#no they absolutely are not the same. hope this helps

[seventiesweetheart]

𓆩♱𓆪 party monster.

dark! ex bf! rafe x pogue! fem! reader

SUMMARY. in which y/n and the infamous rafe cameron once shared a secret relationship, one that she knew the pogues would be heavily against. and so eventually, after a series of events, y/n decided to break up with him and be done with his toxic behavior once and for all. but while sneaking into some kook’s house party with the pogues, she’s caught by the one person she was hoping not to find.

WARNING. smut, dubcon, a bit of violence, implied toxic relationship, oral (reader receiving), choking, manipulative behavior, jealousy, tons of swearing

A/N. this is the first ever fic i’m posting yaaaay >< just a note that this definitely ended up being way longer than i planned, so i might write a part two tomorrow since it also still feels kind of lacking :( but hope you enjoy!

it wasn’t easy sneaking in. but with sarah’s help, they managed to slip through unnoticed. and of course, jj wasted no time diving into the kitchen where bottles of booze were scattered like treasure, hence why y/n found herself struggling to maintain control of the situation, fearing that at any moment, someone would eventually realize who they were and the fact that they completely weren’t supposed to be here.

to be honest, y/n never wanted to come here. if anything, the last place she wanted to be after her recent breakup was anywhere near the kooks. yet, as soon as john b and jj heard about the party, they couldn't resist the temptation to crash it in true pogue fashion.

as usual, y/n and ki couldn’t bear the idea of those boys getting their asses kicked again, especially after the millions of times that that happened in the past.

“jj, seriously, that’s enough. this is absolutely no place to get wasted right now. please.” she begged her best friend who was now downing his third bottle and moving along to music.

“god relax y/n, no one’s gonna figure us out, alright? just drink, dance, and we’ll be out of here as soon as possible.”

her eyes bored into him, clearly not believing a word he said, “uh huh, you say that now but—“

“c’mon! just dance with me.” before y/n could protest any more, jj had her by the hand, dragging her out of the kitchen and into the living room. the air was thick with the scent of flavored smoke and alcohol. loud trap music pounded from the speakers, the bass vibrating through the floors and walls, matching the rhythm of her racing heart.

“jesus christ…” the girl muttered, watching jj get lost in the music, his head swinging and hair flying as he danced amidst the throng of bodies.

y/n's eyes scanned around the room, her anxiety mounting with each passing second. sweat slicked her forehead as she continuously looked around the crowd for any familiar faces who might recognize them.

and then she saw him.

his pair of piercing grey-blue eyes locked onto hers, sending a jolt of fear through her body. those same eyes flicked between her and jj, and before she knew it, she felt a chill run down her spine.

rafe cameron lounged on a plush couch, arms draped over the backrest with the usual unreadable expression on his face. next to him was some girl who was bent forward towards the glass table, snorting a line of powder. she raised her head back and pinched her nose, waiting for the rush to hit.

but y/n’s focus was solely on rafe. whoever the girl was didn't matter. either way, rafe’s attention was fixed on her, and she couldn't tell if that excited or terrified her more.

snapping out of the daze, she turned to her best friend again, “jj, we gotta go. rafe’s here.” she desperately tried to tug on her friend’s arm.

“jj!” she yelled over the music and that finally caught his attention.

“what?!” he yelled back, irritation flashing across his face at the sight of her anxious expression.

“we have to go! now.”

rafe never liked jj. throughout their secret relationship, he always thought of him to be a little too loud, violent, and far too carefree. on top of that, he also thought jj was always too close to y/n for his liking.

and y/n knew this. she knew both of them well enough to understand that she needed to act quickly before things escalated and this night became another reminder of why sneaking into this party had been a terrible idea in the first place.

her hand wrapped tightly around her best friend’s wrist as she moved as quickly as she can through the crowd in order to find an exit.

but almost immediately, she felt jj's wrist slip from her grasp. her heart dropped as she pushed through a dense cluster of bodies, the press of people making it hard to move.

"fuck, jj—" she started, her voice barely audible over the pounding music.

but it wasn’t jj behind her anymore. instead, she found herself face-to-face with the same pair of ominous blue eyes she saw earlier. she barely had time to think as she shoved past more bodies.

finally breaking free from the crowd, she found herself at the foot of the stairs. without hesitation, she dashed upwards. it didn’t matter, she was going to find a window and get the hell out of here. kiara would find jj, y/n was sure of it. and pope had to be somewhere downstairs as well.

reaching the second floor, her heart raced even faster. she frantically looked left and right, searching for a room to hide in. she pushed open the first door she came to, only to recoil at the sight of two strangers making out.

“fuck, sorry,” she mumbled, cringing as she backed out and moved to the next room.

she hurried down the hall to the last room, cautiously peeking inside. finding it empty, she slipped in quickly.

but the door couldn’t close behind her.

she attempted to push it again, but it wouldn’t budge. y/n stumbled backward as the door pushed back against her efforts, her breath hitching when she realized it wasn’t any problem with the door—it was rafe on the other side.

“closing the door on me again? i’m starting to think you love doing that.” a mischievous smirk played on his lips as he slowly stepped into the room, his presence making the space more suffocating as he closed the door behind him.

the silence in the room was deafening and the growing tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. y/n definitely did not miss the sound of the lock clicking into place.

she could still hear the music blaring from downstairs, the bass vibrating through the walls and floorboards. or maybe this time it was just her own heart, pounding in her chest as she kept her eyes locked on his. every fiber of her being braced for his next move.

rafe took a step closer, his gaze never wavering from hers. the dim light cast shadows across his face, making his expression even more unreadable.

she never expected for this situation to happen again, wherein they would be both locked in a room and none of her friends were even slightly aware of the fact that they were alone together. every instinct screamed at her to run, but she stayed rooted at her spot.

“not running this time?” he inched closer, his voice a low and threatening.

“i know you won’t hurt me.” it sounded like a whisper, as y/n back slowly to the desk behind her.

rafe scoffed, “you say that but i see you still trying to escape from me.”

y/n glared at him, defiance flickering in her eyes “well, what do you expect? for me to run to you?”

his glare intensified, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he moved closer. but then, in a flash, his expression softened.

“i missed you, you know?” his tone turned manipulative, a tactic she recognized all too well from their relationship. she had fallen for it many times before, but she wasn’t going to this time. “i really did, y/n… we were so perfect together and you-you just left without giving me the chance to explain myself.”

“well, i don’t think any more could have been said after you beat the fuck out of my best friend, don’t you think?” y/n's voice grew more aggressive, her anger flaring.

“yeah well he hit me too! and what’d you do? nothing!” he yelled, and she flinched at every word, her body tensing as she tried desperately to find an escape from the suffocating situation.

his breathing grew heavier as he looked at her with pain and frustration in his eyes, “you said you loved me but-but you didn’t even come to defend me.”

“rafe… you started that fight and i-i told you if you laid a hand on any of my friends then that would be the end for us.”

“god, fuck!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the room. rafe's hand shot out, knocking the floor lamp until it crashed to the floor with a loud shatter, fragments of glass scattering across the hardwood.

y/n flinched, raising her arms to shield herself as she inched closer to the corner where the bed was.

“it’s always you and those fucking friends of yours.” he spat, his face contorted with rage.

and before she could even process his movements, his hand was on her throat, pulling her forcefully towards him. she gasped, feeling the pressure against her windpipe, her fingers clawing desperately at his chest in an attempt to break free.

but even in her panic, she couldn't ignore the familiar sensation of his solid chest beneath her hand.

“and now, let me guess, you’re moving on to that fucking blonde you claim to be your best friend.”

“jj really is just my best friend! p-please, rafe. let go of me.” y/n pleaded as she fought the urge to look at how close his lips were from hers instead of holding the weight of his intense gaze.

“see, that’s where you’re wrong, y/n. i’ve never let you go, and i’m not fucking letting you go now or ever.”

his lips crashed down on hers, the kiss intense and demanding, leaving her gasping for air as she struggled to keep up with his pace. his other hand found her waist, pulling her closer against his body.

“r-rafe…” the moan she tried to hide escaped freely from her lips, coming out as a breathless whisper as his lips trailed down to her neck, no doubt leaving a trail of marks.

“god, l-let me go.” y/n weakly pushed him while he backed her up towards the bed.

“you say that, but your body tells me otherwise. you’ll have to tell me what you really want, sweetheart.”

he continued to suck on her skin, marking her with dark red and purple bruises as his hands trailed down to the hem of her floral sundress. slowly, he slipped his fingers underneath the fabric until he was hooking one side of her lacy underwear.

“still haven’t answered my question, y/n. or do you seriously want me to fuck it out of you?”

his eyes locked onto hers with growing frustration and need, “just fuck me, rafe.”

finally, the mischievous smirk returned to his face, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he leaned in closer.

despite her initial reluctance, y/n lifted her hips, allowing him to easily pull her underwear down until it hung around her ankles.

her hand grew clammy as she clutched the sheets beneath her, her breath catching in her throat as she lay staring at the ceiling.

meanwhile, rafe moved his hand back up her thighs, brushing her skirt up slowly to tease her until the fabric pooled at her waist. she could feel the air around them mixing with his breath against her skin, making her exposed wetness grow colder.

