallway light caught the faint smattering of freckles across her nose, delicate constellations that bloomed when she eschewed makeup. 

Hotch's annoyance ebbed, replaced by a reluctant fondness. What had she been doing? Hotch's gaze lingered on her--no makeup, no artifice--just raw, unfiltered beauty. He was unsettled by how much the sight affected him. The flush in her cheeks, the softness in her eyes. 

Hotch willed his demeanor to snap back into place, his voice clipped. "Evelyn," he said, each syllable a warning. "I've called you five times. We need to be downstairs in 15 minutes."

Her pulse raced, and her tongue tripped over her words. "Oh, shoot, sorry," she blurted out, her voice echoing in the narrow hallway. The disheveled room behind her seemed to mock her--sheets tangled, alarm clock blinking accusatorily. "My alarm must've never gone off." She gestured toward the half-open door. "Do you want to come in and wait? I promise I'll be super speedy."

Evelyn's cheeks were ablaze, a canvas of mortification. She could feel Hotch's scrutiny lingering, a laser beam that could dissect her every flaw. She ushered him inside, the hallway suddenly too narrow, too confining. She slipped into the bathroom and shed the pajamas. Her fingers waged a silent war with buttons and zippers, a clumsy ballet of haste. Each click and snap was a resounding echo of the dream that clung to her thoughts. She tried to shove the images aside, to bury them under layers of fabric, but it seemed inescapable. Because now, he stood outside, annoyance etched in every line of his impeccable suit.

"Hotch," she began as she waved at the alarm clock, its digital numbers blinking like a guilty accomplice. She pulled her hair into a hasty ponytail, the elastic snapping against her skin. "I'm convinced my alarm clock is broken." The words tumbled out, a desperate attempt at distraction. "But hey," she continued, her eyes meeting his, "I think I just won that bet--the one where the team bet you'd never get mad at me." Her lips curved into a half-teasing smile, her nose scrunching at the action. "Soft spot, my friend."

Hotch said nothing as his gaze followed the hurried sway of her movements. Stepping closer, he surveyed the bed's solitary disarray amidst the room's order. The blankets lay in a tangle of turmoil. How much does she move in her sleep? he wondered. His eyes honed in on a small corner of fabric peeking out from under the pillows.

There, nestled among the tangled sheets, sat a small teddy bear, its pink bow a splash of color against the tan. Hotch's expression softened as he lifted the plush toy, turning it over in his hands, a smile tugging at his lips. Of course she slept with a stuffed animal. 

The warmth of mortification spread across Evelyn's face. "Oh, um," she mumbled with a forced chuckle, plucking the bear from Hotch's grasp. "That's my... strategic sleep ally. Because, you know, every good agent needs a backup. Totally standard-issue."

"We'll circle back to your... bedtime tactics," he said with a hint of a smirk. "For now, conference room. Let's go."

Evelyn and Hotch made their way down to the conference area. The room hummed with anticipation, bathed in the soft glow of fluorescent lights. Rows of round tables faced a raised stage, where a large screen displayed the conference logo. Agents in crisp suits mingled with academics in tweed jackets. Some wore glasses, other carried tablets or leather-bound notebooks.

A spark of excitement ignited within Evelyn, her gaze darting from face to face, recognizing those who were like celebrities of their field. 

"Hotch, do you see who that is?" Evelyn's voice was on of awe as she nudged Hotch, her gaze fixed on the figure across the room. 

Hotch's eyes followed her line of sight and landed on a distinguished-looking woman who, upon noticing Hotch, raised her hand in a casual wave. "I do," Hotch confirmed with a nod, acknowledging the silent greeting with a subtle nod of his head.

Evelyn's mouth fell open slightly. "You're actually so cool," she said, the words slipping out before she could filter them, a smile spreading across her face.

Hotch's mouth twitched in a semblance of a smile. "I'm going to choose to not take that as an insult," he replied, his eyebrow arching in mock offense. "Stay here, I'm going to check us in."

Evelyn acknowledged Hotch's departure with a quick nod and an 'okay boss'. She was still orienting herself in the conference's bustling atmosphere when two familiar faces approached from the crowed. Mr. Weller, his suit a bit worn at the elbows, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a practiced gesture. Dr. Reeves, his hair slightly disheveled, was animatedly discussing some policy change in data privacy. He quickly roped Evelyn into the conversation who listened intently, interjecting only with thoughtful nods.

Evelyn's muscles relaxed slightly as Hotch returned to her side. His hand rested momentarily on her back, a professional gesture by all accounts, but Evelyn couldn't help but feel a spark of awareness ignite. She fastened the name tag he handed her with fingers that suddenly seemed less steady, the metal's chill doing little to dispel the soft heat that had settled between her shoulder blades. 

As Professor Lewis swept in, she bypassed Evelyn's attempted greeting as if it and her were invisible. The professor's laser focus cut her off with surgical precision as it landed on Hotch. 

Her voice carried an urgent edge as she addressed Hotch. "Aaron, can I pick you brain about something?"

Evelyn's greeting hung suspended, and a familiar twinge of frustration pricked at her--the kind that came from being eclipsed again by the professor's selective attention. With a quick nod, Hotch vanished into the crowd with Professor Lewis, leaving Evelyn grappling with a sudden, unsettling sensation in her chest. She exchanged pleasantries with the two men before her, their words weaving through her consciousness without taking hold. 

Her gaze, however, was glued to the sight of Hotch and the professor, their heads bowed in earnest conversation. A surge of jealously, uninvited and irrational, twisted inside her. It was a confusing betrayal of emotion, given her casual relationship with Spencer. But she realized if it was Spencer in that Hotch's position, she'd feel the same about the professor, if not worse. The dream from last night was the culprit, she decided.

Left alone as Dr. Reeves and Mr. Weller departed, Evelyn sank into the chair at her table. The sight of Professor Lewis, so at ease with Hotch, gnawed at her. Why did it bother her so much? Maybe she just needed a nap.

As if summoned by the sheer force of her thoughts, Hotch appeared, his presence a sudden weight beside her. The question erupted from Evelyn before she could stop herself. "What did she want?"

His eyes took on a discerning quality, the subtle narrowing revealing his assessment. "She asked for my opinion on a theory."

"Hmm," came a soft murmur from Evelyn, her lips briefly pressing together in contemplation.

Hotch's gaze drilled into hers, probing. "What?"

"Nothing," Evelyn dismissed, her shoulders lifting in an indifferent shrug.

The morning's panel had unfolded with a deceptive ease, allowing Evelyn to shelve her simmering jealously. Yet, as the shadows shifted to signal the afternoon's approach, her anxiety crept back, an unwelcome companion. 

In a separate room, she paced, her fingers tracing over her notes, each word etched into memory. "You've got this, Evelyn," she murmured, a mantra against the fatigue that seemed to drape over her. "You are prepared. You are intelligent."

Evelyn's grasp to the chair became white-knuckled as a sudden dizziness swept over her, unannounced and unwelcome. The room swirled into a blur, the ground beneath her seemingly shifting as her breathing became uneven and rapid. She looked up to see Hotch. Caught mid-affirmation and near-collapse, a rush of warmth flooded Evelyn's face. She righted herself with a silent plea, willing the black dots to vanish from her vision. 

His eyes locked onto hers with a piercing intensity, studying her--the subtle shift in her posture, the way her hands trembled. "Evelyn," he said, reaching out to steady her with a firm hand. "What's wrong?"

Her words stumbled out, a clumsy cascade of denial. "Just nerves," she claimed, offering a faltering smile and a brittle laugh to conceal the tightening in her throat. Hotch's steady, searching gaze didn't waver, his disbelief hanging silently in the air.

His voice held a note of insistence. "Have you eaten today?"

Evelyn blinked, realization dawning. "It slipped my mind," she admitted. 

Hotch's next words were lost on her as darkness seeped into her field of view. She felt the world tilt, her knees buckling as she was swiftly cradled in a secure, urgent grasp. Blinking away the disorientation, Evelyn found herself cradled in Hotch's panic-stricken gaze. His eyes were wide with alarm, his cool facade shattered as his hand hovered over 911.

"Hotch," she managed, her voice soft but her sarcasm intact. "Impeccable timing as always."

There was a softening in Hotch's gaze, a subtle shift from concern to mild exasperation. "Evelyn," he chided softly, his finger's tap on her hip a punctuation to his words. "You're anemic. You can't just skip meals like they're optional."

Evelyn's effort to sit up sent the room into a dizzying tailspin, each movement threatening to yank her back down. They found themselves grounded in an intimate proximity--she, half-laying in a disoriented haze, and he, crouching by her side, arms wrapped around her in a secure hold, one hand cupping her head to shield her from the hard ground, the other laid upon her waist. 

"Didn't event cross my mind," she confessed, her voice a fragile thread. "Been so busy."

Hotch's hand emerged from his pocket, clutching a compact, foil-wrapped package. "Here," he urged, extending the snack towards her with a gentle authority. "It's good for anemia."

She squinted at the package. "Do you always carry this around?" she questioned, her voice tinged with genuine surprise.

He nodded, no-nonsense. "Yes."

Inside, her heart did an unexpected leap, touched by his silent care.

"You're a sap, Hotch," she teased, her voice light. "Who knew? I bet you've got a whole stash in that suit."

His eyes bore into hers, and for a moment, the room dissolved and the air thickened. And despite her playful words, Evelyn's fingertips tingled, her skin hyper-aware of every pore. The anemia-induced weakness faded into insignificance all because of a stupid snack he carried around. A snack he had thought to carry for her, based on a single, fleeting confession. 

"Stop talking and eat."

And so, she did.

Evelyn's body protested with each step towards her room. She'd argued, of course--pleaded about missing her speech, about the importance of being present. But Hotch, with his hands guided her with a careful touch, wore an expression that left no room for debate. The lines of his face were drawn tight, a clear reflection of the worry that silenced her objections. 

"Rest," was a firm directive, and though Evelyn balked, she ultimately yielded to his authoritative concern. Promptly, room service materialized at her door, courtesy of her favorite unit chief. The tray was abundant with foods rich in iron, and she'd devoured it with an eagerness, only pausing for sips of water.

As the sun made its descent beyond the horizon, its lingering rays casted a golden spotlight on the outdoor hot tub. Evelyn's silhouette blurred against the steam rising from the water, her skin kissed by the fading light. Her hair, a cascade of disobedient curls, crowned her head and softened the contours of her face. The night air nipped playfully at her heated skin, a refreshing counterpoint to the liquid warmth that welcomed her as she dipped into the water.

