#like the way she KEEPS getting distracted and captivated by his looks. its so funny!!!!

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

it's really funny rereading the early chapters of s-class heroine because ailette calls tesilid all sorts of names and it's such a far cry from her round 17 attitude

[cellard0ors]

For over the last thirty years, Laura has lived in captivity.

Trapped in a glass tank full of water from Lake Septimus, she was shuttled all around from town to town, no one's company to keep save her own.

At first.

But eventually she struck up a kinship with another fellow captive, Silas. Or Silas the dog boy, as Vorez called him.

Eliza Vorez. Their 'mother'. Their owner would be more accurate.

However, she found Silas long before Laura and at least treated him with some semblance of decency. Not much, considering she still expected him to perform at showtime, but he at least got kind words and a gentle attitude.

Laura got the exact opposite. She can only assume it's because, at some point, Vorez thought she would break her. Make her docile and meek. Subservient.

She chose the wrong Mer for that.

It didn't help that Silas was younger and kept so through a perpetual age retention spell - one that kept him trapped at thirteen.

Laura was allowed to go through her First Embarkment and gifted two years after before Vorez struck her with the same spell, coming to the conclusion that it served a two fold purpose. One it kept her attraction young and beautiful. Two, as a punishment.

...Laura wasn't even allowed to naturally age alongside her lost love.

Her lost love - Travis Hackett - the starry-eyed sweet boy who kept her going. The one she grew up with, played with - the one she sacrificed everything for, because she loved him.

She loved him and thinking of him - alive and safe and out in the world, was her only respite from the life she was enduring - not living - enduring.

And now here he is, sneering at her and the only way she can think of to cope with it is to turn it to anger, "Or else what? You'll shoot me? Go ahead. I'm not telling you where my brother is."

"Your brother?" He scoffs and he gets to his feet, peering down at her with disdain, "Well, your 'brother' is responsible for the curse on my family and I'll be damned if I let it continue when I finally have a chance to end this thing!"

"And what do you think I'm here for? The sights?" Laura snaps at him and she does her best to shift around. Her jeans are wildly uncomfortable, her scales having returned and her legs wanting to rejoin to form her tail.

That's not even to mention her patch covered eye socket, which feels like it's bubbling and fizzing, the lake water on her skin, but not where she needs it to heal.

This in mind, she tosses off the patch and while she can hear the sheriff make a sound of disgust at the sight, she ignores him, scooping up handful after handful to splash on her face.

Sure enough, the cool water seeps in and she lets out a sound of sweet relief. There's a slight bit of discomfort as her lost eye returns, but it's worth it once she blinks and realizes her depth perception has returned.

Travis sees her eye is back and gapes at her, "What the hell are you?"

"You said it yourself." she grumbles, "I'm the fish girl..."

"So...a mermaid?"

"We prefer the term Mers." She sighs, "Gender more a human convention..."

"But you said-?!"

"I identify as a girl." Laura explains, "That's my choice."

"Okay..." He says it lightly, in that way where it's clear he's trying to understand and doesn't. It's funny, because it's the exact same response and tone he used when he was ten and asked the exact same thing.

Looking at him now, she can still see bits and pieces of that little boy. She can also see the parts of him she fell in love with during their teens. But he's also different. He looks...tired. Worn. Sad and the sadness kills her, makes her ache, so she speaks to distract herself, "This lake is my home. I was born in its' waters, so they can heal me from pretty much anything."

"Like a lost eye?" He offers and he's managed to fish out the patch she's been using since the last full moon.

Laura eyes it with distaste, "It was an accident. Normally I can be around Silas without fear - my blood is made of these clear waters, so, he tends to avoid me once he's changed, but," she shrugs, "I pushed."

"It shuns clear water..." Travis mummers and she just nods, because clearly he knows more about Silas's condition than she thought. What he knows about her, thanks to her singing, is zip, so she holds up her arms, "If you could, ah - pick me up?"

His expression is cold, stone faced, but she ignores the sting it causes - again, he doesn't know her. Not anymore, "Look, you saw my scales. The water in the lake can turn me back into my natural form. When I'm dry, I have legs just like any other human, so-?"

Travis looks out over the lake and then back at her, his tone full of doubt, "You were down here by the water."

"Yeah, to fix my eye! Not swim away! I would have gotten some water, healed myself, and then been on my way if you hadn't come stomping through!"

"I wasn't-?!"

"Just pick me up, Officer Dick Whippet!"

His jaw sets and he looks furious, but he does as asked. He scoops her up and makes a big show of acting like she's heavy even though she knows that he can more than handle her weight.

...in fact, his arms have gotten very...muscular since last she saw him. Laura can feel the corded strength of them through his police uniform. Swallowing, she feels her face heat and thanks the darkness for covering her blush as he carefully sets her far from the lake.

As she begins to dry, he begins to interrogate, "You say you weren't planning on swimming away, but you refuse to lead me to Silas."

"Uh, yeah. Because you'll probably just kill him." Her tone tells him that he's stupid for thinking she's dumb enough to have thought otherwise.

He sighs and runs his hands over his face, "Look, I don't want to kill the kid. Okay? I just-? I want this nightmare to be over."

Silence settles between them for a moment while Laura patiently waits for him to continue. He does, "When my niece, Kaylee, and my nephew, Caleb, busted your 'brother' out of his cell, he bit one of them. Turned them into a werewolf and they passed it on. So now I've got three infected family members and for the last six years, we've been dealing with all kinds of hell."

"Silas is my brother. You can stop air quoting it." Laura hisses, "You have no idea what he and I went through. No idea. We're bonded by something more than blood and what your family has suffered is nothing more than an eye blink in comparison to the amount of time he and I were trapped with Vorez!"

"Okay, okay, but if that's the case, then why did you two run?!" Travis cries, "When Kaylee and Caleb freed you, you could have-!"

"Could have what?!" Laura interrupts with a bark of laughter, "Gone to you and your family? Yeah, right."

She shakes her head ruefully, "There's only one Hackett I trust, and he didn't show up that night."

Once the words leave her mouth, she realizes the mistake she made. It was said in the heat of the moment and her eyes widen at the ramifications of what she just admitted.

Travis, for his part, seems - thankfully - confused, "The only-? Which Hackett? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Nothing." She waves her hands, "Let's just-? Just drop it."

She wishes her legs were dry enough that she could stand. If life were perfect, if it was as well timed as music or a scene in a film, they would be. But this is real life, so it leaves her in this well of awkwardness as the minutes pass and Travis, obviously, works over what she said.

And while he might have been confused initially, it doesn't take him long to figure it out. No, of course not. He's the sheriff for a reason. He's capable of solving a puzzle when need be and his eyebrows rise, face a mask of shock as he says, "Wait...that night..."

Laura gulps.

"The night of Harum Scarum...the tickets were addressed to me."

She feels her bottom lip tremble, feels herself looking away from him, eyes heating with unshed tears as he rises to tower over her and growls, "You sent the tickets to me. Why?"

She starts shaking her head and he reaches down and grabs her arms, shakes her roughly, "Why? Who in the hell are you?!"

"I'm-? I told you. I'm nobody. Just some fish girl, just some-!"

"Oh, don't give me that horseshit! You sent me the tickets! You're responsible for all of this! Who ARE you?!"

"Laura!" she cries out sharply, "Alright?! My name..."

She sucks in a shaky breath, "My name is Laura..."

[buckyownsmylife]

Them - Chris Evans Smut

The one where Chris is your professor.

Warnings: smut, professor au, reader is a postgrad student, so no underage business, but definitely some age gap, reader is very clear about what she wants here, lots of dirty talk

Chris’ P.O.V.

Looking out of the window of the fancy bistro I had been waiting on, I just couldn’t believe my luck. Y/N, the woman I had been thinking about for the last three months, that one that had made me accept this stupid idea of a blind date to try to get over her, was standing just outside the restaurant, looking from side to side, clearly waiting for someone that was nowhere around. 

I pondered over what to do, weighing the consequences of what I truly wanted, but in the end, I said, “Fuck it,” and jumped out of my chair, explaining to the host that I only needed a minute.

“Fancy seeing you here.” I knew I was grinning from ear to ear, but that was just the effect she had on me. When her eyes widened as she took in who was talking to her, I had to laugh. “What? Not used to seeing me in more casual clothes?” I was convinced her chuckle was enough to end wars. 

“I don’t think that can be considered casual, Professor Evans,” she said, but with the cutest teasing smirk on her face. Right. There was a reason why coming out here to talk to her could possibly bring severe consequences to my life. She was my student, after all, and even though she was pursuing her PhD and we weren’t currently in an academic setting, her politeness served to remind me of the distance that remained between us.

“Well, I’m not sure I could consider what you’re wearing casual either, but I must say, sweetheart… You look beautiful.” I took pride in the blush that spread through her cheeks, making her almost as red as the dress she was currently wearing. Fuck if I didn’t want her desperately.

“Thank you, sir.” I was convinced she knew about the effect those words had in me, but then again, it wasn’t like I could call her out on it. Clearing my throat, I decided to change the subject before I brought more difficulty for my own situation.

“So, what brings you here on this delightful friday evening?” I forced myself to look away from her as I spoke, mostly because I felt like I’d been staring for too long. But I’d happily look at her for as long as possible, if I didn’t fear for what she’d think of me.

“I’m guessing the same thing that brought you here, Mr. Evans.” To my raised eyebrow, she simply responded with a shake of her head, her delightful giggle going straight to my pants. “C’mon, you’re dressed like this, on a friday night, and waiting for someone in a bistro? You’re obviously on a date!”

Well, I was most definitely impressed, but that didn’t serve to distract myself from the disappointment that pierced through me at the realization that she had dressed up so pretty to go out on a date with someone other than me.

“If that’s the case, then where is the lucky gentleman?” That seemed to be the wrong thing to ask, by the way her beautiful face fell.  Immediately, I felt terrible for being responsible for sucking the light out of this woman.

“Oh… I guess he’s not coming. I’ve been waiting for him for at least an hour, it was supposed to be a blind date. My friend thought he’d be perfect for me or something. Guess he didn’t agree, huh?” She tried to chuckle, but the fact that she couldn’t meet my eyes was enough to demonstrate how embarrassed she was by the whole ordeal.

“Sweetheart…” I itched to touch her, to pull her body to mine and comfort her anyway I could, but she continued to avoid my eyes, keeping up with her own monologue almost like she couldn’t physically stop.

“And the worst part is that I can’t stop thinking about how he probably walked in, saw me and decided to go home. God, this is mortifying. Why am I even telling you this?” At that, she finally looked up to find me looking back at her, and whatever it was she identified in my gaze at last made her stop.

“Come eat with me,” I offered, not even thinking about what I was saying, although capable of admitting that it was all I truly wanted. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but she wasn’t able to structure a proper sentence, looking up at me with those big bright eyes.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I didn’t know what to say. I was completely taken by surprise by his invitation, but I couldn’t really say it made me uncomfortable. I wanted nothing more than the chance to spend some time with him, away from the university environment.

It was no secret that he was attractive, of course. I knew that, but it wasn’t because of it that I wanted the chance to share a meal with him. It was for all of the little things I’d managed to learn over the course of our meetings, the bar trivia he liked to share randomly over cups of coffee when it would make more sense if we were sharing a beer. It was the fact that his mind fascinated me, and I’d never met anyone who had captivated me so much, so easily, in such little time.

Even with so little to go off on, he occupied my mind. And perhaps half of the attraction came from the taboo of it all, but I couldn’t deny that it was there. I wanted to get to know him better. I wanted to say yes. Didn’t I deserve it, after such a lousy night?

“We shouldn’t,” I decided to remind us both, but he only smiled, reaching out for my hand. The touch surprised me even more, but I found myself accepting it easily, even smiling as I looked up at him from underneath my eyelashes to see an answering grin in his handsome face.

“No one has to know. Come on.” He tugged me in the direction of the restaurant he was in, apparently, some place definitely fancier than where my date was supposed to happen, and with a curt nod towards the greeter, he quickly took me to the table he’d been occupying before pulling the chair for me.

Such a simple gesture, not at all romantic, really, but it sent butterflies all over my stomach, and I bit my lip to stop the giddy giggle that wanted to break free. “Thank you,” I recognized, and he only flashed me another perfect smile in return.

“It’s my pleasure. Would you like some wine?” He gestured for the waiter, his eyes barely leaving mine before returning to me again. “It’s okay if you don’t. Choose whatever you want, I’m usually more of a beer guy myself, but with this being an italian restaurant and all…”

I waved his fears away, rejecting the menu the waiter was offering and pointing to the glass of wine that was sitting in front of Chris. “I’ll just have the same, please.” The waiter nodded, already turning to grab me a glass when my professor called him over again.

“Wait! Just bring us the bottle, would you?” I raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk making its way into my face. If there was one thing I had already learned about the man I was about to have dinner with, was that he loved to be teased.

“Planning on getting me drunk, professor? That’s not the right way to keep me quiet.” His eyes grew big at first, before he caught on to the teasing nature of my comments, and then he laughed, a hand going over his chest as he threw his head back and closed his eyes, fully in the moment.

Chris’ P.O.V.

Fuck, this was exactly what I’d hoped for when I took the chance and invited her over here. She was just so damn *funny. I was thrilled to have this opportunity to spend some quality time with her.

“Oh, believe me, sweetheart. I really don’t want to keep you quiet.” Shit. It was only after it was out in the open, and her eyebrows were raised high, that I realized just how weird that sounded, given the context. “I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was, I really want to hear you.”

By now, she was pressing her lips tightly, clearly trying not to laugh about my awkwardness, so I saved her the trouble by breaking into a fit of laughter myself. “That’s okay, Professor Evans. If it makes you feel any better, I really want to hear you too.”

… Was she flirting with me? The idea caught me by surprise and sent a jolt of thrill up my body, making me sit up straighter in the restaurant’s chair. I pressed my lips tightly together in an effort to suppress my laugh, and looked up at her from under my eyelashes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she teased, and it was my turn to raise my eyebrows.

“Why not?”

“It makes me nervous.” The answer surprised me. I never considered that I could affect her in any way, much less that one, and so I found myself leaning in her direction, my elbows on the table so I could talk more quietly and she could still hear me.

“Why are you nervous? It’s just me. We’ve been alone in smaller environments than this one,” I reminded her, watching with delight as she giggled but avoided my eyes, opting instead to play with the glass of wine that had by now been delivered to us. I knew she was thinking about the tiny office we shared and all the times we had to ignore this sexual tension as it filled the air between us. When her eyes met mine, the mischievous glint in them was unmissable, and so I braced myself for her answer, knowing it would definitely be something as out of the ordinary as herself.

“Yes…” She started, leaning closer to me and lowering her voice, and while I was sure I didn’t want to miss one single word of what she was saying, it was impossible not to look down at how her breasts threatened to spill from her dress. “But this time it’s harder to ignore just how much I want your cock down my throat.”

I was stunned to silence for a minute, staring back at her with my mouth opened as I felt my cock unmistakably harden at her directness. This was so different from the reserved and polite woman I had to work with at the university, and if that one was already enticing, I had no words to describe the minx that stared back at me with deviousness in her eyes.

“Well, now I feel bad,” I settled on saying, eyes dropping to her cleavage before meeting hers again, making sure she saw just how hypnotized by her body I was. “And here I’ve been, picturing you on your knees all this time.”

I *knew she was hot and bothered by my comment, it was pretty obvious by the way she fidgeted in her seat, squeezing her thighs together, I was certain. There was nothing I wanted more than taking her away from here, and just… well… *take her. Preferably more than once, but it didn’t even have to be on a bed. I wasn’t sure I’d hold back enough to get her close to one, even. Especially when she stepped it up a notch, her heeled foot caressing my leg under the table as she whispered, “I think I made a smart choice when I decided to wear this dress tonight.”

Inevitably, my eyes fell to her breasts once more. It was obvious that I agreed, but still, I licked my lips to be able to agree, “Yes, I’m very fond of it as well.” The corners of her lips twisted up, a clear indication that I’d fallen right onto her trap.

“I’m glad you liked the choice. Wanna know why I’m happy I ran into you while wearing it?” I just nodded, dry swallowing at the thought of what she was about to say. “Because I can’t wear anything underneath it.”

My knuckles turned white as I held onto the edge of the table, practically urging myself not to leap out of my seat. “Careful, sweetheart…” I tried to warn, the months of restraint and tension taking a toll out of my patience and control. “You should think about what you’re saying. *Pay attention to what you’re asking of me. I’m not exactly great at resisting something that I want. You have to be sure,” I murmured, eyes never leaving hers as I watched her breathing grow more laboured.

She let the silence simmer the anticipation between us, until I felt like *I was about to collapse.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“I think I’ve made my desires clear.”

That was all it took for him to dart out of the chair, fishing out his wallet and throwing some bills on top of the table before reaching for my hand. “Come.”

I followed easily, body buzzing with excitement as I accepted this first touch from a man I believed to be unreachable only a few hours before.

Nothing was said as he directed me towards his car. Once inside, I took advantage of the few seconds it took for him to reach his own door and took a deep breath, both to calm my nerves and take in the delicious scent of the familiar cologne that seemed to be ingrained in the vehicle. How many days had I spent clenching my thighs as I tried to focus on my research because his scent took over our tiny office? Too many to count. But now he was right here, ready and willing to take care of the mess he made of me.

A shiver went through my body when he finally made his way inside the car, and instead of turning on the engine, fixated his gaze on me. It was heavy with lust and primal need, that much I could recognize - mostly because I knew those two feelings all too well when it came to him.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” It wasn’t a question, and immediately after he was done speaking I was already leaning over to meet him halfway. 

Chris’ kiss was nothing like I expected it to be. While I imagined a gentle lover, he was more on the eager, almost desperate side. I was surprised how much I liked it that way. He took control of our kiss so easily, it made me feel small and under his spell. Like I’d do anything he wanted me to, just as long as he kept devouring me like this.

I lost myself to the kiss, to *him, to the taste of wine and something that was undeniably just him, but then a hand fell on my lap and I gasped, instinctively opening my legs to feel more of his touch. It made him grin, but he didn’t stop kissing me, instead cradling my face between his hands before returning one of them to the spot that was throbbing for him.

“I just really need to feel you, only for a second,” he whispered against my lips, and I could only nod, too lost in his eyes to care about the implications of his words. “Maybe if I have your taste on my lips I’ll feel motivated enough to drive all the way home, instead of just taking you right here.”

Needless to say, paired with two of his fingers curling inside of me before they were gone and wrapped by his lips, the fires of desire had grown to such heights I could no longer control them. “Hmm… Delicious,” he hummed, dark eyes opening to meet mine only for a second before he was turning the engine on. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Chris’ P.O.V.

The second we were inside my apartment, I had to unbuckle my belt and curl my fist around my member - that’s how badly it hurt from the lack of attention. At least I wasn’t the only one desperate to get things going, her dress was on the floor just as I sat back on the couch, moaning both at the feeling of my jerking motions and the sight of her naked body.

“Come here, Miss. Y/L/N,” I instructed, beckoning her over while keeping my other hand occupied with my cock. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Join me.” She didn’t seem to need any further invitation, small frame quickly making her way over to where I was sitting before she dropped to her knees in front of me, right between my thighs that she held to support herself.

“God, you’re sexy.” She smiled up at me from underneath her eyelashes, hands reaching out to take my member from me before she began to lick at my already weeping head, and I had to take a deep breath in order to control myself. “Fuck.”

She was a tease, alright - but that much I knew, already. Instead of immediately starting to suck me off, she opted to get acquainted with the taste of my cock by licking it like a damn ice cream cone, until every inch of it was wrapped in a coat of her saliva and I was trembling underneath her attentions, hands curled into fists in an effort to let her keep her own pace but desperately wanting to gag her on me.

“You taste so good,” she teased, but it did sound more like an absentminded comment. It was just my need that made me believe she was doing it on purpose, trying to get me to break, but I wouldn’t let her win.

“Put it in your mouth, then. I promise I’ll give you more to taste.” If I had been worried I’d scare her away with how open I was about what I wanted, the smirk she gave me assured me it was well received, just as the way she finally wrapped her perfect lips around the head of my cock, tongue swirling over it briefly before starting to slowly suck more of it.

“Shit, yeah. Just like that. Swallow that cock, darling.” She did just so, all the while making sure to keep eye contact with me, which only added fuel to the desire I felt for her. I knew I couldn’t resist for too long, so I reveled in the feeling of her warm mouth, the sloppy blowjob easily the best I’d ever had, before I pulled her to me, making her climb my lap so I could fill my hands with her fantastic ass.

“God, I’ve dreamt about this ass,” I groaned, palming it and using it to rub her pussy over my member, that twitched at the slight contact, making us both gasp. “And this pussy…” the connection was obvious. Of course I’d imagined it too, but the little mynx wanted to hear it for herself.

“Did you think about it at night?” She asked, taking control of the motions I could no longer direct as she rubbed her wet cunt over my member, making me growl on her ear.

“At night, in class…” Maybe I should have felt embarrassed to admit it, but as it were, I didn’t. I couldn’t, not when it was the truth, and not when she was right here, ready to sink down on my cock, looking at me with those sinful eyes. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She bit down on her lower lip to stop the grin from taking over her face, I could see that, but it didn’t stop mine as I watched her rub the head of my member between her lips before finally starting to sink down on it.

“Fuck!” My head fell back on the couch, and I had to hold on her hips to keep control of myself, but still, she was being too slow. Opening my eyes, I saw by the smirk on her lips it was purely to tease me, but two could play at this game. 

“Keep going,” I ordered, slapping her ass before sinking my fingers on it again, for good measure. She gasped, momentarily losing control and falling further down, which was really all I needed to fuck up into her until I bottomed out.

“God, you’re so big!” She really did know how to get a man going.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Once I relinquished the control to him, there was really nothing else I could do but to hold on tight and enjoy the ride. He fucked me like he was trying to cherish every single second of this act we were sharing, probably conscious that we’d never be able to do this again.

“Such a fucking great pussy,” he groaned, fingers now probably bruising my skin as he used his grip on my hips to force my movements to match his. “I bet I can make you even louder.”

I hadn’t even realized I was screaming until he said that, feet raising to the sofa so he could find even more grip to fuck me silly. “Hold tight, sweetheart.” My hands slipped from his shoulders to the back of his neck, as I tried to keep my chest glued to his despite the brutality of his movements.

It didn’t take long for his thrusts to lose their rhythm, and I was dancing on the edge of my own orgasm too, watching a single drop of sweat make its way from his hairline until his jaw, where I leaned down to collect it with my tongue.

“Fuck.” His eyes met mine, holding my gaze hostage as the next words that fell from his lips brought me to my release. “Oh God, please tell me you’ll be mine. I need to know I’ll be able to have you like this whenever I want. Please.”

The aftershocks of my orgasm, paired with the way my pussy clenched around his member, milking his own release, had him cumming as hard as I had, eyes closed tightly and beautiful mouth hanging open as I tried to catch my breath and not lose the show at the same time.

“Do you mean it?” I had to ask, once both of us were able to speak again, still tightly embraced and deeply connected. I could feel his cum slowly seeping out of me and into his own lap.

“Of course.” His eyes searched mine for any inkling of my own feelings in regards to the revelation of his. “You’re worth the trouble it’ll be trying to keep this under wraps. Besides, Professor Stan had mentioned he’d like to seduce you, and I can’t imagine having to watch you be with another man.”

A giggle and a kiss sealed the deal, but we renegotiated the terms of our agreement a dozen of times before finally falling asleep wrapped in each other’s embrace. Thank God I was stood up today.

[weelittleweasley]

may i sit? (h.p.)

prompt requested by @oh-no-whoopsie: from what you were taught, slytherins and gryffindors weren’t supposed to get along, much to your dismay. a certain gryffindor had caught your eye and you desperately wanted him to know who you were. when you are having a bad day, you receive comfort from an unexpected guest...

pairing: harry potter x fem! slytherin reader

warnings: crying, anxiety, isolation, loneliness

word count: 2.4k

It was never explained to you as a first year student, but you had always followed the unspoken rule that Slytherins and Gryffindors had a merciless rivalry. You feared being ostracized by your house if you were to befriend a Gryffindor that someone had a vendetta against, so instead you focused on maintaining friendships within your house. This way, there was no risk of being outcast and strengthened the relationships with those who were similar in personalities to you.

However, you did feel like your lack of interaction with some Gryffindors made you miss out on exciting experiences. Since you were friendly with the Weasleys, you didn’t get invited to common room parties that they threw, you didn’t get invited to study sessions with Granger in the library, you didn’t hang out in the courtyards with Longbottom. You just stuck to your non-Gryffindor friends and hoped that it would be enough. 

But you did find days where you would longingly find yourself watching as Hermione Granger looped her arm with Harry Potter’s, throwing her head back in laughter at something he had said in passing. He would lightly smile as he watched his best friend laugh before shaking his head and rolling his eyes. His eyes...what would it be like to stare into those beautiful green eyes...

Only problem was when Harry did catch your eyes, your cheeks flushed a bright crimson red as you darted you gaze away from him. It was like it felt wrong to look at him. If someone caught you stealing longing glances at him, that they would tell everyone else in Slytherin house and that would be the breaking point. 

So instead of letting yourself look at him and him to you, you would bury your head into some other business and brush aside the thoughts that crept into your mind of what it would be like for the Chosen One to speak your name on his lips. 

You thought it was silly for you to have a crush on Potter. First of all, majority of your house didn’t like the boy at all. In fact, they found him arrogant and self-absorbed, and immature. Secondly, you had little to no interaction with him through out your five years with him at Hogwarts. Maybe once you bumped into him at the library and muttered a sorry to each other, but nothing more. No real conversations. Even though you craved to know more about him than just general knowledge, you would remind yourself that it wasn’t in Slytherins’ nature to befriend Gryffindors. 

And again the cycle continued of being with your non-Gryffindor friends, watching Gryffindors’ friendships blossom, daydream of what could be, sigh over Harry Potter, distract yourself from Harry Potter, and repeat. 

It became exhausting at times. Constantly having to tell yourself no to something that you really wanted. Something that you knew you would enjoy. You knew that you would get along well with people like the Weasleys and Granger and Potter and Thomas and Longbottom. It didn’t matter that your house was different from theirs. But the fear of not being accepted by your own house consumed you to the part where it would drive you to tears on occasion.

Loneliness was always a fear of yours. You had always liked to surround yourself with people you loved, friends, family, or both. It was their presence that made you feel warm and comforted. But some days, it was hard to not feel alone. There were days where you wished your house wasn’t so competitive or pretentious. You wished that your house could let down its guard and actually enjoy school for what it was rather than view it as a jungle, a competition. Hunter and prey. Keeping up with it all was exhausting and you were exhausted to say the least.

Wallowing in your pity, you found a small bench in the outdoor hallways of Hogwarts, knees pulled up to your chest as you rested your back against the concrete wall, the cool temperature calming your warm body. You sniffled and wiped small tears that fell from your eyes as you cried quietly to yourself.

You loved your Slytherin house friends, you really did. They were fiercely loyal to you and would defend you at the drop of a hat. They were funny and witty and charming and intelligent and you loved being around them. But sometimes, you wished that they would be more open to the idea of being around new people. People who were different in nature, but majority of them protested. Pansy would always argue, “We have everything we need in each other, (Y/N). Why would we go out and make friends with others when we are perfectly fine on our own?” She earned the nods of a few heads as you sighed in defeat.

Maybe to see what being with others with different interests and wants and desires in life would be refreshing. Being around Gryffindors could bring a new sense of excitement into your life. It could be good; a change. A new start. 

But that wasn’t realistic. You knew that if you became friends with a Gryffindor secretly, your friends would give you hell for it. They would implore you on why you needed someone else, a Gryffindor, as a friend. Especially if it were someone like-

“Are you alright?” a voice interrupts your thoughts as you sniffle and look in the direction of the voice.

Standing a little down the hall a couple feet away was the boy with those captivating green eyes. Harry Potter wore a concerned expression on his face as he watched you wipe away the tears that gently fell from your eyes. His green eyes stared into yours, hoping that you would answer him. 

Your heart beats a little quicker at the sight of him and you blinked a few times to make sure this wasn’t some sort of hallucination or prank being pulled on you. Quickly snapping out of it, you spoke, “Yeah, yeah,” wiping your eyes, “I’m fine. Thanks.”

Harry took a few steps closer to you, very cautiously as to not make you skittish. He knew that his presence could make some people wary or uncomfortable, so he tried to approach the situation of an already crying girl very carefully. “You sure?” he implores. “I don’t like seeing people alone. Especially if they’re upset...”

His concern for you was endearing, especially since you had barely spoken to each other before. You wipe your nose on the cuff of your jumper as you shake your head. “It’s alright. I’m used to it at this point, I guess,” you shrug, the words falling from your mouth as Harry gives you a concerned look. You did this often? his eyes seemed to ask as you shook your head. “Not like that,” you let out a light laugh. “I guess I’m just...” you start before realizing who you’re talking to. With a gulp and a look at him, you shake your head, “Never mind, it’s not important anyway.”

Before you can rise from the bench to excuse yourself to go to the Slytherin common room and pull yourself together, Harry stops you. “You don’t have to go,” Harry sticks his hands out, preventing you from rising. “I mean, I’m the one who interrupted you, I should be going,” he insists as you give him a small smile. “But I can assure you, whatever you were upset about isn’t something to brush off if it made you sad enough to cry,” he gives you a sad smile. 

You sigh and shake your head. “You’re right,” you admit with a surrendering smile as Harry returns one. “But you don’t need to leave either. This isn’t my hallway,” you joke as he gives you another smile.