“d’you let anyone get near this after you broke up with me?” his voice came low and deadly as his fingers played at her entrance, sliding against the slick liquid between her lips.

y/n whimpered at his touch, trying to hide her face with her hand while she shook her head in response.

“use your words, princess.”

“n-no, i didn’t.” she stammered out, her breath hitching as she felt his finger plunge through her hole.

satisfaction evident in his voice as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin, “good girl.”

her eyes shut tightly as soon as she felt his lips wrap around her soft bud, tongue lapping over and over it, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body.

“f-fuck, rafe! slow down!” she groaned, her hands moving to tightly clutching his hair, her body trembling with the overwhelming sensation.

but rafe didn’t slow down, his hands holding her legs firmly in place before they tried to snap shut and he continued running his tongue over her clit, his warm saliva mixing with her wetness, making his actions even sloppier and faster.

“sh-shit, i’m close—rafe, please.” she begged, her voice thick with desperation. her hips moved involuntarily, seeking more friction and intensity, driving her to buck her hips against his face, urging him to keep going.

her fingers clenched the sheets tightly as she arched her back, and rafe buried his face deeper between her legs, his hands gently and possessively molding her thighs like they were lovers. like they never broke up and she had always belonged to him all this time.

“come for me, princess. c’mon.” he voiced breathlessly, the tip of his tongue tracing maddening circles around her bud, pushing her closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

it was all too overwhelming for y/n. she felt her orgasm building up, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to engulf her completely.

“f-fuck, rafe!” she moaned, her entire body tensing as her release crashed over her in waves, leaving her breathless and shaking.

rafe wasted no time in savoring all her juices, his lips and tongue eagerly lapping up every drop as they poured onto the sheets of some stranger's bed.

with gentle kisses kisses trailing along her inner thighs, he moved up to face her, delicately wiping the sweat off her forehead and gently brushing her hair out of her face.

still recovering from the intensity of her climax, y/n struggled to catch her breath as she locked eyes with him. the full weight of her actions had yet to sink in but she pushed the thought aside for later as his lips came down again to meet hers, softly grazing the bottom with a gentle nip.

“finally remember who you belong to, sweetheart?”

© 2024 seventiesweetheart | do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work.

[thefanficmonster]

Beautiful Things

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader (Female)

Warnings: SPOILERS for Bridgerton S3 part 1, Minor Period-typical sexism

Genre: Romance, Rivals to Lovers, Fluff

Summary: They're both brilliant, and brilliantly stubborn. What a pair they'd make.

Benedict tends to thread through life without as much as a worried crease on his features. There are very few matters he doesn't take to lightheartedly. That being said, it came as quite the surprise the sharp current of uncertainty that ran down his spine when he found himself standing in front of the monstrosity of a building that is the Royal Academy of Arts on his first day in attendance.

It took him and his charm less than a week to woo and work his way through the crowd of ambitious up-and-coming artists. He's always been an easy person to converse and unwind with. That aura around him naturally draws people to him like a magnet. It is a miracle the man hasn't been hunted down by a debutant already.

Not for a lack of trying, of course. The young ladies of the ton, especially the ones who have been freshy introduced into society have had their sights set on him since he himself made his way into the rhythm of the ton.

Nothing's ever fulfilled him, though.

Being the child of a marriage filled with love that has extended long past the death of his late father, he holds love to a high standard. A standard no one has even come close to reaching.

Watching his siblings find that very sort of love his parents had is a bittersweet sight to observe. It leaves him filled with joy on the behalf of his beloved siblings and it gives him a sense of hope that eventually he too might find what they managed to obtain - not without obstacles, though.

On the other edge of the sword, however, is the never ceasing worry that the problem might be his. That his lack of seriousness bordering into blatant avoidance of the ladies of the ton is to blame for his unmarried status. Perhaps it may be his overly romanticized view of love which he'd like to believe isn't the case. He's seen love of that caliber blossom time and time again in his own home. There's no reason to believe that his turn won't eventually come.

That his standard won't eventually be reached.

Speaking of standards on a lighter note, this painting he's currently standing in front of is disappointing even his lowest requirements for a decent painting.

It is absolutely atrocious, he voices his distaste only briefly and only mentally, never one to voice such critique unless it is cushioned by a smile and a quick-to-follow lighthearted remark.

"It is absolutely atrocious." There is a sharp edge to the voice that does opt to voice the very same thought out loud with far less regard for the negative attention it might garner.

Turning his head to the side, Benedict can't help the smile that immediately tugs at the corners of his mouth.

There, a mere meter from him, stands the ever so cutthroat, no-nonsense, ambitious beast of a woman that is Miss Y/N L/N. A smile rarely grazes her features, her eyes are always icy with an emotion bordering into boredom and a stature that screams authority.

And bloody hell does Benedict enjoy himself in her company.

She is the only student in The Academy he hasn't yet swayed, nor does he believe that he ever will. There are too many walls around her for him to even attempt to start breaking them down. He believes he'll sooner die of old age than succeed in reaching whatever human emotions she might exhibit around people she doesn't dislike.

When it comes to expressing distaste, however, she's not at all hesitant to share it.

"Oh, show the piece some mercy, Miss L/N. It deserves the grace of at least a spec of your kindness." Apart from perfecting his art, one of Benedict's favorite hobbies these past seven months would most certainly be pulling on Y/N's strings. Although it hasn't helped him form anything close to a friendship with her, it has aided him on the mission to get to know her better despite her being a sealed envelope of a person.

"I unfortunately do not possess plenty of it, therefore I can not be generous with it." She barely spares him a look as she speaks. That has been the case for half a year with no progress.

Still, he's willing to weld at the wax until he can pluck and read the letter inside. It is, after all, the bare minimum. He'd at the very least like to make her time at The Academy slightly more enjoyable. Being the only woman in the arts department, she's been rather ostracized which is typically the best case scenario. On the far worse end of the spectrum are the manner-less and, quite frankly, brainless 'gentlemen' who vary from not being able to keep it in their trousers to putting down her and her art which far surpasses their own.

If only they had that aforementioned missing brain intact, they'd see they're not even a quarter of the artist Y/N is.

That is one of the few things Benedict does not shy away from proclaiming with his whole chest. Although well aware that Miss L/N can handle herself gracefully and sharply as always, he never misses an opportunity to put the filthy men in The Academy in their place.

"I believe you possess far more kindness than you let on. Though, I understand completely why you'd rather not show it. None of these lovely gentlemen are deserving of it." The inflection of his tone on those two specific words wins him a scoff from her tightly pressed together lips.

A small win. Baby steps.

"I hope you are factoring yourself in when you use general terms of such sort. I have no evidence you are any better than them." She says, subtly motioning to the crowd of self-titled art experts around the venue where their final works have been displayed for renowned artists to come and rate in precisely half an hour.

Benedict had recognized her painting the second he stepped foot in the ballroom like gallery of The Academy. Needless to say, it put the rest to shame. Even his own, he has no problem admitting that. The emotions relayed in the painting, each brushstroke, every color, every line - they pulled him in the second he laid eyes on it.

And no, he most certainly is not biased. He's a very objective man when it comes to art. It might be considered a conflict of interest, though, because to him she is art.

"Believe me, my lady, I would hate nothing more than to boast myself but I still do believe I stand out from this pleasant crowd. For, as I was told, mine was the only painting you gave a stellar review for."

Professor Hedingale, although a man in his late fifties with a rather intimidating exterior and a permanent frown etched into his forehead, is a major gossip. He has taken a great favor to Benedict for his warm nature and shared love of observing drama as it unfolds. That being said, it took him a total of three seconds before he informed his student of Miss L/N's surprising review. She had not given the other paintings as much as a second glance, opting to say nothing rather than tarnish them the way they honestly deserved.

Had he not been paying such close attention to each line of her face, he could've missed it. Luckily for him, he did not. That brief fleeting moment of surprise widening Y/N's did not manage to go by unnoticed.

"I have a very high standard for beauty and would never stoop so low as to give a biased and unjust review. If I find something abhorrent, I say so. If I find something beautiful, I'd never not compliment it the way it deserves." Benedict almost flinches when she turns to face him, establishing intense and quite entrancing eye contact. "I am not mean, Bridgerton. I am simply honest."

Words burn dry on his tongue, his breath dissipating in his lungs. Had she still not been facing him, he could have come up with a timely response. But something about her gaze being so focused on him has turned his brain to a pile of pebbles. Not a single thought is passing through his head other than a fact he's long established. In fact, he came to learn it the very first at The Academy. Every day since it has only been confirmed time and time again.

She's absolutely enamoring.

The moment dissolves with the loud bang of the grand doors to the gallery being pulled open, allowing in the crowd of world renowned artists that now hold the students' futures in their gloved hands.

Benedict is not surprised by the fact that all these critical artists are men. He's grateful no artist's name has been listed by the displayed paintings, otherwise Y/N would have no chance at winning their favor. Not objectively anyway. At least one would have undermined her because, although talented artists, that doesn't exclude them from being close-minded fools. And at least one would try to butter her up for a potential courtship.

Yeah, that's not happening

Upon getting a better look, he finds himself pleasantly surprised by a head of long blonde hair, undoubtedly belonging to a woman. A woman whose work he's become very familiar with knowing Y/N is quite an admirer of hers.