As her gaze lifted, her room came into view--the curtains drawn, the soft glow of lamplight seeping through. But then she turned her head, and there he was.

Hotch stood on his balcony, his gaze fixed on her. His expression was inscrutable, and for a moment, Evelyn's heart raced. She could sense it--the unspoken command that she should be in her room resting. But her half-wave was genuine, a flicker of happiness at seeing him. He acknowledged her with a curt nod. Evelyn's gaze returned to her book, her fingers tracing the book's creases, her focus slipping. 

A stranger's appearance disrupted her quietude. He had a tailored physique, the kind that hinted at gym memberships and expensive cologne. His eyes, though--too probing--made her uneasy. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, easing into the water.

Evelyn's responses were polite, but she kept her distance. Yet, he persisted, inching closer with every comment. Evelyn's spine prickled, a frosty warning that crawled from nape to tailbone. The book now lay abandoned on the tub's edge. The distant city lights blurred as she feigned interest, but his nearness--his breath, his questions--made her skin crawl. 

Evelyn's eyes scanned the balcony, hoping to see the reassuring figure of her unit chief. But it was empty--the moon's glow casting eerie shadows on the tiles. 

And then, as if summoned, he materialized. Hotch stood there, his expression unreadable. The moon's glow painted his features--sharp jawline, a hint of stubble. But it was the swimsuit--a sinuous second skin--that stole her breath. The fabric of his shorts traced every contour, leaving little to imagination. Evelyn's gaze lingered on his chest, the hair that spread across of it, the rugged masculinity that defied office walls. Her mouth went dry, pulse racing.

"There you are, babe," she murmured, her tone laced with artificial sweetness. Her pulse raced, her eyes seeking Hotch's with an intensity that begged him to read between the lines.

Confusion creased Hotch's forehead as he processed the scene, his eyes flitting from Evelyn to the stranger, the gears turning. "Sorry honey," he said, his voice a low rumble as he approached the water's edge. "Had to take a call. Work stuff."

The word 'honey' lingered in the air, sweet and potent, leaving Evelyn lightheaded. She felt a flutter in her chest, a realization dawning that with the use of such a word, she'd gladly drawn in paperwork if he asked.

With Hotch's arrival, the water created ripples that reached Evelyn. His eyes, deep and searching, locked onto hers with an immediacy that bridged the distance between them. As he settled next to her, the subtle heat of his presence enveloped her. She nestled against him, her whispered explanation cut off by his lips grazing her ear. 

"I know," he murmured, his breath sending shivers down her spine. Evelyn's heart stumbled over itself, a drumbeat out of sync. "You look so good tonight, honey," he announced, ensuring the words reached beyond their intimate circle. His eyes darted to the supple swell of her breasts on display, a quick, silent exchange that left her heart fluttering wildly, even as her mind reminded her it was just an act.

The man's eyes widened, bouncing from Evelyn and Hotch like a pinball. "Oh," he stuttered, a hint of embarrassment coloring his tone, "I didn't realize you were with someone."

"Yeah," Evelyn said, her voice a soft murmur as she settled into the curve of Hotch's lap, her ass planted firmly against his front. The warmth of his body seeped through the thin veil of her bathing suit, causing her cheeks to set flame. Her heart skipped, reveling in the proximity she knew was off-limits. Hotch's arms, both protective and dangerously intimate, encircled her waist.

"This is my husband," she introduced, the word foreign on her tongue. "Aaron, meet...?" His first name rolled of her tongue, a sweet liberty taken in a moment of pretense, as she left the space open for the stranger to introduce himself. 

The barest hint of a smile threatened to disrupt the stoic lines of Hotch's mouth, a silent admission of pleasure of the sound of his name from Evelyn's lips. The intimacy of the act, hidden behind the guise of necessity, wasn't lost on him. He should have been irked by the ruse, yet he found himself savoring the moment. He cleared his throat, a quiet struggle for detachment, even as her voice echoed in his ears.

"Nathan."

Hotch extended his hand with a blend of authority and subtle warning, introducing himself, "nice to meet you," with a tone that cloaked none of his conviction.

Meanwhile, Evelyn's touch traced a path over his chest, a touch that betrayed the unfamiliarity of the act. Her other hand tangled gently in the hair at his nape, a tender exploration that drew an involuntary shiver from him. 

Hotch's voice was hushed against her ear. "You're laying it on thick," he murmured, his breath a warm caress that belied the sternness of his words. His grip on her hip tightened imperceptibly.

Evelyn's lips quirked, a silent acknowledgement of her tactic. "Necessary," she whispered back, her voice a playful lilt. "For my safety." 

Nathan persisted, undeterred. "So, what are you two down here for?"

Hotch's face remained impassive. "A work conference," he stated, the intensity of his eyes fixed on Evelyn.

"So you both work together?" Nathan asked, his tone probing. "Is that how you met?"

Evelyn's smile unfurled like a victory flag. "Oh, yes," she purred, his voice dripping with faux innocence. "He's my boss actually--totally inappropriate, I know. But bless him, the poor man never stood a chance from the moment he laid eyes on me. He just couldn't help himself. It was a HR disaster, of course, but it all worked out."

Hotch's brow furrowed in disapproval, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curling into a reluctant grin. "That's true," he conceded, his voice gruff. "She's... something else, a handful to say the least."

"That's what hands are for!"

Nathan fidgeted uncomfortably as he gave the couple a tight-lipped smile. "Well, I ought to head out," he declared, darting glances between Evelyn and Hotch. "Aaron, you've hit the jackpot, my man."

Hotch's voice was tight, barely containing his exasperation. "No doubt," he managed, "I'm living the dream."

Once Nathan had disappeared, Evelyn leaned closer, her voice a soft, playful murmur. "Guess I owe you one," she teased. "You really sold that doting husband role."

Hotch's response was a single raised brow, his face a mask of feigned solemnity. "Necessary," he echoed, the word rolling of his tongue with a hint of irony. "For your safety."

"You caught the weird vibes he was giving off, right?" she prodded, her elbow gently jabbing his side. "I mean, talk about strange, huh?"

"You're like a magnet for guys like that," Hotch observed, his mouth curving into a half-smile "but, yes, you made the right call."

Her grin was infectious. "Always do," she said with a wink. "You know we make a pretty good team, don't you think? Maybe we should look into undercover work."

"A good team, yes," Hotch agreed, his tone dry. "But undercover? I'd have to start practicing my 'shushing' gestures now."

"Aaron Hotchner, did you just make a joke? Where's my notebook?" Evelyn's giggle rang out, loud and unrestrained as she clutched his shoulders. "And if I talk too much, it's only to balance out your brooding silence."

Her laughter was a living thing, wrapping around Hotch, nudging at the corners of his usually impassive facade. The sheer delight in her voice, planted a seed of contemplation in Hotch, a consideration that maybe, just maybe, a joke here and there wouldn't be such a bad thing, especially if it elicited such a reaction from her.

For a fleeting moment, a genuine, toothy smile flashed across Hotch's face, an uncommon display that he quickly concealed with a downward shake of his head, not wanting to boost her ego any more than necessary. 

"You know, aren't you supposed to be resting up in your room?" 

Evelyn's gaze lingered on him, savoring the rarity of his wide smile. She couldn't help but marvel at the sight and it stirred in her an urge to see it again and again.

"I don't know, Hotch," Evelyn replied, her voice as light as the air around them. A stray lock of hair drifted across her face, and she huffed it away with a puff of breath. "I'm quite content right here."

Hotch raised an eyebrow, disbelief playing on his words. "Oh, really?"

Suddenly, Evelyn's casual demeanor crumbled, replaced by a flustered clarity as she realized her position, perched unceremoniously upon his lap. "Oh, um," she murmured, her voice trailing off into a stammer as a warm flush of embarrassment spread across her face. "I mean, not in an inappropriate way! That came out wrong, sir. I just meant the hot tub is relaxing--like a warm hug for my muscles. Not that I'm hugging you. I mean, I am, but not intentionally. It's just the--"

The shrill ring of Hotch's phone sliced through the air, a timely interruption to Evelyn's frenzied monologue. He leaned subtly to the side, his hand extending towards the intrusive device, his movements fluid and composed. Meanwhile, Evelyn's departure from his lap was anything but graceful; her cheeks burned with a fiery blush as she mumbled an apology, her limbs betraying her as she hastily disentangled herself.

"Sorry," she stammered, her words trailing off into the chaos of her movement. "I'll just--"

With a simple lift of his hand, Hotch stilled her spiraling apologies, his attention shifting seamlessly to the caller on the line. Evelyn perched beside him, her cheeks still painted with the flush of embarrassment, feeling the residual heat from their embrace. His voice was the epitome of calm and control, his gaze lingering on her as he spoke into the phone.

"Hotchner," he announced into the phone, his voice a steady command. Evelyn breath steadied, her hands playing at her bikini strings as she willed calm to wash over her. The call ended with a decisive click, and she tensed anticipating his next words. "We have a case. We're going to meet the team in Somerville, Massachusetts."

NEXT

taglist: @aceofspades190 @nonamevenus @lukesaprince @doigettokeepyou @tequilya

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for Jan behind the cut; mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees. ( + non-chrono link for mobile users )

The hour goes pretty quick, either way, and Kon mostly keeps the kids distracted, and even a little bit entertained. He’s a performer at heart anyway, so he figures it’s his responsibility. 

If it's not, he's gonna make it his responsibility, at least for the next hour. 

A lot of people clear out of the camp in that hour in erratic fits and spurts, with alternate versions of their families or friends or just themselves, and Kon feels a little better about the idea of clearing out himself. He'll keep an ear on the camp until it's all cleared out, for sure, but at least he thinks it should be okay to leave it. 

Jon needs–somebody, yeah, before something happens. Something always happens, when you're wearing the “S”. 

Or you just find something that you have to happen to. Like, ethically speaking or whatever.

Kon figures he can keep an eye on Jon until either they all get home or this reality's Superman notices he's got an extra kid around. Assuming he's got a Jon here to recognize the heartbeat of, anyway. He probably does, if Kon's around and recognizable in the tabloids. Like, the timeline should be to that point, is all. And obviously Lois is gonna be a thing, so–yeah, he's gotta have a Jon by now. Maybe actually an older one than this one, come to think, but it's not like Clark wouldn't recognize his heartbeat anyway. Perfect recall and all, and he's had Jon's heartbeat memorized all his life. 