The two of you watch each other for a moment, in silence, taking the other in. Harry notices how he’s seen you around a few times and maybe chatted to you before, but didn’t know you well enough to strike up conversation. But for some reason, Harry felt compelled to sit and talk with you tonight. It was like he was supposed to stumble upon you like this. Harry clears his throat. “May I sit?” he asks quietly.

Your heart flutters and an involuntary smile appears on your cheeks as you nod your head. “Of course,” you scoot over on the bench so Harry can sit next to you comfortably. 

Harry takes the spot next to you with a smile and turns toward you as you lean back on the concrete wall. “I’ve seen you around before, but I don’t think I know your name,” he speaks. “I’m Harry,” he extends his hands to you, offering a shake.

With a small smile, you accept his gesture. “I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to meet you, Harry,” you tell him as he nods. “You don’t have to feel obligated to sit with me because you walked in on me crying though,” you try to excuse him, but Harry profusely shakes his head.

“No, no, no,” he speaks. “I want to make sure you’re not alone. In case you need someone to talk to...” he offers as you give him a sad smile. “We don’t need to talk if you don’t want to though. I can sit here and you can talk and I can listen. Or you don’t need to talk and I can distract you. Or we can just sit here until you feel better,” he gives you a happy smile.

Could the boy be any more perfect? You practically swooned at his words, he was so thoughtful to someone he had literally just formally met seconds ago. And yet he was so kind and gentle with you. The thought alone of him wanting to be there for you was overwhelmingly genuine. For someone with as much status and popularity as Harry, you didn’t expect him to be so down to Earth. 

You quietly thank Harry as he nods, understanding completely. The two fo you sit in silence for a little while as you collect your thoughts, feelings, and emotions before sighing. “I guess,” you start. “I feel a little lonely sometimes,” you admit to the Gryffindor. Harry nods his head, completely understanding. “I have great friends and a wonderful family,” you tell him, “but sometimes, I can’t help but feel like I’m so lonely here.” Harry hangs onto every word that comes out of your mouth, intently listening to what you have to say. “I do like being a Slytherin. Both of my parents were,” you tell him. “But I want to branch out and be friends with other people who aren’t Slytherin.”

Harry gives you a puzzled look. “What’s holding you back?” he asks.

Sighing, you speak, “I know that not all Slytherins are fond of other houses. Especially Gryffindors,” you look at Harry who just chuckles. “I fear that if I do become friends with others, especially Gryffindors, I’ll be ostracized by my friends in Slytherin,” you confide in him.

Harry shakes his head and sighs. He understood in a way about what you were going through. The pressure could be a lot for someone and he hated the look on your face as you expressed your situation to him. Harry wished he could make things better, he really wanted to. “Can I give you a bit of advice?” he speaks as you nod. “Let’s say you do become friends with a Gryffindor,” he says, “and your Slytherin friends do that to you,” he continues as you clench at his words, “and I’m not saying they will,” he retaliates before continuing, “but if they do...(Y/N), those people aren’t your friends.” Harry gives you a soft look as you sigh, knowing that he had a point. “Friends don’t come along with terms and conditions,” he speaks. “They are friends. They are supposed to support you. Not support you when it suits their best interest.”

His words were very true and carried a wise beyond his years weight. But it was illuminating to you in a way you didn’t think of before. His insight was much needed. “You’re right, Harry,” you sigh as he smiles, his advice succeeding in bringing you clarity. “Thank you.”

He beams, “Surely.” You lightly chuckle. “With all that being said,” he starts. “I hope you know that we can surely be friends, (Y/N).” Your eyes widen and mouth lightly falls open. He wanted to be friends? Was this a sympathy move or did he genuinely want to get to know you? “I hope you don’t think I’m saying any of it because of the circumstances,” he clarifies, “I think you’re lovely.”

Your cheeks slowly burn as a smile inches its way onto your lips. He thinks I’m lovely. His kind words mean more to you than he’ll ever know. You give him a shy look before accepting, “I’d like to be friends, too, Harry.”

Harry smiles and for a moment, you think there’s a similar rosy hue on his cheeks. “Brilliant,” he speaks quietly. Carefully, he places a hand on yours, “I’d like to be there for you, (Y/N). Whenever you need it.”

The contact of his skin on yours makes your stomach do a flip as you gulp, eyes glued on his hand placed delicately on yours. Slowly, you look up at Harry who pushes his glasses up on his face as they fall on the bridge of his nose. He was quite adorable, wasn’t he? “The same goes for you, Harry,” you tell him. “I’m here.”

You gently squeezed his hand as you saw him inhale deeply. The two of you looked into each other’s eyes, observed the way they flickered and the way the colors danced. Harry’s eyes felt comforting and familiar; like you trusted him already for some odd reason. But you relished in the feeling of this new found comfort. 

The two of you gently peeled your hands away from each other before Harry clears his throat. “Before I saw you, I was on the way to the kitchens to snag a snack for Ron and I. Would you like to join me?” he asks with a light smile.

Nodding your head with a smile, you speak, “Sounds like fun. Plus, I know where the house elves keep the fresh biscuits.”

Harry chuckles, “I think we’re going to be good friends, (Y/N).”

The two of you laugh and start making your way to the kitchens. But you had to agree with Harry. You had a really good feeling about this friendship.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Regular: Part 1 - Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: you’re a dancer at a club, but that doesn’t mean you have to put on a show for everyone. Especially not if Geto’s paying. 

word count: 2.6K

tw: nudity, small nsfw thoughts

Lipstick? Check. 

Eyeshadow? Check.

Eyelashes? Check. 

The eyes that stare back at you are your own, but for a minute, you’re lost in your own brown, doe-eyed gaze. Transfixed, you wish you could see what they saw when they looked at you. You wish someone would fix every mirror in your vicinity to display the person people thought you were. Maybe then you’d understand. 

“Y/n!” The manager of the club - Mrs. Lampton - bursts through the dressing room door eagerly, pushing against the weighted frame with ease. “We have a lot of new faces out there. Are you ready to go on in ten?” The look in Mrs. Lampton’s eyes had never been brighter, and you blink at her twice, wondering if the woman had forgotten that you walked into the strip club without coercion, and you would do your job just the same. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” The rhetorical question makes Mrs. Lampton laugh, her amusement ringing out in the mostly empty dressing room. 

“You’re funny, girl. I’ll make sure they play your favorite songs.” Without another word, she leaves, and you’re alone again, placing a single pastie on each nipple. New faces… 

You hadn’t seen very many new people in the club since you’d been hired three months ago. It was always the same four men that came to see you during your weekday four o’clock shift, and a mix of the same faces during your ten o’clock dance on Friday evenings, when the club was full of men looking for an escape between the valley of your B-cups. 

There was Aiko, the man who had completely given up on love and decided to get his affection from you when he got paid every two weeks with a simple lap dance. Then you helped Kohi with his fantasies: he had admitted to you that he could only fuck his girlfriend with his eyes closed and couldn’t think of anyone else except the girls in the club, you especially. Takeru was no different, just a little more handsy than you had originally expected when allowing him into the VIP room. And finally, you had the pleasure of meeting a new regular named Yuma just last month. Yuma was young, bright-eyed, and had a carefree attitude that also affected his wallet. Out of the four, he was the best tipper and admittedly, the sweetest… but those were your only four regulars. 

The rest of the dancers at the club had at least enough regulars to count on both hands, but you were stuck with the smallest group. As such, you were given the shittiest shift, but you didn’t mind. The pay was enough to make up for rent and some extra expenses, but during the day, you were dedicated to working with your aunt in her flower shop. 

You saw an array of men there, too, and the regulars there were almost as frequent as the ones here. Thankfully, this club was on the other side of town - the richer side - and you would go unnoticed in your ink black wig and heavy makeup in the dim lights. 

You adjust your garters in the mirror, and slide the matching black lace bra over your pasty covered breasts. Tonight, there are new customers, and one of the new faces might potentially become a regular. Your regular. 

You swing the door open and walk through the blue-lighted hallway to the carpeted space before the stage steps, watching the girl before you - a tall, thin blonde named Hannah - slide down the pole upside down, earning a few cheers from the gathered crowd. You don’t get to see her finish due to the obstructed view as you gather your towel and spray it with rubbing alcohol, but you do hear the DJ call her name as she exits. Hannah brushes past you without speaking, shaking her head at the wad of cash and solid red bra in her hands. 

“Slow night?” you ask, and she turns around to face you, her blonde braid swinging over her shoulder. She raises a brow and then - in a rare show of kindness - mumbles: 

“There’s a real spender in that crowd, but he wants nothing to do with me. Watch out for those blue eyes; they’re really distracting.” You whip your head back to look at the pole, your fingers tightening around the damp terry cloth. When you look back, Hannah is disappearing into the dressing room, too far gone to ask about the blue eyes comment. 

Barefoot, you step up the stairs, and the DJ croons, “Next up is our loveliest newbie, y/n…” A slow song begins as you work your way around the pole with your towel, cleaning off any and all dirt and grime left behind from the previous girls with seduction. It was simple, really: twirling your hips and dancing around the pole was enough to make even the most stoic man soften. You were every man’s fantasy in that moment: a cleaning whore. When you finish your work, you find the cold, slick surface of the spin pole, and work your way up, feeling the pressure against the tops of your bare feet. It wasn’t unusual for you to leave with slightly bruised ankles or a “pole kiss” at your thigh. But it was all worth the extra money. Bruises faded away. Bills did not.

When you invert and grab the pole behind you, there is a sense of calm as you spin around like a siren, looking for the infamous blue eyes. It isn’t until you’re back on the floor that you see them - he’s across the room, eyes staring directly at you with white furrowed brows perched precariously above them. 

As you keep track of the single dollar bills being deposited on the stage in front of you, you notice another new face beside him, leaning in to whisper something while his eyes flick away. When you fan kick around the pole twice, you see the face - black eyes and black hair in a half-bun - turn towards you with a smile. The smile isn’t innocent, but when were smiles in the club anything less? You return the smile with sincerity, finding the two men completely captivating. 

But you have other customers to attend to; most notably, Yuma. His cherub face and tender green eyes are watching you from the bottom of the stage, his face in an entranced smile. 

“Y/n!” he yells over the music, holding up a one-hundred dollar bill. You dismount from the pole and crawl on your hands and knees toward the youth, whose lips quirk up in a playful smirk. 

“It’s good to see you here,” you breathe, dropping your voice an octave to seem more alluring. Yuma buys it hook, line, and sinker - as he always did - and slides the dollar bill between the garter and your see-through stockings. “See any good movies lately?” you wonder, letting him pet your leg tenderly. 

“You’ll really like the newest addition to the Hanged Man trilogy,” he begins, eyes roving over your figure salaciously. Yuma hooks a finger around your garter and gives it a gentle snap;  you huff out a laugh before rolling your neck around. “I’ll take you to see it, if you want.” 

“That would be so nice,” you purr back, arching your hips until he can practically feel your ass pushing into his hand. “I would love nothing more than that.” 

“I’ll buy a dance tonight and give you the details.” Yuma knows his time is short and waves a hand over your spine before retreating, his eyes staying with you as you unfurl from the floor. You have no intention of meeting Yuma outside of the club, but you have to admit that if you hadn’t met him in here, you probably would have attempted to pursue him. 

A fast song means that you’re coming to the second part of your three-part dance, and your fingers make quick work of your pointless bra. When it drops to the ground, you can feel eyes drawn to your unclothed upper body grinding on the pole. Your eyes flick back to the blue-eyes man in the corner, and you find he’s alone staring at his phone in the darkness. 

Why is he even here? you wonder, hooking a leg around the metal before swinging your back leg up. As you swing around with your head leaned back, you catch his handsome companion at the bottom of the stage, arm muscles rippling under his white button down. He’s counting his money, you realize, and take that as a sign that he might be beholden to making a generous donation. It isn’t until he holds out two hundred dollar bills that you stop, and he places it on the stage, patting it twice. You make your way back over to the stranger, eyeing him carefully under your heavy eyelashes as he leans in to speak. 

“Very generous,” you note, and he gives a sheepish smile as he tucks the bills into the side of your g-string. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?” 

“You can call me Geto.” His voice, calm and strong, washes over you like a burst of fresh air, and you notice he doesn’t seem nervous at all, despite appearing shy. 

“You can touch me,” you offer, but he places both hands back on the stage, staring into your eyes. 

“I’d rather do that privately. How much for a VIP room with you for the evening?” Your eyes flick to Yuma, who is happily downing a drink at the bar and settling his tab. 

“I… have one dance I have to --” 

“He hasn’t paid yet.” Another one-hundred dollar bill slides across the stage. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Another bill. “All of this,” Two more bills. “for one night.

Six hundred dollars. That was three times as much as you made on a regular night.

“And take this off.” You think he’s going to tug at your lingerie, but instead, he tugs a strand of your wig, and you frown. 

“I…” 

“Your real hair is brown.” He offers, raising his brows as if to challenge the denial working its way up your throat. You are a brunette. 

“P-pay the red-haired lady at the bar. Tell her you’re requesting the VIP room with me,” you stammer.

“I’d rather make sure all the money makes it into your pocket.” Your mouth dries up, but you have to finish your last song. The man notices your nerves, and jerks his chin at you slightly, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “No worries. I’ll see you in there.” 

As you’re wiping down, you feel your chest constrict slightly. Takeru and Yuma were the only ones who had actually been in the VIP room with you, but that had only been twice in your three months there. They had paid the bare minimum - two hundred dollars - to see you fully naked, touching yourself in front of them and allowing them to spread you bare for observation. There were no holds barred in there except fucking, but if this man could afford to drop three times the amount it cost to reserve the room for himself… Mrs. Lampton would most likely let him do as he pleased. For a moment, you consider Yuma being disappointed and downtrodden that you couldn’t give him at least one lap dance before the end of the night, but you had to go with this new stranger, if just for tonight. 

“Hey, y/n…” Mrs. Lampton pokes her head into the dressing room again. “The VIP room is ready for you. Your client is in there; you’ll be alone, as requested.” Not even a fucking security guard.

The stairs up to the absolutely private area are steep, but you somehow wobble your way up there in your red, satin teddy and black robe. When you open the door to the room, the wall maps give a soft golden glow to the space, illuminating the couches and mirror on the back wall. One-way glass separates you from view of the other patrons down below, now enjoying another show from another girl. Usually, a security guard would post himself on this side of the wall, observing the free show with the stoicism of a statue. 

But tonight, it’s you and Geto. He lazes on a couch, both arms splayed across the light brown fabric as you enter the room. His black eyes follow you as you pad toward him, watching his every move. You stop in front of the man, locking eyes with him as you undo the tie at your waist and let the silk robe fall to the ground. His lips part and he spreads his legs, beckoning you forward with his right forefinger and middle finger. 

Silently, you make your way to him, planting yourself between his long legs and looking down. “Kneel.” Your breath hitches in your throat, but you sink to your knees anyways, keeping your eyes on him. As he leans over you, you think the worst is about to happen and squeeze your eyes and mouth shut. When his fingers find the nape of your neck, you flinch, but feel your hair tie slide off of the braid in your hair. He smells like sandalwood - you note - much unlike the other men you encountered in the club. They often reeked of booze and smoke, or something much grimer. 

His fingers work their way through your locks, separating the strands with ease before retracting. Your hair cascades around your face like a curtain, and he leans back, resuming his previous position. “You can dance if you’d like.” Instantly, you rise from the wooden floor and begin running your hands up your waist and to your chest, swirling your hips around to the sensual music playing through the speakers. Geto observes you with a tilted head, squinting his eyes when you play with the feathered hem of your teddy. You don’t lift it over your head, opting to tease him to his limit instead of giving him exactly what he wanted right away. 

His black eyes roam over your figure repeatedly, watching your hips sway and fingers wind into your hair without changing. He leans forward when you take a step back, lacing his fingers together in front of him calmly. You step back into his reach, and he shifts suddenly, startling you so bad that you stop moving entirely. 

“Sorry,” he hisses, adjusting his seating. “It’s a little uncomfortable to sit like that right now.” You let out a nervous chuckle and resume your movements, unsure if you’re ready to remove your lingerie or not. “I’m not going to ask you to take it off.” The admission makes you pause, but you continue to dance anyways. 

“Why?”

“Why would I?” He tosses back, shrugging.

“You get to see everything in here. That’s what you paid for, right?” 

“I paid for you to dance for me alone. I want a private show; not something anyone can watch for free.” 

“Do you want to touch me?” 

“Not yet.” 

And he didn’t for the rest of the time he spent there that night. Before he left the room, he pressed a couple of hundreds into your palm then opened the door and walked out. You had never experienced anything quite like it, but with the extra cash in your hand as you walked out of the club, you prayed to the stars that you would see this unicorn just one more time.

[negandarylsatisfaction]

[SUMMARY: Rick's daughter Melody cant help her curiosity about the man locked up in the prison cell. Being kept secrets from her father, she takes it upon herself to get to know Negan and one day sneaks into the cell to find him asleep with morning wood.]

SEMI SMUT

Negan and Melody

Rick never really allowed you anywhere near Negan. Hell, you never even saw Negan yourself up close and personal. Although you were twenty, your father still treated you like the little five year old girl he used to carry on his shoulders. It was frustrating at times, he always wanted to keep secrets from you about what was going on in the group and he always said it was to protect you. The only times you ever saw Negan he was tied up being led into the prison cell. Truth was, you didnt know what he had done that was so bad. Your father seemed to keep everything from you that involved anything serious. You looked out the window and saw Daryl pass Eugene the keys for cell, each night someone was on guard. Looking to the right you saw your dad heading your way and quickly pulled down the blinds. After you were told Glenn had died in an accident on a run a few months ago many things changed. Maggie left, everyone seemed more distant and it left you confused.

"Get ready for bed, Melody," your dad spoke low as he entered the house making you sigh.

"I'm not tired dad."

"Mel, it's getting late-"

"And is there something we need to be ready for in the morning?" You responded with sarcasm looking back out the window.

"Besides...you never told me what that guy Negan did."

"I told you that's not up for discussion," he insisted making you roll your eyes.

"Is anything up for discussion? Whatever, I'm sure what he did wasnt that bad if hes being kept alive." You got up from the chair and walked past your father as he looked down with a straight face. There was no way he could tell you the truth of what Negan had done. Your father tried to protect you the best he could and losing people was enough, he didnt want to leave you with images in your head.

Waiting to be sure that your father was in his room you quietly snuck out of yours. Your curiosity ate at you and you were tired of your father treating you like a little girl. Making sure you werent heard, you stepped outside and walked towards where Negan was held captive. Eugene was heading back to the cell with a tray of food for Negan. You knew itd be easy to get around Eugene regardless of what your father instilled in his mind. Creating casual conversation with Eugene and some jokes to break the ice you offered to take Negan his lunch. Right away he made a face filled with doubt.

"I dont know about that, Melody..I'm in charge of his cell-"

"Yeah but you're in charge of the entrance. Who's going to watch while you are distracted handing him the food?" Eugene raised an eyebrow in thought, he felt like you had a point.

"Alright but your dad cant know about this, he'll kill me. So dont take too long."

"Dont worry I got it," you assured him before taking hold of the tray of food and the keys from his hand.

You could feel your heart beating out of your chest, you were nervous yet so curious to know the man that was hidden from you. Unlocking the door you walked down a dark hallway before reaching the cell.

"Well its about time one of you fuckers remembered to feed me," you froze at the sound of Negans voice before stepping out of the dark hall and into the light, revealing yourself. Negan looked up as he leaned against the wall not expecting to see a young attractive woman before him.

"Well excuse my French, where the fuck did your pretty little self come from?" Negan looked you up and down observing your skin tight jeans and crop shirt. Right from the jump you found this man to be very intimidating, taking a deep breath you stepped closer to his cell and bit your bottom lip nervously.

"Um...my name is Melody.. I came to bring you your meal," Negan slowly stepped closer to the bars with a smirk on his face and looked down at the tray in your hands.

"I see that...so you're gonna put that down for me, sweetheart?" He spoke slowly with an enticing voice.

"Oh..um, yes" you smiled before slowly bending down not noticing Negan tilt his head eyeing the curve of your ass as you slid the tray beneath the bars.

"Very nice.." he murmured low to himself before you got back up. Your eyes met his and you suddenly didnt move, his eyes were alluring and inviting all at once. Nervously clearing your throat you backed away brushing your hair back.

"I gotta ask, princess. What's a fine young woman like you doing alone with me here in my prison cell?"

"I wanted to see who you were...I'm not allowed to know things so-"

"So you're telling me no one knows you're here?" He raised a brow getting closer, although this man was behind the bars you still found yourself feeling nervous.

"No...everyone treats me like a little girl. I'm twenty years old and I'm tired of people covering up things for me," you explained.

"Shit, you are very young."

"Not too young where I cant be told what the hell you did to be in here, cant be all that bad if you're still alive."

Negan raised his brows sliding his tongue behind his lower lip.

"Oh no sweetheart, I'm no good." He spoke in a low voice.

"So let me guess, you're going to treat me like a little girl too and not tell me why?" Negan couldnt help himself but chuckle making you cross your arms.

"What's so funny?"

"Ohh...princess, if I was out of this cell right now I'd gladly show you how much of a grown woman I think you are."

"What?" You asked a little shocked not expecting him to express himself the way he did. You were quickly learning Negan had an unfiltered mouth.

"Dont mind me," Negan shook his head with a sigh.

"Its been a while and I'm just fucking frustrated."

"Its been a while since what?" You asked making him slightly lean back with a frown on his face.

"You really are innocent huh," you rolled your eyes.

"Listen, if you're going to say it just say it-"

"Its been a while since I've had some pussy." Negan blurt out making you stumble over your words.

"Oh-um...-" Negan grinned raising his brows at your reaction.

"Oh yes," he laughed as you nervously licked your lips.

"Shit..." he suddenly turned serious.

"How long has it been for you? Or wait let me guess, you haven't even had your cherry popped yet." Negan moved closer to the bars to get a closer look at you.

"Actually, I'm not a virgin but it's been a few years since I lost my virginity to this jackass. I havent slept with someone since."

"So you've gone a few years with out any relief?"

"Well um-obviously I've had relief-"

"Oh..so you like touching yourself," he bit his bottom lip in excitement.

"-But yes, it's been years since I've had sex and I'm okay with it, I dont need it." You couldnt believe you were even explaining this to him.

"Hm. Looks like whoever was hitting it wasnt hitting it right, shit I'd always have you coming back for more." You rolled your eyes holding back a smile, you kind of liked the attention he was giving you.

"Are you always this vulgar, Negan?"

"Only when I'm horny," he teased making you shake your head.

"Shit, do you blame me princess? You're the first woman that's spoken to me like I wasnt a damn monster. Plus I love some dirty talk." Negan had to admit the company was refreshing for him. You sighed with a smile and looked down at his food.

"Well, I guess I'll leave you to your food. I'll come by when I can again...if you want me to." Negan smiled sliding his tongue between his teeth.

"Oh I definitely do." You couldnt believe this man was flirting with you but you had to admit to yourself it was a fun interaction.

"Your secrets safe with me, Melody." Negan winked before you quietly left and locked the door shut.

That night you lay in bed smiling to yourself thinking of your very flirtatious talk with Negan. Your dad hadn't suspected a thing and you knew the next morning he would go on a run. It would be a perfect time to see Negan again. You were the first person in a long time to not make him feel like a monster and he was the first person who made you feel like a grown woman. Distracted by his flirtatious ways you didnt focus on the reason of him being held in a cell and Negan had no idea you were Rick Grimes only daughter.

The next morning just as suspected your father left on a run with Daryl and Michonne. The person on guard today was one of the men that you knew wasnt the biggest fan of your father. Of course you were to use this to your greatest advantage. Setting up a tray of breakfast with extra fruit you had grown in your garden you made your way to Negan. Unlocking the door, excitedly you walked down the hall to find Negan asleep with his back facing you as you set down his tray of food.

"Good morning, Negan." You spoke softly making him open his eyes. He groaned with a stretch and turned flat to his back making you gasp.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Negan looked at you confused before noticing exactly where your eyes were. The imprint of Negans very hard cock was practically bulging out of his pants.

"Ah shit-"he muttered to himself adjusting his pants.

"Sorry, sweetheart must've been having a nice little dream." He chuckled as he noticed you wouldnt stop staring at it.

"What, never seen some morning wood before?" He teased as he stood up.

"I mean, of course I just didnt expect to see you..I mean for you to be that way right now." You responded nervously as he made his way close to the bars of the cell.

"Right now?" He laughed.

"Oh princess, you have no idea how horny I am. How much I'd kill for the feel of sweet pussy...shit for a woman to just relieve me." The two of you were face to face now, only the bars separating you from each other.

"You know what I was dreaming about, princess?" Negan spoke as he noticed you would not stop looking down at his crotch area.

"I dreamt about you riding my cock." His voice was raspy, his words making you look up in shock.

"What?" You whispered.

"You left me last night thinking about things I wanted to do to you and this is the outcome." He motioned towards his erection.

"Why dont you touch it for me...just once." He spoke low, your lips parted at his request. Your heart was racing, it was arousing how much this man wanted you. Looking back at the door behind you making sure it was locked you looked back at Negan and nodded.

"Just once." You agreed making him grin.

"Atta girl."

Negan watched as you hesitatingly moved your hand in between the bars and began to slowly rub his crotch. A deep noise escaped his lips the first moment you touched him, his breathing was heavy as you moved your hand up and down.

"Oh my...-" you whispered feeling how rock solid he was.

"Oh, Melody.." he whispered as he closed his eyes. You could tell he obviously wanted more, you could tell how much he needed it. Without saying a word you began to unzip his pants and instantly his cock sprung out. It was thick and hot, you could feel him throbbing in your hand. The man was aching for some kind of relief, he was about ready to explode.

Spitting on your hand you began to move along his shaft. Negan moaned holding onto the bars as he watched you jerk him off. He could tell you were getting turned on as you began to breathe quickly. Negan reached through the bars and grabbed your throat applying pressure making you moan as you began to move your hand faster.

"Fuck baby, I dont think I can hold it-" he held his breath and grunted struggling to not let himself cum just yet.

"Hold on just a little bit more, I want you to cum hard." You whispered as he frowned holding on to the bar tightly, his knuckles turning white. It had been too long since he had been touched, too long since he had ejaculated and Negan had an intense rush. His other hand quickly sliding down your neck and pulling your v neck shirt down revealing your breast.

"Touch me, Negan. Do what you want." You whispered as your hand moved faster. Your words making his jaw clench as he squeezed your breast and let out a very loud and deep groan, loads of cum spilled out of him falling to ground.

"Yes.." you whispered loving the sight of him giving in.

"Dont stop-" he struggled to speak as he continued to cum all over your hand. He panted as you began to slow down before he let go of your breast and leaned against the bars. Releasing his cock from your hand you stepped back and looked at him from head to toe. His eyes were closed as he leaned his head on the bars, his cock twitching as you noticed all his cum on the concrete floor.

"Wow.." you whispered making him open his eyes. Grabbing a rag you had on you, you cleaned up your hand then handed it to him before he closed his pants. Negan cleared his throat before looking back up at you with a smirk.

"I guess I owe you one," he chuckled still trying to catch his breath making you laugh as you fixed your top.

"Glad I could be of help," you joked before the two of you locked eyes. The smiling fading from his face now.

"Seriously, it's been nice having you here."

Negan liked the sexual connection the two of you had, he also liked how you naturally conversed with him. You didnt treat him like an animal, you treated him like a human being. Negan knew he had messed up in life but he knew there was nothing he could do to change the past. All he could do was not repeat the same mistakes. What he did know was that he now knew for sure that he did not want you knowing his real reason behind being locked inside. He knew youd never look at him the same way again.

"Its been nice for me too. I havent really had conversation with anyone in my group." You sighed crossing your arms.

"After my friend Glenn died things changed." You whispered making Negans face change at the mention of Glenn's name. He looked away feeling a knot of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

"Everyone started acting different. I miss the way things were." You continued as you looked to the side and thought back of some memories.

"I think you should get going, Princess." Negan spoke low, his words making you look back at him confused.

"Wh-what? I thought we could talk-"

"Listen, I'm not your fucking therapist. Now get going." Negan snapped just wanting you to leave, his guilt eating up at him he felt like utter shit.

"So what jerking you off is all you needed so I'm good to go now?"

Negan remained silent, his head down not being able to look you in the eye.

"You know I know we dont know each other and you dont give a shit about me, but I thought we had an understanding that we both needed someone to talk to and not talk to them like something they're not." You snapped as he carefully listened to your words.

"That's the problem, sweetheart. They're not treating me like something I'm not. You are." His words left you speechless, what the hell did he mean by that?

"I told you I was no fucking good. Now get out of here." Negan turned his back to you, you couldnt believe what he was saying or what the hell even made him say these things.

"Screw you." Negan heard the crack in your voice before you stormed out and slammed the door shut. Negan sighed knowing he didnt want to hurt your feelings, hell he didnt even want you to leave. Angrily you walked back to your room and slammed the door shut, you felt so stupid you could scream. You swore you'd never see Negan again nor let your father ever find out of what had just happened.