"Eleanor Easton." The name comes out almost breathlessly, barely getting past Y/N's lips.

Turning his attention back to her, he's rather shocked to see what the nerves have done to her. She's shaking like a leaf, all the confidence she typically exhibits has drained from her body into a puddle on the tiled floor.

"You should go talk to her, express your admiration for her work." It is more an attempt at vexing her than a suggestion but it's in no way bad advice. Even though Lady Eleanor doesn't look like she'd take kindly to the gesture, it would be a noble attempt.

"Are you mad?!" Y/N whisper-yells, her eyes wide in panic as she spreads open the hand-held fan she's carrying to provide a soft breeze to her extremely heated face. "I could never possibly do such a thing!"

"Why could you not? It w....oh, she's looking right at us....." Benedict has barely finished his sentence before he feels a gust of wind rush past him in a blur of sparkling fabric, lace and silk.

For a solid second or two, he's torn on what to do. Although his initial intention was to vex her, he's now worried she might actually be dissolving in a nervous frenzy and he can't let her tarnish months of work because of some jitters. He too would be a wreck of similar caliber if any of the artists he idolizes were to show up and he too would prefer someone snap him out of it.

So, he follows her out the wooden doors that lead to a maze of intertwined halls, the walls of which are immaculately hand painted. For a moment, he panics, worried he won't be able to find her on time in the chaos of intertwining hallways and painting rooms. But then, he remembers that he indeed knows her better than he thought.

He finds her exactly where he thought he would - standing in front of the wall painting he often finds her looking at in awe. She's never explicitly stated so, but he knows it's her favorite.

To say Y/N is not happy when she spots him would be an understatement, "Oh. for heaven's sake, can I not get a moment without you pestering me?"

He takes her words with an eye roll, "No. I am bringing you back in that gallery. You are going to stand tall and remain collected when they announce your painting to be the equivalent of the Diamond of the season. Do you understand?" He surprises himself with the tone of seriousness his voice has taken on.

See? He can be serious when he wants to be.

She lets out a frustrated sigh, vigorously waving the red fan in her hand in a pointless attempt to collect herself, "Bridgerton..." She closes her eyes for a second as to not spit everything she'd very much like to say. Still, she is a lady, though. "I am asking you to leave my sight in the next five seconds, for you are getting on my nerves."

With two long strides, Benedict minimizes the distance between them, passing the social boundary for respectful space and bordering onto a scandal if someone were to see them. He doesn't care, though. Most romances he's witnessed, if not all, began with a scandal.

Now it's his turn.

"Oh, is that so? Am I getting on your nerves, Y/N?"

"You're getting on my nerves, Benedict-" Her words come to a sharp end when he swipes the fan from her hand, halting the consistent motion. That seems to have been her last straw of composure, seeing as how the hand that formerly held said fan is now clenched in a tight fist and her eyes are squeezing shut. "You pesky, vex...-"

How rude of Benedict to interrupt the lady yet again, is it not? This time he does so by busying her lips with his own. He braced himself for a potential slap on the cheek before even leaning in but the impact never comes.

What he did not prepare himself for was her rather welcoming response, allowing herself to momentarily forget everything else and melt into the rhythm of the kiss. Melt into him. Her arms instinctively wrap around his neck while his hold her waist, fearful of her dissipating like a dream before his eyes.

It pains him that he has to end a moment of such culmination. A moment that the seven months they've known each other inevitably led to. However, they can always pick up this conversation later. For now, Y/N has credits to earn and a painting to be prized.

So, against his instincts, he pulls away.

"This isn't over." He says, his lungs catching up on minutes worth of air they didn't properly receive, "But for now, we have other matters at hand." With a tilt of his head, he motions down the hall - a clear insinuation.

With a similarly disappointed expression and an even more disappointed sigh, Y/N brings herself to nod. She reaches out to retrieve the fan from him which gives him the opportunity to sneak one more quick kiss just as a door opens further down the hall, rudely tearing them apart from one another.

Smacking him lightly with her fan, Miss L/N can't suppress the laugh that Benedict's smug prideful expression provoked from her. She accepts the arm he's offered her and allows him to lead her back the way they came from.

"What you said about beauty and how it should never go uncomplimented..."

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing. I just wanted to say you're ravishing."

Another laugh breaks the illusion of her icy demeanor, "Why, thank you, Mister Bridgerton. Your painting was quite easy on the eyes as well. Professor Hedingale did not lie. I must say I'm impressed."

"Although I will accept the compliment, I'll have you know there's plenty you are yet to see. This is nothing. Prepare yourself to be truly impressed."

Giving his arm a subtle squeeze, she flashes him one last smile before they enter the gallery once more, "Doubtful."

That's the thing about rivalry, dear reader, it brings out the good, the bad and the beautiful.

The rest is best kept behind a close door, if you know what this author is alluding to.

[shorthaltsjester]

there is something so, so devastating to me about imogen having spent the past weeks utilizing how much like her mother she appears to be as a way for the hells to gain intel and slip past different situations but how significantly her like . relvin vibes have increased in the past couple episodes. and of course we only have the one interaction with him but the temult dynamic is one of the ones that spins my brain around in knots. there is something very juicy to me about an imogen who can’t escape her mother’s fate because she looks like her spitting image and has her same powers and who can’t escape her father’s fate because she’s also powerless watching the woman she loves disappear.

like relvin in that visit is of course walled off and he’s decades down the road of having seen the woman he loves disappear into the unknown of her powers and what we got of his response to liliana and the idea of helping imogen save her wasn’t unlike imogen’s recent response to laudna. his comment that he always figured that liliana would realize gelvaan wasn’t the place for her, he just also hoped they’d go together when she left is like the domestic small town mirror of imogen’s illogical but real griefguilt about leaving laudna alone by fighting against predathos. i mean relvin specifically brings up that he doesn’t know if liliana was lying to him the whole time about her powers or if she didn’t know either, “it’s a lot to take in at once. you think you know someone, there’s a whole part of their life that they just been keeping secret from you. i was angry. i’m still angry. but you know, a little part of me wants to believe she was just doing it to protect you.“ a sentiment echoed by imogen’s responses to laudna the past few episodes.

and at the end of that gelvaan visit, relvin speaking up enough to tell imogen to “tell her…” but not having anything to say. because liliana made her choice and he knows his words didn’t mean anything before. imogen just watching as laudna shoves a dagger into her own chest, imogen telling her “i’ll always love you, laudna. i just don’t know what to do with it.”

god, in general, imogen who grew up knowing that love isn’t enough. that love is important and it’s a lot, but not enough. relvin and imogen standing with a chasm of grief and a silver locket between them and “i never want you to be afraid of me, daddy” “me neither.” and laudna’s “i don’t like people being mad at me.” and imogen’s “i know.”

because imogen is her father’s daughter. like absolutely with anger at him and complexity in that relationship but silly little cowboy jokes aside, the values imogen expresses are ones that — when not ones born of her experiences with her powers — seem very much contextualized by her upbringing. i mean the ideal life that she dreamt of and dismissed with laudna someday when the apocalypse is over is a small cottage with some horses. relvin lives in a farmhouse furnished for one.

i’ve talked before about how For Me the most fruitful lens for viewing imogen’s story is one of generational trauma, and i think the reasons for that re: liliana are obvious. but i also think that being raised by someone who isn’t privy to the intricacies of whatever haunts their spouse enough that it’s been passed down is another sort of fucked up legacy and i am truly delighted/sorrowed by how messily and interestingly imogen sits at the intersection of these dual temult legacies; one of leaving and one of being left.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids,

I feel like advice on loneliness comes in only three flavors:

"It's all mindset, learn to embrace being alone and you'll never feel lonely!"

"Your head is lying to you, you have friends and they love you!"

"Here's a list of places you can go to hang out with people and make new friends!"

Those are usually well-meant and I'm sure there are situations where they do help someone feel better - but they're definitely not universally applicable.

The first one is even plain wrong: connection is a basic human need. You can't just "change your mindset" and turn that off, the same way you can't turn off your need for food or air or mental stimulation. Humans are group animals. We absolutely need social interactions to stay healthy and sane. It is true that some people do not need a large number of friends and are happiest with just one or two close friends, and it is also true that some people prefer to fulfill their social needs in other ways than what's traditionally defined as friendship - but that's not something you can (or should) try to train yourself to do, that's just natural differences and preferences!

The only thing you could "train" yourself to do would be to learn to ignore your social needs and bury them deep down under layers of denial... and you don't need me to explain to you why that's a very unhealthy idea. It's sad enough that so many people have to do that to not lose their minds in loneliness, we certainly don't need to celebrate an unhealthy coping skill as a "superior mindset".

The other two at least get a bit closer to the truth: the solution for your unmet need is not to kill the need, but to fulfill it... but that's easier said than done, isn't it?

After all, "Don't worry, your friends love you!" doesn't help if you have no friends. Loneliness is not always "all in your head": Maybe you moved to a new place and don't know anyone there. Or you cut off contact with all your friends after a big fight. Or you grew up neurodivergent (or got mentally ill at a young age) and had no chance to learn how to make friends at the age most kids do, and by now you have been friendless for so long you don't even know where to start.