Kon's pretty sure Clark still doesn't know his, but . . . 

Never mind. Not important. Stupid thing to think about. 

To care about. 

Kon swallows. Keeps grinning for the kids, keeps coming up with new games for them to play, and waves goodbye to each one who gets collected by an aid worker and taken to whoever’s come to take care of them. 

He wonders, again, if Ma and Pa would've come for him, if . . . 

Stupid. Really, really stupid. 

He wouldn't bother them with something that stupid anyway. He's a superhero. And he can take care of himself. He always has, hasn't he? 

He'll take care of himself here too, even if . . . 

Even if . . . 

Kon tries not to think about . . . Kara. About Karen. Or “Paige”, or whatever she's going by now. 

If she's still alive to be going by it, anyway. 

If he isn't currently following in her footsteps, and won't ever see his reality again. Or her. Or . . . anyone he knows. 

People who look like them, sure. People who came from the same concept of a person as them. 

But not his own versions of them. 

Not the versions who he belongs to. 

He doesn't know what he'll do, if he can't get home this time. 

He doesn’t . . . 

He feels Rita approaching with his TTK–recognizes the shape of her body and the cut of her hair and the specific chip in the corner of her clipboard–and glances towards her, and is mildly surprised by who she’s with. It’s someone he definitely recognizes, but it’s not anyone he expected. At least not here and now, anyway. 

“Your ride’s here, sir!” Rita says, looking as relieved as every aid worker who’s come up with a local host for somebody. Well–understandably, he figures. 

“Hey, Rita. Hey, Alfie! No rest for the wicked, or just too many cooks in the kitchen again?” Kon greets with a grin, which is the easiest code phrase to use here that Tim gave him to start off with if he ever ran into an interdimensional Bat and the local Tim’s obviously gotta be the one who sent him, and Jon grabs onto his sleeve and blurts: “It’s dark this morning!” 

Okay, Kon doesn’t recognize that one, but it’s definitely a Bat-phrase too. Jon was not particularly smooth about making it smooth, for one thing. 

Alfred–impeccable as always in the full buttling uniform that Kon has maybe only seen him out of twice, and both of those times were blood-drenched emergency situations–smiles at them both without visibly reacting past that, though Kon hears his heartbeat spike in recognition. Since he was presumably expecting to see the pair of them, or at least him, Kon can only assume that’s code-phrase-related.

“Hello, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, smooth and pleasant, and Kon . . . blinks. “Please allow me to escort you and your young charge to the manor.” 

Wait.

What? 

“Uh,” Kon says slowly. “O . . . kay? Uh–thanks, Alfie.” 

“Of course, sir,” Alfred says, and his pleasant smile turns just a little less polite and a little more sincere. “Interdimensionally displaced or not, we’d hate to leave you out in the cold. No matter what time of night it is.” 

Well, “out in the cold” is what Tim told him to look for in response to “no rest for the wicked”, and he’s betting the “time of night” comment is meant for Jon from the way the kid perked up at hearing it, so . . . yeah, alright then. This is apparently just what’s happening now. 

[zweiginator]

okay, so we all know that patrick zweig is a v unserious person. however!! he’s never more serious when it comes to fucking. so it starts to irritate patrick when reader doesn’t take his offers for a great fuck seriously. she just snorts, rolls her eyes, and goes “okay patrick” and moves on. it grinds his gears. you’re friends. you like each other. it’s not like you’re outright rejecting him, you just don’t think that he actually wants to fuck you (note: he does). one day it comes to a head when patrick comes on to you again, offering to eat you out. once again, you giggle and go “sUrE PatRICk, yoU’rE gOnNa eAt mE oUT!!1!” and he just grabs the back of your neck and kisses the life out of you. do you believe him now?

you always complaining about your sex life being more than subpar. always talking up a storm to patrick about the asshole guy you hook up with or go on dates with and how they are self-indulgent pricks who only care about getting themselves off and don't worry for a second about your own pleasure.

and patrick's response is always the same thing. along the lines of, well i'm always here if you need me. but he says it with that smug, flirty tone of his. not in the way where you would mistake his promise to mean something else.

but you always just pat him on the back.

"yeah, thanks pat. sure."

because you in no way, shape or form actually believe he would ever want to jeopardize your friendship with each other with a cheap fuck. and all guys say the same thing. all guys advertise themselves as a great fuck, a master of women's pleasure. it always falls apart when the time actually comes to put their money where their mouth is.

but you don't know that patrick wants you. he doesn't understand why you hook up with unattractive sleazy guys when he's right there, throwing himself at you. is he really that bad?

and one day, you're complaining --yet again--about your love life. or really the lack thereof. how you went on a horrible date and the guy forgot his wallet so you had to pay and you're sure he did it on purpose. but then he promised to make it better and to eat you out. you explain to patrick that it hurt. somehow, his mouth on your pussy hurt.

"let me eat you out." he says it so nonchalantly. another offer.

you roll your eyes. "stop saying stuff like that."

"saying stuff like what?" patrick runs a hand through his hair.

"you know what i'm talking about. the sexual offers just to be nice or whatever."

"just to be nice?" patrick yanks you in by your shirt. "i'm dead serious. why won't you let me fuck you?"

you feel like the wind is knocked out of you. your voice cracks. and you're not sure why you've been shoving all his offers away like you're subconsciously worried that fucking patrick will change your perspective on him. obviously, it would. but maybe you've been afraid you would fall in love with him, because honestly, you had already been on the brink of it for years. one kiss could alter your friendship into a toxic obsession. but would that be so bad?

sure it would--but the way patrick is silent, his lips parted and head tilted as he awaits your answer--but right now you're not thinking straight. and patrick's body looks impeccable in his shorts he wore to tennis practice and a grey t-shirt that hugs his arms a little too tight.

he speaks up again. "let me eat you out. i know you want it. i know you." his hand reaches up to caress your lip and you press a kiss to the calloused pad of his finger and it's all fucked now. there's no going back because patrick is pushing you back on the couch. you hope he isn't lying about his skills because you really don't want to fake an orgasm to make him feel better--your panties get pulled to the side.

your chest heaves and patrick looks up at you and smiles. your stomach flips. he pushes your legs back and spreads your pussy with his fingers and spits on you. it feels lewd and dirty but you like it; patrick can tell by how you yank on his hair, pulling him into your cunt.

"now look who's fuckin' begging for it." he presses a kiss to your clit.

this friendship is fucked.

[zaephix]

alis volat propiis / / blade . . .

having someone be promised to you through fate always felt like a joke to blade, what changes when his head keeps flashing images of you?

warnings: f!reader, soulmate au, little ooc blade and black swan? hurt no comfort, lowk spicy……. , reader is a memokeeper, spoilers for blade’s backstory, spoilers for luofu/penacony storyline, spoilers for kafka’s quest? (if you call modifying canon scenes to fit your story spoilers..)

w/c: 3.63k

a/n: comeback?!?!?!?!?! i took a break bc of skl and today is the first day again hurrayyyyyyy (im gna kms) art cred: mybloodynails on twt

reblogs appreciated!!

the first time blade met you was under the dark cover of night within the xianzhou.

kafka had finished her business in luring the trailblazers into the luofu, leaving blade alone with his pacing thoughts about his revenge. the full moon was up that night, the gentle breeze swaying through his hair. 

during nights like these, all he could do was try and relieve the aching pain through means of other matters. however, without the presence of kafka (subsequently, her spirit whisper), the mara slowly crawls its way back into the back of his mind. and it was nights like these where he would be reminded of that damned mark ingrained into his skin.

soulmates. the concept of having another half to oneself, a connection so deep the universe takes it upon itself to remind you of it every waking second of your life. as a result of this foreseen deep-rooted connection, two intertwined stars sat on top of the veins of his wrist. he hopes whichever aeon who cursed him with this cruel hope is enjoying themself.

and with impeccable timing, you appeared in the corner of his eye. he camouflaged with the wall behind him and observed you. in front of you was a glowing blue orb in the shape of a bubble. you seemed to be deep in thought, mumbling words and tampering with the orb in ways in which he couldn’t comprehend. he’d ask silverwolf about it later, this seemed to be her area of expertise.

“how irrelevant.” these were the last words he had about you as he turned to leave. however,  his movement seemed to have alerted you, as you suddenly appeared in front of him, a dagger now being held at his throat.

“who are you, how much have you seen?” your words are now cut-throat, and he can see your face clearly now. your eyes had a depth and burn he’d never seen before, but other than that, nothing about you appeared to be anything of interest.

“even if i had seen anything, it wouldn’t be of use to me.” his hoarse voice was louder in the silence. this did not affect you, as you then tightened your grip on the dagger and threatened to push it further into his skin.

“nice try. who do you work for?”

he rolls his eyes inwardly in annoyance, and without saying a word, he grabs the arm in which you held the weapon and aimed to unarm you. keyword: aimed.

the moment his fingers made contact with your skin, a burning sensation crept up his arm from his wrist. he then let your hand go hastily, looking at you with a newfound rage.

“what did you d-” the words he meant to say couldn’t escape his mouth, as his question was answered. the cursed mark of his glowed bright white, a blinding source of light in the dark. 

ah. this was his other half.

with a soft gasp, you looked up at him with slightly widened eyes, the incriminating look now gone. the dagger now lay forgotten at your feet, you studied him for a few seconds longer. he did not know what to do under your gaze. he hopes that same aeon is now content with the fruits of its pathetic labors. 

after your quick survey of him, you appeared to almost say something, before a feminine voice reached both your ears.

“(y/n), come, our work here is done.” a woman in purple attire stood at the end of the alley, looking at the two of you with curiosity.

and without a word, you gave him one last look, then turned to leave. he looked down and locked eyes with your left-behind dagger, then picked it up. he looked up again, and you and that strange woman were gone. not a single trace indicating that either one of the two of you were here this night—almost.

he turned the weapon in his hands, his fingers roaming the intricate etchings of the handle. Just a second ago, this was at his throat, the two of you meaning nothing to each other. now, it seemed that destiny placed its card down for the both of you. he had no idea if he should be relieved or not.

looking up at the bright moon, he’s already engraved your name to his mind.

(y/n).