Part 2? Trying to think of where I can go from here. Feel free to send in any ideas if you have. Xx

[totallytododeku]

☁ studying together ( x reader hc's) ☁

characters: midoriya, bakugou, todoroki, kirishima, yaoyorozu, uraraka, + ashido

genre: fluff  <33

☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁

I. Midoriya 🌳🍀🌻

this poor boy is so excited to be spending time with you

but he will not take his nose out of his textbook

he can't help it

he's so happy to be in the hero course he takes his schoolwork a little too seriously

however, you can use this to your advantage ;)

normally you're almost as invested in his journey to becoming the next Symbol of Peace and achieving his dream as he is

and you would never dream of doing anything that could jeopardize it

So you were silently bouncing off the walls with glee when you realized he was impervious to distractions when it came to studying

literally anything is fair game

which is why studying with him is your new favorite time of day

pet his hair

kiss his cheeks

climb into his lap

pat his head

hold his non-dominant hand

hug him from behind his chair

rest your head on his shoulder and take a nap

do whatever you want

you can basically do anything to him while he's studying without having to worry about distracting him

he will blush a little bit of you kiss him but but you think it's adorable

lol turn on whatever tv or music you want

but only if you're done with your work!!

hes very adamant that you keep up with your work as best you can do you can graduate side by side and be pro heroes together someday

K. Bakugou 💣💥 📢

he would totally be the one to invite you to study and he would probably want to study in his dorm

it's super quiet and nobody will bother you guys because they know it's that spiky gremlin's room

overall his room just has a really relaxing atmosphere

you love being near him as much as possible

and he's much more affectionate in the comfort of his dorm room

but that doesn't mean he's gonna go easy on u ;-;

he still has his gruff attitude and will make sure you're studying every day

or else he will call u baka and force you to sit down and study until you know all your material

he's actually a great tutor tho

he writes out all the work for each problem and explains them thoroughly

all while holding in you in his arms while you sit in his lap

sometimes you can convince him to play a game with you where every time you get an answer right he gives you a kiss

but you whine when you get one wrong and he won't kiss you

he huffs before giving you a kiss while still trying to look annoyed

stupid girl he mutters

but he pulls you a bit closer to him to hide his blush and moves on to the next problem despite your giggles

S. Todoroki ❄🔥🍜

he doesn't really need to study but he doesn't know how to just .. relax

like he doesn't know how to not do what his dad tells him to do

and his dad wants him to study

it's just easier for Todoroki to do what his dad wants than to rebel

that is, it was

Until he met you and the dekusquad

obviously everyone cares about their homework and wants to graduate well and go Plus Ultra!

but study sessions with Todoroki usually end up just being you guys trying to help him be less hard on himself while you have him as a captive audience

he doesn't really mind, though, especially when it's just you two

the intimacy of studying together in comfortable silence and just

enjoying each other's company

makes his heart go (*￣∇￣*)

like i said he doesn't really need to study so he'll just end up helping you review material

please just ... hold his hand :)

after you're done studying for the day just pull him into a hug and over to your bed

he needs a nap

you feel warm fuzzies inside from how caring he's been to sit with you while you finished your homework and bring you warm tea

you don't even think you just

Time for cuddles :3

it becomes your daily ritual to study together and then cuddle

he always falls asleep in your arms with a small smile

E. Kirishima 🗿🗿🗿

(HAHAHSHNSJ THE 🗿 EMOJI OMG I'M LITERALLY SO FUNNY LOL I'M CRYING)

"Okay, Y/N, let's study hard and do our homework like men!" *fist-pumping the air and grinning like an idiot*

"...what's so funny? "

he doesn't care if you're not a man it's his trademark

he likes to study at his desk because he says it's "important to stay focused and work diligently"

generally he is the least focused person, ever. besides kaminari.

however, he's so energetic and enthusiastic that once you sit down and start studying he'll be able to keep your motivation up until you've finished all your homework

GREAT at studying for tests and quizzes (in theory)

he will never give up

like I said he could keep studying for hours once he sets his mind to it

So you have to compromise and get him to study in short bursts throughout the day to help him have a better chance of remembering anything ;-;

his memory is not great but it's kinda cute

you, being the smart cookie that u are, realized the best way to help him memorize things was to study with flashcards frequently throughout the weekend while doing other activities

so you plan to hang out together and do something fun every week while having your study material on index cards in your back pockets

it's a literal study date.

a weekly date out to the mall or the park or a little coffee shop but with math trivia thrown in randomly throughout the afternoon!! :D

Of course he was ready to turn it into a game he's a literal puppy

he just wants to show you you can be proud of him

you giggle lightly when you hear him say that and let him know that you'll always be proud of him, no matter what

M. Yaoyorozu 👑🏆☕

studyblr wants what u have.

studying in momo's room makes you feel like a Victorian young lady studying moral philosophy, writing poetry about the mourning doves outside the garden window, and waiting for her husband to come home from sailing the seven seas

it's your Belle moment where she's in the royal library except it's every day

stacks of beautiful, old books

the smell of the crisp, white pages

soft classical music floating through the air

the window cracked open slightly

and you are the luckiest student in all of UA because you get to study with the smartest girl in the whole school

she's also gorgeous and sweet and perfect which def doesn't hurt

u know that joke that ur teacher can spend a year explaining something and u never understand but then a random indian guy on YouTube explains it in 2 minutes and you finally get it

she is that random indian guy

you will never struggle with a single concept after you start studying with her

And she's so proud of you for every little question you answer correctly

(even thought she's the one that explained it all so well in the first place)

it's the definition of comfortable silence

she insists that neither of you study too hard and that you take lots of breaks to stretch

she says its to help you stay concentrated but really she just wants to feel your gentle hands on her shoulders as you massage out the knots

you take turns kneading the tension out of each other's shoulders

you feel a pleasant tingle down your spine at the feeling of her soft breath on the back of your neck

She pulls away and you share awkward smiles, neither of you realizing the other one of blushing, too

(((*≧艸≦)ﾌﾟﾌﾟｯ

O. Uraraka 🌜🚀🙏

ur actually super productive study buddies

Like u started studying together and then all of a sudden you were almost at the top of your class

she's just so sweet that being with her gives you the energy you need to write that essay all in one sitting instead of procrastinating like a normal person

Shows up at your dorm with snacks and drinks to keep your energy up!! :D

even though she's still going to end up getting sleepy anyway later in the afternoon

You get most of your studying done at the beginning of your study date so it's not really a problem

you know she doesn't have a lot of money to be throwing around so you pay for dinner every night

It's usually takeout but sometimes you guys make your own dinner for fun!

it always turns out almost inedible and burned because neither of you were paying attention to the stove

don't let baku see it or he'll start screaming about how you need to try your best at everything so he can beat you fair and square and that includes cooking too

neither you nor uraraka can handle spicey food so you never eat what Bakugou cooks for the class

You grab a few bags of chips and some sushi and shut yourselves in your dorm to pull an all-nighter study session about once a month

it should make you tired but, again, studying with her is so enjoyable that you don't mind

u two enjoy each others company in studying so much that you sometimes read ahead in your textbooks just to be able to study more

overall, hanging out with her is just lighthearted and filled with giggles

and you just so happen to get all your homework done along the way

M. Ashido 👾👽🚿

"studying" with her is so much fun

Hanging out with Mina in general is so much fun

it's impossible not to smile when she's around so even if you have a huge exam tomorrow, all your worries fade away just from being with her

She is pretty distracting in cases where you actually wanted to get stuff done

But you don't care

Change of plans

you're doing mani pedi's with Mina

No more studying

it's not as bad as it sounds though

You're not slacking off or anything and you can still keep your grades up with help from your other friends like Momo and Iida

you guys are just goofing off in the privacy of your dorm room when you should be studying

"It's not a crime to be young, Y/ N ;)"

she's just so energetic and happy like a little pink ball of sunshine

you can't help but laugh at her silliness and cute antics after a long day of classes

she makes your heart beat faster like you're on a roller coaster but without the nerves

somehow you feel giddy and comfortable in her presence at the same time

it doesn't matter what you two are doing, you always have fun

make sure she goes to bed on time, though, or she might end up baking a seven-tier cake at 3 am and Bakugou will scream at you for waking him up

don't feed her after midnight lmao

i started writing this after i almost died of boredom in my online calc class. my senioritis is already kicking in and it's still September (｡-ω-)  

[loyally-unfaithful]

—; it’s beginning to look a lot like christmas.

word count: 3.6k

pairing: razor/gn!reader; razor/traveler

genre: fluff

summary: « i remember… purple mentor say ‘mistletoe’ a big part of weihnachten. »

you looked at the plant in slight bewilderment, not quite sure what to make of this offering. it was cute.

« oh. »

razor stares expectantly at you as you watch him make no further attempt to move. you can’t help the laugh that escapes you, the banality of everything setting into your mind. or maybe you’re getting sleepy. you wonder: « do you know why, razor? »

a/n: secret santa secret santa secret santa anyway, this is my side of the secret santa gift for @absolutely-rational​—i chose to write a thing for razor, but i barely play the game and i haven’t met him or own him* or anything so i apologise if it’s a little ooc ,,,, merry christmas and happy holidays ^^

p.s. as the man who’s good at saying very little in way too many words, the length of this fic just exploded and it’s alot longer than what i wanted it to be dskljfsldkja

heads-up

i write dialogues in what i will call the french/european system? anyway, i see that it's not the dialogue formatting that most english readers are accustomed to so i modified it slightly to be easier to understand basically dialogues will be within guillemets (« »), and words that are within the quotation marks but are italicised are actions and/or dialogue verbs.

hope that clears things out a bit and i hope you give me and my fic a chance :)

« weih… nachten…? »

he tilts his head slightly, not unlike a dog. what’s that? razor repeats your words slowly, tentatively, enunciating the foreign word with care. he wonders if the words sound strained coming from him. words are hard.

« that’s right! it’s a large festival in teyvat, and even more so in the city! you elaborated, sensing his confusion. here in mondstadt it’s called weihnachten and it’s supposed to be about, you know, spending time with friends and family, passing around gifts and presents to those you care about. »

you soon felt at ease as you continued: this world had its differences, but it had its similarities. it had its own equivalent of christmas. something that you know about. sure, maybe the origin is different, maybe it had different customs and traditions, but it was a comforting familiarity in the midst of everything that’s so staggeringly foreign. then again, you suppose that’s what drew you closer to the silver-haired boy: neither of you truly fit in, nor fully understood the strange world you happen to be in.

though at the very least, razor had his lupical. as bittersweet as it was, it warmed your heart to know that at least he had family to be around with during christmas, and well, around… in general.

« weihnachten. he says, this time with more conviction. how to celebrate? – well for starters, (where do you even begin?) we’d decorate our homes with all sorts of festive trinkets and we’d fill the streets with all sorts of sparkly things. garlands, lights, flowers, ribbons; decorations that’ll spruce up the place and make the city light up. it always made people cheer up and get in the holiday mood, especially at night when the fairy lights twinkle about! »

razor’s mouth moved in a silent gasp. then does that mean that those bright stars he liked so much were not stars, but rather lights? is that why they seemed to be brighter near the end of the year? the people from the city decorated, he considered. is that why the stars’ reflection, bouncing around in the lake, were an array of dazzling colours, from glittering red and shimmering green to captivating shade’s who’s name he doesn’t know?

« is why… sometimes stars explode? he wondered. – yup! though we don’t usually light up fireworks until new year’s. you wondered for a moment. do you like fireworks, razor? the silver-haired boy frowned, lost in thought, before shaking his head. – loud. scary. me and my lupical, we go hide. we don’t like… firework. »

you hummed in understanding. dogs have never been fond of fireworks and firecrackers either.

« fire is bad. why light firework? isn’t it big hassle? »

it reminded razor of the red, burny girl. fun person, friend! but the toys she uses are loud and dangerous, they create explosions and fire, just like fireworks.

« hmm, i guess… you pursed your lips in thought. good question. i guess that at this point we all just do it out of tradition. new year’s brings a lot of excitement, and people let it out by lighting them up. it’s also really pretty. »

the more he thought about it, and the more he learned about it, the less he understood the celebration. why? it’s loud and distracting. bright colours hurt eyes, doesn’t it? it’s time spent with your family, but razor is with his lupical everyday. do humans… not spend time with their lupical regularly? why is this specific day so special from the rest of the year? he doesn’t get all the funny dates and celebrations humans have to keep track of. seems like a big hassle. sounds complicated.

« no such thing as weihnachten in wolvendom, huh? »

he shook his head.

you tucked your finger under your chin, pondering, in slight puzzlement. back in your world, you would’ve been able to take pictures—maybe that would’ve helped him visualise it better—but you couldn’t here in teyvat. a sigh. anyway, it’s not like you had your camera on your person anymore, so you do your best to describe your happiest sensations, experiences, memories of christmas: the smell of hot cocoa on a cool winter morning, the crackle of firewood from the hearth, and the feeling of soft wool on your skin, hugging you from the biting cold. the merry and jovial carols sung by the star singers, the gleeful chattering between friends out on the street, and the boisterous cheering and partying coming from the many bars and restaurants in mondstadt. the comforting arias and prayers echoing from within the cathedral, the mouth-watering aroma and fragrance of treats from the christmas market, and the grand christmas tree placed at the heart of the city decorated with even more opulent and lavish garlands and baubles, the vivid glimmering lights reflected from your eyes.

describe the different little things that made christmas different and more special from the rest of the year.

somehow this time that you took to pay the wolf boy a visit was consumed by you rambling about the merry holiday, drivel that he listened to attentively and with a pure and honest kind of curiosity (even if he doesn’t always understand you) that you found endearing and made your heart flutter, until the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars adorning the city shined out, rivalling those peppering the night sky. until the howls from his family called him away from you, and until you motivated yourself to begin your trek back to mondstadt after sitting in the woods alone.

being with him was always a welcome distraction, you thought.

december 25th.

paimon was dozing off after stuffing her face full of the dishes from the christmas banquet (good for her!), the cup of tea you had between your hands had gotten cold, and your breath was fogging the frosted window in front of your desk. you mindlessly traced a smiley face on condensation. you can see the ever changing colourful lights blinking through the glass pane. you take another gulp of the unpleasant liquid, unsatisfying as you feel it slowly go down your throat. the calming and comforting scent it brought (it was chamomile) having long dissipated.

sighing, you pulled your fingers off the cold china, deciding it wasn’t worth finishing, and quietly slipped out of your room (which was graciously granted to you by the knights of favonius), taking care to slot the chair back under the desk and gently close the door behind you. you wondered if taking a walk would help you feel better. you tightened your shawl around you and buried your freezing hands into your pockets. head down, you quickened your pace to… wherever your legs were taking you.

another sigh.

you smiled almost bitterly to how much of a grinch you were being. you liked christmas, or rather, you liked what it stood for, and you liked the idea of spending the winter months with your closed ones.

a few hours ago, the knights of favonius had organised a small christmas party at angel’s share, and though they had thoroughly reassured you that you belonged and were included in this celebration, you couldn’t help but keep to yourself and stick to a corner of the bar. you couldn’t bring yourself to join in on the fun, or talk to others. you didn’t feel like it was your place to force yourself into their conversation, into their lives. you were grateful that they thought about you, and you didn’t want to question their kindness, but… you nursed your glass of virgin cocktail, peeling your eyes away from your wonky reflection on the liquid.

you weren’t exactly at home: you looked at jean and barbara, happily exchanging jokes and teases. a relaxed sort of conversation, banter which flowed, almost as if it were rehearsed, in a way that was only possible between sisters. that night, the deaconess wasn’t smiling as if she was holding back tears. the carefree girl was speaking with jean (rather than the acting grand master) who allowed herself some respite from the demanding position.

you look at the uncharacteristic smile on the bartender’s (who happened to be none other than diluc that evening) face, and you doubted that kaeya, sharp-eyed as ever, missed it either. it was subtle. but it was there. you don’t miss the way the cavalry captain held back on his sarcastic remarks or the way diluc wasn’t being “deliberately uncivil” (as kaeya would put it) either; the way the red-head indulges kaeya’s seemingly insatiable thirst for alcohol while the latter makes an effort to maintain a friendly, if curt, chatter.

a particularly loud giggle drew your gaze back at the two sisters: lisa seemed to have joined them. you sipped your beverage, half-hearted. the three seemed to have started a rather animate discussion. you hear them laugh again. it makes you frown, but you shake your head, pushing those angry thoughts out of your mind. just because you’re miserable (even though you shouldn’t be—your friends are with you) doesn’t mean they have to feel down with you.

setting your glass down on the table, you wondered if you would've felt better if you were with someone closer to your age, but amber had gone home early: she dropped by and hung out for a bit before going home to spend time with her family. your glass is empty now. you feel… envious. you wished you could spend this christmas season with your family. it’s not fair. it’s not fair.

your favonian family, and yet you were out of place.

you excused yourself early from the gathering, the other members politely bidding you farewell and a merry christmas (« frohe weichnachten! »), and quickly went up the path leading to the order’s headquarters, wanting to hide away in your room as soon as possible.

now, you stop before the lavish tree: it’s as grand and brilliant as it’s always been. but now it seems much too bright. the colours an eyesore. singing sounds more like knives being dug into your eardrums.

your head hurts.

a humourless chuckle escaped you. you used to take turns with your sibling on who got to slot in the christmas topper.

this year was their turn.

back then, your sibling made a point to hang gingerbread treats on the tree, and you made a point to eat them behind their back come christmas morning.

normally, you’d be sharing gifts with your sibling during this time of the year.

your entire life they’ve always been there by your side, and you by theirs. for better or for worse, you kept each other company. you’ve always spent christmas with them.

this was your first christmas without.

the rest of your thoughts are jumbled, incoherent. something your long term memory didn’t deem worthy of keeping, so they simply fizzled away. everything was a blur as your feet carried you outside the city, away from… it doesn't matter. just away. carried you away. happiest time of the year. but you’re here alone, with no one you know and to call home in a world you don’t recognise. far away from the land you once knew.

panting, you stopped in your tracks when you realised you’ve started sprinting. what were you doing, you chastised yourself. can’t you act a little more mature? finally lifting your gaze, you took in your surroundings; instinctively your feet must’ve taken you to wolvendom. you kicked a stray pebble under your boot. not like that afterthought was going to help much. it’s not like anyone was waiting for you here either, razor was probably with his lupical. hunting or snoozing away.

with little care, you let out an exasperated sigh as you let yourself plop ungracefully to the ground, listless.

you sit there in silence, nothing to accompany you except for the cacophonous ringing of crickets in the forest. you drew your knees closer to you. what were you doing here? it’s cold. you hear thistle crack, and so you defensively draw your sword as you rose to your feet, only to be met with a familiar mop of fluffy silver hair.

« it’s night. dangerous here. »

was his curt greeting. you lowered your sword, shoulders relaxing.

you opened your mouth, ready to apologise, make up some sort of excuse, let him know you’re leaving, when something else caught your eye: « you kept the scarf? »

he blinked. once, twice: « you gave it to me. he said, very matter-of-factly. you are my lupical. it is… treasure… razor paused, correcting himself. treasured, possession. »

having realised that the intruder was not dangerous, the wolf boy came closer and gently pressed his forehead against yours and nuzzled your face. a small laugh escaped you as you returned the affectionate gesture, something you’ve learned was his customary greeting. it was cold out, but his touch was enough to bring feeling back to your cold self and make you warm and fuzzy inside.

still resting your head on his, you asked, timidly: « is it ok if i stay here for a bit? » it came out as a whisper, unsure if you’re any better staying here rather than back in the city. but as he nodded in agreement, your shoulders loosened as you let go of tension you weren’t aware you were building up again. you slumped into him, burying your face into him and held him in a loose hug. razor, as for him, let himself be snuggled to your heart’s content, happy to receive such fondness.

« today is special day, isn’t it? » his blood-red eyes peered inquisitively back at you, arms wrapping around you as he tries to remain as close to you as physically possible.

« mhm. » you mumbled non-commitally into his shoulder, opting to pull yourself closer to him and nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

« not go celebrate in city? » razor asked, perplexed. he thought that you said this was a big celebration to be had around other people? despite his bemusement, he rested his chin on the top of your head. it makes him all warm and soft inside, the thought of you choosing to spend this special day with him of all people. it makes him happy. he hopes you’re happy too. the wold boy gives you a once-over and his brows creased in slight worry: you’re really quiet today. why?

« uh-uh. » you grunted, shaking your head against his shoulder, your hair brushing against his clothes. the chunky scarf you gave him, the one you were convinced he was going to throw out due to its garish colours, tickled your exposed skin. he kept it. you smiled, touched. he kept it. it still smelled faintly of fabric softener, but marked by the smell of pine trees and something sweet, something you associated with brewing thunderstorms. you’ve always found rain and thunder to be comforting.

being with razor comforts you.

he wasn’t much of a talker. you both knew this. silence is ok though. he’s happy to be with you. but razor wonders why you’re so quiet today. concern flashes through his mind and he turns your gaze upwards, making you face him. you can’t possibly imagine what pathetic expression you were pulling and you quickly try to cover your despondence—but it was a fruitless venture.

« you smell sad. he watched you, a worried look on his face. »

you scrambled for some explanation, reassuring him that it’s nothing. that you’re not being a downer. that you’re happy. but he’s decided: « wait here. »

knowing that there was no restraining him once he’s made up his mind, especially when it’s something to do with the ones he considered close to him, you reluctantly let razor peel you off of him. as you watch him scurry away, you find yourself dearly missing his warmth, the comfort and safety of his arms. was staying here a good idea? you wrapped your arms around yourself. maybe you should leave. you’re ruining the mood. you’re disturbing wolvendom’s peace. before you could finish that line of thought, the wolf boy returned, this time carrying a handful of… something with him.

they threatened to tumble out of his grasp, but ultimately stayed put as he returned to his original position and held them out into your general direction, showcasing whatever he had procured. in his hands were multiple plants which bore small scarlet berries and oval, evergreen leaves. a plant you immediately recognised.

« i remember… purple mentor say ‘mistletoe’ a big part of weihnachten. »

you looked at the plant in slight bewilderment, not quite sure what to make of this offering. it was cute.

« oh. »

razor stares expectantly at you as you watch him make no further attempt to move. you can’t help the laugh that escapes you, the banality of everything setting into your mind. or maybe you’re getting sleepy. you wonder: « do you know why, razor? »

he blinked, clueless, before looking at the mistletoes in his hand with confusion, coming to the realisation that no, he didn’t actually know why it’s so important. it’s not edible. maybe because it’s pretty? the city has many red lights and white lights. some mistletoes are red and others are white?

he continues to stare at the berry, as if it would cave in and reveal its secrets to him if he sustained his efforts. taking his prolonged silence as his answer (though you had expected for him to not actually know—knowing lisa, she would’ve just offhandedly mentioned them. and when razor would’ve asked her about what they meant, she’d just smile without answering him), you filled him in, your voice filled with mirth: « people usually kiss underneath mistletoes. »

he turned his gaze back to you before voicing the conclusion he had come to: « this mean, i have to kiss you? »

you chuckled. « only if you want to. »

he looks at the plant, giving it a long hard look, then back at you.

it wasn’t much, it wasn’t spectacular. hell, it was more of a ghost of a kiss than anything. but you still smiled as his lips brushed on yours. a peck, which lasted too long yet not long enough. awkward, but endearing. your textbook first kiss, including the warm fluttery feeling of butterflies that so often preached about, if only a little more clumsy.

it’s cute.

he’s so genuine, earnest, in his endeavours. it makes your heart soar. he’s sweet. you don’t deserve this kindness but he gives them away without a second thought.

you don’t deserve to be happy during christmas, especially not when your sibling was still out there, alone and potentially afraid. maybe, no, it definitely is selfish for you to enjoy this day. pretend like everything is alright just for this one moment. that you’re not some traveler stuck in a strange and unknown world, that you’re not desperately trying to find your sibling and a way out. act carefree, and get to be you. but goddammit does he make you so so happy that your heart clenches and that you can’t help but smile from ear to ear. you deserve to be miserable today; you feel like shit, really. but you’re also really happy, and glad, and relieved, and maybe a little tired.

it’s all too much, and you feel so much at once that you just don’t know how to handle this anymore. overwhelmed. you smiled and laughed giddily as the waterworks started (despite your best efforts), and you’re a mess, and definitely a bit sleepy, but you’re stupidly happy today. stupidly happy because of him.

this alarmed the boy, watching you laugh between hiccups, sobbing despite wearing a large smile. for humans, tears are sad. smiles are happy. were you ok? he’s confused. did he do something wrong?

« why crying? » he fretted, slightly panicked. he jumped to fuss over you, wipe away your tears, gently cradling your face with a gentleness that you would’ve never thought he was capable of when you first met.

you laughed as you wiped your face. « these are happy tears. » you try to explain.

he’s your home. your lupical. someone you’re at rest with, and safe with. you love him.

your words get caught in your throat, unable to express everything you want to tell him. so instead, you engulf him in a hug. something he was caught off guard from, stiffening, but quickly relaxed and embraced you back. still a little unsure, he comforts and reassures you the only way he knows how: patting your head. when he’s down head pats makes him feel better. he hopes you’ll feel better.

« thank you. » you said softly, shakily, sniffling. thank you for being here. thank you for being you.

you’re not as alone as you thought, you never really were. together, in your own small corner of the world. your home: razor.

as you cuddled together, passing the time by naming and pointing at the celestial canvas above you, you realised: maybe this year, as unfortunate as it had been, didn’t have to end on a bad note. at some point, razor had shared his ridiculously large scarf with you, wrapping it around the both of you. and slowly, your words slowed, your breaths evened out. you pressed more of your weight against him as you felt your eyes droop. you’re safe. you’re with razor. you’ll fall asleep, and when you wake up he’ll be there. as drowsiness takes you over, you think to yourself ‘yeah, i’m happy.’

you’re happy here. in this one time, one place, with razor, you’re happy.

and you hope that wherever they are, your sibling is happy too. and that they’ll forgive you for being selfish, for being happy despite everything.

you hoped that your mirror image had someone to spend christmas with.

somewhere—someone they felt at rest with.

LIKE MY WORK? CONSIDER BUYING ME A COFFEE // CHECKING OUT MY MASTERLIST | LINKS CAN BE FOUND ON MY DESC

[unabashegirl]

“Wear something noticeable”(II)

Author’s note: HELLO EVERYBODY! I hope you all have a wonderful day! I know this is long overdue! I read all your request asking for the second part.

If you have read the first part then STOP 🛑. Click on my masterlist, scroll all the way down and check out the first part! (or just click here)

I also remind you that the REQUESTS ARE OPEN for all of your HARRY concepts, imagines, fanfics! Just let me know!

Enjoy! 💛💕

———-

masterlist

WORD COUNT: 3.2K

————

The task was easier said than done. She stayed up hours, rummaging through her closet looking for the perfect outfit. She tried on every single outfit and pretended to dance in front of the mirror just to get a notion of what she could potentially look like. At some point, she even managed to tear up, sitting on a pile of clothes that she classified as too basic. At some point, she considered calling Harry and canceling. She cursed at the day she stopped shopping in abundance and keeping tabs on the latest trends. Eventually, the closet ran out of choices for her. She had to make an executive decision with what she had laid out in the bed.

At seven o'clock, a black suburban showed up at the front of her apartment complex. She felt eager and very nervous. It was her first proper concert. She had gone to see the Jonas Brothers when she was younger, but she could hardly remember it. Plus, it's not the type of concert that you gloat to your friends. Y/N had also never attended a concert on her own. On top of everything, she didn't know anyone aside from Harry. Nonetheless, he was a sufficient reason for her to attend. She enjoyed every passing second by his side. Harry made her forget her fears and the hardships of life with a single look and simple conversations.

The arena was smaller than she foresaw. As soon as the car pulled outside the back entrance, she was able to hear the boisterous cheers from his fans.

”Welcome” A woman a bit older than her greeted her. Aside from the big smile, she wore a headpiece attached to the back of her ear. ”Y/N, right?”. She responded by giving her a small nod. She felt intimidated by the multitude of people around them. ”I am Alice. I am at your service. Whatever you need — just let me know”. By the time that Alice started leading the way into the arena, the car that had brought her had driven away.

They quietly walked down a wide, grey hallway with the black boxes of equipment piled on the sides. Every step they took made the volume of the cheers more intense. She was glad that she had opted to wear sneakers. Who could stand in a crowded room with heels on for almost three hours? — an actual masochist.

It took them a few seconds until they finally came across two double doors. It was behind the doors where most people hung around. Y/N kept her head down and ignored that evident gazes from others. Alice led the way into a smaller room with a more cozy atmosphere. The room was carpeted but had a smaller, printed one over it. A coffee table was placed on with several, crinkled bottles scattered over it. It reminded her of her nightstand at home and how she needed to clear it out before inviting someone in.

”Harry will come back in a few” Y/N smiled at Alice and once again she nodded. ”please help yourself to any drinks or snacks on the table,” She said pointing to a large table at the end of the room covered with them.

”Thank you, Alice. You are really kind” Y/N finally said before she was left on her own. She was relieved that she would get to see Harry before the show started. Seeing him had the potential to make her anxiety and nervousness come to an end. She just needed a few seconds with him, maybe a hug too, even a kiss if she was lucky.

She walked around the room and came to halt when she came across a rack of clothes. She wasn't oblivious to Harry’s notorious good sense of fashion. It was actually the reason why she was so nervous when she chose her outfit. He made his daily life a runway show. He served looks.

Y/N reached out to run her fingers over the fabrics but stopped herself before she could. Her hands suddenly felt dirty and not worthy of touching the expensive material. She stared at them for a few minutes before taking a water bottle and settling down on the edge of the couch. A few minutes passed by and her social media wasn’t enough to keep her entertained for so long. Every time someone walked passed or heard a loud voice, she would sit up straight and block her phone. She only stopped looking at the door when her social media scrolling came to an abrupt halt by an incoming phone call.

”Hello” His rough, heavy voice was enough to put a smile on her face instantly. ”I hope they are treating you right” Harry stared out of the window of the car, on his way to the arena. His previous commitment had taken longer than expected. He was late for the show.