Same with "just go to a bar and talk to some new people" or "Take a pottery class and you'll meet some interesting people there" - that's not factually wrong, but also not helpful if the reason you feel lonely is that you struggle to make friends (or even struggle to just talk to people). Which can also be part of neurodivergence or mental illness, or just be a part of your personality (shyness), or be a result of isolating circumstances (like having spent a lot of time in a closed environment, for example a long hospital stay, and now feeling unsure how to connect with people outside of that environment). 

And those are just a few of the many, many possible explanations why someone may be lonely that require a more individualized approach - which is why we can’t solve loneliness with any one-size-fits-all solution.

That may be a somewhat disappointing-sounding conclusion in a letter on loneliness, so let me also tell you: hope and support are always within reach, even if it might take some time and patience to find them. The key is to remember that your feelings are valid and that you're not alone in your struggle.

First, recognize that admitting that you feel lonely, and wanting to take action based on that feeling, is a sign of strength, not weakness. You’re pretty insightful for recognizing your loneliness and super brave for wanting to reach out!

Secondly, be kind to yourself and allow yourself to take small steps. Small, actually manageable steps are crucial in any healing journey! If it’s not an option to just go to the bar or that pottery class, then it’s okay to start somewhere else. Maybe a therapist, a support group, or even online communities can be valuable “training sessions” for social connections. Even reaching out to one single person can make a significant difference over time. Your journey to finding companionship and connection might be different from someone else’s, but that doesn't make it any less valid (or achievable!).

Lastly, do consider embracing new activities that you may enjoy - but not just for the sake of meeting others. It’s important to nurture your own happiness and well-being when you’re feeling lonely. Those can be activities you can try out alone and even at home, for now! Anything that enriches your life is good. Long down the road, maybe it will lead to opportunities to connect with others, but even if it doesn’t: it’s important to incorporate new experiences into your life.

While there isn't a universal solution to loneliness, I truly believe there is a path forward for everyone. It's all about finding what works for you.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

[hoseoksluna]

BERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. hobi)

genre: angst, tiny fluff, itty bitty smut

word count: 6.0k

summary: your ex-boyfriend shouldn't have this much influence over you when you have a new man, should he?

playlist: berries / pinterest board: berries

warnings: depression, daddy issues, use of titles, oc has dirty thoughts about hobi (do we blame her? no, we do not), slowburn, implied sex, dd/lg, soft argument

note: this took every last bit of my strength, so i had to split it up. i'm sorry if this is a piece of absolute shit, but as you all know work this week squeezed everything out of me and i'm so exhausted that i'm not even sure if this is worth posting. i struggled a lot with this fic, rewrote it multiple times, and i'm so very happy that it's finished. i hope you all enjoy the start of a new series, this time a slowburn that will have more parts, more depth and everything. and surprise! it features hobi, my beautiful husband. it was my first time writing about him and he's missing so terribly from my soul that it was one of the reasons why i struggled so much. i wish it weren't like this for my first time with him, but oh well. i hope you, guys, enjoy. please, let me know what you think. <3

The satiny material of your cream-colored dress must be the one and the same that these sculptures had worn centuries ago. You can almost imagine the softness kissing your fingerprint instead of the cool stone as you graze your touch against each and every immortalized angel of loveliness. You’re stirred by a sense of poignancy—that you’re alive and they’re not and yet you believe that as you stare at them, feel what they’ve been through the more you study their eternal expressions, they stare right back with their eternally tender eyes, see right through you, through your heart, know its contents. You wish you were in their place instead; you’re sure they would’ve handled your cursed life better than you can. 

Or you wish you were as stony as them. 

But you’re an opulent fountain of emotions that are anything but gentle. 

This thought distracts your attention from the way your feet ache in the boots you chose to wear to impress your date. Thigh high, with black knee socks underneath to keep you warm from the cruel breath of autumn. Hoseok is carrying your trenchcoat as you’re adventuring on your own in this art museum and that’s the only sliver of kindness he’s shown you this very morning. 

The only compliment you’ve received from him was a nonverbal one. An up and down look with a smirk creeping in when he picked you up at your apartment. No hug, no caress. You felt so small—and awkward a little bit, comparison rushing in. Not in the form of a wave of the sea, but in the form of a snake, its thick body tightening around your throat. An ouroboros, which made you regret going out on a date so soon. 

It hasn’t even been a month since you’ve become a single girl again, learning how to walk in this new, harsh reality, your legs wobbly, weak and too, too heavy. And the lack of comfortable physical contact made you see your ex-boyfriend before your own eyes, the memory of how he acted at the beginning of your first date. The way he picked you up into his arms due to his excitement of being with you and carried you inside his car. He put on your seatbelt for you. Drove carefully. Held your hand as he led you to the restaurant he picked for you. Even during the walk after while you talked about the stars and you couldn’t help but tell him that his eyes were filled with them. 

Hoseok did neither of those things. He had asked you where you wanted to go and you’ve wanted to visit the museum for quite a while, so you suggested it. He had agreed, no sort of enthusiasm evident in his voice muffled by the phone call. And you’ve barely exchanged a few words during the half an hour of your time spent here, let alone led an entire conversation. You should’ve heeded the warning when it was right in front of you.

Hoseok is certainly not of the artistic kind. 

Looks quite bored as you turn your head to look at him, your coat dangling from his arm so terribly devastatingly. And when you focus your gaze to your right, where a dark wine-tinged room, with golden frames of paintings, awaits you and where you’ve longed to go the moment you stepped a foot inside this grand building, a distaste pools on your tongue, your former aesthetic elation ruined. 

You’re surprised he didn’t stand you up. 

You don’t even want to take pictures. As a matter of fact, you want to go home. But you can’t. Can’t ravage your only possibility and means of forgetting the person you still love. Can’t really encourage Hoseok to leave your life, not when you’re the type of person that doesn’t find love upon every corner you turn to. 

This is your only chance. And he’s the only man you’ll conceivably have in your life for quite some time. 

You walk up to him and take your coat from his arm. His eyes deepen on you, in fact they haven’t strayed from you during the entire half an hour—and that bothers you. If your ex-boyfriend were here, he’d share the beauty with you. Make you laugh so hard that the sound would echo around the vast room. Perhaps give life to the sculptures and they would laugh along, too. 

Your heart hangs heavy in your chest, sinks ever so slowly and you can’t bear it. You need to leave. Take this date elsewhere, hope for betterment to grace you—to have but a fragment of pity for you. 

“You hungry?” you ask, softly, willing your voice to be smooth and not divulge the brassy storm of your emotions to him. Hoseok doesn’t know anything about you. Doesn’t know that you yearn for another person to be standing in his place. “Did you have breakfast?” 

Hoseok needed the date to be in the early hours. Said he had a meeting in the afternoon. Would be working on a project with his colleagues until the late hours. You didn’t mind, not really, in fact it animated you—brought briskness into the sadness of your headspace, knowing it was rainy and cloudy outside. Perfect weather for the influence of the arts. That is, until you realized that it was a grave mistake to take a businessman to a museum; that you dragged a heathen to a church.

Hoseok shifts his weight on each foot, his shoulders swaying with the movement, and he licks his lip, bringing your attention to them. Small, but full—you wonder what they would feel like against yours. Wonder if he’d be gentle with you or violent. If he’d stroke your hair or grip it; fondle the ribbon you’re wearing in a half up do or untie it, entirely. Use it for another means like your ex-boyfriend invariably did. 

Your distaste grows, but not for Hoseok. It grows like poison ivy for yourself and your tendency to compare him with someone he doesn’t deserve to be juxtaposed with. 

Guilt blossoms in your sternum, the leaves of that poison ivy. Pretty to the eye, but deadly for the body. Just like you. You’re too baneful for such a pretty man like Hoseok. You’d do well to respect his boundaries and abstain from physical contact, prevent red rashes from marring his skin.

“I haven’t eaten yet,” Hoseok says, just as softly, rubbing the nape of his neck, the black cloth of his dress shirt taut over his arms—a pretty sight, one that could be hanging in the wine-tinged room for generations to gawk upon. “Truth be told, I was too nervous.” 

A brief smile adorns his slender face and you melt, the poison ivy scratching you raw. Your heart picks up its rhythm, flattery clothing it in a protective layer and you pout, your hand itching to graze his forearm. But a hidden fight rises in you, an army of darkness ready with their bows, their arrows shooting thoughts into your brain about how little you’re worthy of such kindness and favor. 

Though when Hoseok blushes upon seeing your tender expression, it gives you some sort of strength to stand tall against those demons. Despite the fact you don’t understand it, you don’t question it either and you cling to it, sensing its freedom speaking to you in a foreign language. A yearning forms in you, one you haven’t yet had the possibility of meeting. A yearning to learn its syntax and vocabulary. And when you give in to it, the poison ivy in you lessens. 

This is good. 

You reciprocate his smile and you coo. Find it the easiest thing in the world. And because you’re so grateful for what he’s unwittingly done for you, you decide to share your truth with him as well. 

“Let’s go eat, then.” Your eyes crinkle and you’d bet light flickers in them, for your whole body does, you sense it. A warm light enlarges on its axis, taking a hold of the heaviness you felt. “There’s no need to be nervous. It’s what I told myself when I was getting ready. My stomach hurt and believe it or not when I told myself these words, it stopped.” 