—

through the next few weeks, the encounter between the two of you was shoved to the back of his head. kafka had joked about how he seemed more on edge as of late, he, however, paid her no mind. after that night, he’d “reunited” with his old friends. if he could call them that. 

bitter thoughts clouded his mind once more at the memory of them. he’d had his battle with jingliu, the mentioned fulfilling her promise of granting him a short-lived death. the peaceful and final silence of the scalegorge waterscape felt like music to his ears. for a moment, he’d thought that she’d fulfilled her vow. 

then he was greeted by the sight of kafka.

the mission was over. he was to return to hiding within the shadows of the cosmos. elio would present him with another mission and he would oblige. such is the fate of destiny’s slave.

he thought that this would mean the end of his trip to the luofu, the everlasting ties with the once high cloud quintet now severed. his mara seemed to have something else to say.

kafka led him to a secluded position in the xianzhou, claiming to be able to calm his illness through a different means than usual. he had no choice but to oblige. she said she’d brought in a few friends to help her in this effort, as retaining and sealing memories required a more complicated and experienced skillset.

he’d never imagined that you would appear through the small window of the abode next to kafka and the trailblazer, astute and serious.

and yet, his eyes were not deceiving him. he would be within your presence once more. was this a hidden yearning in his heart? no, it would be foolish of him to plant such feeble desires. the mara must be getting to him quicker than usual at this rate.

a few minutes later, you, kafka, and the trailblazer seemingly split ways. the wine-haired woman stepping in first, before stepping to the side and introducing you.

“bladie, this is (y/n). do you remember the aid i mentioned earlier? this is them. all i ask of you is to trust them, as well as myself.” kafka carefully selected her words before gesturing to you, nodding.

you and blade looked at each other again after what felt like just a few days. your eyes glanced over his disheveled appearance. he couldn’t read you at all. you walked towards him, until you were just a foot away, “hello, bladie was it? i’ll need you to close your eyes and relax, this may feel… unusual.” your voice was soft yet stern—as if you’d done this before.

just as you tilted his head to the side and up again, he muttered something, causing you to lift a brow. “hm?”

“blade. it’s blade.” 

“oh,” you looked surprised at the fact he even said anything, this was the one thing he could read off of you.  “of course, my apologies.” and you went back to checking his pulse and finally rested your index and middle finger on the left side of his frontal bone, your thumb extending down to his jaw to tilt it. 

“okay, i will begin now. you will be put in a state where you feel as if you’re in a trance, and then kafka will use her power to subdue your mara. do you understand?” you looked at him expectantly, and all he could give you was a blank stare. he doesn’t know why you’re doing all this, why you’re being so calm and nice to a mere stranger. nonetheless, he gives you a small nod.

thus, the trance you mentioned reigning over all of his senses. his head droops, he sees different shapes and particles clouding his vision, before everything comes to a pause. the pain was subdued, just as you said.

he felt like sighing out of relief, a relief he hadn’t felt in a long time. then, a figure stepped out of the darkness in front of him.

you.

you looked exactly the same as before, except in new clothes, clothes that were native to one world— the xianzhou luofu. and this time, you bore a soft smile on your face, your eyes lighting up with an unfamiliar sparkle.

“▜█▍▆▛█▍▆! there you are, ▉█▍▆▜▀▍ and I had been looking for you for ages. are you still forging those new weapons for the cloud knights? don’t even bother… come home… missed… go…”

the words that were spilling out of your mouth went in one ear and out of the other. throughout the midst of this, he was still stuck on you, and what this meant. you two must have known each other in his past life. the one he just severed his ties to.

 even while knowing this, he can’t seem to take his eyes off of your form. he doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. but he doesn’t question it much. not when you motioned your hand towards his still one. not when you grabbed it, your warmth spreading through his cold hand, even if for a split second. he didn’t even question it when he watched his… old self, white hair flowing down his back, be taken away by your sweet voice.

he felt oddly at peace. watching the two of you quietly walk away now in a field of lilies, your smile clearly infectious to himself. this was until he felt webs crawling their way up from his feet, slowly inching towards his head. his vision grew blurry again, and he quickly realized his fleeting dream has come to its end. he accepted without fuss.

soon, he was done. kafka was talking to him about the procedure or something along those lines. he didn’t really recall what she exactly said, something about the trailblazer fending off monsters while she worked her technique.

kafka realized this, and quietly looked over to where he was looking. across from them in front of the small house was you, conversing with the trailblazer with a gentle smile. he doesn’t know how long he was staring for until he watches you bid the trailblazer goodbye and signal kafka that you were off. 

your eyes locked with blade’s for longer than just a second, a small look of pity in your eyes. you then smiled at him. the same soft smile he saw just moments ago.

he doesn’t know why, but he feels an urge to go with you. to follow you until there was nowhere else to go.

it seemed like he keeps getting rendered clueless when it comes to you.

“i’m off. see you, kafka.”

he grunts, exiting the abode now with something else to haunt his mind. he can’t figure out if he minds it or not.

—

“finally done. black swan, you think they got the rest of the bombs?”

she looked at you smiling, “i don’t think they have, but we’ve made significant progress. the rest is up to them now.”

you hummed, looking out at the night sky on the ship. “do you think it’s an actual bomb?”

she chuckles, “of course not. that masked fool might be dangerous but i’m sure she wouldn’t pull off a stunt as… arduous as this for an actual tragedy. she simply wants to make a fool of everyone.”

you snort. “that does seem like her, doesn't it?”

you both sit in silence under the stars, commotion ringing in your ears. it seems that they’ve only got a few bombs left. you look over at black swan one more time, signaling her that you were gonna go somewhere more secluded. she gives you that small smile again, before leaving you with a message.

“it appears that there's a visitor on one of the top floors of this ship. i think the only reason of his appearance was to see someone in particular. you should go see him. he’s getting restless.”

you picked up on who it was immediately. you gave her a  sigh, giving her a grateful smile. “thanks swan. i’ll deal with it and be right back.”

she looks at you, her brows slightly furrowed as you begin to turn.

“(y/n). you should stop avoiding him, for your own sake. you both are soulmates for a reason. you can never really escape each other.”

you turn around again, about to speak. she beats you to it.

“ah ah. you heard me. i know you. feelings like this make you nervous, but with how everything has been going for you lately, i’m positive you need some stimulation from time to time. embrace it. you are one of the few to be so lucky as to have something as special as a soul tied to your own. accept it.”

you could’ve sworn you heard a little bitterness in her strict yet gentle tone, but she then gives you a pat on your head motioning for you to go up. you say nothing as you watch her go towards where the commotion is.

that woman seemed to always know how to read you like an open book.

—

you try to find the dark-blue haired man throughout 3 different floors, to no avail. if it was not clear before, this was clearly the skills of a stellaron hunter. you make your way to the top floor of the ship, empty and barren. from the top and from behind the railings, you see people still scrambling around.

you figured sooner or later the dark haired man would show himself, and you would be in for a… conversation to say the least. you shake the thought away and observe down to where the trailblazer and firefly are, making their way towards the pool at the front.

you don’t realize, but you hold your breath. black swan told you it was nothing to be fussing over, yet you can’t help yourself. and slowly, you back away, choosing not to look at what might as well be a tragic spectacle. 

you end up hitting your back on something firm.

hands shoot out to grab at your waist, steadying you. you look up, finally meeting the gaze of the man you were avoiding right up until now.

“blade.” your breath hitches in your throat. 

he acknowledges you with a low hum before releasing you. he makes his way to the railing watching his fellow stellaron hunter, and you take this as an invitation to observe along with him.

you decide to break the silence.

“i thought you weren’t included in that script of yours. i heard as much at least from firefly.” you try to carefully choose your words, not knowing what to say from here.

“let’s just say… a certain birdie gave me a clue as to where i could go next.”

black swan.

you sigh, that memokeeper has meddled far too much in your life already.

“calm yourself. that woman has her own agenda to be sure, but she doesn’t seem to have any ill intentions.” he’s quiet before he adds on to his statement. “i cannot say the same for another.”

with this, you look back at him with a puzzled expression. “is this about our first encounter? well i did not mean for things to escalate as quickly as they did, but-”

he turns to you with anger, quickly pinning you against the railings.

“i am not talking about that.”

“i meant the last time we saw one another. when you put me in that… trance.”

you look at him with shock as he spits out that last word. does he hate you? what did he even see?

you collect yourself, now glaring up at him the same way as you did the first time. “what did you expect me to do? rock you against my chest with a nice lullaby to go with it? i did what was necessary, i’m sure you understand. i wouldn’t have even been there if it hadn’t been for-”

“do you remember?”

his gruff voice cuts you off yet again. and by this point you’ve grown fed up with his antics.

“remember what exactly?”

“my past. your past. our past.”

he grabs your wrist and lifts it to your eye level. it’s glowing, not as bright as before but still prominent enough to where it looks like a dim star regaining its energy. his wrist seems to be doing the same.

“the very… reason… as to why we are even connected yet again in this life is because of something else that took place in the past. and with you being a memokeeper, i’m sure you know more than a thing or two.”

he said the rest through his teeth, his grip unwavering on your wrist. and, for the first time in your life, you felt fear. not just because of the man before you, but of what consequences that could be in store for you because of your past actions.

blade chuckles darkly at your ‘realization’. “do you need a reminder?”

you hear fireworks being set off in the background but you don’t make a single move to see what was happening. the man in front of you bares his teeth a little, and before he could beat you to it, you grab ahold of the back of his head and lean in spontaneously.

the kiss was not slow, sensational or soft. rather it was exactly the opposite. it was all teeth and tongue, your emotions colliding aggressively as you both battle them out. he tastes like nothing you note, until you taste the iron tang of blood on your tongue. suddenly, he takes control, hands sliding and setting themselves firmly on your hips. 

blade was not a forgiving man, you know that now. so why are you hoping for more outbursts like this again? why are you imagining waking up to kisses like these, knowing your lives couldn’t be anymore different?

your vision was growing hazy and your eyes half lidded, threatening to shut. your soft whines against him fuel him even more, his eyes glowing a vibrant red with the light of the fireworks reflecting off of him. your lips detach from his with a delicious ‘pop!’, a string of saliva connecting the two of you before he goes in and starts kissing your throat.

you prided yourself on being a smart woman, able to handle difficult situations with ease. you suppose nothing could have prepared you for this moment in your life, you’ve never met someone filled with as much rage and passion as blade. he was destiny’s slave. and you can’t resist his desperation as much as you’d have liked, instead yours just as much matched his own.

you now realize how close your bodies are. his unusually cold hands are starting to feel warmer now, and a few sweat beads make it down your forehead. you throw your head back, eyes closed shut in pleasure, the wind cooling you off — and at the tip of your tongue, his name. 