”They are. Alice is wonderful” Y/N kept smiling. She was infatuated with him. It all seemed so silly to her, but it felt right. Harry also kept smiling, hiding his happiness from the rest of the crew in the car.

None of them said a word; they just listened to each other's breathing.

”It's all a bit intimidating — isn't it?” Harry addressed the elephant in the room. He knew she probably had a million questions about his life under the spotlight and his work.

”It’s just hectic,” She answered truthfully. Y/N had observed multiple people running pass the dressing room a million times in the last half an hour.

”I’ll answer all your questions after the show, ” He wanted transparency before everything. He was tired of keeping his significant others in the dark with the fear that they wouldn't be able to handle the baggage that came with dating him.

”After the show? I am not going to get to see you before?” Harry could sense her small frown from miles away.

”My radio appearance took longer than expected. I had every intention of seeing you, ” Harry revealed. Last night’s kiss hadn't been enough for him. Most of the night, he rolled around in bed, replaying the events in his mind. He couldn't get over the way her lips tasted or the tingling that she left on his. He craved her. ”what are you wearing?”

”That is highly inappropriate, Styles, ” Her cheeks turned crimson red as she bit down the inside of her cheek attempting to prevent a smirk from forming.

”Just for me to know what to look out for” Harry felt nervous. He had a respectable experience with performing for millions of people. It was Y/N presence that made everything much different.

”I am not giving anything away, ” She wanted him to look for her.

”that’s unfair, ” He states. Harry’s initial intention was to keep an eye on her all night. He wanted to see her unravel and let go.”I guess I'll just have to look hard enough, ” However, he enjoyed the chase. It made the concert even more entertaining.

”I guess so, ” Just as she said that Alice marched her way into the room; interrupting the intimate conversation between the couple. ”Alice is in here,” She tells him.

”That’s my queue to hang up” Alice was there to take Y/N to the front of the stage. ”Tell her that I’ll be there in 3,” He was just pulling up to the front of the arena. ”I'll see you out there, ”

” Okay” She smiled as she rose to her feet and slowly walked to his assistant. They said quick goodbyes and hung up. It was showtime.

---

Noisy was an understatement of what the cheers for him were when he walked out with all his pride. Y/N strategically placed herself slightly left to where his mic stood. She was within the ten first rows in between a group of girls, younger than her. They even had a small heart attack when he first stepped out.

Y/N was delighted that she had declined Alice's offer to stay within the VIP area. She would have missed the incredible euphoria that the crowd provided. Everyone danced and sang with the stranger beside them. His music and presence were enough to break the distrust that one stranger felt toward the other. They all felt like a big family for three whole hours.

Y/N was more than mesmerized by the energy that the beautiful man on stage brought to every single song. He was confident, fearless, and funny on stage. The tone of his voice was enough to make a shiver run down her spine and for her skin to cover with goosebumps in a matter of seconds. She was captivated by him.

“How are you?” He smiles as he reaches over for a guitar. The crowd roared for him as he strapped it over his shoulders and refreshed himself with a water bottle. “I hope yeh like the next song” It's the last thing that he said before To Be So Lonely started to get played.

While everyone in the area was captivated by his voice, he was too distracted by searching for her. His eyes first scanned the front of the stage. There were a few times he had to do double-takes before he moved on to the left side.

A soft light shined over the crowd, illuminating the faces of the first few rows; and that's when he spotted her. It didn't take him much time to find her. Her beauty singled her out of the bunch. Their eyes connected as a smile grew on his face. He felt instant relief knowing that she was safe and wasn't getting trampled by the other fans. Alice had let him know about the change of plans. She was kinda embarrassed and disappointed that she hadn't been able to convince her. Her stubbornness made him like her even more. She was the cause behind the big smile that he wore at the beginning of the concert. As he watched her from the stage, he didn't regret changing the setlist at the last minute. Playing a relatively slow song had allowed him to find her quicker.

There wasn't much any of them could say with words to the other, but their eyes and smiles spoke millions. Harry couldn't stop smiling and chuckling as she gave him thumbs up from the crowd. Mitch — who stood close by couldn't ignore their intimate interaction among the chaos. It was cute.

After finding her, he was able to fully enjoy the concert to its maximum capacity. That is not to say that he didn't try to impress her with her voice or terrible jokes. Watermelon Sugar was the closing track for the night. Harry tried his best to join the fun, but it was difficult to pay attention to something else than her.

Y/N danced around with her arms in the air, raised above her, and her hair flying everywhere. She had even danced with the other young woman beside her. It was always refreshing to see someone enjoying the music rather than trying to get a picture or a video of him. He even caught her at one point singing along. He was rather surprised that she had taken the time to learn one of his songs.

Before Harry sang the last verse of the song, someone gripped Y/N’s forearm. It was Alice— escorting her back to backstage. In order to prevent her from getting lost with the large crowd. Y/N gave Harry a small smile before following Alice back.

She was back in the dressing room when he strode in with all his glory. He was slightly sweaty and the buttons of his shirt popped open, giving her a clear view of his chest tattoos. Harry held a hand towel and a brand new water bottle. She immediately stood up when she saw him.

He basically had to shut the door on everyone’s faces for privacy. He even locked the door before walking towards her. Harry took the time to observe her and take in her appearance without any disruption before he said anything. She wore a suit like his except she had omitted a shirt. It was sage with a low cut jacket, singed at the waist, showing a modest cleavage.

”a suit, huh?” He finally said as he stood before her. His hands ached to touch her. ”very clever” He adds. There was something oddly attractive about a woman wearing a suit and dressing just like him.

” I thought if I wore something similar to what you wear then you would find me quicker” Harry nodded as he leaned down and finally eased his craving.

”You look beautiful” he whispered against her lips as he settled on the couch. He spread out his legs, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

”You looked amazing out there” She sat down close enough to have their thighs touching. ”You were born to do this. The energy out there was insane and your voice is just— wow” Harry’s heart warmed up at her kind words. He reached out and touched the side of her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

”I’ve got to talk to a few people and then we can go,” he usually hung around the arena until everyone left. Mostly because he had nothing to go home to only an empty house. Now with Y/N around, he just wanted to be in the privacy of his own home with her — alone. ” I hope you don't mind”.

”That’s okay. I understand," Y/N leaned towards his touch and placed a soft peck on his hand for reassurance. She wasn't as nervous as before. His kiss and gentle touch had been enough to ease her mind. Harry kissed her delicately and took his time tending her lips. His ringed fingers gripped her hips, pulling her over his lap. Y/N's finger tangled on the hair of the back of his head. Just as she settled comfortably on him, a knock disrupted their makeout session.

"Yeah?" Harry yelled loudly with his eyes closed, he kept his forehead against hers, as they tried to catch their breaths.

"Harry— there are some people that would like to meet you" It was Alice behind the door. She had been making sure that Harry's car was ready for him and that security was holding up when they came looking for her. People were looking for Harry and for the first time, his dressing room door was shut and locked.

"I am coming!" He leaned back, smiling at her red, swollen lips. He cupped her face and pecked her lips. "Where have you been all this time?" Y/N shrugged while smiling, proceeding to get off his lap.

Harry sighed before opening the door. Alice nervously walked into the room, her gaze instant fell on Y/N. She was still awkwardly sitting on the couch, running her fingers through her hair with swollen, fresh kissed lips. Alice quickly connected the dots and felt embarrassed to have interrupted her boss's rendezvous. Alice shyly waved at Y/N from afar before leading the small caravan of people that wanted to see the great Harry Styles.

"Since when do you lock yourself in here? What's goi—" Mitch hits the breaks as soon as he sees Y/N, shyly standing beside the couch. She had quickly fixed her outfit and had made sure that nothing was popping out of her cleavage. "Hi" He smiled walking past Harry with his hand stretched out for her to take.

"Hello" She gently shakes his hand.

"This is Y/N" Harry introduces her to Mitch as he walks around the coffee table towards the drinks.

"Mitch. It's so nice to finally meet you" Harry had told him about her. In Harry's defense, he had to force it out of him after he persisted in changing the setlist.

"You too" Mitch could see that she was more of an introvert than the other girls that Harry had dated. She defiantly was unique, truthful to what Harry had said about her.

Before Harry could say anything else and spark conversation between the girl that he liked so much and basically his best friend, he was pulled by Alice to meet a few celebrities and their children. He kept an eye on Y/N, even though she sat across the room with Mitch and the rest of the band.

He was talking a few pictures when he heard her soft laugh. She was surely having a great time. He felt jealous that he wasn't part of the conversation. He felt jealous that he had to work and couldn't enjoy her company like any other couple would.

Thankfully, he went through the group of people quickly. Eventually only leaving him, Alice, Y/N, and the band in the room.

"Your car is ready whenever you need it, Harry" Alice said before leaving. Her job for the night was over. She could finally leave and get off her feet.

Harry grabbed his blazer that hung on the back of the couch before approaching the small group.

"Pasta is so much better" He heard from Y/N as he walked up.”There are no buts”.

"Ready to go?" Harry interrupted their conversation.

"Pasta or Pizza, Harry?" Mitch asked, trying to put an end to a quick debate that they had tumbled in.

"Pasta without a doubt" Harry didn't think it twice. He could eat it every day and wouldn't have a problem with it. Whenever he visited Italy, that's what composed most of his diet.

"Told you" Y/N stuck her tongue out at Mitch as she stood up.

"He is only saying that because he likes you," Y/N blushed while Harry's hands found their way around her hips. "I hope he brings you back and doesn't keep you only to himself,".

"No promises" Harry rested his chin on top of her head as a smile grew. He was happy that his friends and the people closest to him liked her.

"It was really nice hanging out with all of you tonight. Also, the show was amazing. You did a tremendous great job" Mitch smiled at Harry as he gave her a kiss at the top of her head in response to her sweet comment.

"You are germ, Y/N," Mitch said before turning to Harry. "I'll see you tomorrow?". Harry nodded before he intertwined their fingers and pulled Y/N out of the room.

"Where are we going?" Y/N asked as she buckled herself.

"I am starving. I thought we could get some take out and stay at mine? So, we could talk and watch movies. Would you like that?"

"I would love to" She smiled as Harry leaned in and pecked her lips.

Harry picked up an order from their favorite restaurant, the same where they had first met. They sat on his carpeted, living room floor for hours. They stayed up until the sun came back up — talking about everything including his music. Y/N asked about SHE and what had contributed to the end of their relationship. He answered with all his sincerity and revealed his biggest secrets to her. She had something that made him feel comfortable and safe. He felt like he could be his authentic self. He could be as goofy or as silly as he wanted and he knew that she wouldn't leave or turn his back on him. Harry just knew that this relationship was going to last long. So it did. He never let go.

——

SEND YOUR REQUESTS!

[lover-of-trash-and-people]

shadow and bone rewatch s1e6 while drinking mid-range scotch

I wish I have a face that is as unlined and pretty as Ben Barnes' when I'm 39

Arken you dirty dirty liar

the face Alek is making at his lies that he knows are lies firstly because he knows the art of lying so well and also because he can read people very well

okay Ivan is kind of a bad bitch with his smirk at Arken's lies

alek's eyes narrowing and his little smile when Arken says 'im an entertainer' bitch I love this show

*grabs hand, pulls up sleeve, and discovers Arken's hand is full of marks indicating successful passages through the fold* 'well, that is certainly entertaining' I love this man with all my heart

him screaming is so fucking hot, is that weird for me to say

Nina being the Darkling's spy is quite interesting

Ben giving the Darkling crazy eyes when Arken owns up to his guilt is so cool

also wtf is Arken a fool trying to negotiate with possibly the strongest man in the world

kind of loved the darkness literally eating him

also love Alina learning to use her powers better when she is alone than when she is with anyone else, wish we got to see the cut in this season as per the books, ah can't have everything I guess

the camera pan to Jesper's gun at his side, amazing

god Jessie is literally so beautiful I need to see her bring Alina to the peak of her power so bad

netflix you better renew this series to let the plot run to its completion

HOW THE FUCK DID THEY CAST THE CROWS SO PERFECTLY

INEJ FUCKING TREMBLING JUST THE TINIEST BIT AS SHE BOWS SLIGHTLY TO ALINA SGSHSBSJJSJSSJ MY TWO QUEENS

'And where is my Summoner?' my little Darklina heart ouchie I really wish you hadn't used and manipulated her like this Alek it was incredibly fucked up especially considering you actually caught feelings

'Ivan and I won't fail you' oh Fedyor my baby, my angel, you don't deserve what is coming

Helnik literally recreating Titanic lmao stop this is a joke

I too would jump off the raft if I came to consciousness to see a gorgeous woman with magical powers with her hand on my back

omg but why is ryevost so pretty though

'I know exactly how she felt. The King's soldiers treated me the same way... I'm not myself today.' why must you do this to me, why must you fuel my darklina soulmates agenda idiocy

I don't quite think I have a problem with the Zoya Darkling relationship as much as I have a problem with the line they chose to reveal it to use with.

my drink's over and I don't know if I should have another, considering that it's 7 am

the tenderness with which he looks at Zoya and takes her hand and then when he says 'I shall relax when I have Alina' makes me believe more that the man that is reduced to tears time and again in front of Alina could in fact be the master manipulator I know him to be

god I can't wait for Zoya's character arc

'I speak six languages, it's part of my job' why is Nina literally the fucking coolest

Alina blinding the oprichniki was so hot, I can't wait to see more of her power and her ruthlessness

I know I've said it before but good god is Jessie Mei Li gorgeous

HER LITTLE SMILE AMONGST ALL THE PANIC AS SOON AS SHE SEES MAL, THE AUDACITY OF THIS SHOW TO MAKE ME FEEL THIS WAY

THE SCORE COMING IN AT THE RIGHT MOMENT, THEIR HANDS MEETING, HER SMILE AGAIN DHDHSBSNSNSNSNAN IM IN PAIN

REALLY?! YOU'RE GONNA GO DIRECTLY FROM MALINA TO HELNIK WITH NO CONCERN FOR MY HEART?

I simply cannot get over Calahan's accent lmao it's really funny

'im not afraid of you' he says to the insanely gorgeous girl with magic

HIM HANGING HIS HEAD IN DEFEAT TO INDICATE NINA HAS MADE VALID POINTS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND I CAN'T BREATHE

'You're just a man. Like all the others.' she says and then forgets her train of thought looking at him as he strips. god I love this

not sleeping all night and then scotch is not a good idea, I think

'I promise not to ravish you' 'I hate the way you talk' her hand on his chest, his hand gripping hers, my fucking heart feels like it's about to explode

good god these shooting locations and sets are so beautiful

Alina throwing the flask at Mal and Mal going 'OI!' I fucking can't, I guess I am a

simp for childhood friends to lovers, give me more of that banter and childhood friend energy, I am thriving

wow it literally seems like they took book! Mal sl*tshaming book! Alina and made show! Alina sl*tshame show! Mal, hmm, interesting

'They would have split us up!' MAL'S LITTLE SMILE AT THIS, and the 'You wrote me letters?' Mal's nod, the Malina yearning stare, the Malina hug, 'thank you for finding me' 'always. I'll always find you.' NO MALINA YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND YOU HAVE MADE ME ABSOLUTELY FUCKING FERAL

I understand they had to split time between my ravkan babies and the crows and that is why there were several aspects that were sort of not reflected on enough but Alina's training at the Little Palace, Alina's cut, Mal's personality, a teensy bit of backstory for the crows, maybe one lockpicking scene from my boy Kaz

random note: we have far too many idols and paintings and pictures and whatnot of Hindu deities in our house apart from the specially designed temple (we are Hindus, so maybe it's not that weird but it's a little weird)

Kaz's cane is a literal star, it's so beautiful my heart wants to explode

'Why would Heleen get the Crow Club?' *literally fucking gets up and walks aways instead of answering the fucking question* I LITERALLY CAN'T BREATHE I'M LOSING MY MIND

'I know that voice' WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO MAKE ME FIGHT FOR PLATONIC SHIPS IN FANDOMS

'We won't starve' omg get you someone who packs food for you when you go on the run together hiding from your ex who wants to capture you and use your powers as a weapon against your consent

Mal looking surprised at her summoning sunlight, Alina looking cautiously at him waiting for him to disapprove or run for the hills in fear or smth like that, 'I'm sorry it took me this long to see you... But I see you now' my dumb little shipper trash heart ouch

they really said we're gonna feed you this part asian couple as the protagonists in this show in 2021 and guess what I'm eating it's really tasty I'm very satisfied as a south asian

NINA'S LITTLE SMILE WHEN MATTHIAS WAKES UP WITH HIS ARM AROUND HER

'I can feel how much you hate sleeping next to me' 👀👀👀 BITCH SAID IMMA SPILL THE TEA AND THEN SHE DID

it's 8 am and guess what I'm getting another drink my parents have c*vid and are in govt qu*r*ntine centres there is nobody to supervise or stop me

I too say 'Why do you have to say things like that?' to my pretty crush when she flirts with me

Nina smiling at Matthias bragging about his conservative ways is my aesthetic

'No, it's not natural for someone to be as stupid as he is tall and yet, oh, there you stand.' MY FUCKING QUEEN

Matthias laughing uncontrollably at Nina saying something which isn't even that funny is a whole ass vibe

Kaz Brekker saying 'The Black General' ooh fuck yeah

YESSSS STEP OUT OF THAT CARRIAGE ALL SEXY BLACK GENERAL

isn't alcohol supposed to like kill germs? well, the amount in my system definitely will

I love my crows so much (always but this time particularly for setting that alarm in the stolen carriage)

ooh Polina recognising Inej by the knife yesss let's go writers

this Ivan Jesper showdown is all I needed from life and yet did not know about

Ivan taking off his cloak was, um, sexier than I wanted it to be

I just realised how thirsty I am going to sound in this post

'Has no one told you that keftas are Fabrikator-made and resistant to bullets, hmm?' 'Oh, I do love a challenge' LITERALLY EVERYTHING

im sorry to be pointing out flaws in a perfect show and adaptation but the line delivery on 'You robbed me of my brother, now I'll rob you of your life' from Polina was kind of weak

'You're a-' *gets knocked out with the back of a gun* LMAO we love the hints

got excited at the prospect of kaz v. zoya until I realised they will not be letting the opportunity of kaz v. darkling pass up

my goodness is Amita Suman a splendid actress

I AM NOT KIDDING WHEN I TELL YOU I SQUEALED WHEN I SAW DARKLES EMERGE OUT OF THE SHADOWS IN FRONT OF MY BABY BOY KAZ

THERE BEING ACTUAL FEAR OR ATLEAST DOUBT ON KAZ'S FACE, THE LITTLE BACK STEPS AS

THE DARKLING WALKS TOWARDS HIM, AAAAH I CAN'T

THE DARKLING STOPPING AT KAZ SAYING 'SHE FLED ON HER OWN' AND THE HINT OF TEARS THAT WE SEE IN HIS EYES

'IT WAS PRETTY CLEAR SHE WASN'T INTERESTED IN BEING A CAPTIVE ANYMORE' YOU TELL HIM, KING

*ACTUAL FUCKING TEARS IN THE DARKLING'S EYES AS THE SHADOWS APPROACH*

NOT ME YOWLING LIKE A HYENA THAT THIS CHILD OUTSMARTED THE MOST POWERFUL MAN IN EXISTENCE WITH A FAKE MAGIC TRICK

'Are you sure you added enough cloves?' literally warranting a wide ass smile from my queen Alina making my entire fucking day

for some reason, no matter how much I push it from my mind, Ben Barnes dressed up as the Darkling, dancing to 'push it' keeps coming to mind, it's absolutely ridiculous

I got somehow distracted with interviews but good things came out of that as it gave my body the time for the booze to kick in

and I would just like to say that I love Leigh for all she has given me

Alina is so fucking compassionate, I have no much love for her. I can feel her guilt and her sorrow as Mal talks of Mikhail and Dubrov

don't particularly like how the stag plotline is woven in, could have been executed better

'You're afraid you might start to like me?' *flaps furs like a bird's wings in frustration*

'I DO like you' my fucking heart you idiots

the sexual tension is so palpable and the moment is so intimate I simply cannot

OMG SHE FUCKING FELL

that moment where you think he might let her fall despite having read the books and he doesn't and he tells her his name I- <3

YOU DARE TRANSITION FROM A HELNIK SCENE TO A KANEJ SCENE YOU REALLY HAVE NO MERCY FOR MY HEART HUH

people have talked about this endlessly but Freddie's little jaw tic after he says Inej because Inej is wounded and he can't physically bring himself to help her I fucking cannot

THE MUSIC PICKING UP AS KAZ LOOKS TO THE DARKLING'S CARRIAGE I CAN'T WITH THIS SHOW ANYMORE

and now for one of my favorite scenes in television and cinematic history, David Kostyk throwing a book at Jesper Fahey without even knowing who he is merely because he opens the door of his carriage and says hello to him before getting knocked out by Kaz Brekker while trying to run away

Immediately followed by another, the scene with David Kostyk raising his finger to put forward his point in front of the Darkling and the Darkling trying to let him know he doesn't have to before obliging is one of my favourite scenes in the world

also sir please stop being devastatingly attractive in your glorious appearance with your face and your black kefta and cloak because all that comes to mind is Ayesha Erotica's Emo Boy and I'm afraid that is terribly inappropriate.

'No, you look great.' *literally looks down from embarrassment or blushing* MALINA RIGHTS?

THE LOOK ON THE DARKLING'S FACE BEFORE HE SAYS 'NO ORDINARY TRACKER, NO ORDINARY GIRL' BITCH IM OUT OF BREATH

'ORPHANS OF KERAMZIN, REUNITED.' 'ADORABLE.' HE FUCKING SNEERED IRL I FUCKING CANNOT

GOD IT'S SO GOOD

[astarryon]

Promise Me

You��ll Always Have Me

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

Chapter Summary: Spencer’s not one for unsolicited physical contact — except, of course, when it comes from you.

A/N: This is a gift more one of my best friends, @johnmulaneyslut​! Congratulations girl, by turning me into a Reid stan you’ve officially guaranteed yourself a whole lot of fluff in the near future, and THAT’S on the season 9 haircut.

Masterlist

Spencer doesn’t like the way lies taste in his mouth.

He knows there’s no logical reason for it. Lies are only constructs of the human understanding of deception, after all. They aren’t tangible, they aren’t edible, and they certainly aren’t accompanied by the acidic tang characteristic of citrus, yet even still he’s never been able to tell one without the bitter taste of lemon blooming across the tip of his tongue.

So he tries not to tell them very often. Not to unsubs, though it had been unavoidable during this last case and the mental gymnastics he’d had to perform to keep the guy from unloading a gun full of bullets into a slew of innocent bystanders — including one of his fellow agents. Not to Hotch, or Morgan, or any of the rest of the team, not since he’d gotten clean and stayed that way. And not to you, despite the fact that he’d wanted to tell you he wasn’t even a little bit tired when you’d sat next to him on the jet and encouraged him to try and get some sleep.

He’s still getting used to having you around — or, more accurately, you’re still acclimating to being around him. You haven’t rolled your eyes in irritation at his rambling yet, or poked fun at his habit of volunteering fun facts that may or may not be only somewhat related to the original topic of conversation. It’s hard to wrap his mind around, especially when you respond to his tangents with wide, curious eyes and genuine smiles, or even the occasional enthusiastic chime of your voice when you have something to add yourself. You haven’t yet fixed him with a pointed look implying that you wished he would learn to take a hint and stop talking.

Most notable, Spencer thinks, is that you haven’t made him feel other. He’s been waiting for it to happen. It always does with new agents, like Prentiss, before they’d gotten to know each other very well, and then Seaver, who he never quite figured out how to talk to. But things are different with you. Easier. Which is why falling asleep sitting next to you on the jet came natural as breathing, even though he knew he’d catch flack from Morgan about it once you weren’t around to hear the teasing.

It’s your voice that brings him to, your soft, honeyed tones a gentle encouragement toward consciousness. You’re humming some achingly sweet melody beneath your breath, and the way the notes carry through the silence of the cabin, underscored by Morgan’s light snores nearby, tells him that everyone else is fast asleep. It nearly breaks his heart when you fall silent at his sudden stirring.

“Spence?” you murmur, prodding at his shoulder with your palm. He doesn’t remember falling asleep laying in your lap — he’s never done it before, or asked to, or been invited to — but the way your voice hits his ears and your words fan his cheek mean he must have. “Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t know what makes him stay silent. The warmth of your palm leeching through his shirt, maybe, or the way that the scent of your perfume lulls his breaths into a slow, deep rhythm to catch more and more of it. It might have something to do with the way his name floats off your tongue, making him feel those things in his stomach that are way too intense for anyone who claims to be a casual friend. Spencer can’t really say one way or the other. All he knows is that he’s... not quite ready to break the moment.

So he doesn’t.

“You look so calm when you sleep,” he hears you breathe, an odd note of fondness he’s never noticed before lining the edges of your words. He’s so distracted trying to figure out the reasoning for its sudden appearance that his body almost forgets to process the feeling of your warm fingers carding through his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp. “What’s going on in that head of yours right now?”

Symphonies. Nonstop bursts of fireworks, so loud and jarring he can barely make out your words over the cacophony drumming through his skull. His own heartbeat magnified twenty times louder than is normal, harmonizing with the beat of yours, which he can hear from where his ear presses against the lower edge of your sternum. Maybe that’s why he can’t taste the lie of pretending to be asleep — his senses are already too overloaded to register much of anything else.

“You’re really pretty, you know,” you laugh quietly as the pads of your fingers gently skim across his forehead. He wants to open his mouth to repay the compliment — it’s only right, he thinks, especially considering you’re much prettier than he could ever be (not that you would ever let him tell you that) — but doing that would mean sacrificing the feeling of your hands in his hair, and he’s not really sure when he’ll ever get the chance to feel that again. “But I’m sure all the girls tell you that.”

They don’t, actually. The only person who tells him he’s pretty on a regular basis is Morgan, and even then, Spencer’s pretty sure it’s just to get under his skin in the teasing fashion of an older brother. His mother’s called him handsome before — or, rather, she’s mentioned how handsome he would be if he’d ever get a proper haircut. But no one’s ever just... meant it. Not the way it seems like you do right now, with your hands rhythmically running through his curls, nails dancing lightly at the nape of his neck. He can’t pay too much attention to the way it makes his stomach flip — he’ll shiver if he’s not careful, and then the ruse will be up — but he files it away to pore over in his privacy later on in the night, just like he files away the curiosity that comes when he thinks about why you’re whispering to him while under the impression that he isn’t awake to know the difference.

“I know you’ve been going through a tough time lately,” you tell him. It’s ridiculous that he’s entranced, captivated, hanging on your every word, but he is. He is. And laying here, with his head in your lap, he’s not particularly sure he minds. “But you know I’m here for you, don’t you? You’ll always have me. If you need someone to talk to, or someone to distract you, or... I don’t even know, if you just want someone to sit next to in complete silence. I’ll be that person for you.”

He can’t understand why you’re saying this to him now, while you think he’s unconscious and dreaming. He admits he’s been touchy lately. It’s getting close to the anniversary of everything that happened with Maeve, and though it’s been two years now, he still has issues coping with those events, or even talking about how they’d made him feel in the aftermath. It’s hard. He doesn’t want to forget her — even if he did, he knows he’d never be able to figure out how — but he also knows he can’t always become a haunted shell of himself for four to six weeks every year. It’s not conducive to productivity, and it’s certainly not conducive to keeping his coworkers from worrying after him.

On the other hand… there’s no way that the thoughts you inspire are especially conducive to productivity, either. He’s caught himself staring across desks in the bullpen much too long for subtlety, offering little waves and funny faces every time you catch him, each one in the hopes of making you smile. His face betrays his eagerness each time Hotch pairs the two of you together on cases, which, lately, seems to be more often than not. He’s started bringing you coffee most mornings, except for those ones where you text him hours before he even wakes up — he can’t tell whether you’re an early riser or a chronic insomniac — with a Morning, Sunshine! Sweet treats on me ;) and Spencer doesn’t know what it is about the winky face, but it’s stuck around in his mind for weeks now and it doesn’t appear to be in danger of going anywhere any time soon. It’s all of these things and so many more that have his mind racing, swirling with thoughts of you and whether what he ponders while he lies awake at night is in breach of the sweet little slow dance the two of you have been doing since you joined the team after Emily left.

Something warm and soft presses to his forehead, then. The sensation is so foreign that it actually takes a full five seconds before he realizes that the only possible explanation is that you’ve just kissed him.

“I love you, Spencer,” you whisper gently against his skin. “I just… I hope you know I love you.”

You go back to carding your fingers through his hair, then, without so much as another word. Resisting the urge to protest is difficult — your voice has fast become Spencer’s favorite sound and you’ve spoiled him to the point of entitlement in the last five minutes. He wants to hear you say his name again, if only to play it on a loop in his mind until the next occurrence. He isn’t above making the request, either, but that requires revealing that he’s been listening to your heartfelt prattling and he doesn’t want you to think he’s the type to eavesdrop, despite the fact you’d been speaking to him in the first place. But then you start humming again, some cordial tune he can’t put his finger on, and Spencer is mercifully spared from having to decide whether or not he should betray himself.

And as he lets himself drift back into sleep, the feel of your hands in his hair and the warm, quiet tones of your voice lulling him peacefully along… Spencer realizes.

—

Chapter Two: Red is a Wondrous Color

[scraregenrecs]

Rec Roundup - May 2021

Hello friends! It’s June! (i know, i know, wtf, right?) Which means that we have a nice long list of fics from May that we know you all will love. There’s a little bit of everything. Everyone can find something they enjoy on this smorgasbord of rare ships and gen!