Hoseok chuckles, his arm slapping back to his side, but you notice that it trembles. You’re so touched by it that you become angry at yourself, self-hatred clashing with that warmth. You misinterpreted him so unfairly and what’s more, you wallowed in your brokenness and your heartbreak, when Hoseok had been nervous and timid the whole time, which now sheds light on his lack of closeness with you. 

You’re despicable. And the awareness of it transforms into that snake tightening around your throat again. Only this time, you welcome it. Long for it to take your life. It’s the least you deserve. 

But you’re not letting yourself loll in the bed of your horrendous emotions. No, you lift your hand and you caress his arm, the one that quakes. And amidst the sepulchral attention of the sculptures, you’re a witness to that trembling’s halt, to Hoseok’s visible tranquility, and you want to weep. 

You know if you were to gaze at the eternal angels of beauty, you’d see stony tears appear on their ivory cheeks, too. 

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok mumbles and you curl your brows in confusion, not knowing what he’s apologizing for. Hoseok opens his mouth again to speak, but he pauses, sloshing the words in his mouth. You feel so bad that a craving to better yourself overcomes your entire being. “I’m sorry for being such a buzzkill. If you wanna explore this place more, we can. I saw you looking at the room with the paintings.” 

He tilts his head in the direction of the aforementioned room, but you care very little about it as of now. You’d much rather take this elsewhere and get to know him better, so you don’t make the mistake of distorting him again. You’re not very keen on forcing a heathen to pray, either, however you do appreciate his willingness and attentiveness. Carry those things into your jarred heart, fold them inside its chambers, the edge pieces to the puzzle of his personality. 

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, taking it one step further and hooking your arm around his. Hoseok sighs, his shyness slowly breaking apart as he clasps his hand over yours and if you could dissolve any more, now would be the perfect time for it. His hold is strong and steady—and it creates something stable within you, an orchard of fruit trees, pink and green, and bushes of berries, a safe place you want to rest in; lay down your brokenness and woes in. “You’re good. No need to apologize.”

His blush deepens at the reassurance and he smiles, softly, running his thumb over your knuckles. And the gratefulness you feel due to the fact he’s touching you, it is the rain that freshens up the apples and cherries hanging on the twigs of those trees, guiding it into full bloom. You focus on it—focus on the thick, cottony material of his dress shirt as you rub his forearm in response. You want to acknowledge yourself with the unspoken parts of him like these, remember them, allow them to heal you and crack the plaster over your heart. 

And there you hear it. The crumble as Hoseok leans in and presses a chaste peck onto your cheek, lingering there for a second more, inhaling your sandalwood scent. And his smile widens as he looks down on you at such close proximity, erasing your touch-starvation once and for all. It’s your turn to blush now and you feel an inkling to shy away from his gaze, but you stifle it back. Curl your mouth in a smile—your heart thumping louder amidst the orchard now that it has more space to function in. 

“No, I really want to apologize. It’s been too long since I’ve been on a date and you’re so stunning that I’ve forgotten my game, so I can’t help but to be nervous. I don’t know how to act around you,” he says, mutedly, punctuating his sentence with a breathy laugh, glimmering eyes flicking to the lining of your silky neckline just below your collarbones, tracing the miniature cherub hung up on your dainty necklace plated in gold, motionless against your dress. Your own heart grows wings and momentum in its place, fluttering in haste to move closer to him. He bores his gaze back into yours, letting it stay there. “Art isn’t really my thing, but you look like you belong here. Look like all those angels around.” He nods at your necklace. “And like that angel, too. Can I take a picture of you?”

You’re so taken aback that you don’t have time to respond. Pulling out his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, he withdraws from you and gently ushers you in the direction of the closest angel, your trenchcoat slung over his arm again, vibrating with life. He positions you how he likes—right in front of the immense sculpture, your head turned slightly to the side so the wisps of your white ribbon in your hair can be seen. His touch grounds you, tells your bloodstream, your organs that everything is okay, repeats it a little louder to your headspace—all before war could be declared with you. 

Hoseok, the prince of peace. 

The prince that crouches to the dirty floor so the vastness of the angel’s wings can fit in the shot. Yours, too. You think you’ve grown a pair of your own, alongside your heart, now that your shared honesty brought you closer.

You struggle to hold back your sob, to stop the corners of your mouth from rounding, your chin from quivering—all because the lightness that you sense wrapping over your heart is one you haven’t felt in a really long time. You feel taken care of, feel like you can depend on him, and while you can’t explain why you feel that way, you consider that such an immense blessing, regardless. So much that your eyes wet for the camera, but you don’t mind. Let that be captured in the memory—the mending that occurred. And let that be safe with him. 

You smile and the flash goes off, which causes you to burst into giggles, your liquid softness forgotten, and run to him, your palm covering his phone camera so nobody sees his defiance. You look around to make sure no employee is in sight before you face him, cheeks warm, heart warm, wings warm, body warm. Hoseok quirks a brow, confused, gaping up at you from his position, and you take a deep breath to halt another inrush of laughter.

“You can’t take pictures with flash here. They’ll throw us out,” you whisper-shout, your giggles escaping your tightened mouth. His own forms into an ‘O’, fingers clicking on his screen, presumably turning off the automatic flash.

“I didn’t know,” he whisper-shouts back, mouth stretched in a lopsided grin. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid.” You shake your head, shoulders still shaking with the last of your giggles. He probably didn’t have a phone back then, which makes it even funnier. He inspects his settings again to make sure it’s all good before his hand finds your thigh and pushes you back. “Okay, I turned it off. Go back to the angel.” 

It’s your whole body that flutters now, not just your heart, both pairs of wings unfurling, and when you retrace your steps, you still feel the heat of his touch—half on the fabric of your dress, half on your bare skin. And as you smile more naturally for the picture this time, greed kisses your core. A greed for more of his touch; on the same place as well as elsewhere. 

A twinkle of where he could possibly touch you flashes before your eyes and it’s all your focal point consists of when you turn your head to your former position the way he wanted it and he praises you for it: “Good, good.” 

Your muscles clench as you imagine his hand going underneath the fabric, exploring what’s hidden in there for him. The words of praise he would utter at the discovery of your private flesh. Your ears must be red. Such a twist of events you didn’t expect. A meek form of demureness creeps in, enveloping you in a feminine sensuality and you’ve missed feeling this way. Missed feeling pretty and alluring for yourself first, then for a man second. Missed being the center of your attention like this, of someone else’s as well. 

You’ve always loved it. Perhaps due to the fact that you very seldom have it—so when it does come, it changes your life and you attach your being to it. 

You didn’t anticipate going home with Hoseok, especially not on the first date. But because you’re being fed, you don’t really care about being proper. You want to go home with him and so you simply shall. 

Can’t let the opportunity run away from you. 

And so you arch your back a little bit more, look up at the angel and give her your silent thanks, your hair flowing around your form when you flick your gaze back to Hoseok to see him concentrated on the task, his smooth features gravely serious. Your stomach flips. 

“Now from the back,” he instructs without lifting his eyes off of the screen of his phone. “Just like you were.” 

A breath lodges in your throat, the double meaning burning the poison ivy down to ashes and you swallow it, let your stomach acid consume it until there’s nothing left of it, until all that your body carries is nothing but the lightness and the seductiveness that Hoseok gracefully gave you, the comfortable heft of the wings that grew because of him. 

It’s those things that drive forth your following words with the world’s ease, unabashedly. 

“You want it from the back?” 

Hoseok’s mouth parts and the look he exchanges with you should chill your blood, but it doesn’t. If anything, it boils it. The heat that wafts off it pools in your core before ascending to your imaginary wings, leaving them dripping with sweat and the dew of titillation. Hoseok’s eyes narrow, shadowed by the furrow of his brows, encouraging it all the more. 

There is it—the heady energy shift, permeated with the sweetest of berry juices, stemming from lust, from the orchard he planted in you. Strengthening your allure, steeling you from head to toe. You submit to it; kneel into it, notionally. Your elation raises from the dead—and you grin. 

“Behave.”

A pulse in your private parts. The lengthening of your expression of delight. Your wings, your muscles clench and the same winged creatures soar to your heart from your stomach, squeezing the beating flesh. You swivel on your heels, the hem of your dress rippling, exposing more of your tender skin, the ribbon in your hair following suit. 

Hoseok sucks in a breath. Your cheeks ache from the joy’s strain and it is utterly exhilarating to you. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Hoseok coos his approval and you can’t take it anymore. You let him take a few more pictures as you move around, dancing in your own way, running your fingers through your hair, trying to distract yourself from the throbbing between your legs, but to no avail. And when you sigh and face him head-on, Hoseok is already on his feet, walking towards you with a reappearing lopsided grin that forces the butterflies gnawing at your heart to go absolutely rampant. 

You’re done for. You need to take him home. You’re not even curious about how the pictures came out—you can always look at them later. 

Hoseok seems to know about your neediness because when he crosses the distance, he cups your chin. Makes you look up at him. And his smirk deepens while your heart increases in size, wings flitting at the special attention. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmurs, caressing your skin with his thumb. Your eyes round and the heat you feel is sweltering underneath your clothes. All the more reason for him to take them off. “The pictures are great. Wanna see?” 

Biting your lip, you shake your head, briefly. “What I want is to make you breakfast,” you say, mirroring his tone, hoping he gets the hint. 