“blade…”

he pays you no mind, groaning against your throat as his hands roam around, one sitting on the side of your head and the other on the plush of your ass. he smiles against your skin as you pant out soft gasps, your hands gripping hard in his hair.

blade winces slightly as you pull his hair back, your face flushed and your neck covered in love bites. he looks at you with an unreadable expression before letting his hands fall down to his sides. it appears his old stoic self is back.

you look at him wistfully through your lashes, the fireworks now having subsided and sounds of cheers and drinks clinking making their way inside the vast rooms of the ship. 

you took this as a sign that your time was over with him.

just as you were about to say your farewell and hurriedly make up some excuse that black swan was expecting you, blade takes something out of his pocket slowly and toys with it in his hands. 

it was your dagger.

with a soft exclamation, you reach out towards it. however, it seemed that he had different plans, for he swiftly pulls it away — giving you an annoyingly taunting look with just his brows. he dangles it with his finger through the hole at the base, the metal shimmering.

“are you done?” you prod, crossing your hands.

he looks at you for a little longer, almost as if he’s deciding on whether or not to give it to you. and with careful consideration it seems, he turns to leave.

you supposed this was the stellaron hunter’s way of saying that you two will have to meet again for you to be able to finally take your dagger back, so you let it go. his long dark teal and red hair flow behind him against the wind before he jumps and disappears into the darkness beyond your reach.

“alis volat propiis…” you hum as you yourself turn around as well, staring down at the dying crowd and dimming lights. the promise etched into your wrist always felt like a burden to carry around, with countless theories and what-ifs clouding your thoughts every day. 

actually meeting him changed the way you felt, and you felt yourself already looking forward to your next encounter. maybe you would be able to work with such a childish want.

“he flies by his own wings.”

[jellys-compendium]

Special Delivery

A Rika x GN!Reader Valentine Special

Rating: G

Summary: Rika gets an unexpected Valentines Day gift from her affectionate s/o. Cw: nothing to see here but FLUFF Word count: 1.2K A/n: Exposing my love for Rika with this post. She deserves a lovey-dovey partner who'll treat her right. Happy Valentines Day! 💖

The Paldea Pokemon League was uncharacteristically quiet for a Wednesday afternoon.  However, given that today was Valentine’s Day, the quiet stillness was not entirely unexpected.

In fact, Rika thanked every deity that she could think of for the minor holiday. With everyone out and about enjoying their day, it allowed Rika to tackle the mountain of paperwork that Geeta had so graciously left on her desk the day before.  

The words on the paper blurred and Rika groaned, blinking hard as she pushed her ‘purely for aesthetic purposes’ glasses up the bridge of her nose. It wasn’t even 2pm yet and she could already feel her head starting to pound. 

If she had her way, Rika would have solely blamed the headache on Geeta. But as she glanced at the full and untouched water bottle sitting to her right, she became acutely aware of the source of the throbbing. 

"Coffee isn’t a replacement for water. Be sure to drink it all because I don’t want you getting any more headaches Rika."

A private little smile spread across Rika’s lips at the memory of her partner fussing over her that morning at the table. Half-asleep, Rika had “ah-hah’d” and “mm-hmm’d” as she watched her significant other scurry around the kitchen, finishing their packing of Rika’s lunch before setting down a black coffee and little heart shaped pancakes on the table.

“Happy Valentine's Day, pookie.”

Rika’s heart fluttered as the phantom sensation of her lover’s lips pressed against her cheek. Gosh, she really was whipped for you, no matter what her prickly and standoffish exterior might suggest. You had a knack for catching Rika off guard, flustering her while also simultaneously melting her heart. Some days it didn’t even seem to matter what Geeta threw at her, as long as Rika got to see your smile at the end of the day, she was happy.

WIth you in mind, Rika reached for the untouched water bottle, but just as she was about to open it, the sliding doors from behind her opened, and the unmistakable elegant clack of impeccably shined dress shoes rang through the room.

Speak of the devil.

“Hard at work, today? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating?”

Rika tosses her boss a glancing scowl over her shoulder.

“Well, I wouldn’t be here if a certain someone hadn’t decided to announce an impromptu tournament.”

If it weren’t for the bobbing of her impressive head of hair, Geeta’s poised way of walking would have made her look like she was floating. She’s mesmerizing, powerful and certainly not someone to be trifled with. Rika learned that lesson the hard way early on.

Rika watched Geeta circle her desk from her periphery as she slowly nursed the water bottle. She had a sinking suspicion that her headache was about to get a whole lot worse. 

“What can I say? I was inspired by our newest champion.”

Geeta's smile was the perfect mixture of sweetness and iron. It was difficult to describe, but every time it graced her boss’ lips, Rika knew that she’d be in for the long haul. Still, that didn’t mean that she had to go down without complaint.

Armed and ready with a scathing rebuttal, Rika opens her mouth—but the moment she does the familiar sound of the sliding doors interrupts her.

Rika sighed and restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Seriously, another challenger? Today? It was Valentine's Day for crying out loud, didn’t they have anything better to do?

Donning her practiced scowl for the second time today, Rika turned to face the guest. But instead of the student she expected, a delivery man stood at the threshold. Rika’s jaw slackened when she realized that in his arms sat the most extravagant bouquet of flowers that she had ever seen in her entire life. And given that she lived in Paldea, that was saying something.

Must be from one of Larry’s many admirers no doubt. 

Rika leaned back in her chair, ready to point the man in the direction of the parcel room, when with a smile the young man marched up to her desk and placed the bouquet of flowers right on top of her mountain of papers.

“Special delivery for Ms. Rika!” 

The room became dead silent as both Rika and Geeta studied the monstrous mass of flowers. The bouquet was comprised of every flower in the book. Carnations, roses, bluebells, lilies, daffodils, daisies, oleander, tulips…just to name a few.

And nestled in the bed of flowers sat a red envelope covered with sparkles, hearts, and an adorable little stick figure doodle of Rika holding hands with her partner. The cherry on top was the words “I LOVE YOU RIKA!” written in massive bubble letters in the center. 

Rika’s face turned the brightest shade of red. She could practically feel flames simmering on her cheeks as she was rendered utterly speechless. This was simultaneously the sweetest and most mortifying thing that anyone had ever done for her.

The soft little chuckle from Geeta broke Rika from her stupor. With eyes wide like saucers, Rika looked up and stared at the grinning delivery man over the mountain of flowers. 

“That’s not for me.”

The delivery man raised a brow as his gaze lingered on the glittery envelope.

“Preeetty sure it is, ma’am.”

Before she even realized what was happening, Rika found herself with a clipboard thrust into her hands, and an eager delivery boy tapping on the dotted line.

“Sign here please.”

Flustered and dazed, Rika signed the paper and then watched in stunned silence as the jolly delivery man made his way towards the exit.

“Enjoy your Valentines’ gift ma’am!”

Both Rika and Geeta were left alone once more. Well…not exactly alone. What with the new ecosystem that had just moved into the office and all.

“Well,” Geeta’s tone scarcely hid her smile. “Don’t you have the sweetest Valentine?”

If Rika’s cheeks could get any redder, she could have passed for a Pikachu. Yet despite her simmering embarrassment, Rika felt her heart flutter softly in her chest. With each beat a soothing warmth coursed through her body, tingling along her skin and consuming her from head to toe. She felt…elated and light. 

Arceus, you really could be the pinnacle of embarrassing sometimes—but there really was something to admire about the way you unabashedly showed your affection. It was so liberating and deep down Rika secretly wished that your emotional confidence would rub off on her someday.

For now though, Rika would happily indulge you with kisses before work, cuddles before bed, and encouraging words when the two of you needed them. In the end, Rika loved you more than anything else and she would do anything to make you happy.

With that thought in mind, Rika reached up and plucked the envelope from the bouquet. Carefully opening it so as not to rip the paper, she pulled out the card which–surprise, surprise–had more glitter.

The card read,

My dearest Rika,

You are the love of my life

Thank you for everything that you do

For making me smile and laugh

And for grounding me when I need it

I cherish every second I’m with you

Forever and always

Love you Pookie!

xoxoxo ❤️🩷❤️🩷

“How sweet,” Geeta wistfully sighed from over Rika’s shoulder. “For your sake, I hope you got your Valentine something equally as heartfelt.”

With her heart swelling, Rika’s fingers reached down to brush along the little square box that sat protected in her pants’ pocket.

“Don’t worry. I did.”

divider source

[writing-with-sophia]

Describing a villain's appearance in a natural way

Someone asked me how to describe a villain's appearance in a natural way, so today I take a little time to write this post.

One of the first factors to explain when a character emerges is their appearance. To make those descriptions more natural and less restrictive, you should combine them with other positive aspects such as personality and behavior. Here are some tips:

Use sensory details: Consider the five senses when describing the villain's appearance. What do they look like? What do they smell like? What do their voices sound like? What texture do their clothing or skin have? Is their appearance pleasant or unpleasant to the senses?

Focus on physical features: Describe the villain's physical characteristics such as their height, weight, body type, facial features, hair color, and eye color. Use descriptive language to give the reader a clear image of their appearance. However, you should just chose and describe what is most prominent, noteworthy, and can be considered a unique feature of that character. If you describe everything, including hair, face, eyes, lips, clothes, hands, etc., it will be incredibly long and uninteresting, and it will not impress the reader.

Use metaphor and simile: Using metaphors and similes can help create a vivid image of the villain's appearance. Comparing the villain's appearance to something else can help create a clearer image in the reader's mind. For example, you could describe the villain's hair as "wild and unruly, like a tangled forest."; their eyes as "cold as steel" or their skin as "pale as death."

Consider clothing and accessories: The villain's clothing and accessories can also give insight into their character and background. For example, a villain who wears all black and has a lot of leather might be perceived as more menacing than one who wears bright colors and flowing fabrics. Or, if the villain is very well-groomed and dressed in expensive clothing, it might suggest that they are wealthy or have a high status.

Use context: The context of the story can also help shape the description of the villain's appearance. For example, if the story is set in a medieval fantasy world, the villain might have a more archaic appearance, while a modern-day villain might have a more contemporary appearance.

Avoid cliches and stereotypes: While it's important to give the reader a clear image of the villain's appearance, be careful not to rely on cliches or stereotypes. E.g. describing a villain as having a scar on their face or a hook for a hand can feel overdone and lacking in originality.

Consider the impact on other characters: The way the villain looks can have an impact on how other characters react to them. For instance, if the villain is very imposing or intimidating, other characters might be scared or intimidated by them.