So, look through the list and buckle in for some AMAZING fic!

--

Aeration by @middyblue, Alexis & David, rated T, 4495 words

Summary: Isn’t her whole life proof that she can handle it? However shitty life gets, she puts one heel in front of the other and keeps walking, keeps going to the next adventure, the next thrill, because it’s when you stop that it catches up to you; it’s when you stop and there’s no one there that you start disappearing.

The night before she leaves Schitt's Creek, Alexis gets a text from Sebastien.

Rec [written by doingthemost]: This is a stunning fic that takes an unflinching look at the people that Alexis and David used to be, and the people they've become. I haven't read an Alexis character study that touched me quite so deeply. Check the tags!

and i’ve known you for a long time by @hullomoon, Stevie/Twyla, rated Gen, 574 words

Summary: While moving in together, Twyla discovers something from their childhood

Rec [written by samwhambam]: I love this little fic for multiple reasons! Stevie! Twyla! MOVING IN TOGETHER! REDISCOVERING SHARED MEMORIES. I love it all. Give it to me. It’s a sweet little slice of life and hullomoon killed it. Again. Per usual.

Every Night Has Its Dawn by @lilythesilly, Stevie/Ruth, rated G, 633 words

Summary: Everytime Ruth takes her to a new place, whether it’s a karaoke bar or a concert in the park or a cheesy tourist trap, or to try her favorite foods (sushi is so far a yes, the bistec Ruth made in her kitchen this afternoon is so far a yes, kimchi is so far a no) she watches Stevie with a bright smile, like she’s anticipating whatever her reaction is, good or bad.

Stevie never wants to stop chasing that smile. She’ll follow Ruth to a million different places in a million different cities if it means she gets to see that smile over and over again.

--

Ruth + Stevie + Karaoke

Rec [written by doingthemost]: This is so pitch perfect, I could see it easily unfolding on my screen. I love the way you instantly get to understand the dynamics of their relationship through Stevie's amusing POV. This is a must-read for anyone curious about the ship!

The Future Is This Moment by floosilver8, Jake/David, rated E, 1774 words

Summary: Mostly canon compliant, David's POV for just before the cold open of S03E01 Opening Night

Rec [written by yourbuttervoicedbeau]: I’m such a sucker for David/Jake and this is super hot! I also love the tense shift at the end there.

High and Warm by lonelygrocerystore, Stevie/Twyla, rated T, 567 words

Summary: A (very stoned) Stevie and Twyla share a moment at Mutt's barn party and Stevie has feelings.

Rec [written by samwhambam]: Give me ALL the Stevie and Twyla making out while stoned at Mutt’s barm party. It is SUCH an underrated moment in the show. They both looked fantastic and it’s time we all really appreciated it. This fic is a combination of stoned making out and queer feelings and I really enjoyed it. So much. Highly recommend it.

In her brown eyes (the ones she gave to me) by @sarahlevys, Stevie/Ruth, rated G, 600 words

Summary: "I'm dating someone. Her name is Stevie."

Her mother tsks under her breath. "Stevie, ha? Sounds like a boy's name."

A laugh escapes Ruth despite her nerves. "Well – yes. I guess so."

Ruth tells her mother about her new relationship.

Rec [written by samwhambam]: This fic gave me mom feels. 😂 I read this and was really rooting for Ruth and I was so happy that her mom was receptive to meeting Stevie. It really breathes life into a character that we got limited screen time from. It’s a nice little treat!

Let’s all be with us by [orphaned account], Stevie/Albany/Jake, rated M, 1556 words

Summary: Jake and Stevie are at Café Tropical for their weekly milkshake the night of Jocelyn's baby sprinkle. After Albany overhears Klair saying breaking news: we still fucking hate her in regards to her at The Wobbly Elm, she flees back to where they'd indulged in lunch earlier that day, meeting the two of them in the process.

Rec [written by yourbuttervoicedbeau]: The thing I love most about fanfic is when I read something that makes me consider a character in a new way — or, honestly, makes me consider them full stop, which is something I’ve never really done with Albany. But this fic fleshes her out and gives her a damn good day.

my dress on the floor by @5ambreakdown, Stevie/Twyla, rated T, 4332 words

Summary: David smiles and squeezes his hand. “You’re cute.”

Before Patrick can respond any sort of way to that, he hears the door open behind them and turns to see Stevie enter, her eyes widening and mouth opening slightly. He hears her whisper, “Oh shit,” as she takes in Twyla behind the counter.

Huh.

----

are stevie and twyla together? will patrick ever understand fashion? did i just vomit a bunch of words onto the page and didn't double check to make sure it was coherent? all these and more just might be answered!

Rec [written by samwhambam]: This is such a fun fic!! It’s told from Patrick’s POV as he slowly starts to notice some uhhhhh things between Stevie and Twyla. I love the Stevie and Twyla of it and I love David and Patrick being the classic best friends and getting super into it. I was smiling the entire time. It’s such a good fic and I kept getting distracted while writing this review because I keep reading the fic instead lmao.

rise and spin / over and over again by @anniemurphys, Alexis/Twyla, rated T, 2384 words

Summary: The apartment is dark when Alexis gets home, curtains drawn, air heavy. She wants to give in to the darkness, to curl up in it – but she also wants to pull her wife out.

Seven moments of grief, and one moment of hope.

Rec [written by doingthemost]: Please mind the tags! That said, if this is something you're comfortable reading, you'll find a devastating, breathtaking, captivating story in so few words. This is a fic that reminds me of how powerful fandom can be, and how we can often find solace and empathy in telling stories through these characters we love.

save it from the funny tricks of time by @hullomoon, David & Moira, rated G, 1114 words

Summary: While David helps her pack up her wigs, Moira reflects on their relationship.

Rec [written by yourbuttervoicedbeau]: David and Moira’s relationship is one that always fascinates me, and the parallel between the opening of the first episode of the show and this fic is so brilliantly done.

Sweaters In the Dead of Summer by @kindofspecificstore, Heather/Rachel, rated T, 2195 words

Summary: Rachel desperately wants to bury herself in the covers and never come out again. The lights were off last night- Heather didn’t have to see the patchwork that makes up her back and shoulders, the speckling of white and pink dots in varying stages of healing scars. She doesn’t like it. She’s not proud of it. But Rachel doesn’t really know how to fix it either. It’s not embarrassing, per se, just awkward to explain.

You know that feeling when you want to pop a zit?

Like that, but all the time. Except it’s all you think about. And you can’t control it.

Rec [written by doingthemost]: Yay, more Heather/Rachel! Please mind the tags with this one, but with that out of the way, this is a touching look at their relationship (every relationship in this fic, in addition to the Heather/Rachel, is treated so well!) and the importance of being seen and cared for.

To the end of reckoning by @dinnfameron, Patrick & Ronnie, rated T, 1308 words

Summary: He should get David a coffee. He could deliver it to the motel, see how he’s doing. His arm is raised halfway to flag Twyla down when he catches himself. David doesn’t want to see him right now. He may never want to see Patrick ever again. The thought makes him sick.

“Brewer.” Patrick turns at the sound of his name. There aren’t many people in this town who call him that, and sure enough, there’s Ronnie Lee at a table near the front. He’d missed her, somehow.

“You look like shit,” she says.

Rec [written by yourbuttervoicedbeau]: I love Patrick, I love Ronnie, I love anything and everything that explores the contentious relationship between the two of them. I love post-barbecue angst. Basically I love every single thing about this.

you make everything good by @rosedavid, Alexis/Twyla, rated G, 835 words

Summary: “Stop being grumpy, it’s lame."

Twyla has to go and visit her gaggle of cousins for two weeks, and Alexis is pouty about her girlfriend leaving for so long.

Rec [written by doingthemost]: This is an adorable little slice-of-life type of fic with some fun banter and some true-to-the-show Twyla moments! It's cute and funny and exactly what I love about the ship.

-

Happy reading, friends!

[hamaon]

audio drama natterings

- i love hearing this voice-acted jin guangyao because there is often NO correlation between his tone of voice, actions, and intentions. he can be saying one thing and doing another and you just need to do the math, with the benefit of hindsight, to figure out what third thing he was actually thinking at the time

there are also many times he is just being genuine, but picking those up probably needs, again, the benefit of hindsight

- su minshan has an amazing voice. whiny nasal baby, i love him

- no comment on the audio drama actor, but there were some clips with interviews with the voice actors from the animation included in the files, and holy shit, lan xichen. a voice to make love to

- yi city is an interesting self-contained tragedy, but it’s slim enough that i doubt that there is any alternate reality where that’s the part of the story that caught my particular attention. but still, if that had happened, most likely i would have hatched into a xiao xingchen fan

- nie deputy meng yao singing a distressed abandoned baby to sleep before continuing to sort out a battlefield, is there anything this man can’t do

i’m losing my mind over this a little to be perfectly honest, there was never any doubt in my mind that “gentle dad” is one of jin guangyao’s most dominant personality traits, but to have it validated so

- meng yao finally, after years and years of abuse and dead ends, decides to take matters into his own hands, hard work isn’t getting him anywhere, and nie fucking mingjue, who lives several realms away, just happens to walk in on him the one time he kills a man for personal gain

what were the ODDS

i’m also trying to figure out the logistics of this:

like. how. i guess no one had quite as much faith in jin guangyao’s abilities as nie mingjue

(also love how in the audio drama meng yao just keeps getting shit from every direction, so it’s absolutely not a question of whether he’s just exaggerating how bad it is for him 24/7)

this is the drop in the relationship. up to this point nie mingjue has been one of the only people who don’t (seem to) care about his background, but this is where his own version of meng yao starts overwriting reality. the moment there’s a crack in the presentation, it’s over for good.

he still appears very considerate (and in his own mind he is definitely being extremely reasonable! for nie mingjue he IS being extremely reasonable!) about meng yao’s incoming punishment and will leave it to the jin, but meng yao’s own estimation of his situation is that he will be executed.

dude relax, he didn’t even hurt you.

it’s an interesting pattern though, jin guangyao’s primary motivation is almost never harming others, and he often goes out of his way to avoid it, too. this is the first time he could have killed nie mingjue easily, made it look like an attack from the wen like he was doing with the jin guy.

fun contrast with the temple, where things are looking dire until you start unpacking what’s actually going on

- one of nie mingjue’s most dominant personality traits is concerning himself with the quality of character of people who are not him

- it is very commendable of nie mingjue to not let corrupt people in charge keep getting away with this shit, and to continue hounding the jin about xue yang. the eternal question, though: why is he taking this up with jin guangyao instead of someone who, you know, is in charge

- lan xichen really, really, really wanting to be sworn brothers, c’mon mingjue-xiong aren’t you ready to be nicer to a-yao, please please please, and now that we’ve all agreed to it and don’t need an auspicious date, we can do it the first thing tomorrow (almost literally what he says)

- lan xichen fucks on the first date and gets married on the second

then stays married to that person for fifty years, perfectly monogamous

(- one of lan xichen’s most dominant personality traits is being the teacher you can actually talk to)

- i like how nie mingjue’s attitude toward jin guangyao varies even when their relationship is at its tensest point, he can be civil and almost light-hearted with him and then soon enough take a swing at him, it’s... uncomfortably realistic, honestly.

- corrupted cleansing, very good here also. rip nie mingjue before your time but it’s just a nice tune. though here the quality is partially improved by the fact that it actually sounds like the original cleansing, just a little off sideways

- the paperman extra, i’m in awe. jin guangyao has noticed lan xichen isn’t feeling too good, distracts nie huaisang (who is getting a lecture) from bothering er-ge and gets him to lavish er-ge’s paintings with praise instead. wow.

- there’s something sadly poetic about lan xichen being stressed mostly because of jin guangyao, who is also the one who notices and immediately starts working on alleviating that discomfort

- things jin guangyao feeds lan xichen: only the best perfectly selected tea for the lan, let’s try it wangji. his favorite fruits, already waiting for him inside. that peppy tone of voice when they meet in the present day for the first time. imagine being the man someone of jin guangyao’s caliber of caregiving gives his full devotion to. zewu-jun luckiest motherfucker in the world. (he deserves it)

- lan xichen getting that laser-focused intimate care his family is completely unable to provide

- the cl- the clothes washing extra. i genuinely think lan xichen is just inexperienced, if it was just lol lan muscle he couldn’t interact with the world without destroying everything around himself. he shows signs of being interested to learn. let him hone his house spouse skills. he deserves it

- i thought i was desensitized to this backstory, but the brothel flashback actually made me cry, what the hell

- scenarios where meng shi who has any choice chooses the same profession make me uncomfortable. this is a woman suffering in sex slavery who was destroyed and killed by it, and she always wanted out. for positive representation, how about sisi instead. or literally anyone else

- it’s almost funny looking at the temple scenes in hindsight, because. the sound direction, the sense of threat. and what is implied to be the source of that threat? the question of what jin guangyao is going to do, how dangerous is that thing he is digging for, what will he use it for

and the answers are: he was running away, it was his mom’s corpse he wanted to take with him because he adored her even when the rest of the world thought she was garbage. also, no one was ever in any danger besides jin guangyao himself and his sect and allies.

i will fight people about this btw, everyone comes out of the temple as unharmed as they were always intended to be. he has ample opportunities to kill every single one of them and he never acts in a way that shows he has the slightest inclination to actually do so. he threatens people into behaving and then tries to leave. and in every adaptation so far when he is leaving he's going to leave the captives behind, untouched.

[highqueenjude]

1k follower appreciation fic!!

i just want to say how thankful i am to each and every one of you. it honestly amazes me that you all?? enjoy my content?? so in thanks, i whipped up a mini one-shot to show my appreciation :)

~takes place directly after htkoelths ends~

Cardan and Jude make their way back to Vivi’s apartment as the sun makes its ascent in the sky. They have just finished sending word to their retainers requesting Aslog to be moved, and Cardan is not sure if he’s relieved or upset by the turn of events. He and Aslog had never truly been friends, but it still feels wrong to imprison her after . . . everything.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Jude raises a brow.

“I think so.” Cardan glances aside at her. “What are we to do now?”

Jude is thoughtful for a moment, and then, almost shyly, she says, “I was thinking we could visit my father. Before we return to Elfhame.”

This comes as a surprise to Cardan for two reasons: Jude has never once been shy—she is blunt and bold and the word shy isn’t even in his vocabulary to describe her. As for the other, he is surprised because she had said we. Realistically, he knows that they are married, and that they have been for some time now, but he is still so unused to this feeling of being wanted, especially by Jude.

“You want me to come with you?” he affirms, slightly uncertain.

She gives him an odd look before glancing off to the side. “I don’t know if I want to go alone.”

And since it is not in her nature to admit that she is scared or frightened or unsure, Cardan knows that she does not want to go alone because she’s hesitant to see her foster-father after so long. Cardan is to be the buffer between them.

“I would be delighted,” is what he ends up saying because reminding her that he is her loyal servant who would kiss the tips of her boots if she asked might be a tad redundant; he does remind her often, after all. “When do you wish to leave?”

Jude sets down her sword, which he had grudgingly handed back to her.

What did you think you would accomplish with this? she had snickered.

All heroes have swords, he had responded, not minding one bit that she was laughing at his expense, so long as she was laughing.

“In a little while, but for now we should dress your wound.”

“Oh, this? It’s nothing for a hero.”

“I think I preferred you as a snake, when you couldn’t talk.” She leads him to the bathroom and commands him to sit on the closed seat of what the mortals call a “toilet.” She digs through the cabinets of the vanity for a moment, and resurfaces with a roll of white bandages, a cloth, a pair of scissors, and a small bottle with clear liquid inside. “Take off your shirt.”

Cardan simply raises a brow. “In here? Wouldn’t you prefer somewhere more . . . cozy?”

Jude lightly smacks his uninjured shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “Just do it.”

He complies without fuss, as he is apt to do when she asks something of him. His hoodie goes first, and then his shirt, and then it is just him sitting awkwardly while Jude inspects his wound with a frown.

“There are still a few iron fragments lodged in the cut. I’ll have to get those out first.” She goes back to the vanity and opens one of the drawers, withdrawing a pair of tweezers. Turning back to him, she says, “This might sting.”

“It could be no worse than your withering glare—” Cardan is abruptly cut off when she pokes him with the tweezers.

“Oops,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

Silence descends around them, and Jude continues to work, gaze focused and hand precise. Through the discomfort, Cardan studies her. So much has led up to this point, to this very moment. He is not sure if he deserves it, but he knows that he would do everything all over again—including fulfilling his prophecy and becoming a snake—if it meant that this would be the outcome.

“What’s that look for?” she asks him, and he realizes he has been staring. Refusing to look away or laugh off his nerves, Cardan says instead, “Is it wrong to admire my wife?”

Jude snorts. “I wouldn’t say my appearance garners admiration right now.”

Her hair is unkempt and her clothes are torn—the aftermath of running through briars to get to her foolish husband. But it makes no difference; her presence is captivating, thrilling, debilitating. It is odd to be reminded yet again that she does not see herself as everyone else does: a queen.

“Is it so hard to believe that you are beautiful, all of the time?” A light pink dusts her cheeks, and it is such a lovely sight that he finds he must be the cause of more of it. “You, Jude Duarte, the High Queen of Elfhame and love of my immortal life, are indeed a sight of admiration. It is a wonder you bestowed your favor on me when you could have had anyone else.”

He will admit that he still cannot quite believe his good fortune, and wonders daily how such luck befell him. He is rewarded with the desired effect; her blush deepens. Jude turns away, having finished removing all of the iron pieces from his shoulder, and busies herself by wetting the cloth with the clear, bottled liquid. When she turns back to him she huffs and says, “I am not sure if I’ll ever get used to you saying those things.”

Their eyes meet, and Cardan says, “I hope that one day you will.”

Jude bites her lip and he traces the movement with his eyes. “Now I kind of feel bad for what I’m about to do.”

“What—”

He is cut off by a hiss as she presses the wet cloth to his wound. It is true that his Jude does not have the best bedside manner, but sometimes he forgets and must be reminded in the worst ways.

“Sorry,” she laments, this time sounding genuine in her apology. She brushes the cloth over his wound, wiping away the dried blood and disinfecting the area. “Once we get back to Elfhame, we will have someone do this properly,” she promises.

Cardan does not tell her that he would be loath to have anyone else this close to him, anyone who is not her. After the area is cleaned to her satisfaction, she trades the cloth for the bandages and begins wrapping them around his shoulder, a feat that requires her to lean in close to him. Her breath buffets against his ear and her cold hands brush against his skin.

“Jude,” he whispers.

She does not look at him, only raises a brow as she focuses on wrapping the bandage. “Hm?”

“Jude,” he repeats, this time lower.

She relents, and glances at him—only to quickly refocus on her work. “What?” she asks, even though she already knows what he is going to say. So he does not say it, and instead, elects to lean forward to press a kiss to her right shoulder. “Cardan.” She sounds a little exasperated. “If you keep distracting me, this will never get done.”

It takes a great deal of willpower for Cardan to lean back once more. “As you wish.”

Jude frowns, but her gaze softens and she says, “I’m not saying no, but I am saying not right at this moment.”

“I do wish this moment would go faster, then.”

Jude rolls her eyes in a loving manner and wraps the bandage around twice more before snipping the excess with the scissors. Something glints in her eyes as she glances back at him, and, setting down the bandage roll, she moves to stand between his legs and tilts his jaw up with the scissor blades. “I have a sense of deja vu.” She grins mischievously.

Cardan’s smile matches her own, and he leans forward, the dull blade pushing against his throat. “Funny how we find ourselves in these situations.” A beat. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Jude leans down, their lips inches away. Cardan waits for her to close the distance, as she had the first time they found themselves in a similar position. Just as she is about to press their lips together, the door bursts open.

“I knew it,” a self-satisfied voice says from the doorway.

Jude whips the scissors from under Cardan’s chin and points them menacingly at the intruder, and Cardan is not so sure she won’t use them. When Jude realizes who it is, she releases a frustrated groan. “Vivi, we’re busy.”

“I can see that.”

“No, not like—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” Vivi gives her a knowing look. “Just finish up; Heather is almost done making breakfast.” With that, Vivi leaves, shutting the door behind her.

Jude sighs through her nose and none-too-gently sets the scissors back on the vanity counter.

Cardan would have laughed if he hadn’t thought doing so would make matters worse. “Come, my darling Jude, let us indulge them with our presence.”

“But—”

Cardan stands and slips back into his shirt. “I promise that I will not forget where we left off,” he placates, “but the sooner we return to Elfhame, the sooner we can resume. In private.”

Jude seems mollified with this and relents, following him out of the bathroom. Oak is on the couch when they return, and Vivi is helping Heather carry paper plates over to the living area.

“How did the hunt go?” Heather asks them when they are all seated around the coffee table with plates in hand.

Cardan inspects the thin, floppy bread covered in amber liquid and takes a hesitant bite. He is getting more used to mortal food as the days go on, and finds each new food more interesting than the last.

“Cardan decided he was going to get himself killed today,” Jude says wryly, throwing a smug look in Cardan’s direction.

“So that’s what took you so long; you were patching him up,” Heather realizes.

Vivi snorts. “That’s not what it looked like to me.”

Jude kicks her sister’s leg with her own—a difficult feat, considering they are both sitting on the ground.

“What?” Vivi laughs, though she quickly sobers. “But other than that, you two are okay, right?”

“Okay as one can be when a witch vows revenge on you for one of your father’s misdeeds,” Cardan responds with a flourish of his coffee mug, and takes a long draught of the dark and bitter liquid.

Oak has already finished eating and is watching a cartoon play out on the television. Two characters—a boy and a girl—stand in what looks to be a cave. The boy has a scar on the side of his face, and the girl reaches up to cup it with her hand. The scene reminds Cardan of the stories Aslog had told him, of the one he had given her in return. And just when it looks like something might happen between the two, they are interrupted, and Cardan finds he relates to this mortal show more than he could have thought.

“Jude and I are going to pay a visit to Madoc before we depart for Elfhame,” he says, focusing back on the present conversation.

Oak’s gaze snaps to his. “You’re going to see mom and dad?”

Cardan nods, and Oak turns his attention to Vivi. “Can I go? Please, Vivi?” And then, in a small voice, “I miss mom.”

“No.” Vivi’s tone leaves no room for discussion, but once she sees Oak’s pleading face, her gaze softens a fraction. “I would feel better if you did not see them quite yet.”

“But—”

“Oak,” Vivi says. “This trip is for Jude. You can see them some other time.”

Cardan suspects that Vivi simply is not yet ready to give up Oak’s relative safety. He knows that she still harbors a deep hatred for her father, and is reluctant to let her younger brother out of her sight. He doesn’t blame her; he does not trust Madoc, either.

“We will take you with us next time, okay?” Jude placates.

Oak frowns, but nods nonetheless. The conversation quickly turns to a new coffee shop that had opened up the week prior, much to Heather’s excitement. She talks about how they should all try it out, but Cardan cannot help but frown down at his pancakes, or so they are called. He remembers keenly what it is like to miss one’s parents, and he does not wish that feeling on Oak. 

But Vivi is right—this is for Jude. Even so, he must remind himself that Oak is the center of attention in Vivi’s household; he is loved and cared for, more than Cardan ever was. Surely, Oak will be fine if he does not see his parents for another week or two. The thought mullifies him enough to refocus on the present.

. . .

It is not until later, when Cardan and Jude are walking to Madoc’s mansion in lieu of ragwort steeds—a necessity, Jude says, because they would attract unwanted attention—that he asks her why she wants to visit her foster-father. Jude takes a moment to piece her thoughts together.

“I suppose I want to know if he hates me,” she says finally.

He is not sure what to say to that, so he takes her hand instead. She glances up at him, and in her eyes he sees so many things, so many impossible yet wonderful things. He sees their time at the palace academy together, sees how they hated each other. He sees the moment that she began to hate him less, and the ones that followed, the ones that made them grow closer and closer and closer until they are here. He sees himself in her eyes, and he wonders what she sees in his.

He knows that they will get through his together, and she seems to realize it, too. She squeezes his hand, and faces the path ahead as they walk up the drive to the estate.

Madoc’s abode is a symbol of the High Queen’s generosity. It resembles his estate in Faerie, with expansive grounds that lead into the forest. There is a thin veil of magic surrounding the place, glamoured to hide every inhuman aspect. However, not even magic can hide the otherworldly nature in the grounds. 

Jude hesitates before the front door. Her eyes dart to Cardan’s, then to the side, then back the way they had come as if she is deliberating leaving. Cardan frowns, and takes her hand in his. She jumps at the contact, having been lost in her own thoughts, as startled eyes find his own once more.

“You will be fine,” Cardan says softly, making sure that she holds his gaze. “He can’t hurt you.”

Jude leans forward, until her forehead is pressed against his chest. “Yes,” she says, “he can.”

He realizes then, that even now, when Jude has risen above Madoc in rank and power, she still seeks Madoc’s approval. She still wishes that he would bestow a kind word on her, wishes he would tell her how proud he is. And try as Cardan might to provide that for her, the only person she wants adulation from is the one man she believes will never forgive her.

As Cardan is about to speak, the door to Madoc’s estate opens to reveal a faerie servant without either of them having knocked. It is no shock to him that Madoc would have known they were there already; though he may never wield another weapon, he still has a legion of spies at his disposal.

Cardan looks to Jude, whose eyes are still on his face, and conveys everything he wants to say.

We can go back, he offers silently. It is your choice. It is always your choice.

Jude seems to understand his unspoken words, for she simply nods her head once, twice. Rolls her shoulders back, straightens her spine. She will not break nor will she bend, not in front of her foster-father. And then, without preamble, she walks through the threshold and into Madoc’s abode.

Cardan dutifully follows his wife as the servant—a faerie with iridescent wings and beady black eyes—leads the way through the long and narrow entrance hall to the back of the house, where they exit through a side door and out into the gardens. Rose bushes line the estate, while different types of flowers are interspersed throughout. It is nowhere near the grandiose gardens of the palace, but it is charming in its own right. 

The servant doesn’t spare them a glance, and heads back the way they had come, leaving Jude and Cardan alone in the gardens, surrounded by bushes of honeysuckle and hydrangeas. The sweet aroma of the flowers fills the air as Cardan peers through the towering arches of vines and walls of flowers in search of Madoc.

However, instead of the former Grand General, he spies his wife, first. Not a ways off, Oriana instructs servants on which flowers to cut from a bush of pink roses. Her countenance, while usually grim, is content. Though Cardan would never make the mistake of assuming that Oriana is happy in the mortal world—and away from Oak, for that matter—he does believe that the distance from the political intrigue of the Court has done her good. She appears enlivened, and more at ease than he has ever known her to be.

Madoc, however, is a different situation entirely. The former general stands beyond the gardens toward the edge of his lands, facing the deep wood with his back to them. Perhaps he is picturing his escape or return to Faerie, perhaps he misses his home so much it hurts. But Cardan cannot find it in himself to care, not when this man waged war against him and his wife and his people. 

This is for Jude, he reminds himself. This visit is supposed to give her closure. 

Jude turns to him, mouth in a determined line. Cardan reaches up and smoothes out a crease on her brow with a finger. “Do you want me to accompany you?”

She deliberates for a moment, but finally replies, “No. I will see him alone first.”

Cardan nods and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. He will support her no matter what. Though he cannot say he isn’t relieved she wants her space with Madoc; if Cardan had indeed gone with her to confront the man, then he is sure that it would not be a pleasant scenario. Despite the fact that Madoc came into his home and challenged his rule in front of his people, Cardan is more upset by the former general’s treatment of Jude.

Despite Madoc challenging Cardan’s rule—and therefore her rule—his wife had spent weeks following her foster-father’s banishment as a bundle of nerves. Though she made a valiant attempt to hide it, Cardan had seen right through her façade. Though he might be a traitor, Jude still cares for the man more than she would ever admit aloud. 

With a parting glance, Jude picks her way through the winding gardens, steering clear of Oriana. Cardan has no doubt that both Madoc and Oriana know of their arrival, but neither make the first move. It is only when Jude has reached her foster father, does he turn around.

Madoc dips his head slightly to his daughter, the only acknowledgement he will give to her authority. Cardan can sense Jude’s nerves from here, and watches as she opens her mouth to speak. When nothing comes out, she closes it, and turns her face away. Madoc hesitates, his body tensing up, before slowly and painfully reaching up to brush his knuckles along her cheek.

Cardan suddenly feels as if he is looking in on a private moment between a daughter and her father, and instead, makes his way over to Oriana. The woman looks up at him as he approaches, and sweeps into a deep bow. The servants follow suit before quickly flitting away.

“What brings you to the mortal realm?” Oriana asks, albeit with a small amount of distaste.

Cardan merely shrugs. “Business.” It is one way to put it, anyway. But he can tell that is not what Oriana is asking. He sighs. Squints at the pair in the distance. Says, “Closure.”

Oriana nods in understanding. “I see.” She shifts her stance and, after a moment, asks, “How is he?”

He knows who she is referring to. “Oak seems to be adapting to this realm quite well. He says he has many friends from school.”

Which was more than Cardan ever had while he was attending the palace academy. The closest thing he had had to friends was a pack of gentry children who partook in violence to amuse themselves. They had cared more about power and Cardan’s access to it than they cared about him. Not one person had ever preferred him over his title, but Jude had been the first to look past that and truly see him. And while she might have hated him at first, she had become his wife and queen despite it. 

Cardan glances at the pair standing out in the field again. At one time, he had been envious of Jude; after all, she had a father who loved her and her sisters, while Cardan had been forced to sleep in the stables and grovel for attention. Now, however, he is only thankful that Jude had grown up with a life that was better than his had been.