Hoseok waggles your chin, humming. “Oh, yeah?” 

Fuck. If his scolding already didn’t make you submissive, then his response and his actions have. You wet your mouth, teeth instinctively sinking back in, and only nod. Hoseok opens your coat and covers your shoulders in its warmth, pressing the cotton twill fabric against your sternum. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

A fond sound pours out of him and the fact that he likes to be called by that title heightens the pulse between your legs. “Let’s go.” 

He leads you towards the exit with a hand on the small of your back and you’re so happy to be touched at last that with a final look at the angels, you send out your silent love and goodbye to them, thank them one last time for the kindness you received because of them, one that you so ferociously sought after and longed for. 

They seem to bow to you, happy to be of service, and you smile so profoundly that you feel as though nothing could stain your joy and mar it all over again. They wouldn’t allow that to happen—and a tendril of hope burst open within you like sunlight tearing through clouds, one that is suffused with the notion that Hoseok would stand in the way, side by side with those sculptures, too.

And he does when you swivel your head back and catch a glance of someone you know. 

A piercing on the side of his brow, unchanged from the last time you saw him. Round eyes, murky. Ashen complexion that used to bloom with vibrant tints. Full, soft-toned mouth, ever so stuck in that pout, one you used to kiss until it bruised. 

Your bloodstream doesn’t cease its flow. Not until you notice the person beside him. 

A girl with an aura so cataclysmic that it forces you to stop dead in your tracks. An August night storm personified, obnoxiously sweet-smelling of the past summer that you spent with her companion. The hollow, funereal scent of a meadow doused in petrichor—she walks with it, her hands intertwined before her in a clasp. 

You wished for him to be in Hoseok’s place so ardently that he appeared. And now that you contemplate him, the lack of distance between him and the girl, it makes you regret that you ever did. 

Because, unknowingly, it drenched you in gasoline and his presence is a lighter, hers the hand that has flicked it to life and now serenely holds it against your skin, waiting until the flames, little by little, devour you whole. 

And the job is finished when both of their heads whirl, meeting your livid stare. 

And Jungkook, too, stops dead in his tracks. 

“Do you know him?” Hoseok asks and you find it strange that you can hear him when all you can see is red. 

And the red fades into the matching black shirt that Jungkook is wearing, into his bluntly pained mien; into the strands of his date’s short hair and her scrunched up brows as she regards you with a strong aversion that makes you scoff. And the same red weakens when Hoseok turns your attention to him by playing with the ends of your ribbon, grazing them before twirling them around his finger. 

A breath of fresh air, he is. 

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know whether to tell him the truth or come up with something that won’t devastate what you have currently going on with him. But if you lie to him, you’ll stumble into a dead end you’d much rather stay clear of. You’d see it before your eyes once you do take him home and it would ruin the newness he brought up with you, preventing it from taking root in you. 

Devastation awaits you in either case. Both you and Hoseok. 

Cursed, your life is. Doomed, absolutely fucking doomed. 

What would the angels do in your place? 

Seeking their wisdom behind you, it is not in them that you find your answer, but in the passing pair dressed in black, making their way over to the dark-wined room. He’s pretending he didn’t see you at all, walking away from you without saying a word, despite the fact you broke up on good terms. 

You worshiped him in this very building almost on your knees and he dismissed you as if you meant nothing to him, caring for the feelings of his date, instead. 

Peculiarly, the sentiments Hoseok installed in you, both of the passionate and the soft kind, turn that fire blue and it becomes the driving force that guides you to act without a single thought spared. 

“Yeah, I do know him. Do you mind if I quickly say hi to him?”

The corner of Hoseok’s mouth curls and he caresses your hair down your back one last time.  “Go, I’ll get the car ready.” 

Such a confident, strong man, broken out of the confines of his former timidness. Not possessive, nor insecure—letting you do what you want. Respectful of your personal life that doesn’t include him just yet. And for that very reason it will—as soon as you’re done putting out that fire in you. 

It’s not only you that has gone through a change upon this hour and it strikes your awe, enough for you to lean in and peck his cheek, just like he did to you. 

Hoseok makes a sound of endearment, pivots on his feet to leave you to it, but you grab a hold of his hand. Have a need to say something to him. 

His brows rise at the attention and you brush your hand across his knuckles, mimicking his previous actions, having learned them, intimately. 

“Thank you, Hoseok. Really,” you say with a smile that could magnetically pull the sunlight out of its hiding place behind the clouds and bathe this bizarre room in light. You squeeze his hand. 

A swirl of shyness flushes his face in rose pink and he shakes his head. “No need to thank me,” he assures, reciprocating the smile. “And call me Hobi. You can save Hoseok for later.” 

Your jaw falls open and Hoseok chuckles, warmly, deepening the pulse between your legs until a wet spot adorns your panties beneath your dress, one that you look forward to showing him at the aforementioned time. 

He pivots again and you watch his tall, lean figure leave. Back muscles clothed in black, straining against the fabric. He must’ve undergone his military service. 

A beautiful man. You can’t wait to taste him. Taste that manliness. 

Loosening a breath, you turn around to search for your ex-boyfriend. And much to your dismay, he’s appreciating the angel sculpture—the very one and only Hoseok took your pictures with. Fire licks at your every nerve ending, but then you notice that his date is nowhere in sight. 

A perfect opportunity to do what you want to do. 

Pulling out your phone out of your little purse, you look for his name in the history of your calls and tap on it, placing the device against your ear, your hoop earrings clashing against the screen. You watch him palm his pocket as the vibration disturbs his aesthetic pleasure and he casts a long glance at your name filling up his screen. Doesn’t comb his gaze through his surroundings. No, he seems to be transfixed by the twist of events and when he swipes his finger to accept the call, his stare begins to dig a hole into the dirty, marble floor. 

Doesn’t say anything. 

You scoff, fury grazing your fire. “You’re pretending not to know me? That’s low.” His pout rounds and the tip of his shoe traces the edges of the ruination he’s caused. Remains silent. “Who’s your little girlfriend? I thought you’d introduce me. Where is she, anyways?” 

It’s him who scoffs now and he flicks his gaze towards the face of the angel. It’s like he’s staring right at you. “You shouldn’t be doing this, little one.” 

The too familiar pet name brings agony to your heart and you would break had Hoseok not given you his strength, if the dependability of him waiting for you outside wasn’t real. And the allure and the lightness in you, perhaps the very love of the sculptures encompassing you—all of those things only vivify your solidity. You have no reason to break, you’re safe. 

“Well, I think you should be a good Daddy and meet me right there in the red room,” you seethe, glad for the anger to be lingering in you, for the utterance of the title leaving you unscathed. You’re just giving him a taste of his own poison, nothing else. 

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair and sighs, clenching his jaw. “Don’t call me that.” 

You chuckle, enlivened by the provocation. “I can do whatever I want. Besides, you started it.” 

He grits his teeth. “Not when you’re talking to me, you can’t.” 

Your fire rises in overwhelming waves, your curt response ready on your tongue, but Jungkook hangs up, making you shut your mouth, instantly. 

You hate him for that; hate him with the entirety of your being. 

What has happened to your friendship? To the sweet, weeping Jungkook who broke up with you because he didn’t want to cause you any more pain with the state of his mental health, who has been dealing with depression for so long that he’s reached a point of no return, a lightless room with no windows, where all he saw was you, and he didn’t want you to be a victim of such unhealthy attachment. So he bid you goodbye, hugged you until you couldn’t breathe and let you go. 

Three weeks ago. 

You haven’t seen him or heard from him since until now. Until you’ve found someone else and moved on with your life. That’s just your luck. 

And now the person you’re gazing at, it’s not the same one that wept against your chest. Yes, he might have been strict with you during intimate times, teased you with his fatherliness during the day even—but that invariably was imbued with the mellowness of love. 

Try as you may while his words ring in your headspace, you cannot unearth any trace of that same mellowness in it. Only bitterness, coldness and a profound darkness. 

Jungkook pockets his phone and, leaving both of his hands there, sunk deeply, he walks over to the wine-tinged room, his frown obscuring the place in gloom. Murky clouds, personified. A perfect match to the storm of his companion. Bile lodges inside your throat. 

You follow after him, your feet aching terribly in your boots, but it serves as some kind of alleviation to the tautness of your emotions, of your confusion, disgust and offence. Makes you feel better—because once you see Jungkook ogling a certain painting of a woman beaming at him softly, dressed in flowers, blues and greens as the redness akin to your fire burns in her background, the agony tries to slither its way inside your heart, but fails.

You’re a locked orchard. 

Jungkook senses your presence and he swivels, biting the inside of his cheek, pierced brow quirking. There’s a strain to his shoulders and his Adam’s apple bobbles as he takes in your appearance. The creaminess of your short, silky dress, the darker shade of the same color of your trenchcoat slung loosely over your shoulders, exposing your brown, leather, high-heeled boots, your matching purse clutched in both of your hands as you strut towards him. Calm, all of a sudden. It does nothing to you, nothing whatsoever—your heart momentarily attached to Hoseok.

“I thought you’d already left,” he murmurs, tipping up his chin. Begins to sway back and forth on the balls of his feet, the carmine hues of the room swathing him in a deeper shade of darkness. “Isn’t your boyfriend waiting for you?” 