Don't forget about body language: The way the villain carries themselves can also be revealing. E.g if they are slouching or have a sneer on their face, it can suggest that they are arrogant or dismissive.

And here is an example of how to describe the appearance of my character who is a villain:

"As soon as he stepped into the room, he commanded attention. With his broad shoulders and imposing stature, he seemed to fill the space with his presence. His suit was impeccably tailored, the fabric hugging his powerful frame like a second skin. But it wasn't just his appearance that made him stand out - it was the air of confidence and authority that surrounded him. He moved with purpose, his gaze sharp and calculating, and his voice dripped with honeyed charm that was as dangerous as it was seductive. It was clear that this was a man who was used to getting what he wanted, and he was willing to do whatever it took to get it."

In this example, the villain's appearance is described in a way that reflects his personality. His imposing stature and tailored suit suggest power and wealth, while his air of confidence and charm hint at a ruthless and manipulative personality. By using description that reflects the villain's personality, the reader can get a better understanding of who the character is beyond just their physical appearance.

Remember that ultimately, the way you describe the villain's appearance should serve the story and help create a clear and compelling image in the reader's mind. By using a mix of descriptive language, sensory details, and context, you can create a vivid and memorable villain that readers will love to hate.

[princessleechan]

"You're the man!" Chapter 44

Masterlist

⚽Chapter tags: MDNI, she’s the man au, revenge au???, cross dressing!reader, reader identifies anything but male, sports au, queer themes, university au, love-whatever the fuck kind of shape, debutante ball day!!!, w.c. 500+, short and sweet with a 18+ bonus scene to come <3

⚽Tag list: @90s-belladonna @the-boy-meets-evil @lirtha97 @hipsdofangirl @justineasian @kwanisms @multi-kpop-fanfics @pantumin @wooahaeproductions @mayashu @shuasdraftsalt @lone-lone-ranger @headlockimnida @horanghaezone @haolistic @porridgesblog @jeonjungkaka @luchiet @ujimatchaaa @skzdesi @cheoliehansolie @vlbii @myghobi @sisterofsomeone @joonsytip @gyublues @alltheshineofthestars-blog @randomworker @isabellah29 @savgogh @too-many-kpop-hubands @kamabokogonpachro @skittlez-area512 @seccdlurv @chisskaa @mochiteez @theyluvfrankocean @lllucere @thomawifey @middle-of-the-earth @okiedokrie-main @itsokaytobedumb00 @humankimbap @zezedoesshit @teenyfinds @jeonghansshitester @aaa-sia @heyitz00 @silvsie

Your eyes flutter at the sight of his presence, the heavy fabric of your dress crushed in your fist as you hold it barely above the grassy ground. You cautiously approach, lips parting in disbelief, wanting so badly for this to be real and not just a dream.

The closer your feet tread, the more tangible he becomes underneath the light of the moon, each step making his presence more vivid and causing your heart to swell until it feels like it might burst from your chest. You feel breathless, nervous, and happier than you’ve ever been.

“You came,” you manage to say through hushed sobs.

He closes the distance with a single step, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his linen dress pants. “I wanted to escort you myself. Before someone else did.”

A choked laugh escapes your lips, and this time, you run straight to him. His arms envelop you in a crushing embrace, his nose buried in your hair as he inhales the familiar scent of your perfume. One hand strokes your back while the other gently cradles the back of your head. You rapidly blink away the tears, forgeting about the makeup on your face, and squeezing him so tightly against you that there's no room left to breathe.

“Soonyoung,” you whisper, your voice trembling with relief. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

When you walk on stage, it feels as if you're walking on air. The spotlight bathes you in a warm, golden glow, and the crowd erupts into a thunderous cheer at your appearance. The deeper voices blend into a powerful roar, their excitement palpable as you take careful, deliberate steps forward. The grand ballroom is adorned with elegant decorations, and chandeliers casting a sparkling light across the sea of faces turned toward you.

Soonyoung, impeccably dressed in his tailored suit, firmly grasps your hand, his touch both steady and reassuring. His grip is an anchor amidst the overwhelming attention. As he guides you across the stage, he turns his head to flash you a soft, encouraging smile. The warmth in his eyes and the sincerity of his expression make your heart flutter, grounding you in this surreal moment.

The sound of your heels clicking against the polished wooden floor is drowned out by the applause and cheers. The air is filled with the faint scent of roses and perfume, mingling the food cooked fresh from the chef’s kitchen. You can feel the eyes of everyone in the room on you, but with Soonyoung by your side, you feel nothing but confidence.

Your eyes would flicker over to the sea of onlookers, catching familiar faces of your mother, brother, and your teammates from university, and the boys you’ve tricked in the several months impersonating Yeonam–particularly Mingyu, who congratulating clicks his bubbly drink in your direction–all with a jovial expression on their faces. 

The lights, the noise, the sheer energy of the audience—all of it soon fades into the background looking back at the man on your arm. The man you came to cherish. In this perfect moment, with Soonyoung walking you across the stage, you know you couldn’t picture a more wonderful scene.

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Three: Undying

Chapter WC: 5,192

A/N: Here's the final chapter in part one. I'll finally stop changing the banner now. Also wow!! 300 followers! Love you all 💙

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The bar is busy, packed with beings of all shapes and sizes. The air is thick with the smell of smoke and alcohol, the music pounding, and the crowd cheering. It's dark, and hot, and the only light comes from the glowing drinks being carried about and the flashing neon signs that adorn the walls and ceiling.

You're sitting alone at the counter, a drink in your hand, watching the chaos unfold. You don't remember the name of this drink, but it's sweet, and the buzz you feel is a pleasant one. Your body feels heavy, but not in an uncomfortable way, and the pain in your chest has receded to a dull ache.

You're tired.

It's late, or early, depending on who you ask, and you've been sitting here for hours. You haven't eaten since the morning, and the drinks are already going to your head, but you don't care.

You're not sure you've ever felt this alone, and the fact that it's your own fault is not lost on you.

You've made a lot of mistakes in the past few days, but the biggest was leaving. It was a stupid thing to do, but you were upset, and angry, and hurt, and you wanted nothing more than to forget, if only for a little while.

There was only one place you could think to go. A place where no one would ask questions, or judge you. Where you could drown out the world and not worry about the consequences.

So you'd gone.

Obi-Wan would probably be horrified. You can almost picture his face, the look of disappointment, the shake of his head, and the pursed lips. He'd scold you and remind you of the rules, and he'd lecture you on the dangers of the city and the foolishness of your decision.

It's a testament to your stubbornness that you don't care.

The bartender, a Twi'lek, is eyeing you but doesn't say a word, which is a blessing. The last thing you want is small talk, or an argument, or another person to disappoint.

You raise your glass and drain the rest of the liquid, the sweetness coating your tongue and the bitter aftertaste making you wince. You motion to the bartender, and he refills the glass without asking if you want anything else.

You sip this one slower, savoring the taste and the warmth it brings. It's a welcome reprieve from the coldness inside you, and the heaviness in your chest, and the aching in your head.

"Mind if I sit?"

You look up and find a Pantoran man standing beside you, a smile on his face. He's handsome, his skin a brilliant blue and his hair a shock of white, and there’s a yellow marking on his chin and two half-moon crescents below his bottom lip. He's tall and thin, his clothing impeccably clean and expensive looking. Certainly not the sort of person you'd expect to find in a place like this.

You shrug and take a drink.

"Suit yourself," you mumble, and you look away.

The man sits, and he motions to the bartender. A few minutes later, he has his own drink, a bright blue concoction that smells strongly of alcohol.

You watch the bartender go and then turn back to the man. He's looking at you, an appraising look on his face, his eyes sweeping up and down your body. You're not unfamiliar with the look, and usually you'd make a comment about it, but today you're not in the mood.

So you say nothing and stare into your drink, swirling the liquid around.

"Bad day?"

"Can I help you?" you ask, an edge to your voice. You look up and find him watching you, his gaze unwavering. He looks pleased, and he raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, actually."

You sigh and push your glass aside, suddenly annoyed. You didn't come here for conversation, and you certainly didn't come here to flirt.

"No thanks," you reply and start to stand.

"I thought Jedi were supposed to be generous," he remarks casually. His voice is smooth and cultured, and it reminds you of Obi-Wan's, which just annoys you more. "Especially toward strangers."

"We are," you reply, narrowing your eyes. "But not when we're being propositioned."

He grins, his teeth white and gleaming, and raises his hands. He laughs and leans back on the stool.

"Relax," he says. "I'm not here for that."

"Oh?"

"No."

You slump back down and fold your arms. You can't deny that you're a little curious.

"Then what are you here for?"

The Pantoran hums, and he taps a finger on the counter. His nails are filed and painted gold. "I need help," he admits. "Your kind of help."

You frown. "With?"

He nods and takes a drink, draining the glass. He sets it down and turns back to you. 

"I have a friend. He lives on the lower levels, and he's been...missing. No one's heard from him in days, and no one's seen him. I'm worried he might have gotten into some trouble."

You straighten a little in your seat and look at him, considering. "What kind of trouble?"

"I'm not sure." He shrugs. "Maybe nothing. But if I don't find him, he'll end up on the wrong side of the law."

You hesitate and glance down. The ice in your drink has melted, and it's starting to look less appetizing.

"Please," the man adds. "I can pay you."

You shake your head. You don't want or need his money, just as you don't want to involve yourself in whatever his problems are. Jedi weren't supposed to get involved in local matters. Not unless the Council ordered them or there was clear and present danger.

This isn't the kind of situation that calls for the Jedi. And the Council wouldn't approve, anyway.

"Sorry," you say. "I can't."

"Come on," the man cajoles. The casual facade fades, and you can hear the desperation in his voice, see the pleading in his eyes. "All I need is for you to help me find him, and then I'll be out of your hair. Please?"

You shift in your seat and stare at your hands. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"You're a Jedi. Don't you care about helping people?"

The response you'd been preparing dies in your throat. Of course you cared. That was why you were here, wasn't it? Because you'd cared too much, and now, Yaddle was dead, and the Council had turned a blind eye, and Obi-Wan... Well, that didn't matter, did it?

"Why don't you ask the authorities?" you ask, looking up and meeting his eyes.

"The authorities are the ones I'm worried about," he admits quietly.

You swallow and take a breath, weighing the pros and cons. You could help him, you reason. And it's not like the Council was expecting you back anytime soon. They didn't even know you were gone, and the likelihood of them finding out was slim to none.