Oriana gives a noncommittal hum. “Does he miss me?”

“Yes,” Cardan says, thinking of how Oak had pleaded to come with them. “He misses you very much.”

A sad smile breaks out over her face, and she turns to watch Madoc and Jude in the distance. They are silent for another moment, until she speaks once more.

“May I speak freely?” she asks tentatively.

Cardan nods, once.

Oriana purses her lips before saying, “I did not believe you would be good for her, at first.”

Cardan gives an undignified snort. Not even he believes he is good enough for his Jude, so it comes as no surprise to him to find out he is not the only one.

“But now . . .” Oriana trials off, searching for words. Madoc and Jude are conversing in the distance, and Jude does not seem as tense as she was a few moments ago. “Now, however, I believe that you two are a perfect match. A balance.”

Cardan meets Oriana’s eyes and blinks at the sincerity in them. “You do?”

She nods. “I see the way she looks at you.” A small smile graces her lips. “Once upon a time, I did not think she would ever find a love match. She is much too. . . .”

“Exhilarating, ferocious, terrifying?” Cardan fills in, his eyes on Jude as she begins to walk with Madoc toward them. He can feel Oriana assessing him, but he does not turn.

“Yes,” she replies after a moment, giving him an odd look. “But it seems I was mistaken. It seems as though you two balance each other out.”

“Yes, it would appear so.”

Cardan is about to make his way toward Jude to meet her halfway, when Oriana stops him.

“Your majesty,” she starts, and only continues when Cardan turns to face her. “I have a request.”

He nods for her to go on, though she hesitates. She swallows, glances off to the side. When she returns her gaze to him, she says very softly, “Could you request Vivienne to give some thought into letting me see Oak?”

Cardan frowns. “I am not sure if Vivi is ready for that.” At Oriana’s downcast expression, he adds, “But I will see what can be done.”

She glances back up at him with a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she says, bowing low. When she rises, her gaze goes past him.

Cardan turns and comes face to face with Madoc. The former Grand General is wearing a white t-shirt and jeans and if this visit was not so important to Jude, Cardan would have laughed out of the sheer absurdity of it. Madoc’s green countenance is focused on him, and Cardan has just enough sense to feel slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps Madoc is willing to die in order to get his revenge, if it means he can kill Cardan.

Just when Cardan opens his mouth to diffuse the tension, Jude says, “Madoc has invited us to stay for dinner.”

Cardan blinks. Surely the former general’s pride is wounded by their sheer presence?

But it appears that Madoc wants to make amends. At least, that is what Jude whispers to him as they stroll the gardens together. Madoc and Oriana are preparing for the meal inside, giving Jude and Cardan time to talk things over.

“I thought he would be angry,” Jude says, brows furrowed in confusion, “but he told me that he could not fault me for my bravery.” She smiles, then, remembering their conversation. “He told me that he should have expected this—I am his daughter, after all.”

Cardan matches her grin and reaches down to hold her hand. “I assume your conversation went well?”

“Better than I could have imagined, actually.” She sighs in relief. “I am glad that he does not hate me.”

“He loves you.”

“Yes, but I also betrayed him and stole his chance at becoming king.” She frowns.

Cardan stops, to which Jude follows suit. “If anything, he most likely respects you more now than he ever has. You have shown him that you were meant for this.”

Jude snorts. “You don’t think he wishes now that he had agreed to let me become a knight back before I get involved with Dain’s spies?”

“You would have made a good knight,” Cardan admits, “but you make an even better queen. I think Madoc can see that.”

“Maybe,” she relents. “Still. It is not like him to be this forgiving. Inviting us to dine with him?” She shakes her head. “I do not know what to think.”

Cardan tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and tilts her chin up so that she meets his eyes. “Then stop. Stop thinking.” Her brow furrows, and she opens her mouth to respond, but he does not let her. “Just enjoy this, my darling Jude. Not everything is a revenge scheme. Sometimes, people just do things because they want to.”

Jude nods, and they continue their walk. “If this backfires and he challenges either of us to a duel, it is on you.”

“Hopefully I will not turn into a snake this time,” Cardan says, grinning. Jude shoves him halfheartedly, which only makes his smile widen.

[ddaenggtan]

black irises in the sunshine | kth

anger is everything. other gods tease you for the short fuse, but it comes with the territory. people have called you stupid, have called you dumb, oafish, useless, incompetent, insolent, rude, arrogant. all of it. insults and mockery flung at you, but even your skin isn’t thick enough to deal with constant abuse. it’s the exact reason you keep going to the underground, knuckles bloody and bruised, fighting anyone that dared enter the cage. it’s the reason you go to the clubs, surround yourself with mortals and their writhing bodies. it’s there that you see him the first time, voice husky as it rolls through the room. it’s there you find someone who treats you differently than the rest. you just never expected him to be one of the muses. | monsters and gods pt 3 (masterlist)

pairing | taehyung x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, calliope!taehyung, ares!reader, theres a lot of violence and it does get descriptive so be aware of that, none of the main characters other than ares get hurt and its not uncalled for or anything in a narrative sense, so just be aware of that; there are mentions of other idols, but if you can guess them you get a cookie because they are Vague; suuuuper bisexual Ares, Ares Can Step On Me, like I am SO gay for her it isn’t funny; explicit smut ft: cunnilingus, taeHUNG bc hes got MASSIVE SCHLONG,  some body worship kind of and then just....regular worship? like? idk how to explain that? lots of praise and lots or orgasms

word count | 14k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | HOOOOOOO this has been sitting in my google docs for literal months waiting for an ending and i decided to try to get it out for tae's birthday bUT that didn't work because i have a Job and shit so YEET I GUESS HAPPY FUCKIN NEW YEAR??? LIKE??? YEEEEEEEEEEEEE this fic is very near to me because Ares is my sweet sad angry babie and i love her, and i love tae and i love suho and i love the muses and i just........lOVE this fic like i think this is currently my favorite of the mag series so!! i hope yall also enjoy it!!!! yall are welcome to send me messages about this even tho I'm terrible at replying to them in a timely manner!! thanks to everyone who helped me with this, and everyone who has expressed interest in it, and everyone who has ever read anything of mine, because you're genuinely the best people ever, and this is literally a gift to y'all because you deserve it. 

Fuck, that was too hard .

The guy across from you goes flying, hitting the chain link wall of the cage harder than you intended. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and even holding back, you've got a better buzz than even the best nectar can give. Your blood sings as the guy gets back up, and you almost wish you could remember his name, because he's put up a hell of a fight. For a mortal, anyway. 

He charges at you again, and time slows as your vision tunnels. You can see the feint as he decides on it, how he hesitates in bringing his left up. You wait, watching him get closer and closer. You start to dart to your left, letting him think he's got you, before you side-step and dart to your right instead. His punch goes wide as you steady your balance and move. The top of your foot connects with his ribcage and the resulting crack of bone is lost amid the cheers and yells of the audience. 

Your opponent steps back and you're proud of the way he doesn't show the pain. He doesn't wince, doesn't move to touch the spot you hit, just tightens his stance and clenches his jaw. It's only you that notices the hitch in his breath, the way he flinches with every inhale. Your eyes narrow at that, zeroing in on the rib. You'd meant to just crack it, had been holding back most of your strength to keep from hurting him too seriously, but as he steps forward, you can see the way he grits his teeth against the pain. 

The fight leaves you immediately, like a bucket of cold water straight to the chest, and you drop your hands. 

"Yield." He just stares at you, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yield to me, and then go to the doctor."

"I'm not gonna yield," He says. He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the floor. "I'm not weak."

"Seriously, dude," You insist. "You're not gonna win this, and I don't want to hurt you more." 

His scoff has you seeing red. "As if a princess like you could hurt me."

Your fist connects with his face before either of you registers that you've moved. There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that he's just mortal, he can't take the same kind of beating you can, but it's lost in the haze of fury. The next thing you know, the ref is dragging you away and slamming you into the cage wall. Your opponent is being dragged out - you still don't know his name - and he looks beaten senseless. Victory rolls through you accompanied by a sick satisfaction at the way his blood looks decorating the canvas beneath your feet. 

It lasts for less than an hour. It's always like this; the thrill of the fight, the burn of success, it's gone faster than you can blink. It's what drives you to keep fighting, to keep going to match after match, just to seek out the under-the-table stuff afterwards. It's never enough, not anymore. Back in the old days, they'd let you fight anything. Bears, bulls, lions, giants, anything they could get a noose around long enough to point it at a colosseum. That was a long time ago, though, before all the rights movements happened. You won't lie: you miss fighting beasts like that. The sheer power and strength they have, the survival instinct that makes them such fierce competitors, it's so much better than the rules and regulations of the mortal world now. Fights have gotten dull, rehearsed, more like a performance or a show than an actual fight. People make more money losing than they do winning and it's made the world boring. 

You flex your hand as you open the door to your favorite bar. Something caught it at some point in the last fight, a cheekbone or a tooth, and it stings a little. Doesn't hurt, not exactly, not for a goddess, but it did enough that you feel it at all, which means it couldn't have been anything but torture for the guy on the other end. The bartender waves at you and gets your usual ready as you sit, and you idly wonder if Busted Rib Guy will be okay. It looked painful, for a human, and you'd tried to hold back, but…

Well, you weren't really responsible for what happened to condescending little fucks, were you?

You sip the bourbon, enjoying the burn as it goes down. The lights are dim, tonight. You're glad. You don't want to deal with people looking at you, men coming over to talk to you, trying to advise you on how to properly bandage your knuckles or how to avoid the bruise on your cheek next time. If you had wanted to avoid it, you would have. You'd intended it to hurt worse, honestly, but that first guy'd had a weaker right hook than you expected. 

You look around, wondering if anyone here would provide a decent distraction for the night. There's a pretty brunette in the corner with carefully crafted braids, and as your eyes travel, you imagine what's hiding beneath the silk and leather. You're pulled from the thought by the sound of music, and you curse under your breath. You forgot that it's an open mic night and you'd meant to go to the bar across town instead. Irritation colors your vision; every open mic night is awful, full of lofty poets talking about their trauma and wannabe Taylor Swifts thinking they're on the same level as Sappho. Ah, now that was a girl with a set of pipes. You miss her, wonder what she would say to the butchering of whatever song you're about to hear.

The voice that comes isn't what you expect. It's smooth and deep. The world turns to velvet around you as the voice wanders from one speaker to another, creating a mesmerizing multi-dimensional effect despite the way the singer doesn't ever leave the stage. You turn, knuckles white around your bourbon glass; he's utterly magnetic, every eye in the room trained on him as he purrs into the vintage mic. Long fingers are wrapped around the scuffed metal, decorated with jewels that glitter in the dim light of the bar. You can smell the lingering cigarette smoke from the guy beside you and the Jäger from the girl two stools down and for once, you don't even care. He's captivating, voice travelling between speakers in the bar and coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. 

Your eyes don't leave him, and you wonder if you can memorize the way the blond waves fall against his forehead if you stare long enough. 

The red seeps away from you, slinking back into the corners of your mind, settling once more into a low thrum under your skin. It fades into the background of this man's voice, the charisma that rolls off him in waves as he pulls the mic in close just to push it to the side with a teasing smirk. It settles something in your chest that hasn't been calm since the fight in Athens so long ago. 

The music fades out sooner than you'd like, and he gives a slight bow before wandering into the crowd. You do your best to follow him, but the gold of his hair disappears almost immediately, lost in the throng of people around the stage waiting to speak to him. You turn back around, downing the next bit of bourbon that Suho pours you. 

"I know," He says with a grin. You cock a brow at him, not having said anything he could agree with. "He's good. That's what you were thinking, right? He's why we're so packed on open mics. Got the audio and lighting guy whipped, so he's got all these special effects, too. Drives people crazy.”

"He's alright," You mutter. You toss a few bills down on the bartop and step back. Suho gives you a courteous nod as you leave. The bouncer gives you a dirty look when he spots the lit cigarette between your lips, but he knows better than to try to tell you otherwise. You've taught him better. 

You lean back against the brick wall of the alley and take a drag. The warm smoke fills your lungs and you close your eyes. It's a different kind of burn than you're used to, a distraction from the crawling sensation that drives you to fight. It's calmer, more controlled. Feels like the smoke from Hestia's fires. Feels like home. 

"Never expected to see you here," A voice calls out. It's deep and startling in the darkness, but you don't jump. You just open your eyes, exhale, and look to where it came from. 

The singer stands before you in the same undone white button up and black tee he performed in. He doesn't have a cig, doesn't seem to have much of any reason to be outside. He moves almost lazily, as if he doesn't even need to, just wants to, and when his gaze flicks up to meet yours, your vision fills just for a breath with every opponent you've ever faced lying at your feet. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. It's not his fault, the voice in your head says, he didn't mean it that way, but still, your blood is thrumming now that he's here and you want to know what he's talking about. Want to know why he thinks you wouldn't be here when there's attractive people and good bourbon and you've never seen this man before in your life. Want to know why he already seems to think you aren't civilized enough to be at a bar, why he spoke but all you heard was Zeus' voice in your memories.

"Exactly what I said. Should I be clearer?"

"Yeah, probably," you spit. Yet another person that assumes you're stupid, that you don't understand basic languages, as if you haven't been speaking them since the ancient times. As if you couldn't speak circles around him if you wanted. "Unless you want your teeth on the fucking ground."

"Good to know the stories are true." He tsks and you're filled with a strange sense of disappointment and fury, both at him and yourself. Your vision turns red at the edges and the cigarette between your fingers is crushed in your grip. He pays no mind to it, just saunters past with a lazy, swaying gait that draws your eyes to his hips and then down the long leather-clad legs. "See you around, Ares."

"That's not my fucking name," You yell after him. He doesn't respond when you shout your actual name, the one you chose, on your own, as a middle finger to the Olympians. "Get it right next time, dickwad."

He turns the corner of the alley and the streetlight catches his face just enough for you to see the smirk he wears. For once in your life, you're torn; you want to smash his face in, yes, because how dare this random guy speak to you like that when you could kill him with one finger to the right pressure point. You also find your skin's hotter than usual, stretched too thin over your bones, and you want him to run his hands over you until it feels right again.

Until it feels like it did when he was singing. 

How did he know my title?

The thought comes unbidden, days later, with the desperate hit of a palm against your shoulder. You've got the woman in a headlock, patiently waiting for her to pass out completely so the fight can be called, and your mind is wandering. 

How did the singer know who you are? You hadn't thought anything of it at the time, distracted by fury and frustration, but with time comes a special kind of clarity. You've never seen him before, not that you know anyway, yet he didn't hesitate to call you Ares. The only ones who know of your kind are your kind, but you haven't seen any of your siblings among mortals in a long time. You thought you knew the other gods and goddesses, but maybe not. It has been a while since you stepped foot in the golden city.

The woman in your grip goes slack and you release her. You're still lost in thought as the ref calls the match and leads you out of the makeshift ring. The cheers of the audience are background noise at this point, akin to static or the buzz of electricity, and you pay them no mind as you head to collect your winnings. You didn't even get any kind of buzz from success this time, too immersed in the way the singer walked and talked and looked. The image of his smirk is burned into your retinas. 

"Yeah, you didn't hear? He just got out of the hospital. They had to keep him overnight because they thought he might puncture a lung. I heard that if it had been a little worse, they would've had to wire his jaw shut." You stop, fingers brushing over the stack of bills you don't even remember being handed. You look up, making eye contact with the guy whispering nearby. Your suspicions are confirmed when his friend smacks his arm and juts his chin in your direction before they both disappear into the crowd. 

You shove your way outside, frustration creeping through you and coloring your vision. You manage to keep it contained long enough for you to make it to the alley behind the warehouse, but it explodes from you in a rush of thrown dumpsters and sheet metal. 

Fuck , you never meant to hurt him like that. You told him, you fucking told him to yield, it isn't your fault he didn't listen. It's not your fault that he went and insulted you, acted like he was better than you just by virtue of being a dude, as if you weren't worshipped in the old days for the power you had and the blessings you could give. You'd held back, through all of it, you'd told him to yield, and he insulted you. It wasn't your fault. 

You slide to the ground, running a shaking hand through your hair. It isn't your fault , you repeat. You close your eyes and take deep breaths, the way Hestia taught you, willing the fury to dissipate. It's like a fire in your veins, burning and bubbling your skin until you can't resist anymore. You take another breath. It isn't your fault. You tried. You offered an out. It isn't your fault. Fuck, what was his name? 

With a growl that quickly morphs into a scream, you kick the dumpster once more before stalking off into the darkness. You need a fucking drink and you're gonna find a distraction in someone else if it's the last thing you do. 

The club is packed when you get there; you're not usually a fan of clubs like this, too full of people who are too friendly, but they're perfect for nights like tonight. You don't even need to wait in line, just slip the bouncer a 50 as you pass, and the bartenders are quick to spot you. You're pretty notorious in the city for over-paying, which means you're knocking back bourbon before you have a chance to ask for it. There are people everywhere, pressed up against both sides of you while the bass thrums in your throat, and it takes you longer than you're proud of to realize why. 

There's a band playing, apparently. They're not bad; the vocalist isn't anything like the singer from Suho's, but it doesn't make you want to tear your ears off, so you consider it a success. 

You're dancing before you remember deciding to. Everything's a blur when you get the itch in your bones, the need to make someone bleed. To feel something that isn't rage or condescension. People are even closer here on the dance floor, suffocating in their proximity, but there's a woman grinding her ass into you, and it sparks the dying fire in your gut. The beat of the music drowns your own heart, and it's all flashing lights and heat and a body pressed against yours that is all too willing.

She follows when you go back to the bar for another drink, and giggles when you lick salt from her wrist before downing tequila. Her hands are wrapped in the leather of your jacket as she kisses you, your own resting lightly on her hips. She laughs against your lips and says something you don't hear before ordering another drink. Something makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You take the brief reprieve to look around the club, searching for whatever it is that has you on alert. You find him on the upper level of the club, leaned over the balcony with a drink in hand. You can't make out his expression, exactly; it's too far away and too guarded. But you'd know him anywhere now. The singer knocks back whatever's in his glass, eyes never leaving yours. You don't know why he's here, if he comes here often or if the Fates are having a laugh at your expense, but you do know you want to make the most of it.

The girl is back, pressing a heated kiss to your lips and drawing your attention from him. You return it, nipping at her lips and getting a small gasp in return. You smirk and bite your way down her neck. She's breathy in your ear, hitched moans lost in the beat of the music, but you barely hear her as you suck bruises into the skin of her neck. He's still watching you. His drink is gone and he's gripping the bannister of the balcony, rings glinting in the light. You wonder if the cool metal could soothe the burn in your bones. You want to know if he can bring that calmness from before back, if he can soothe the frenzy in your mind with his hands the way he can with his voice. Just imagining it has you soaking through to your jeans.

The girl makes a particularly loud noise in your ear and you're brought out of your thoughts. As if he can sense it, the singer straightens. He gives you one last look before disappearing back into the crowd, and you wonder if you're imagining the disdain in it. You draw back from the girl's neck, about to tell her to find her friends when she slides her hands in your hair and tugs.

The burn in your blood is back, now, and you hope this girl is prepared for what awaits her.

"You're here early," Suho says when he spots you in the nearly empty bar the next night. He's not wrong, either; you skipped the fights tonight completely. There was no buzz last time, no relief, and you have no reason to believe there would be tonight. Not with the way the singer captivates your thoughts. 

Besides, you have enough money leftover from the previous few to last a couple days.

"What, did you decide not to kick someone's ass before getting wasted?" Suho doesn't wither at the look you give him, just pours you a couple fingers of bourbon and slides the glass over. "Or did they just stop letting you in completely?"

"I might change my mind if you don't shut up," You tell him. There's no real heat behind it. You've known Suho for years now, been coming to his bar for so long it almost feels like home. You're almost friends at this point. 

It helps that he knows when to bite his tongue so he doesn't get his teeth knocked out.

"Seriously though, I don't think I've ever seen you here this early. Especially not on mic nights." You're very careful in your lack of a reaction to his words. You'd seen the workers setting up for it when you came in, and even if you hadn't, you know when mic night is. You've spent enough time avoiding it.

"Does he sing every time?" You ask in lieu of an explanation. You don't look away from the amber liquid in your glass, letting the silence hang as the bartender does his best to follow your thought process. 

"Taehyung? Most weeks, yeah. It's been a nice change from the usual drunken karaoke. He goes around to some of the other places in town, too. Apparently he just likes to sing." 

"Taehyung," You repeat. The name rolls from your tongue a bit awkwardly. It's more than you expected, somehow, but you can't place exactly how . Just...more. "Is he always that good?"

"Oh, yeah. We have regulars now for mic night because of him. He's got a whole fan club and everything."

"Hm." You drain the rest of your bourbon and Suho refills it. He leaves you in peace then, serving some others that appear at the bar. 

The place fills faster than you can blink. That's what it feels like, anyway. It's like one moment there's you and a handful of other people scattered around, and now you're being jostled between some dude a million feet tall that definitely doesn't look old enough to be here and a girl with her tits up to her throat and surrounded by a cloud of perfume so thick that it starts a migraine behind your eyes almost instantly. She flirts with Suho a little, likely trying to score free drinks, and you roll your eyes. She pouts at him when he gives her the total, batting eyelashes that go on for miles, and for once, you wish Suho would just give in and comp the drinks. 

"I'll pay for them," You say. She was definitely saying something, maybe you should have been paying attention to it, but fuck , this migraine is only getting worse the longer she stands there. "I'll pay for your drinks."

"Oh, thanks," She says. Her smile is hesitant, and quickly turns apologetic as she takes in the boots and the ripped jeans and the leather jacket. "Um, I'm not...I don't, uh…"

"Do I look like I want to fuck you, sweetie?" She looks a little affronted and a laugh escapes you. You lean closer, letting your breath ghost over her cheek as you speak in her ear to be heard better. "If I wanted to fuck you senseless, you'd know it. And I can guarantee you it would be a hell of a lot better than the watered down rat piss this guy's giving you." 

When you lean back, her face is flushed and she's stammering. You smirk and hand her the drinks she'd ordered. 

"Too bad you’re not, you don’t, huh?" You tell her. The patronizing tone isn't lost on her, nor is your mockery of her earlier words, and she shuts her mouth with an audible click before strutting off. Suho glares at you as he pours more bourbon.

"Can you please try not to run off my patrons?" He mutters. "Some of us actually need money to live."

"Some of us would like decently timed refills and to not choke on perfume," You quip. "And better bourbon, for that matter." He hisses something about what he's giving you being top quality but you tune him out, throwing one leg over the stool Perfume Girl vacated. You'd like to keep just a little bit of personal space. 

Across the bar, you catch a brief glimpse of the girl from the night before and you wince. Her neck is thoroughly bruised, and you catch a peek of bruises and scratches on her back as she shrugs her jacket on. You didn’t mean to be so rough with her, even if she had been into it; you’re usually pretty good about remembering that the mortals are just that - mortal - and as such have to be handled delicately. They’re so fragile, it feels like they could break with a strong wind. Guilt settles in your gut and turns the bourbon in your glass to cough syrup. You’ve half a mind to just leave before she sees you, are about to turn and do exactly that, but the speakers screech to life and the deafening feedback from the mic keeps you glued to your seat. 

The crowd quiets even as the excitement ramps up, all talk silencing but for the occasional hushed whispers here and there. The first few notes of the song echo through the speakers, and a spotlight appears on him. 

He looks different this time, his hair dyed a vibrant blue that matches the glinting jewels in his ears and on his hands. He's an absolute vision and you wonder how Aphrodite has allowed him to live so long when he's so beautiful. His voice hangs in the air and calms you, the same settling in your chest as last time, the same freedom from the burn in your veins. It's addictive. 

The song doesn't last nearly as long as you want it to but the stillness inside you lingers long after he's done caressing the microphone. You place a few bills down for Suho and light up a cigarette as you head outside, ignoring the dirty looks from other patrons as you do. You're on a mission, the thrum of bloodlust returning with every second that passes, and you can't even be sure if he's still around or if he's wandered off already. 

You stand in the alley for what feels like hours, turning at every sound and smoking cig after cig just so you have something to do. You've almost decided to say fuck it when footsteps sound from the back of the bar, coming closer to you. 

His blue hair is visible even from the other end of the small alley, a giveaway similar to the light at the end of your cigarette and the smoke you blow into the air. There's no way he hasn't seen you, you think, you're making no effort to hide or be sneaky, and yet he's continuing forward as if he doesn't see you at all, eyes focused on a phone in his hand. You wait until he's just a few steps away before speaking.

"How do you know my title?" You ask him. He stops as if he'd always meant to and doesn't even bother to glance up at you or respond. The edges of your vision turn scarlet at the blatant disregard and you're speaking before you can even process the words. "I asked you a fucking question, pretty boy, you're gonna answer me. Unless you want that precious mouth bloodied up."

"And you wonder how I know who you are," He drawls, still not bothering to spare a glance at you. A scowl grows over your face at his sarcastic tone. "If you're going to hit me just get it over with. Otherwise, I have places to be."

He stands, waiting and expectant, but you don't move. He's humming, quiet and to himself like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and the red seeps away from your mind until you're left clear-headed once more. You sigh, long and heavy, and crush your cigarette into your denim-covered thigh to put it out. It tickles. 

"I'm not going to hit you," You tell him eventually. "I just wanna know how you know me. And how you do it."

He cocks a brow at that, finally looking up from the phone in his hand to level dark eyes on yours. "Do what? Sing?"

"No." You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. The words are harder to find than you thought they'd be, lost in the depths of his gaze, in the clarity you're so unaccustomed to, in the way you feel like you can breathe for the first time in days. "I don't care how you sing, that's not important, it's the...fuck, you know what, never mind, it doesn't fucking matter." You push off the wall and step past him to head towards where the streetlight gleams off the bar windows. 

"Tell me." The command has you stopping in your tracks, and you're again flooded with just wanting to know how. How he clears the haze, how he stops you, how he makes you feel real. You turn, hands stuffed into the back pockets of your jeans. "How I do what?"

It takes you several long breaths before you can answer, and you aren't even sure he can hear you over the sounds of people leaving the bar, and you find yourself disappearing into the crowd without waiting for a response. Your own words are reverberating in your skull, getting louder with each step you take, and you wish you could just turn it off . 

"How you make me feel like a person again."

You avoid the bar for a few weeks, going hours away from your usual area to an unfamiliar hole in the wall just to make sure you don’t see him. You’re more deadly than usual in your fights, victories coming quicker, injuries piling up along with the guilt, but you can’t bring yourself to return. It’s unnerving, the way everything goes quiet around him, the way you can think, but the worst is the way you can feel. Everything’s calm and steady and blue, and it only makes it easier for the regret and the guilt and the anxiety to curl around your throat and squeeze until you can’t breathe, to clog in your throat while the laughter of your siblings echoes in your ears, and you...can’t. You can’t do that, you can’t let it win, you can’t let them win, they can’t know that you’re everything they think you are and worse. 

You can’t let yourself drown in that, and yet you find yourself back at Suho’s, lost among the crowd while Taehyung’s voice surrounds you. The ache in your bones fades away, chased by the thrum of the fight that still lingers despite the hours that have passed since you felt your opponent’s femur break under your palm and their screams echoed in your ears. Everything is calm again, and the guilt nearly drowns you.

He hasn’t even finished singing before you’re outside, chest heaving as you gasp against the weight on your chest. You broke someone’s femur , and did you even really need to? The fight itself is a blur even now, snapshots playing through your mind like a montage. The way they’d darted at you first, how their foot felt connecting with the backs of your knees, the determination in their eyes when you went down, the jolt of shock as your hands wrapped around their leg, the dull throb of a barrage of hits against your waist as you pulled them down as well and bloodied their face, the blood-curdling scream as you snapped the bone like a pretzel stick.

Your breath comes faster in your lungs, forced out by the growing guilt that lodges there in its place. Images swirl in your mind, chased by a never-ending stream of thought and regret that you should be used to by now. Fuck, you didn’t need to, and you still did it; you lost control, you fucking hurt them, and for what? A couple hundred? Was it even worth it? Who knew when they’d be back into shape to fight, what if they needed the money? They weren’t even half-bad. They got you down, at least, shouldn’t you have gone easy on them? You don’t even remember their face, can’t remember what the announcer said their name was, words drowned out by the buzz under your skin.

Metal crumples under your grip and you spare a half-second to mourn Suho’s dumpster before you slam your knuckles against it. It tingles, not even real pain, and you don’t hesitate to repeat it. By the time the metal is disfigured completely, a distorted mess of paint and steel and garbage, you still aren’t in pain, but there’s a sheen of gold across your knuckles and you feel less like you’re drowning and more like you’re suffocating. The usual. You can handle that. You think. 

You don’t even realize that you’ve slid down to the ground beside the dumpster until the back door of the bar opens and footsteps echo through the alley. You wish you knew how long you’ve been here, how long you’ve sat among empty bottles and stale beer and broken glass, but you can’t be sure. The brief reprieve brought by Taehyung’s voice is long gone, chased away by the guilt and rage that still sits heavy in your chest. You hope you’re not noticeable here, that whoever’s left will just pass by and leave you to piece yourself back together on your own. 

Voices tell you that it isn’t likely, the deep baritone of one too familiar to ignore. The other is new, but you’re familiar with the tone, the inflection, the intent behind it. You've heard it before, in crowded clubs as a guy pushes too close to some girl who can barely stand, in a coffeeshop when a random customer can't take a fucking hint, at the local campus when some professor insists that there could be maybe one thing her student could do to pass. It makes everything in you curdle, the bourbon from earlier threatening to work its way back up; it screams predator , and you absolutely refuse to let anyone fucking talk to someone like that, like they have some right to whatever it is they want. 