You don’t bother to correct him. It’s none of his business who Hobi is to you, not when he treated you like a stranger.

“We were about to leave, but then I saw your actions,” you say, quite monotonously, your calmness as disturbing as it is triumphant. You yourself even wonder at it. “What the fuck was that?” 

A smirk. “Glad to know I still have some kind of effect on you.” 

You scrunch up your brows, distaste once again pooling in your mouth. “Trust me, I would’ve done this with anyone I know. You’re not special.” 

His smirk widens. “So, you’re not jealous?” He rubs the side of his jaw, staring at you, intently, and disgust comes over you like a splash of a wave, soaking you in cold sweat. 

He did it for that very reason—to make you jealous. Walked right past you, just to get a rise out of you. As much as you loved him half an hour ago, that affection turns into dust within you, sprinkling the fruit trees and the berry brushes with its gray smithereens, poisoning them. 

Ouroboros, all over again. Full circle. Anger covers your disgust. 

A voice echoes within the room. Airy and light, as feminine as it is otherworldly, and you know, without a doubt, who it belongs to. It doesn’t suit her, not in the slightest. 

“There you are,” your ex-boyfriend’s companion trails off, the clapping of her flat shoes halting. “Who are you?” 

You only turn your head to the side, signaling to her that you’ve heard her question, because you fix your stare back at Jungkook as you answer it. “It’s not something you should trouble yourself with. Can you give us a minute?” 

You don’t hear any movement, so she must be stubbornly staying where she is. All right, she can join the conversation for all you care. 

When you turn your head back around, you catch stars oozing from Jungkook’s eyes, a conveyance of adornment painting his face in gentle colors that could never be associated with this room. There it is, the face you know, so resplendent of the one you last saw. And it grazes your anger, whispers to it that it was a mistake, a game of pretense, because you’re reverently acknowledged with his soul—you know who he is. While it may explain his fucked-up behavior, you don’t soften. Not at the hint of familiarity. Not even at the hushed hint of your deduction telling you that the reason why he unmasked himself was because you chose him and didn’t run away when his companion spoiled your short time together. 

You don’t soften because you simply don’t want to. 

You don’t want to give in to any means of getting close to him. 

The chapter is finished. You shouldn’t have called him. You should’ve left with Hobi. 

You don’t wish to keep him waiting long, nor do you wish to keep sprawling in your mistake. You pivot, ready to leave, but Jungkook captures your hand. Desirousness palpitates in his eyes as if he, too, needed to tell you something of urgency. 

You’ll hear him out, but that’s the end of it. 

“Can I see you later?” he asks, pupils growing in size until they absorb his chocolate irises, his grip over your hand tight and heated. A wind blows in your orchard, sweeping away all the darkened smithereens left by the bane, freshening you up. 

You don’t really think that’s a good idea. 

“I won’t have time for you later, I’ll be with Hoseok.” 

To Hobi, you won’t lie, but the same can’t be applied to Jungkook. 

His breath hitches in his throat, disappointment weighing him down, the thought of you being intimate with someone who is not him causing his posture to slouch even more. 

But he surprises you with the words he says next. 

“I’ll wait, then. Let me know when you’re alone.” 

And you surprise yourself even more when you nod, turning on your heel and scurrying off to meet Hobi outside. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[another-random-paradise]

Hey!! I was wondering if i could request what you think some housewardens would be like with a S/O who makes a lot of references? Whether it's anime, video game, pop culture etc etc, I don't mind which ones you choose as long as Idia is there!! Thanks :D ur underrated

A man of culture

Thank you so much for the request and the kind words, it really makes my day <3 I mostly kept the references vague, because as much as i love them, i am horrible at coming up with them- Hope you enjoy!

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

Reader makes a lot of references

Characters: Idia, Malleus, Cater

Format: Headcanons

Warnings: None that i can think off

Idia

-You're on a somewhat big bolder, looking down at him "It's Over, Anakin, I Have the High Ground!" He is down on one knee with a ring, Or at least he would be were he not way to socially anxious he is so in love with you it is unbelievable

-Because it would most likely mean that you not only make references, but would also understand his! He won't have to switch to normie language nor constantly explain everything!!

-I feel like he'd be a lot more comfortable around you, because he feels more 'normal' with you; he knows you won't judge him for his word choice nor his interested, because you do the same!

-Of course his social anxiety won't disappear completely, he is still anxious around you, especially because your important to him, and there might be some days were it's worse and needs time to himself, that of course won't change that he loves you and tries to be as open as he can be with you (Speaking from experience here lol)

-If you two are dating/really close, he'll let you still chill in his room, even during some of his worser days, just don't expect much conversation. 

-Don't be afraid to look over and make a joke or reference based on what he's currently watching/playing, you'll make his day! He might not reply, but you can hear him laugh :)

-On his better days, chances are the two of you are having a date in his room, watching anime or playing video games in wich he definitely won't get competitive, noooo while eating snack and you're just almost exclusively talking in references, just going back and forth-

-In fact, not just during dates, during the few times he is outside it would be the same!.. much to your friends dismay, because most of the time, they can't understand a word you say. Cater might understand one or two from pop culture or if they're popular memes but that's about it

-Ortho also understands because he can just look it up! He very much approves of the two of you, because thanks to you, his brother is outside AND smiling for more than a few seconds, that's an absolute win in his book! :)

Malleus

-He doesn't understand a word you're saying, but he loves you anyway.

-Most of the time he just lets you say your references, happy you're comfortable enough around him to be yourself, even it confuses him!

-If the reference directly impacts the conversation though, or if one just happened to catch his interest. He'll listens very intensely to your explanation, almost scarily so! Not that you would ever find him truly scary <3

-You'd probably hold back from making to many references around him, not wanting to confuse him. When he finds out, he tells you not to. He wants you to be able to be your authentic self, and if he gets to ramble about gargoyles to you, then it's only fair that you get to make as many references as you want, no? He just needs some explanation some times

-That gives you an idea! You make a slideshow about the most common/popular, as well as your favorites, to show to him!.. Turns out he doesn't know what a slideshow is, but he is intrigued!

-So now you have a date teaching him how to make slideshows and help him make one about gargoyles! Now you have a slideshow date at least once a week, where you explain refrences and he talks about slideshows :)

-He is actually really happy about it, it shows your comfortable enough to be yourself around him and your slideshows lets him understand a bit of modern media, making it just a tad bit easier to get along with his classmates!  

Cater

-He either gets all of them or none of them; it really depends on the type of references tbh

-If it's pop culture, then he would get most of it, you'd be the type of couple who flirts through references and memes

-Half of his tweets would just be stuff like "[Insert popular hot character] ain't got nothing on my s/o" and his fans have a field trip every time. He'd also sends you like a bunch of memes and "Happy spouse, Happy life" videos

-So if you do the same? He'd love you even more than he already does! He really loves all your references that he does get, they never fail to make him laugh! You two would just be out and about, till you spot a dog that can jump very high, "Oh wow, that dog can jump higher than super Mario himself." You look to your side and see cater giggling to himself, a genuine smile on his face   

-And if you compliment him through references? Suddenly, he is very flustered!

-It might take him a while to accept the compliments though; You can't tell me he isn't actually insecure behind that influencer act. But once he does, he'll be a flustered mess every time, stuttering while trying to come up with an equally flirty comeback, BUT once he gets used to it, you two will absolutely go back and forth trying to out-reference-complement each other

-If it's anime or video game references, i feel like it'd be a bit different, since he would probably not get them unless they're really mainstream- I don't see him too invested in stuff like that 

-He'll still encourage you though, because he adores the how you'll excitedly compare something to your favorite scene, or how monotonly you'll compare someones stupidity to a character that's known for their stupidity 

-He loves it all, even those that he doesn't understand :)

This was so fun to write!! also, first time writing Cater, kinda nervous

Feedback is welcome, just be nice :)

hope you have a nice day/night!!

[bigfatbimbo]

this sounds kinda fucked but like how would vox be toxic in a relationship?? who do you think would be like the worst character to be with in hazbin?

this sounds like a bummer of a request but i ask because you talk about how much you like character analysis posts, and you have a clear love for terrible people (same!)

AHHHHHH I GET TO TALK ABOUT EVIL PEOPLE!!

So let me just say that I feel like, of late, I haven’t given that much attention to how terrible of a person Vox is… But the thing is, no one wants to hear about how they would be mistreated in a relationship. I mean, I fear a lot of my posts seem delusion-ally out of character for this, but also it’s tumblr and as long as I continue have a firm grasp on what that character is actually like, mischaracterization can be excused for the sake of joy and whimsy. (However I can justify ANYTHING that I was written and tell you why they would **to an extent** do that. Actually that sounds really fun someone test me on that—)

Vox definitely gets the worst of ‘mischaracterization for the sake of joy and whimsy’ so here’s a small reality check! Don’t enjoy <3 **NOT PROOFREAD**

Constant surveillance of your every move. This meaning every question you google, all the television you watch, every stranger you smile at, he would keep track of it all.

Anything you do wrong, under his creepy surveillance, would be used against you during arguments.

No, even if you two are official, he does not stop fucking Val, and no, if asked, he will not stop.

He will lie to you if he feels he needs to, and will absolutely never feel bad about it no matter how big of a lie it is.