You could do this, and no one would ever have to know.

Besides, it was better than sitting around and doing nothing. Much better than thinking about everything that had happened, and the emptiness you were feeling, and the loneliness.

"I can pay you," he says again, his eyes pleading. "Just...please."

"Fine," you relent. "I'll help. But you're going to have to answer a few questions first."

He gives you a blindingly bright smile. It's an attractive, boyish grin, one that's no doubt charmed many a soul, and you can't help but return it, albeit somewhat hesitantly.

"Anything," he says as he scoots closer to you.

You motion to the bartender and ask him for a pen and a sheet of flimsi. He gives it to you, and you turn back to the man. "Let's start with a name."

Twenty minutes later, you find yourself outside, heading down the street toward the lower levels. It's late, and the sky is clear, the city lights casting a glow on the buildings and streets. You'd had one too many drinks, but the fresh air is helping, and the man — Vayel, he'd said — doesn't seem to mind.

He walks with a bounce in his step, and you have a hard time keeping up. His stride is long, and he's quick, and more than once you find yourself jogging and he has to slow down for you. You've never met anyone quite so enthusiastic, but he seems sincere enough. It's a bit of a refreshing change from the usual stoic, somber nature of the Jedi.

"So, what do you do?" you ask, trying to make conversation.

"I'm an actor," he replies with a flourish of his hand, a proud smile on his face. He says the word like he's making a meal of it, rolling it around, savoring the sound. 

Your eyebrows raise. "Really?"

"Yes." He flashes you another brilliant grin, and you find yourself smiling in spite of yourself.

"That's impressive," you admit.

"Thanks." He laughs, and it's a warm, rich sound. He's handsome and charming, and if it wasn't for the situation, you'd probably be enjoying his company.

As it is, though, you're still feeling a little guilty for how you treated him initially, and not a little bit confused. The whole thing feels odd. But he had said his friend was missing, and he seemed genuinely worried, so you reason with yourself that the strange feeling is just the alcohol talking.

"Any roles I might have seen?"

"I doubt it."

"Well, what's the name of the play?"

Vayel's expression falters, and he looks away, his eyes focused on the buildings ahead.

"It's...um, it's not out yet," he admits sheepishly. "It's a new production."

You nod and glance at him. He doesn't look back, his eyes fixed on the distance. There's something about the way he's acting that makes you curious, and you're not sure you believe him.

But, then again, it's not like you'd ever really been interested in theater.

"Yeah, it's...well, it's a bit of a work in progress," he continues, as if you'd asked, and smiles weakly.

"Ah."

"What about you?" he asks a moment later. "How long have you been a Jedi?"

You sigh and look away. You don't really feel like talking about yourself, or anything related to the Order, but he's trying, and you can't begrudge him that.

"Since I was two," you answer flatly and keep walking.

"Wow."

"Yep."

"That's amazing," he exclaims, his eyes wide. "It must have been difficult, leaving your family."

Your jaw clenches, and you look at him. He's got a strange expression on his face, one you can't read. He's watching you, his head tilted slightly to the side, a slight smile on his face.

"Not really," you say, shrugging. "I was too young to remember."

"But they must have been sad to see you go," he persists. "Your family."

"I wouldn't know."

"They didn't visit you, at the Temple?"

"They weren't allowed," you reply, and you leave it at that.

Vayel nods, and you think the subject has been dropped, but a few seconds later, he speaks.

"Are Jedi not allowed to have families?" he asks, and the question takes you by surprise. You'd never really thought about it before, not beyond the fact that, growing up, you didn't have a choice. You'd had no parents, no siblings, no aunts or uncles or cousins. Just the Jedi. 

"No," you tell him, shaking your head.

"What happens if a Jedi falls in love?"

You stop and look at him, his words ringing in your ears. You're not sure why he's asking, or why he cares, and you can't tell if he's just making small talk, or if there's a different agenda.

But there's something in the way he's looking at you that makes your stomach twist. He's staring at you intently, his gaze searching, and there's a softness to his features, a vulnerability that makes him look younger, less self-assured.

"They don't," you say, finally.

"Never?"

"Not that I know of."

"And what if they do?"

"Well," you begin, trying to recall if anyone had ever fallen in love in the Order. You think if it had happened, there'd be more stories about it, more tales. But the truth is, no one's ever mentioned it, and no one's ever said anything about it. Perhaps that's the sort of thing the Council would keep quiet, especially if they were worried about the Order's reputation.

Or maybe, you realize, as you look into Vayel's eyes and see the curiosity there, the interest, it's something they try to discourage, try to avoid. Maybe they want to make sure that the Jedi stay focused, and not distracted.

And maybe that's the whole problem.

You turn and continue walking, your heart pounding. "I guess they'd be expelled," you mumble, your throat suddenly dry.

Vayel looks down, his brow furrowing, and he kicks a pebble, sending it skipping across the street. "That seems..."

"Harsh?" you suggest, a bit of annoyance creeping into your voice.

"No," he replies slowly, "unfair."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're all just...people," he says, gesturing at you. The array of jewels and gems on his fingers glitter, reflecting the light. "Isn't it unfair to deny you the things that everyone else has? Love, family, happiness."

You pause and look at him. The night is still, and the air is cool, and there's a tension in the space between the two of you, one that hadn't been there a moment ago.

"It's not a denial," you say, your irritation growing. "It's a choice. A decision."

"But why?"

"Because the Jedi Code—"

"Forgive me, but the Jedi Code doesn't seem to make any sense," he interrupts. "If you ask me, it's just a bunch of rules created by a bunch of old men who like to tell other people what to do."

You bristle and turn toward him, your jaw clenched. "Is that so?"

"Yes," he replies, and then he adds nonchalantly, "I mean, no disrespect, or anything."

"Sure, none taken," you mutter sarcastically. You turn and begin to walk, and he follows. He has the good grace to look a little embarrassed, and the two of you continue on in silence, the only sound the hum of traffic and the distant voices of the occasional passerby.

Finally, Vayel speaks. 

"It's just up ahead," he says. "The building. He should be home."

You nod, and follow him down a winding alley to a tall, narrow building, surrounded by other, similar buildings. The entire neighborhood is dimly lit, and the street lamps flicker. There are no signs, and no shops, and no businesses, just rows of identical structures, their facades crumbling, the windows dark and empty.

It's certainly a far cry from the splendor of the upper levels, and you can't help but wonder what had led this man, this friend of his, to a place like this. Maybe he was on the run, you think. Or maybe he was hiding from someone. Either way, the fact that he'd chosen such a dangerous place was worrisome.

Vayel stops at the front door to an apartment on the bottom floor and looks back at you, flashing a smile.

"Here," Vayel says as he pulls a keycard from his pocket. He hands it to you, and then steps back, waiting.

"Are you coming?" you ask, a bit impatiently.

"Oh, no," he replies. "You go ahead. Just...make sure he's okay, and then let me know."

Your eyes narrow. "And what will you be doing?"

"I'll wait here."

"Are you serious?"

"I can't go in," he explains and gives a nervous chuckle. "He won't be happy to see me, not after what happened."

You're not sure what to make of that, or whether you should believe him. It feels off, the way he's acting, and there's a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that something isn't right. But you're also eager to be rid of him, so you shrug and take the key.

"Fine," you tell him. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

You unlock the door and open it, and then you step inside.

The apartment is small and cramped, and there are piles of junk everywhere. The smell of something rotting is thick in the air, and you have to resist the urge to gag. You've spent enough time on the lower levels to recognize the smell, but you've never been anywhere it's been this bad.

There are several doors along the hallway, and the one closest to you is open. You peer in and see a bedroom. There's a bed against the wall and a closet, and the room is strewn with clothing and food wrappers and various other objects. But you don't see or sense anyone inside.

You walk back down the hall and check the other rooms, finding a kitchen, a child's bedroom, and a bathroom. No one is in any of them, but there's a pile of dishes in the sink, and a small amount of food in the cupboard, and the bed has clearly been slept in.

It's obvious someone is living here, or was, but you can't tell if they've been gone for a few hours or a few days. There's no sign of a struggle, or any violence. In fact, it looks like they left of their own accord, and without warning. It's odd, and you can't help but feel like you're missing something.

You pull out your commlink and send a message to Vayel, telling him there's no sign of his friend. A second later, you receive a response, telling you to check the bedroom again.

So you do.

As soon as you enter, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You look around the room, and you see nothing out of the ordinary. Everything is exactly as it was before. But there's a feeling in the air, a heaviness, and it's familiar, somehow.

You frown, and take a step forward, and then stop, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Because suddenly, you recognize the feeling.

Your eyes land on the closet, and the door swings slowly open on its hinges. There, sitting in the middle of a pile of worn clothes, is a box. It's nondescript, plain brown and rectangular, and it's sitting upright, like it's been placed there rather than haphazardly thrown inside.

Your instincts are screaming at you to run, but your curiosity gets the better of you. You approach the closet slowly and kneel in front of the box. Your hand hovers over the top, and then you take a breath and reach down, pulling it open.

There are several items, all of them seemingly random. A scrap of fabric, a datapad, a holoprojector. There's also a piece of jewelry, a necklace, made of gold and set with a blue stone, and a small, black leather pouch with a handful of credits.

You set the bag of credits aside and grab the scrap of fabric, moving it away from the datapad. It's soft and worn, and as your fingers brush against it, you realize what it is.

Yaddle's robe.

She'd been wearing it the night she'd died.

You jerk your hand away as if burned, and you stare at the fabric, the dread you'd felt earlier now a cold, heavy weight in your stomach. You swallow, and then force yourself to reach for the datapad, your hand trembling. It flickers on underneath your touch, and once you close the warning of its low power, you're face to face with the last unread message, dated a week ago.

The message you sent Yaddle the night you felt her death.

You'd forgotten about it, the stress of the Sith investigation, your Trials, and the Council's refusal to listen to you had caused it to slip your mind. You'd been too busy trying to solve her murder to remember, and now, the memory of that night is back, sharp and painful.

Master, are you alright? Please just let me know you're safe. I can come to you if you need me. Just send a message.

There's no reply, just the date, and the time, and the fact that the message had gone unread.

You look away, and blink back the tears that have suddenly sprung to your eyes. You need to get out of here, to take the evidence, and get back to the Temple. The Council will have to listen to you now, and you can prove that the Sith are here, that they're targeting the Jedi, that they're the ones responsible for Yaddle's death.