You refuse to let someone talk to him that way. 

"Seriously, Kratos, didn't I tell you to leave me alone? Did Aphrodite not teach you your lesson last time you harassed someone?" Taehyung's voice brings a calm that's an unsettling match to the anger washing over you. You're used to the red at the corners of your vision, the tint to everything you see, but you aren ' t used to the way it all turns purple and focused and clear . 

There's no haze this time, there's no abrupt shift of you moving before you know you've done it. You can feel the glass crunching under your boots with every step you take, can feel the way the air has a chill that creeps down into your lungs with every breath, can almost taste the apprehension that's rolling off of Taehyung despite his relaxed stance. The only thing that gives him away is the tense set of his jaw and the mix of relief and fear when his eyes land on you. 

"I'm pretty sure he said no, Kratos." The god turns at your voice and you watch the realization wash over him as he realizes what - who - you are. 

"Been a while since anyone's seen you, Ares." He scoffs a little, not moving from where he has Taehyung caged against the wall of the bar, one hand pressed firmly into the brick. He's entirely too close, and you have no doubt that the stench of him permeates the very oxygen around them. 

"Been busy. Doesn't change the fact that the man said no. Take the loss, walk away." Kratos' eyes narrow at your words and he steps away, but only to move closer to you. 

"Why do you care so much? You've never been one to care about any of us before." Kratos inches closer and the hyper-focus that Taehyung's voice causes starts to melt away with every twitch of your fingers. You've never liked Kratos, all brute strength with no respect for the challenge, no appreciation of the fight, too focused on sheer power and exhilaration. He is the worst of the worst of the worst of your kind, of all the war-focused gods. Every bit of yourself you hate is every piece that Kratos loves about himself. 

"I care that you don't seem to be able to understand when someone doesn't want to be around you, you absolute piece of filth. Taehyung had a point though, I really thought the whole thing with Aphrodite would've taught you how to back off. Or should I pull the video out, I think I still have it saved for when I need a good laugh." Malice and fury twitch across the other god's face and you absolute revel in it. You can feel his anger prickling across you, like needles in your very pores, and you ache for it. It's been so long since you last had a good fight, a real challenge where you didn't need to hold back at all. 

Too long since you fought a god like yourself.

"You're testing my patience, cousin," Kratos spits. It's a little generous to call the two of you cousins - you're several times removed, at best, and potentially closer than that with your family's warped history - but you let him have it. It might make him feel better. "I'm having a conversation, that's all. And if said conversation means that we end up back at my place, then, well, can anyone really blame me for what might happen to this pretty little m-"

Your fist connects with his jaw immediately and the red floods you for the few seconds it takes to register Taehyung calling your name. The calm struggles for a second, warring with the rage, but it wins out eventually. The singer's talking, but you can't make out any actual words. You're too focused on Kratos, the way he's righting and readying himself for a brawl. There's a fire in his eyes that matches the one in yours and everything in you feels alive for the first time in too long. 

This fight is different than your usual ones. There's no blur, no warped sense of time that usually comes with the adrenaline. You're focused and controlled in a way you haven't had to be for centuries, careful and precise and deliberate with every swing and every kick. The red seeps back in slowly and every time you think you're about to lose it, you hear Taehyung, still pressed against the wall of the bar. 

Kratos lunges at you for what has to be the tenth time, clearly trying his best to knock you to the ground - he succeeded, once; you let yourself get distracted, too caught up in thoughts, but it didn't last long - and you sidestep him just in time for him to ram into the ruined dumpster instead. He looks pissed when he turns back around and something in you sings at the sight. He makes for you again and you dodge again, only to be dragged back towards him by the grip he has on your jacket. Fuck, should've taken that off , whatever, he's too close.

Pain explodes in your side and you're fairly sure he's busted part of your rib, but you just slide your arms out of the sleeves and twist to plant your knee straight into his gut and then slam your heel down onto his much-less-safe toes, and then back up to knee him in the groin. It's nowhere near enough to take him out, but his nose is oozing golden ichor and he groans with every shift of his weight, and you've got him pinned against the wall with your forearm pressing hard into his windpipe. 

"Now, you're gonna listen to me you steaming pile of dog shit," You hiss. "When someone tells you no, it's not a fucking negotiation. It means you fucking leave and find someone with loose enough morals or enough internalized self-hatred that they're willing to subject themselves to your absolutely pitiful fucking excuse of an existence for the thirty-two seconds it'll take for you to get off." 

Kratos doesn't respond, just sneers and spits blood at you. It's a miracle you don't actually try to rip his head from his body, because the thought crosses your mind for a second too long. Instead, you just press harder against his windpipe and enjoy the choked gasp that it draws. 

"You don't stalk people either, the way you did with 'Dite. Don't you know it's better to let them come to you sometimes?" You tsk, ignoring the way he claws uselessly at your arm. Gods may not need to breathe, that's a fact, but they feel pain, and there is no way this isn't absolutely excruciating for him when even you can feel the small bones in his neck cracking and breaking. "And if I hear even a whisper of you pulling shit like this again, then I'm gonna find you, you pigshit. And when I do, I won't hold back even the slightest, and do you know what comes after that?" 

His eyes are full of fear now, and only grow wide with terror as you lean in close enough that he can feel your lips against his ear as you whisper. 

"You are going to wish that you could die." 

When you do release him, he disappears instantly, with a cloud of acrid grey-green smoke curling around your ichor-spattered boots. He's only been gone a second when you slump, the adrenaline fading as quick as Kratos had left. Your side is throbbing now, your knuckles are bruised and broken and gold, there's a pain in your leg that you aren't sure what's causing, your head is screaming even through the high of the fight, your face stings in the crisp-cool air. Every breath makes the pain worse so you stop breathing. The brick wall of the bar is rough against your palms, but it's the only thing around that can keep you upright, so you'll take it. 

"Well," a voice drawls from your left. You'd jump if you had anything left in you, but every ounce of energy is gone, spent teaching Kratos what Aretha Franklin meant when she sang about respect - and really, there was another fantastic singer, you really should visit her sometime soon - so instead your head lolls to the side. You aren't sure what it is that jolts through you when your eyes land on Taehyung, fingers curled carefully around the collar of-

Your jacket. That's your leather jacket. You barely remembers shrugging out of it, but you're glad it's not on the ground, trampled and covered in the gold spatters that decorate the rest of your body. 

"Well?" You echo, wincing at the pain it causes. You've definitely got a busted lip, that's for sure from the way it feels different and swollen, and you're pretty sure there's a head wound, too, because you don't remember there being a golden halo around Taehyung before the fight. 

"Well," He repeats, slinging the jacket - your jacket - over a shoulder. "You should get that looked at." He starts walking, making his way to the entrance of the alleyway. He gets halfway there before he stops and turns and cocks a brow. "Are you coming, or do I get to keep this?" Your jacket waves a little, as if he's wiggling it, and it makes you feel like a stray dog being lured off with treats. 

You're never going to tell anyone that it works.

Taehyung's place is as nondescript as the car he parks outside. It's a plain apartment building on the outside - looks like maybe it was a hotel back in the 1930s, based on the outdated carpeting in the lobby and the grate on the elevator he steps into. Even the hallway is plain and unassuming as he leads you to the end and uses an old, tarnished brass key on an older, more tarnished brass knob. You aren't sure what you expected, you can't even begin to guess what Taehyung is like outside of the dirty alley or the stage where he sings, can't fathom what kind of decor he could possibly have. 

What you step into isn't anything you could have guessed. It looks like he has the entire rest of the floor to himself based on what you can see, but there's also a spiral staircase tucked into a corner, bookshelves built in under each step that are filled to the brim, and a fireman's pole in another corner, so there's at least one more level above this, but something tells you both the staircase and the pole continue past that. There's artwork everywhere, pieces you recognize and pieces you don't, several van Goghs and a couple from Matisse and you think in the corner you spot an actual fucking da Vinci sketch that's supposed to be somewhere in Europe. There's a gramophone beside a top-of-the-line sound system, an entire wall that's just a record collection, books upon books, framed bits of poetry - including an actual hand-written rupi kaur, a signed Maya Angelou print, and a signed cover of ain't i a woman by bell hooks that you would die to know how Taehyung got his hands on. It's a museum's wet dream and yet it retains a lived in atmosphere. There are mugs left on tables, blankets strewn about as if someone just got up from a nap, an easel propped up by a far window with what looks like an impressionist painting of the cityscape, books tossed down half-read with receipts and coupons and candy wrappers and everything but a bookmark tucked between the pages. 

It feels like a home and it makes your heart flutter in your chest at the same time that something in your stomach shrivels up into itself. 

Taehyung walks like he’s meant to be followed, so follow you do. You spy another man - older, you think, but it’s hard to tell, really - sprawled across a couch, blanket splayed across his lap as he watches some kind of dance show on a flatscreen hung above a warm and roaring fireplace, a couple of girls in what looks to be the kitchen, one sitting on the counter while the other stands between her legs and pretends not to notice the former stealing strawberries from her bowl as she taps at her tablet, and there are footsteps creaking above you, hidden behind walls even as Taehyung leads you up the staircase. They all look up when you pass, but only the man gives you a second glance; his eyes are a weight on your back that doesn’t leave until you’re upstairs and following Taehyung into a large, rather nice bathroom. 

It’s vintage as well, but it’s spacious and well-kept, like the rest of the place. Taehyung pats the marble counter by the sink and you bite your tongue against the urge to tell him you aren’t a dog. You don’t move though, instead watching him as he lays your jacket across a brass bar on the wall and then digs around in a cabinet for a minute or two. When he straightens up, he’s got a somewhat dusty off-white box in his hands, and he frowns. 

“Up,” He says. “I need to look at your ankle.” 

You don’t move, but you can tell he doesn’t miss the twitch of your nose at the thought of being commanded like an animal. Like someone who can’t understand. Like-

He sighs. 

“Please, will you sit on the counter, so I can look at your ankle?” You huff, but you do as he says. 

He doesn’t speak as he works, completely silent except for the odd command - “Roll it for me...alright, now flex that...deep breath...stop fidgeting or I’ll only make it worse…” - and the occasional hum under his breath. It seems to be second nature, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and it endears you more than you’d like. His touch is gentle but firm as he lightly squeezes your ankle and wraps it, lifts your pant leg to rub some kind of cream into a somewhat worrisome golden bruise forming on your calf, darts under your shirt to quickly and painlessly set your ribs before wrapping those as well. He doesn’t say anything at all until he’s almost finished with the cuts on your hands, golden ichor long gone and wounds already on their way to healing thanks to some sort of mist he spritzes on them. 

It only stings once, as he’s spraying something over some kind of cut on your thigh where Kratos ripped through the denim there without you noticing. You can’t stop the hiss as the pain hits, though you regret it when he glances up at you. 

“Sorry,” He mumbles under his breath as he dabs lightly at it with his long fingers. 

“It’s fine,” You tell him. “I’m used to it.” Your voice is rough, always, but softer than usual. You don’t know why. You can’t decide if you like it.

The entire time he works, you wait. For him to tell you it wasn’t necessary, that he can fight his own battles, that he’s not surprised a brute like yourself got into a fight, that you’re no more than what the rumours say you are. You’ve got a million different curses and insults ready to spit back at him when he finally speaks.

“Thank you,” is what comes. It shocks the words out of your mouth, and you actually look up from where you’ve been watching him methodically wipe gold away from a scrape on your forearm. His gaze is concentrated on the injury and his lips are pursed and you wish you could figure him out. 

He must take your silence for the confusion it is, because he continues. 

“I mean it,” He says. “I’m usually not someone that lets other people fight for me, but we both know that I couldn’t have taken Kratos. He’s too strong, and he was counting on that. Until you showed up.” You don’t respond. “Is there a reason you left before my set was done? Or why you were sitting in an alley beside what is possibly the most gnarled dumpster I’ve ever seen?”

You don’t answer him, instead focusing on the way his hands feel as they tilt your chin so he can look at the cuts and bruises and scrapes that decorate your face. You focus your gaze just past his shoulder, content to memorize the pattern of his gaudy vintage bathroom wallpaper, and he doesn't press for more. The distracted humming picks up again every time he stops talking, and eases the storm of guilt shame rage pain hurt grief loneliness in your chest. 

"I fight," you eventually say. Your voice is too loud in the quiet of the bathroom, shatters the silence like a sledgehammer, and you hate the way it trembles. Still, Taehyung doesn't look away from where he's carefully wiping gold from your skin, just cocks a brow, and it's as if a dam breaks in your throat. "Like, real fights. Actual competition, with rules and shit, and...sometimes the bad ones, because they tend to fight differently, it's a different kind of fight, y'know, and it's never really fair, because I'm...I'm me, but I hold back, just for fun, y'know, and it's, uh. It's alright usually, I go in, do my thing, I win, I go drink, and it all gets, I dunno, easier, maybe, for a while, like I can think right, but, um.”

You hesitate for a split second and force yourself to focus on the way the alcohol-soaked cotton tickles the cut on your head. 

“Sometimes it's not...sometimes I can't control it as well, the anger, and I kind of just lose it on people, and a while ago this guy, he almost needed his jaw wired shut, but he was kind of a prick anyway, I guess, so whatever, but, uh, today, I...there was this girl and she was doing really well, actually, y'know, managed to get me down to the mat, which is rare and pretty impressive, and I'm pretty proud of her for it now, but then, I just. I just kinda lost it, like, I just kept swinging, I couldn't stop, and then I just...I broke her leg, for no real reason, just because I wanted her to hurt, and I don't...I'm not sure why I even did it, because I'd already won, right, like what was the point of doing any more, it wasn't even helping at that point, y'know, it's not like the buzz kept up any longer because I broke this kid's leg, and I love the fights, they help clear my head for a second, but I never wanted to actually-"

You words stop short, like there are too many of them to say in too short a time, and it's then you realize Taehyung's hands are in his lap and he's looking at you fully. His expression isn't neutral anymore, it's not the carefully crafted mask of a performer, it's real and open and genuine and all you see there is pain . For you. Pain and understanding and compassion you never expected to find anywhere but the deepest corners of your soul. Looking at him looking at you like that makes you feel like you can breathe again.

"You never wanted to hurt anyone." His voice is rough, like maybe there's emotion clogging his throat as well, and you aren't sure what that does to you, but something in you jumps at the thought.

Tears mar your vision as you nod and you curse under your breath before wiping them away. He catches your quivering hand in his and just holds it for a second. His eyes don't leave yours and there are a thousand things you expect him to say but what he says is: 

"I believe you."

And that...it's more than you can take, and you break, right there on his bathroom counter, sobbing into his chest while he just rubs your back and hums and you remember the face of every person you've ever hurt and the look in their eyes as you left some of them for dead. 

You wake up the next morning curled up on the most comfortable chaise lounge in human history, sitting up and shoving the blanket off of you in a rush before you remember where you are, why you're there. A glance around tells you that you aren't alone; there's two guys bent over a table that you think might also be a tablet, conversing quietly and pointing every so often at whatever they're looking at, a girl balanced along the edge of the staircase holding a lyre - which, wow, you haven't seen a lyre in that good condition in a while - and strumming lightly along it before she frowns and shakes her head and restarts whatever melody she's playing, and the same guy sprawled over the couch with a blanket strewn haphazardly over him while he watches a different dance video on the flatscreen. He's the closest and you don't really want to talk to any of these people but you think you might have to because you aren't really sure how Taehyung got you here last night but you know it was quite a drive. You'd just mist over to the bar if you really wanted to, but your ribs hurt like a bitch still thanks to that fucker Kratos. Anything as intense as misting is out of the question for the time being.

The man on the chaise spares you a glance that feels longer than it should, full of a judgement you have no doubt you deserve and yet somehow fires your anger anyway. 

He rolls his eyes before you even say anything and waves a hand towards the kitchen. You snap your mouth closed and shoot him an irritated look, but you storm in that direction anyway. Healing is exhausting, and you want nothing more than some meat to tear into and a cold beer. 

When you get into the kitchen, however, Taehyung is standing there already, as if he’s been expecting you any minute. There’s a plate in front of him, full of food you barely recognize, and he slides it towards you. 

“Eat,” He says. You grit your teeth, unmoving, and he sighs again. “Please sit, and eat. You need the strength to heal properly.” 

You resist for a split second, but there’s a softness to him now. Something you can’t exactly put your finger on, but that you know is different , somehow, and it changes things. It makes you want to listen, to do as he asks, because he is asking . He’s not telling, he’s treating you like an animal. 

It’s a request, not a demand, and that makes all the difference. 

Taehyung is quiet while you eat. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t watch to make sure you’re doing it, but you have no doubt he’s keeping an eye on you. It’s quiet, but not unbearably so; the air is broken by the sounds of the lyre and the television, as well as the soft chattering of the men at the table. It makes it comfortable, makes it soft in a way you’re unaccustomed to being, like the way people talk about lazy Sunday mornings or that voice they get when they see a cute animal.

It feels like home should be, instead of what yours is. 

“So why’s Pretty Boy giving me the death glare?” You eventually ask past a mouthful of food. Taehyung barely looks up, just glancing past you to the guy laying on the couch. You can feel his eyes boring into your spine, but it’s nothing new. 

“Taemin’s just protective,” Taehyung says softly. “Especially considering the stories.”

“The ones about me, you mean.”

A myriad of emotions passes through his eyes when he nods, and you wish you could more easily decipher them. Maybe in time, you will. 

Maybe.

“Those, yes,” He says softly. “But he’ll learn.” He doesn’t say it, but nonetheless, you hear the words as clear as day. Just like I did.  

Someone hums behind you and you glance over to see a woman - the strawberry thief - making her way into the kitchen. She gives Taehyung a look you don’t care enough to figure out, and they have an entire conversation in the span of five minutes. Something about it irks you, and it only gets worse when they start moving around each other, Taehyung handing her things without her asking. 

It’s ridiculous, and you know it, but the air gets heavy in your lungs and your head starts to swim and suddenly you’re suffocating. It’s too much, there’s too much here, and you can’t take it anymore. 

The force with which you shove away the counter would have slammed it into the wall were it not already attached. There are slight cracks in the granite tops, though, and there’s just enough clarity as Taehyung calls your name for you to feel guilty about it. It’s not enough to stop you though; you have to get out, you need to get out, before you do something worse, and the cracks in the granite are proof of that. 

You’re out the door in an instant, your form coalescing painfully back into solid matter as you reach the hallway. Your ribs ache, screaming with the effort of trying to mist away from this place, this home , and you lean against the wall in the hope that it will help steady you. 

The door opens behind you, the creak of the old hinges deafening in the silence of the hall. There’s a commotion behind it, voices overlapping each other and reverberating in your skull until they’re a twisted mockery of your siblings. 

You stumble down the hall, one hand clutching your ribs to keep them as still as possible despite your movement. It’s not lost on you that there are footsteps following you, but you can’t focus on them now. You’re not moving fast, and you need to be, you should be running , but you can’t. Your vision is already clouding slightly at the edges, the sudden spike of adrenaline waning now that you’re out of the apartment. 

Someone says your name and you swing. 

It’s instinct, the way your fist flies through the air; you can’t control it, not this, not when the red is all you can see even as it seeps away and turns lilac. It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t make contact with anything but the wall, plaster crumbling around your fist and onto the carpeted floor. 

“That was rude,” Taehyung says softly. He doesn’t sound mad, though he should, considering you almost decked him straight in the nose. “I’ll take you back.”

He drapes your jacket over your arm and walks away, toward emergency stairs tucked into the corner instead of the elevator, and you follow. He hums as he goes, and he lets you lead the way down the stairs, keeping pace with your quick steps until both of you step out a side door into an alleyway. 

Out of habit, more than anything, you light a cigarette and put it between your lips. You don’t miss the disgusted scrunch of Taehyung’s nose, but you do ignore it. The smoke is familiar in lungs, comforting, and he doesn’t understand it, won’t ever understand it, but he doesn’t have to. 

“Sorry, Tae,” You say after a few minutes of silence. Taehyung shrugs one shoulder and moves to lean beside you against the stone of the building. 

“Are you okay now?” You nod, taking a deep breath, remembering how Hestia had taught you, so long ago, how her hand felt against your chest, the warmth and love it held. “Then you’re forgiven. And you can call me Calliope, if you want.”

You’re both quiet after that. He doesn’t make fun of you, he doesn’t judge you, he just silently drives you back to Suho’s bar, which is when you remember that he doesn’t know where you live. You’re fine with it; you don’t want to see him in your run down hovel. It’s not much, especially compared to his own apartment, but that makes sense, too. 

What could ever live up to the home of a Muse? Not even a muse, really. The Muse. The Head of the Nine Muses, the one called on most often by those in need, the one that everyone knew, the one that Hephaestus just put statues of in the gardens of Olympus, according to the rumors that Apollo sent you. 

The calm that he brings lasts until you get back to your apartment, nearly ten full minutes after you disappear into the alley beside Suho’s bar. It’s the longest the calm has ever lasted, and the view of the city tinted lavender is one you think you love. 

If you can love. 

Things get clearer, somehow. The weight on your shoulders lessens, makes you feel less like Atlas and more like you, how you were all those years ago in the now-ancient days when things made sense. When people fought for honor and glory and justice more than they fought for oil and death and greed. 

It could be because open mic nights are frequent around the city, and you’re able to figure out his schedule pretty well. You don’t go every night that he sings, just when it gets to be too much, when the scarlet haze starts to bleed into your irises like a flag in front of a bull. It helps, for a while, lets you settle long enough to pull the pieces of you back into a shape that vaguely resembles yourself. 

It could be because the fights happen every night, and Taehyung is no stranger to where to look to find them. He watches every one that he can, when he isn’t singing, and his presence anchors you. Focuses you, so that you can pull your punches just enough, so that there’s less hurting and more fighting. It doesn’t work every time, you still lose yourself in the rage and do more damage than you ever mean to, but it helps enough. And when it doesn’t, he’s there, to slide a hand across your shoulders in that exact same way that Hestia used to, that Apollo might if you let him close enough to know you’re alive, that Artemis would , were she anywhere but where she is. 

It’s a strange feeling. You’re not used to companionship, you don’t know how to have friends. You still say the wrong things and do the wrong things and he still speaks to you like he expects to be listened to, but you both are learning. You apologize more often, and he corrects himself quicker. It’s a slow, fragile thing, this friendship, but it’s there. 

Until the night when it’s not. 

You aren’t sure how it happens. It’s been weeks since you last saw Taehyung; he mentioned some project he was working on, something or another that would have most of his attention along with that of several of the other Muses. You had brushed it off when he said it, some snide remark about how you don’t need him there to win. 

You would take it back if you could. 

Because you were right, of course, you don’t need him there to win; you can do that on your own. And your control has gotten better, stronger, over the last few months, but complacency is what always leads to disaster. 

The guy deserved it, is what you tell yourself as you’re pulled out of the ring. He was a piece of shit anyway, you remind yourself as you call Apollo with shaking hands. He didn’t deserve your mercy, you tell the golden gold after you’ve begged him to help save the man’s life. Artemis would have done the same, you insist to him, long after he’s hung up the phone and left to follow the ambulance to the hospital. 

You don’t go to Suho’s. You can’t bear it, not when he might be there, not when he would read it on your face in a heartbeat. You don’t want to watch the disappointment crumble into something more familiar, something worse, you can’t watch him look at you with the knowledge that your siblings are right, that they’ve always been right, that you’re nothing better than a crazed animal. 

The club is packed full when you get there. The bartender starts to pour you a drink and you just take the bottle, leaving a too-thick wad of bills in return. The bourbon tickles as it goes down but it warms your stomach and distracts you from the haze in your mind, the repetitive beat of they were right they were right they were right they were-

“Whoops, sorry,” someone says, a second before they knock into your shoulder. You’ve been around long enough to know a fake fall, and you scowl as you glance towards them. 

He’s cute. Taller than you, with skin that would hide the marks you so love to create, and hair that looks like it would be soft in your hands. His clothes fit well, and they look like they were chosen for comfort over style despite the way he walks like a model in them, which you always find attractive. 

The smile that slips onto your face is familiar, as is the way you bring your hand up to rest on his hip in an effort to steady him. 

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” You tell him, not being subtle in the way you eye him. He looks soft; you love them soft. “You headed to get a drink?”

“I might be,” He says teasingly, a coy grin forming on his lips. 

“I’ve got something better, if you’re interested.”

His eyes roam along your body, his breath drawing somewhat quicker when he notices the scrapes on your knuckles. “I might be.”

It takes five minutes to get him to a corner quiet enough to talk. Less than three to get your lips on his. One and a half to start sucking a mark into his neck that makes him moan so pretty you can’t help but want to hear it again. 

One of your hands is up his shirt, playing with the pebbled buds and the metal pierced through them, while the other teasingly massages the skin of his hip when he’s torn away from you roughly. 

“What the fuck?” Your voice growls as you look up. The guy is standing there, looking for all the world like he’s ready to run, but he isn’t watching you. 

No, his eyes are on a familiar sight; Taehyung, his hair now a pretty lavender that makes you think of a home you don’t have, even as he doesn’t look at you. 

“Taken,” He growls, releasing the collar of the guy you had every intent to make cry with pleasure. The guy scurries off before you can stop him, though, and you don’t bother to hide your disdain. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” You demand, already lighting a cigarette as you head outside. Taehyung follows, pulling it from between your lips and crushing it in his hands before you have the chance to get your lighter out.

“Me? You looked like you were about to eat him .” He follows you all the way to the street outside and down the sidewalk, pulling each cigarette out of your hands before you can light it. He waits until you’re a decent distance from the crowd outside the club before he stops you, one hand lightly encircling your wrist. 

Your boots scuff against the ground as you stop, not turning to look at him. You’re too afraid to, too worried he’ll see it all on your face and just know that you’ve fucked up, maybe beyond repair. 

“Apollo called me,” is what he says instead. “Said I might want to find you tonight.”

You should’ve known. That little fuck, of course he would rat you out. 

“I didn’t-” 

The words choke in your throat. You want to say you don’t need him. You don’t need him to come running like you’re some scared little girl who can’t control her strength, you don’t need him to piece you back together because you aren’t broken, you don’t need him because you don’t need anyone, you never have. 

“I know you didn’t,” Taehyung says quietly. “I know he deserved it, I know what he did, and I know you didn’t mean to.”

Something inside of you breaks and you find yourself shaking. 

“He hurt her , Tae, I heard it, I heard her telling her friend about it on the phone, I saw her crying, I saw her clothes, okay, he-”

“I know,” Taehyung says, pulling you into a loose hug. “I know you did, it’s okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s not gonna escape his punishment from that, you didn’t send anyone to Hades today. It’s okay.”

The cloud struggles, for what feels like hours. Guilt settles like lead in your stomach, and you wish you weren’t so used to the feeling. The rage returns every time you remember what that girl looked like, what she sounded like on the phone, how you felt when you realized it was your competitor who had done that to her. 

There’s no honor in that. There’s no justice, no glory, in beating an opponent who was never aware they were in the ring, and it makes your blood boil all over again. Taehyung’s voice soothes you, slightly, makes the edges of your vision turn indigo, but it isn’t enough. 

It’s never enough. 

“I have to go,” You say, pulling yourself away from him. “I need- I have to find-”

“A distraction,” He finishes for you, too aware that you can’t find the words you need. “Some mortal that you can bruise and break and bang until you feel less like a monster?”

That’s exactly what you want to do, what you had been about to do with that guy at the club, and it’s only Taehyung’s voice calling your name in that soft, sweet way of his that makes you wonder if that’s not a good plan. 

“I’ll be a distraction, if you need one.” You whip your head around, staring at him, but he doesn’t flinch. “I’m sturdier than the mortals, I can take more. Let me be your distraction.”

“I…” You hesitate. You don’t know why. You shouldn’t even be entertaining this idea, it’s not a good one, but then...when have any of your ideas been good? “I can’t fuck in a house with eight other people.”

“You have an apartment,” He says easily. “Let’s go there.”

It’s a bad idea. You don’t do that, you don’t fuck people at your apartment, you don’t have people in your apartment, it’s your space. It’s a bad idea, it can only end in disaster. 

“Okay.”

Taehyung’s lips are soft against yours, yielding and pliant just the way you’re used to. His hands are big and warm against your ass, even through your jeans, and the feeling gives you the courage to slide your own under the ridiculously patterned button-down he’s wearing. 

He lets you lead the way through the door, kicking it closed behind you with slightly too much force. Your apartment is small, a studio with a bed tucked in the corner for the rare times that you need it. 

You push Taehyung onto it and slide yourself onto his lap, already grinding down onto the hard length you can feel there. He's not quite as enthusiastic, but his fingers are like steel against you, pulling you down with every rut of your hips. 

This, you can do. This, you're familiar with. 

You push on his shoulders, doing your best to get him on his back so you can have better access to the clasp of his jeans, but he resists. You try again, firmer, using a harsh suck against his skin as a distraction, but he still doesn't go. 

Frustrated, you pull back. 

"Not like this," He says. His voice clears some of the fog, and you frown. 

"Do you want to be on top, then? Because I don't mind, I just need it," You tell him. He sighs a little, but he flips the two of you over so he's kneeling between your open legs and your back is cushioned against the mattress. 

"How long has it been since you spent the night with someone who knows who you are?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he sits back on his knees. 

You shift, uncomfortable. "A while. Why does that matter? Just fuck me."

"No," Taehyung says, voice gentle but firm. You cock a brow at him and move to get out from under him, but he stills you with a hand on your thigh. 

"You are a goddess," He tells you, trailing his hands down so he can undo the laces on your steel-toe boots and slide them off. "You have held Victory in your palms and set her free." 