And maybe, just maybe, the Council will finally be willing to acknowledge that there's a problem, that there's something more going on, and that they're in danger.

You set the datapad aside, and reach for the necklace, the gold glinting in the dim light of the room, and the stone gleaming. You've never seen Yaddle wear anything like this, and you're not even sure it belonged to her. It's not a traditional Jedi accessory, and the Council isn't big on extravagance.

But there's something familiar about it, and you can't help but feel that it's significant. You pick it up, the metal cool against your skin, and you inspect it, turning it over and over in your hands. The stone is smooth and polished, and it shines brilliantly, catching the light and refracting it.

It's a beautiful piece, but it's not anything special, or unusual, and it's not the sort of thing you'd expect Yaddle to have. You don’t have an explanation for it, but it feels like her, so you resolve to take it with you, as evidence, and examine it closer later.

But the moment you slide the necklace into your pocket, you hear a noise behind you.

The door slams shut.

You whip around and stand, but before your hand can draw your lightsaber, you're thrown across the room, hitting the far wall hard enough to rattle your teeth.

You gasp for breath and manage to push yourself up. Your limbs are heavy, and your head is spinning, and when you try to summon the Force, nothing happens.

Across the room, the figure emerges from the shadows, face shrouded by a hood. It's a man, tall and thin, his shoulders hunched and his posture tense. You can't see his face, but his presence in the Force is unmistakable. The darkness, the cold, the malice.

Your vision is blurry, and your lungs ache, and you can taste blood in your mouth. He approaches, his steps slow and deliberate. He doesn't speak, and neither do you. Your mouth is dry, and your throat is tight, and when you try to swallow, the lump lodged there makes it impossible.

When he reaches the box, he kneels down and touches the holoprojector. It crackles and a voice comes out, faint and distant, but immediately recognizable. Your heart clenches, and a single tear rolls down your cheek.

"There's something wrong. I must find out what—" Yaddle’s voice says, and the man's fingers clench. The metal crumples, and the projector sparks and dies.

He stands and turns toward you, the shadows obscuring his face.

You can't move. You're frozen in place, the fear paralyzing you. You want to speak, to plead for your life, to bargain, but the words won't come, and all you can do is stare. When he reaches out and lifts his hand, his fingers curled into a claw, you begin to scream.

"No," you gasp. "Please."

It feels as though his fingers are around your throat, your feet dangling as you're pressed back against the wall. You struggle, kicking out, trying to break free, but he's too strong. Your limbs are heavy, and there's nothing you can do to fight him.

"Please," you choke, the word barely audible. "Don't—"

His grip tightens, and your vision starts to blur. The Sith steps closer, holding you higher, and when he speaks, his voice is low and dark.

"You should have let it go," he says, and the coldness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes widen, and you try to shake your head, but you can't. All you can do is hang there, suspended, struggling to breathe. Despite the blackness of death creeping in on the edges of your vision, you can't help but feel a surge of anger, and bitterness, and resentment underneath your fear. How dare he? How dare he do this?

Another in a long line of people telling you what you should or shouldn't have done, another voice telling you that you aren't good enough, aren't strong enough, aren't smart enough. He's going to kill you, and yet, the fury you feel at the injustice, the rage at the way you've been treated, at the lies and half-truths and manipulation, is overwhelming.

He's going to kill you, and no one will know. You'll die alone just as Yaddle did, and no one will care. Your friends, your family, your entire world will continue on without you as if you never existed, and no one will ever find out what happened.

It's not fair. It's not right.

You've done everything they've asked, and now, as your vision fades, and your heart slows, and the darkness envelopes you, the only thing you can think is that they've failed you.

They've failed you, and it's not fair, it's not right, it's not—

All the emotions you've kept buried inside for so long come rushing back, and before you can stop them, they're coursing through you, hot and bright.

The pressure in the room shifts as if something is being pulled away, and then a deafening crack fills the air. The windows behind you explode, the bed splinters, and the closet door breaks apart. The Sith is thrown backwards, crashing through the wall and disappearing.

You fall to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. The walls are shaking, and the ceiling is groaning, and you have to scramble to get out of the way as a chunk collapses, bringing down the walls and the floor above. You manage to roll aside, but the floor is breaking, and the entire building is coming down.

You push yourself up and stumble toward the door, grabbing your lightsaber as you go. The hallway is in shambles, and there are chunks of debris and dust everywhere.

There's a ringing in your ears, and your head is throbbing, and you have no idea what's happening. You're surrounded by smoke and dust, and there's the sound of screaming in the distance, and you have to stumble through the rubble and broken glass to find your way out.

And then you're on the street, gasping for air, your eyes streaming with tears. Your eyes scan the destruction, searching for any sign of the Sith, but he's nowhere to be found. You have no idea how he escaped, but you don't have time to wonder.

It's only then that you realize the apartment building is collapsing before you, and you have to jump back as a piece of the roof falls in, narrowly missing your head.

The street is empty, and you're the only one who's outside, but you can hear sirens and the distant sounds of yelling. You need to get away, and you need to do it now before the authorities show up.

You turn and run, pushing yourself to go as fast as you can, ignoring the pain and exhaustion. Your legs are burning, and your chest is tight, but you have to keep going, you have to get away. You can't let anyone find you, can't let anyone know what you've done. There's no telling what they'd do to you, or what the consequences would be for the Order.

You reach the end of the street, and turn left, and then right, and then left again. The buildings blur around you, and the sounds fade, and all you can focus on is the pounding of your heart and the sound of your breath.

You're far away from the Temple, and it takes nearly half an hour to get back. By the time you reach the gates, your lungs are burning and you're gasping for air. You stumble to a stop and lean against the wall, your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath.

You sink to the ground, your head resting against the cold metal as you try desperately to calm down. You're safe, you tell yourself. No one knows. No one saw. Everything's fine.

But it isn't, and you can't make yourself believe the lie.

You look down at your trembling hands, and among the cuts and scrapes, and the blood and grime, you see burns stretching across your palms. They don’t hurt when you clench your fists, not like the stinging pain in your head, the searing of your throat, or the dull ache in your knees.

They're a reminder, a symbol of your failure, a testament to the power that you have, and the power you don't.

A power the Jedi have no interest in understanding.

And yet, they were the ones who trained you, who taught you, who molded you, who gave you your place in the galaxy and all the expectations that came with it.

The expectations, and the responsibilities.

They were the ones who told you that the world wasn't fair, and that sometimes, people died, and that there was nothing you could do about it. But it's not true. There is, and the fact that they didn't want to see it was their own fault, their own arrogance, their own short-sightedness.

And it had cost Yaddle her life, and it had nearly cost you yours.

The anger bubbles up, and your eyes sting, and your throat constricts, and the pain, the rage, the frustration, the injustice, the betrayal, the lies, and the half-truths, and the death, is all too much.

It's too much, and you can't take it anymore. You're so tired, and so hurt, and so alone, and you just want to give up. To stop. To walk away.

Because what good have you done, really? What has any of this gotten you? Nothing but grief and pain and loneliness, and a burden that's too heavy to bear.

You look at the burns on your hands, and a sudden, strange calm comes over you. You feel a sense of clarity and purpose, and a strange, almost eerie, certainty.

You will never let this happen again.

You will never be powerless again.

And no matter what it takes, no matter how many risks you have to take, no matter how much the Council disapproves, no matter how much danger you put yourself in, you will make sure that no one else suffers as you have. Not because of the Sith, and not because of the Jedi.

And, as the sun rises, and the first rays of sunlight peek through the clouds, illuminating the Temple and casting long shadows over the courtyard, you vow that you'll do whatever it takes.

No matter what.

taglist: @baddest-batchers @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @aynavaano

@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76

[shefightslikeagirl]

Hobby Drama: Emilie Autumn's Asylum [Part 1]

u/pillowcase-of-eels posted a link to their fandom-and-EA-history write up to the r/EmilieAutumn Reddit, and I thought it would be a fun project to share! 2 out of 7 parts have been posted to r/HobbyDrama so far.

Picture this: it's the early 2010s, somewhere in the western world. Instagram is a novelty, Harvey Weinstein runs Hollywood, almost no one on Earth leans one way or the other about RNA vaccines, and Donald Trump is that one real estate guy you vaguely remember from Home Alone 2. New player Lady Gaga is the most interesting thing to have happened to pop since Madonna, and the whole industry is attempting to catch up; Miley Cyrus is the chick who used to be on Hannah Montana; Melanie Martinez hasn't hatched yet. The time of Oddball Concept Divas is dawning just below the horizon.

You're a Bowie-loving student who skipped goth night at the club to tag along with your art school friends for a very special evening. You're a giddy sixteen-year old rocking cat ears, purple Wet 'n Wild eyeliner, a polyester petticoat, and a coffin-shaped backpack. You're an effete theater kid who sewed his own waistcoat for the occasion, but won't dare wear it to school the next day. You're a buff, bearded dude in a Venom shirt who's trying not to look too excited, since your girlfriend supposedly had to drag you here. You're a slightly bemused parent leaning against the back wall of the venue, sipping a warm half-pint, wondering if this isn't all a bit dark for a tween. ("It's called 'Victoriandustrial', mom," you've been told in the car, "and it's not dark, it's art.")

On stage is a pink-haired woman, with red porcelain-doll lips and a heart painted on her cheek. Among a set of antique consoles, twee tchotchkes, teacups and plastic rats, she pounces and twirls in glittery platform boots, tattered striped stockings, and a tightly laced crystal-studded corset that looks like it's splattered in blood. This is ostensibly a concert, but there is no live band. Where one would expect a drum kit or a bass, three bedazzled burlesque vixens act as back-up singers and dancers, with the occasional vaudeville act a fire-twirling number, a fan dance, throwing pastries and spitting tea into the audience. Lots of wholesome girl-on-girl kissing, too. The music on the backing track is a genre-bender of clanging beats and beeps, lofty orchestral strings, and the frantic hammering of a MIDI harpsichord, as the pink-haired frontlady sings of heartache and betrayal and drowning. Think if the Brontë sisters had invented industrial rock.

The audience gasps in excitement when the lady whips out a vamped-out wireless electric violin. With rockstar cool and virtuoso poise, she leans into the instrument, touches the bow to the strings, and tears out a single plaintive, impeccably distorted high note. Then her fingers go wild, and for a few seconds, everything is perfect suspended animation. Uncannily perfect, almost. Just behind you, you hear someone whisper: "Wait, is she miming it?"