His palms burn through the denim on your thighs, but you welcome it as he slides your jacket over your shoulders to the bed beneath. 

"You are the winner of wars. You are the one who grants battlefield wishes. You are the dead's escort to Hades." He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek and then down your throat. 

He pulls back as he gets to your collarbone, eyes blown wide with unfamiliar desire, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You," Taehyung tells you, with desire in his eyes and belief in his voice, "Deserve to be treated like the goddess that you are, with the respect you have earned, and the care you deserve." 

As often as you fuck people, it's been a very long time since anyone wanted to fuck you for any reason beyond your appearance and the personality you show them. But this? This look in the muse's eyes as his hands settle on your knees as he waits? 

Taehyung wants to fuck you because you're you. Not despite it, not because he doesn't know . He has seen you at your worst and yet he keeps coming back, keeps showing up as you fall apart. Each time he stays, hands you a basket so you can pick the pieces of yourself up off the ground, holds the tape so you can mash it back together, and is ready to help steady you when you start to crumble again. 

He's here for you , to treat you in a way no one has ever treated you before. He's your friend.

He cares.

You nod, however tentatively, and his lips are on yours in an instant. They're firmer now, less pliable and more controlling, but you don't mind. Not this time. 

Not with Taehyung. 

His hands don't hesitate as he strips you both of your clothes, but you can feel it each time he checks to make sure you're okay. The way that he watches your expression, the tense of your muscles under him, the cadence of your gasps for air between kisses, he reads all of it as clear as if it's a book in front of him. He slows down before you can stop him, his lips drawing back from the kisses he draws across your thighs, and he speeds up as your thoughts start to drift, swiping his tongue and two fingers through your folds to tease and bring your attention back to him. 

His fingers bury themselves in your heat, crooking slightly to brush against that soft part of you that makes the world spin, and it's all too intense. His lips are hardly even touching your skin, just pressing gentle kisses against the skin of your thigh, a gentle complement to the way he glides his fingers in and out of you, slow and steady and delicious, but it's absolutely intoxicating. 

He's talkative, too; he gives you constant praise. He tells you how well you take his fingers, how good you look with his fingers inside you, how absolutely fantastic you taste on his tongue, how he'd live between your thighs if he could. 

It's too much, and you can't be sure why, not when your orgasm is approaching quicker than it ever has, not when your walls clench around him and you soak your sheets, not when he's cleaning your cum off his fingers with his tongue.

"Good," He purrs. "Now you're all warmed up." 

His mouth hits your heat without hesitation or warning, before the aftershocks are even finished, and your hips buck upwards. His arms slide underneath your thighs only to grip them and bring them back down. You can't move much in his grip except to grind your pussy against his mouth, which he seems to enjoy, if the muffled grunts that escape him are any indication.

He doesn't stop until his tongue is buried inside you with one finger drawing lazy circles on your clit and you're cumming again, hands gripping the soft strands of his hair so tight that you would be afraid of pulling it out if you could focus on anything besides the feel of him against you.

He lets you ride the aftershock, this time. Waits until your pants die down slightly, until you're back in your mind. 

"Good?" He asks you. His voice is deeper, rumbles instead of slides, but it breaks through the post-orgasm haze long enough for you to nod. “More?”

“More,” you agree, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into a heated kiss. You haven’t been this clear-headed in a while. Every sensation is clear and crisp, every sound heightened, everything is simultaneously more while also being exactly what it’s always supposed to have been. 

Taehyung’s cock is everything you could have expected from a muse; thick, long, beautiful, and it fills you in a way that’s indescribable as he slides inside. He groans at the feeling, deep and throaty and beautiful, and begins his thrusts nearly immediately. 

It’s as slow as he was with his fingers; steady and forceful, but unhurried. As if he wants to take his time. As if he wants to savor it. Savor you . 

“Do you have any idea how amazing you are?” He mutters, almost as an afterthought. “What you look like right now, what you look like when you’re fighting, when you’ve won and you’re triumphant? It’s fucking addictive, seeing that confidence in you.”

“Shit, Tae, don’t stop-”

“It’s so fucking intoxicating,” He groans, pace quickening. Your arms wrap around him more fully, nails like claws down his back as you arch your back to get him deeper. “You get this look in your eyes, like you can do anything you fucking want to, and it’s so fucking brilliant, because you can , you can do anything and everything you ever fucking want to do, and no one can stop you.”

A whine you’ll never admit to escapes your throat, and Taehyung drives his cock further into you. 

“Let go, my sweet,” Taehyung purrs in your ear. “Let yourself relax, just this once. For me.”

His hand touches your clit and it’s so much, too much , you’re feeling everything so intensely that it takes a solid minute to realize you’re coming down from an orgasm. Taehyung has stilled inside you, unmoving but groaning as you flutter around him, and you push weakly at his shoulder. 

He slides himself out of you, looking entirely too proud of wet spot underneath you and glistening against his lower stomach. You wobble your way up to rest your elbows underneath you, and it’s like he can sense your words before they come. 

“No,” He says simply. “I don’t you to get me off with your mouth.”

“A hand then? I don’t want you to leave unsatisfied.” 

A frown pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he leans down just enough that your lips are almost touching, a not-there kiss that you can only wish for. 

“In what world is fucking you to the point of Elysium unsatisfying?”

The crowd around you is deafening; some of them are cheering for you, but the majority are rooting for your downfall. Such is the life of a challenging the champion, you suppose. 

You don’t know how Taehyung found this place; maybe Artemis had heard rumors, or maybe he searched for it himself. You can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’ve got someone worth fighting on the other side of the arena. 

The sand crunches beneath your feet. It’s hot, hotter than it should be since you’re still wearing your signature jeans and boots - without the jacket this time. You learned from that mistake. 

Your vision tints pink as you size up your opponent; he’s massive, not one to be easily defeated, and you relish the challenge. It’s been so long since you’ve fought a giant. Excitement thrums under your veins as he turns to you. He scoffs. 

If you had a little less control, you might be flying across the arena already. He clearly has no idea who’s standing across from him. Probably thinks you’re some demigod, come to challenge him for the fleece he isn’t supposed to have. 

He’ll learn. 

Something moves in the distance. It should blend in, considering how dark it is, but instead it draws your eye, and you don’t even question why. You would recognize him anywhere, have recognized him everywhere, and his presence calms you. Makes you remember a few nights ago, falling into bed in a hotel in Rome because the burn was to much and you needed him to help you release it. 

“Try not to be too quick, princess,” The giant across from you huffs. You cock a brow and send a look to your muse, who just rolls his eyes, despite the smile playing across his face. 

Violet rings your vision as you ready your stance. The announcer yells something that’s lost over the noise of the crowd. Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees, excitement and pride in his eyes. 

The giant swings. 

[bubble-tea-bunny]

searching for sunshine 

[tamaki suoh x reader]

author’s note: tamaki suoh is my anime bf i love him so much. this has been a psa. inspired by this prompt

word count: 5,147

It feels like the opening scene of a romance novel, the way everything begins.

The sky is clear and blue this afternoon and the air is pleasantly warm, enough to go without a coat and enjoy the occasional cool gust of wind tickling the skin. Downtown sees a fair amount of people traipsing up and down the sidewalks, the main street lined with boutiques featuring the latest fashion and trendy cafes with chalkboard signs advertising their specials for the weekend.

Tamaki’s roped Kyoya into joining him at the shops, on the condition Tamaki be the one to pay for lunch. That had been an easy deal to make. The agreed upon restaurant is at the corner of the current block—it’s expensive, Kyoya had made sure of it, but both of them know the price is no issue. Still, Kyoya doesn’t like to make things so simple, but Tamaki supposes that’s just one reason he likes him so much.

There’s ten minutes until their scheduled meeting time and as Tamaki is wont to do, he gets distracted a mere four shopfronts away from his destination. His walk until now had mostly been casual glances into the windows, scanning this season’s collection but with no desire to stop and get a closer look. That changes as he slows to a complete stop, standing before a mannequin donning a gray jacquard cotton jacket, paired with casual slacks and sneakers. Tamaki hums in thought, hand on his chin, and mentally runs through his wardrobe for any outfits he might be able to put together with that jacket. He’d been eyeing a similar jacket from last fall, but the pattern and colors hadn’t been to his taste. This one, however…

Kyoya can wait an extra five minutes, can’t he? Tamaki has walked up to the front door and nodded in thanks to the security guard who pulls it open for him before he can come up with an answer. But in the back of his mind as he walks up to an employee to inquire about the jacket, he’s thinking Yes, he can. Not as if it’s anything new anyway, and Tamaki knows he’ll be left grinning and chuckling sheepishly when he finally arrives, late, and with a shopping bag in hand (because he’s quite sure, now that he’s been shown the jacket for inspection and he’s started to feel the fabric, that he will be leaving with it).

He shrugs off his cardigan and tosses it on the back of one of the plush sofa chairs so he can try the jacket on. It fits him well, shoulder seams lining up perfectly, and it isn’t too long. The material is soft to touch, and he notes to the employee assisting him that this would suited both for colder and warmer weather. I might just buy it then wear it out of the store! he jokes.

Deciding to purchase the jacket had been quick, but he gets even more sidetracked as he starts to inquire about the rest of this season’s editions (he had, admittedly, not been following the collections too closely recently) and it seems Kyoya would have to wait an extra ten minutes instead. Though luckily his patience is spared from any more delay, for Tamaki glances quickly at his watch in the middle of conversation and realizes he should get going. He says he’d like to buy the jacket, and he meanders around the store as the employee takes it to the back of the store to pack up for him.

The shop had been receiving a steady flow of customers in his time here, but now it’s quieted down to just a few others. Your laugh is what grabs his attention, and his eyes find you where the bags are, a quilted leather purse with a little tassel slung on your shoulder, which you observe in the mirror, angling your body to see how it goes with your outfit. He doesn’t catch the context of the conversation with the employee helping you, and thus isn’t certain why you’ve laughed, but that matters little to him compared to the laugh itself and, more importantly, the smile on your face. It stays there, a small upturn of your lips, even after the amusement from the joke or the funny quip wears off, and he’d like the softness of it to lull him to sleep.

And perhaps Kyoya’s patience hasn’t quite been spared.

Tamaki pretends to browse the backpacks, a sly attempt to get closer to you. He wants to say he isn’t eavesdropping, but if he did, he’d be lying. With his gaze on a leather backpack and his fingers tinkering with the zippers, he overhears your hesitation about that particular purse, wondering if maybe the one you’d been considering before would be better. The employee asks if you’d like him to take said bag back down from the shelf so you could compare, and that’s when Tamaki finally looks up. You’re still wearing the quilted leather purse.

“I think that one suits you nicely.”

You blink and twist around to see who’s made the comment, and Tamaki’s prepared with a friendly grin. Your confusion melts away and it gives way to that wonderful smile again, and you ask curiously, “You think so?”

Tamaki hums in affirmation, and, taking your continuation of the conversation as a positive signal, leaves the backpacks behind to join you in front of the mirror. He stands off to the side and tries not to crack a smile too big as you strike a couple of poses, giving him varying angles from which to judge just how well this bag matches your style. Of course, he doesn’t know you well enough to say if it truly suited you, but he’s always had a knack for this kind of thing.

“Quilted leather is a sophisticated choice,” he elaborates. “Mature and modern.”

Your eyes narrow thoughtfully as you mull over his words. (You are so cute!) And your smile could light the deepest reaches of space. “You’re right. It does look good.” You undersell yourself. It looks great.

Tamaki chuckles and nods his approval, then tilts his head curiously, glancing at your bag then over at the shelves to appraise the other colors choices for this model. “But maybe get it in antique rose… That is the color this season.” Thank goodness he’d had that conversation about the new collection just a few minutes ago.

The employee who’d been helping him finally emerges, his jacket tucked away in a box, which has been placed into a bag, ready to go. She calls out to him and he tells her he’ll be right there. He turns his attention back to you briefly, hating to have to part ways.

“I hope I could be of help,” he states.

You smile. “You’ve been plenty. Thanks.”

He’d like to be a whole lot more to you. You’ve quickly found a spot to settle down in a corner of his brain, and he thinks about you the whole duration of his walk to the restaurant (“You’re twenty minutes late, Tamaki!”) and then some.

Kyoya gets an earful over lunch, and he doesn’t react the entire time Tamaki recounts the experience but Tamaki doesn’t mind because he knows Kyoya is listening. At the end of his spiel, Kyoya just has one question: Did you get her name?

Tamaki deadpans. “I didn’t…” It’s a quiet confession, as if he’s embarrassed, or more accurately, as if he’s shocked that he’d never asked for it. He’d liked you enough that he really would have enjoyed talking to you more, but the employee had come out with his jacket and Kyoya had already been waiting so long and—!

Had he been flustered? He definitely didn’t feel as though he was, but it was difficult not to be set at ease by your little grin. Maybe it made him forget, maybe you made him forget that he was supposed to be the one charming you and not the other way around. Where had the Tamaki Suoh, king of the host club, been? A club where sweet-talking girls is literally his job. Had you outdone him, to captivate him before he could do it to you and what’s more, to do so without words?

His heart beats quicker at the realization that that is very much what happened and the fluster was merely delayed. He feels it full force now, the disappointment to still not know who you are and the shock to have been caught off guard like this. And he bemoans to Kyoya, repeating miserably I didn’t get her name, Kyoya…! It’s halfway to an exasperated sob of disappointment and Kyoya sighs at the theatrics.

“Who knows, perhaps you’ll run into her again,” he remarks in an attempt to comfort the distraught blond.

“I’d need a whole lot of luck for that,” Tamaki responds, huffing hopelessly.

“You’ve had luck on your side many times before. What’s one more?”

Tamaki purses his lips and acquiesces with a noncommittal shrug. Even if that were true, when’s the next time he’d come across you? Who knows how long that could be! For now, the image of your amiable grin would have to do, to keep him going, to keep him motivated to be on the lookout. He’ll dream that the glint in those kind eyes of yours are glittering from affection and not just the overhead lights of the shop with its carpeted floors and plush chairs and complimentary bottles of expensive sparkling water.

Come Monday, Kyoya’s forced to hear the same speech again as Tamaki recounts his conversation with you, this time to the rest of the club. He’s standing, too jittery with excitement to sit as the memory of you is pushed to the forefront. Everyone else is lounging back on the couches, all with varying expressions of confusion and amusement as Tamaki gestures enthusiastically. The tone of his voice denotes just how taken he had been with you. And in a fit of his textbook histrionics, he brings the back of his hand up to his forehead, eyes closed, like he’s feeling faint.

“She was mesmerizing.”

Hikaru raises a brow. He’s never seen Tamaki so caught up on anyone, at least not genuinely. He’s played up this act when on the clock for the club, dazzling girls left and right and professing them to be the apple of his eye, the forbidden fruit in the garden he would gladly partake of. To be honest, it’s a bit… strange to see it now, real and unrehearsed. “I bet.”

It’s only partly sarcastic, but before Tamaki gets the chance to be annoyed, Kaoru interjects. “Then ask her out.”

Tamaki’s hand goes from his forehead to clutch at his chest and he looks offended at the proposition. “Are you out of your mind?! She’s gorgeous, and when I say gorgeous, I mean traffic collision-causing gorgeous.”

Honey tilts his head. “Wow, she must be really pretty for you to say that, Tama-chan!” Mori grunts in agreement.

“You never have a problem talking to girls,” Hikaru states. “She’s really got you hooked, hasn’t she?”

“Well, yeah, but also…” Tamaki sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I can’t ask her out anyway because I may not have… exactly… asked for her name.”

Kaoru’s eyes widen. “So you don’t even know who she is?”

“Then how will you ever see her again?” Hikaru asks.

Tamaki groans, the panic setting in once more as the twins remind him of his initial doubt. He laments that he has no idea if he’ll ever see you again and he really messed this up big time and how could he be the president of something like the host club if he missed something so simple and maybe the charm’s only good when he’s the one in control because it’s clear that with you, you were the one with the reins and he was letting you steer by no will of his own. Is that what it felt like to be at the mercy of his own allure?

“Now now,” Kyoya interrupts before Tamaki digs himself into a hole of self-pity, finally looking up from his accounts book. “We all know Tamaki’s got a fair amount of luck. Who’s to say he won’t see her again?”

“Me,” Hikaru mutters. Kaoru lightly elbows him but he’s cracked a small smile, unable to be contained.

Tamaki glares at them, brow twitching. “I heard that.”

“Don’t worry, I think you’ll run into her!” Honey reassures. “Maybe even soon!”

Tamaki sighs, still not entirely convinced but grateful for at least some consolation. Keep dreaming he tells himself, and typically such a statement denotes cynicism and a warning not to hold one’s breath, but he says it with an optimistic authenticity, a reminder to keep the thought of you close, because maybe it’ll bring you closer to him, and he would indeed have the pleasure of crossing your path again.

Murmurs of a second-year transfer fill the halls one day, and the atmosphere is buzzing with excitement at the prospect of a new student. She’s coming from another prestigious academy outside the country. She moved here after her father, one of the higher-ups of an investment bank, was moved to the local branch. The girls gossip and giggle, hoping she’s nice and exclaiming they can’t wait to meet her. The boys wonder if she’s cute.

Tamaki flips to a new page in his notebook in preparation for the following lecture and smiles a little as he picks up bits and pieces of the chatter in the classroom. The new student is in his class, so they’re more excited than the rest. He’s looking forward to meeting her, just the same as everyone else, and he ponders if he could persuade her to visit the host club. He knows just the trick—he’d sweep her off her feet, pull her in with sweet words and the suggestion that her sweet company might be better enjoyed with sweet treats. And so why not stop by to see him? He’ll serve her tea, admire the gloss of her lips once she takes a sip and admit that he yearns to taste the remnants of the rose tea still settled upon them.

He’s too busy smiling to himself at what he considers to be a very well-thought-out plan, to notice that the teacher has arrived and the rest of his classmates have settled into their seats. It’s only when the teacher begins to speak and alert them of the arrival of the newest student that he looks up.

Either luck truly favors him or he’s done so much fantasizing that fate could ignore his desires no longer and conceded to his pleas. His eyes widen at seeing you at the head of the classroom, and you also seem to have noticed him right away, as you’ve already been watching him. He can’t hear the teacher introducing you over the buzzing in his ears, and he’s paranoid this is actually a dream, and he fell asleep at his desk, and you’re not the one who’s joining his class and he’ll just wake up later to find out who it is.

“—so make sure you help her feel welcome here!”

At the end of the teacher’s little speech, you bow slightly in respect, enunciating your words so everyone can understand as you say thanks, and remark that you hope to be a worthy addition to Ouran Academy.

Tamaki still can’t wipe the shock off his face even as you proceed down his row, to the empty desk two spaces back. Your gaze momentarily finds his again and you smile, small and imperceptible but one of recognition and his heart will probably burst out of his chest any second now. He catches a whiff of your perfume, vibrant and refreshing—it reminds him of Biarritz—and it’s only now that he registers the bag on your shoulder, fashioned with quilted leather and colored an elegant antique rose.

Sure, fate’s made it simpler by pushing you together, but it didn’t make it completely easy. Tamaki’s not the one to sweep you off your feet first. It’s the gaggle of girls who swarm around you during every break period that sweep you away. You’re occupied with them the remainder of the day, and Tamaki spares occasional glances in your direction, checking for any opening to insert himself but finding none.

By the end of the school day, he hasn’t said a word to you, and duties to the host club have him in music room 3 directly after his last class. He gushes about you to the others again, but he does so even quicker than before due to the short time allotted before the club opens its doors for the day. I can only hope that those girls convince her to come here! he states, desperation apparent in his voice. She’s so close yet so far away!

Hikaru shakes his head at Tamaki’s woe is me dramatics. The fact you’ve ended up at the same school was already a lot for him to process. It seems too ridiculous to be true that the very girl Tamaki had run into has come here. By this point, you stopping by the music room had to happen at least once. He addresses this to temper the president’s distress. “If she’s already at Ouran, she’s bound to end up at the host club eventually.”

“Yes, eventually…” Tamaki assents with a sigh. “But I would prefer sooner rather than later.”

They’re not left to linger on the conversation for longer than that, as Kyoya announces it’s time to open. The boys are always booked straight through, and the first appointments start coming in almost immediately. Tamaki take a deep breath, then dons his kingly smile and gets to work.

He tries to imagine each girl is you, and it pushes him to layer on the extra charisma. When they melt at his words and his proclamations of love and devotion, the pride he feels comes from fantasizing that it’s you who turns into a puddle before him. If your charm was at 100 percent, he would just have to increase his to 200.

The room always smells like roses and Tamaki hasn’t kept count of how many he has given today. The scent is gentle, beautiful like all the girls he has the privilege to entertain, but deep down he’s longing to take in the fragrance of that French seaside town and pretend that the warmth of the sun shining into the music room is washing over him as he sits on the white-sand beach and listens to the lapping of waves on the shore.

Before any of the host club members know it, they’ve run down their list of appointments and the day’s activity is at an end. None of them is ever cognizant of the time and it always comes as a surprise when the crowd dies down and Kyoya announces they’re done. The tea sets clank quietly as they clean up the space in preparation for tomorrow. The tables are put away, leaving most of the room bare save for a couple of couches which are too large to bother moving every day.

Hikaru and Kaoru are discussing the last girl they had as they stack saucers, and how adorable she had been, trying her best to guess which twin was which with a deep blush on her cheeks. She had it right the first time Hikaru recalls. Kaoru chuckles. But she’d been so flustered, she kept changing her answer!

Once the room is cleared and they’re about to make their leave, a knock on the door interrupts their conversations. They look to the entrance and watch as the knob is turned and the heavy door is pushed back. Your head peeks through the gap, curious eyes double-checking the room you’re at before finding the group of boys standing in the middle.

“Oh, um…” you start quietly. Remembering that trying to speak while halfway hidden is no polite means of conversation, you step fully inside, but remain by the door. “Some girls told me I should visit the host club, but I didn’t get a chance until now. Music Room 3 right? Though it looks like you’re done for the day…” You chuckle nervously, motioning to the almost empty space.

Every host club member but Kyoya turns his gaze to Tamaki, who hardly seems to notice, for his attention is solely on you. He stutters, some incoherent words leaving his mouth like he’s forgotten how to speak. You purse your lips, staying where you are and unsure if you’re able to venture in farther. You’re smiling as you look at them (but Tamaki can swear you’re looking right at him), though as the seconds tick by you wonder if maybe you should leave.

“I mean I can always… come back tomorrow?” you suggest, now a little confused.

“Nonsense.” Kyoya pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and steps forward. “Miss [Name], how have you been enjoying Ouran so far?”

Your smile is more at ease now that the conversation is going somewhere, and you tell him you love it here. Everyone is so nice! He follows up with questions as to how your father is settling in at his new location, and how his own father is looking forward to doing business with yours. You nod, mentioning how your father has also expressed interest in working with The Ootori group.

The clearly familiar air between you surprises the others, but Tamaki most of all. He has already blocked out the business talk between you and Kyoya, and interrupts it with an exclamation, equal parts shock and betrayal to discover Kyoya knows, and apparently has already known, who you are.

“You know her?!” Tamaki yells, stumbling forward and clutching Kyoya’s shoulder to shake him to and fro.

Kyoya is nonplussed by the action, and instead seems inconvenienced to be treated in such a manner in the presence of the child of another noteworthy businessman. “Of course I do, Tamaki. You know I like to get acquainted with notable people such as [Name]. We met a couple of weeks ago, during dinner with her and her parents.”

Tamaki slowly stops shaking Kyoya and stills, but his fingers are still curled into the fabric of his blazer. He considers the timeline with this new piece of information, and weakly, he voices the revelation which has come to him. “So you already knew it was her…? When I talked about her that one day?”

“You talked about me?”

Tamaki’s eyes shoot to you at your question, and his cheeks heat up at inadvertently admitting that to you. But you don’t appear to be weirded out or put off, judging by your smile, flattered that you had stuck with him as much as you had that he felt the need to share his experience with his friends (he would yell it from the rooftop too if you wanted him to). Still, he can’t help laughing nervously, spluttering and shrugging that yeah, okay, he did, but he wasn’t being creepy about it he swears and it’s just he’d really enjoyed the conversation he had with you even if it was just two minutes and about something so bland as bag colors—

“I can hardly recognize him,” Hikaru murmurs so only the other three host club members with him can hear. They’re all still standing in the center of the room, unintentional spectators to the situation unfolding in front of them.

“Yeah, who knew Tama-chan could be so awkward!” Honey exclaims, and he doesn’t try to lower his volume the way Hikaru had.

Tamaki looks mortified as Honey’s words hang in the air, but those following few seconds of silence are broken by your laugh. Everyone looks at you, though you’re hardly bothered, and Tamaki would like to hide away. Was the club just out to embarrass him? At this rate, you might not take him seriously!

“Well, [Name], while the host club is closed for the day,” Kyoya states, “I think we have the space for one more.” He turns to Tamaki, brow raised expectantly.

Tamaki, even for all his nerves, thankfully catches on quickly. “Yes, of course!” Then he turns to you and your little grin, and he’s a snowman on a warm, sunny day. “That is, if you’d have me?”

Your grin grows. He’s melting at an exceptional rate. “I would.”

Kyoya ushers out the rest of the host club members, who smile and wave to you in greeting as they pass you on the way to the doors. As soon as they click shut, and the two of you are alone, Tamaki ushers you to one of the lone couches. Internally he’s sighing with relief that there’s no one else here anymore. Now the others can’t embarrass him further.

“We usually give every girl a rose, but I’m afraid we’re all out for the day. If you’d like some tea, however, I could make you a cup.”

You smile but politely refuse, not wanting him to go out of his way. They’d already clearly been prepared to leave when you got here, and you don’t want him to do extra work after you have also left. Tamaki nods, says All right, and his chest blooms with warmth at how considerate you are. We can just talk then.

He joins you on the couch, watching as you set your bag on the coffee table, and he compliments the color. “It looks cute on you.”  

“Thanks,” you respond. “I did have a little guidance from someone.”

“Whoever it was guided you well,” Tamaki teases.

Your eyes twinkle, and he wants to go stargazing with you. “He did.”

Then you turn the tables on him, bringing back up the topic of him having mentioned you to his friends. He smiles sheepishly and confesses, more easily now that you’re alone, that yeah, he had. But I just couldn’t help it, he elaborates. I had the passing thought that you were pretty, but then I got closer, and we started talking, and then I couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Even now, you blow him away, and it doesn’t matter that you’re in the same floor-length yellow dress as all the other girls at Ouran. You wear it so well to begin with, but what you wear better than the rest, and what he cares the most about, is that smile. It has found a home on your beautiful face, and you’re the sunshine cascading over him in Biarritz and the cool ocean breeze and he is overwhelmed but in all the right ways.

He has no dramatics, no acting to exaggerate his feelings. In this moment, he isn’t host club Tamaki. He is raw and unfiltered, just Tamaki. And everything feels backwards, that he is the one who’s quiet and shy, and his skills at waxing lyrical, as though fed the words by the gods themselves, have gone out the window. He doesn’t want to mess up in front of you, to make a fool of himself, but as you duck slightly, to slide into view of his downturned gaze, a fond smile on your face, he thinks he must be doing something right.

“I went to a jewelry shop after I bought the bag,” you say. He’s looking at you now so you sit back up straight. “I saw a pair of amethyst earrings and it reminded me of you.”

“It did?” he breathes out, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, and to be honest, he almost doesn’t.

You nod and hum. “They reminded me of your eyes. They’re the prettiest I’ve ever seen, you know. I couldn’t get them out of my head.”

His heart wrenches to learn he has been on your mind, and it almost hurts how hard it twists. Never once had he anticipated it might be the same for you, that your seemingly inconsequential conversation about what purse you should buy would stick with both of you. To the point that perhaps you too have been longing for the time to come when you saw him again, and you watched the sun rise and set and rise again, all the while longing rife in your little sighs as you wonder when that might be. He would have searched for you all the way to the end of the galaxy, and maybe, maybe, maybe, you would have done so for him too.

He slowly cracks a smile, cheeks reddening, and he doesn’t know what to say but you don’t need him to say anything as you giggle at his lack of response. You’ve not seen him in action in the host club, so you don’t have any reason to tease him for acting so uncharacteristic. To you, this is how he always is. But you’re fine with taking the lead as you ask him questions about the school and about the city, wanting to know more about your new home, and he is happy to answer and tell you stories, and even offers to show you around.

If he falls into the bottomless pools of your eyes he’d like to stay there forever. Do they feel as warm as they look? The more you two talk, the more Tamaki realizes that what charm you had pulled him in with, had entranced him wholly and utterly, had been just a taste of your true potential. You had much more in store, and he realizes he is no match for you. Not that he minds being the one to be swept off their feet.

By the time he walks you out to your car, pulled up to the front gates of the school grounds, which are much quieter now that everyone has left, you’ve made plans to go back downtown on the weekend. He pulls open the door for you.

“Don’t forget to stop by the club tomorrow!” he reminds you. “3:15 sharp!” You aren’t in the schedule for tomorrow, but Kyoya would make an exception. (If he didn’t, Tamaki would make him.)

“Sharp, yes, got it!” You give him a thumbs up. “I’ll see you, Tamaki!”

You tuck your hair behind your ears so you can see clearly when you slide into the backseat, and as you do, Tamaki catches a glimpse of the amethyst earrings you’re wearing. You don’t notice his smile, which stays there even after your car has driven off, even as he stands on the sidewalk and watches as it disappears around the corner. And he knows confidently that yes, you would have ventured to the edges of the galaxy to find him again too.