The worst of this definitely comes when you two are fighting and you call him out for something he 100% did.

He’s great at painting himself out in a good light, and when you’re fighting he does this by lying, and if that doesn’t work, hypnosis.

Yeah, he does that a lot too. If you’re not in the mood to fuck, now you are. If you’re hanging out with your friends tonight instead of him, no you’re not. I hope you all have blue light glasses!

Also, if all of his manipulation tactics fail to work on you, he just gets mad and really personal in all of his insults. It’s easy for him to do so when he’s studied you on his screen for so long.

Hope you’re not overly insecure too, he’ll take advantage of that to get what he wants from you.

Speaking of taking advantage of, if you’re famous or special or interesting in any particular way, he will 100% use you for press.

Also, he’s from the 1950s, no matter how modern he tries to be, a part of this mindset will always stay with him.

Meaning that he will obnoxiously try to be the manly one in the relationship, no matter your gender.

You will be feminized in his mind, at least for a good start of the relationship.

This also stems from his fragile ego, and seeing as he is the personification of toxic masculinity!

This is a dom reader blog, obviously, but even after fucking this kind of mindset out of him, these tendencies would stop, BUT be replaced by equally as terrible ones.

For example, especially if he’s the sub, he would just expect you to do things for him, to stick your neck out, to take care and dote on him.

If you’re not giving him enough attention as well, your internet will go out, your lights will flicker, and no electronics in your house will work.

This will stay the case until you are forced to ask him for help.

But you wanted to be in charge anyways, so why should this behavior be reciprocated?

I’ve talked about this in past posts, I can’t find it at this very moment but I go into detail more, but what does love look like for Vox?

He would probably either be shockingly indifferent towards you, until he falls in ‘love.’

Then, he will be terribly obsessed with you. Because the closest thing he can feel to actually love is devoted obsession.

Yes, it can last as long as love, but it isn’t.

Because, and let me say this loudly, a healthy relationship with Vox, or any of the Vees, is not possible. You can be close, but it is not and never will be possible!

Okay, so your second question, “who do you think would be like the worst character to be with in hazbin?”

Top three and in this order:

Any of the Vees

2. Alastor

3. Adam or Lute

I’m probably forgetting someone, but it’s alright. Top three remains the same.

And you know, you will never catch me defending any of those people. Because I feel like in this fandom there is some crazy internalized theme of being ‘morally correct’ when liking a character.

You can find a character entertaining or interesting, no matter how awful they are. It’s television, characters are supposed to be interesting. Liking their screen time, or finding them attractive, has virtually NOTHING to do with your moral compass.

SORRY FOR THE RANT AT THE END— This is going to flop so hard. ☝️😁

Lucifer content and Adam content coming out soon, BY THE WAY!! Just trying to answer the more question-y asks before putting out actual content. Also i’m bored with no real motivation so

[7ndipity]

Dating A Foreign Partner

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: How the members would handle being in a relationship with a foreign S/o.

Warnings: brief mentions of racial/cultural discrimination,

A/N: Thank you to @bethanysnow for requesting this, I hope you like it!😘💜 I tried to keep these a bit lighter, but if there’s something more specific that any of you would like to see, lmk!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Jin:

Sounds cliche, but I think he would really enjoy trying foods from where you're from, especially some of the more ‘unusual’ ones(I literally found out the other day that pb&j sandwiches are considered weird in Korea??)

I think you two would accidentally confuse each other with lesser known cultural differences, like when he first asks you to be official after only like two dates(which is normal in korean culture, but not so much in western dating)

Would become very aware of the prejudices and discrimination that foreign couples deal with in both your countries. Like, obviously he was aware it was an issue before, but dealing with it first hand made him realize just how much of an issue it was.

It would make his heart soo happy to see you learning how to speak Korean or embracing different parts of his culture.

(Secretly studies your native language to surprise you for your birthday or anniversary)

Yoongi:

I might be projecting a lil bit, but I can honestly see him having a foreign partner. Idk, I just see him not really paying much mind to things like race/nationality, he likes who he likes and that’s it.

Might be a little shy about how much more comfortable you are with things like casual skinship tho, but he also kinda secretly loves it.

He would really love that you’re so direct sometimes, rather than trying to ask for things in a more roundabout ‘polite’ way that is considered proper in Korean culture. He would love that you’re to the point, like him.

Would be so flattered if you made the effort to learn Korean, grinning so big the first time he hears you use even something little like “Hajima” correctly.

He’d do the same with your language too. Learning about your culture would be really important to him, he wants you to know that he appreciates you and where you came from.

Hobi:

Tbh, I totally see him with a foreign partner, he would love the variety and unique energy that you bring to each other's lives.

I think he would tend to forget some of the differences in how you both grew up until you mention something more drastic like school safety drills and he has to do a double take like “wtf?!”

I think he would love how open and expressive you are about your home and culture, and loves learning about where you came from. You’re his favorite person, he wants to know as much as possible about you!

Would have soo much fun teaching you about all the different holidays and traditions in Korea that differ from where you’re from.

Would be soo surprised if you learned to speak Korean, even if it’s just a few phrases at first. He just gets so happy and giggly hearing you speak.

Namjoon:

I think most people consider him the most likely out of the group to have a foreign partner, and tbh I kinda agree.

He would make a serious effort to learn as much about your country/culture as he could, possibly even wanting to visit there sometime with you.

Despite being pretty well versed in a lot of other cultures, he would definitely still have little moments of culture shock over random things like educational systems. Like I can imagine his surprise/confusion over the more lax approach in some schools or someone being homeschooled(hi).

Would be super impressed if you already knew some korean when you met, but if not, he’s more than happy to help you learn.

Lowkey quite protective over you, bc he knows how harsh Korean media can be towards celebrities having foreign partners.

Jimin:

Thinks your Korean is super cute! He finds it absolutely adorable the way you say certain words, and he loves the way you speak slowly and softly when you’re focused on pronouncing certain phrases correctly.

If you’re new to living in Korea, he would do his best to help you settle in and adjust to the differences in day to day life, as well as comforting you on the days when you feel homesick.

Loves learning about your culture, tho I think he would prefer learning from you than on his, just so he can watch how excited you get talking about your home.

Would be soo excited if he finds any similarities between your cultures, whether it’s how you celebrate certain holidays, or a similar dish. He loves finding those little connections.

Another who would be rather protective over you, especially if he knows you have anxieties about certain things due to public safety issues where you’re from. He just wants to make sure you to feel safe

Taehyung:

I know a lot of people see him as rather traditional when it comes to things like dating/relationships, but I could very much see him with a foreign partner, especially since he talked about wanting to live abroad at some point in the future.

I think he would find your different perspectives really refreshing, you really help broaden each other's horizons.

I honestly think he would be another who would sometimes forget the differences in how you both grew up until he brings up something and you’re like “We never did that??”

Lowkey brags about you every chance he gets like “Oh ,Y/n’s from (country name), and they were teaching me about-”

He never treats it as if you’re some sort of novelty tho, he just really loves you and wants to show you that he supports you and shares your pride for who you are and where you’re from.

Jungkook:

I think he would have a lot of fun with a foreign partner, learning about each other's cultures and sharing stories about your upbringings.

Might take him a while to adjust to things like your relationships/dynamics with other guys, just bc that’s not quite as common in Korea, but I could see him actually really enjoying it if you fit into his friend group bc of that.

Another that would feel rather protective over you for similar reasons as Joon. If anyone so much as looks at you weird, he’s gonna shut them down soo fast.

He loves hearing you speak in your native language, there’s something about it that’s just so soothing and melodic about it to him. But it’s only when you're speaking, it’s not the same with anyone else.

Would ask you to teach him so that he can hear you speak it more(study dates where you help each other would be super cute and cozy)

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0o0o0ooo @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[caramelmacchiato07]

ok i have chills

so at the end of the challenge (penelope’s song) she sings waiting, waiting over and over again. to the same tune as anticlea’s (odysseus’s mom) last words in underworld. JAY THE MASTERMIND ARTIST YOU ARE-

FINDING NEW WAYS TO PUNCH US THROUGH A SCREEN AND EARBUDS-

absolute CHILLS i have GOOSEBUMPS i can’t FUNCTION i need HELP

someone has probably already pointed it out but i needed to say it AGAIN AND LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK

like that is actually so depressing. the desperation there, but also the overwhelming hope that odysseus will return… its heart wrenching. except the only difference is odysseus gets to reunite with his wife, he will never ever get to see his mom again.

@epicthemusicalstuff

[getousatoruu]

AND I AM BACK TO THE FIC REC GRIND BABY...Hope you enjoy them and give love to all the authors <3

Short fics:

he slips in to relieve the pain by weeb_grass (M, 3.3k, Complete)

Yuuji cannot sleep now that he's got another soul picking at him from within his own mind. Megumi keeps replaying the moment Sukuna ripped his friend's heart out. Both find ways to cope with the pain of emotional manipulation. "You stupid boy, Sukuna whispered into the deep crevices of Yuuji’s heart. You stupid, love-sick boy."

My Love Mine All Mine by darlingscurse (T, 8.1k, Complete)

“Not to worry, Yoshino,” Gojo announces brightly and while Megumi can’t see his eyes he feels them flicker to him for the smallest fraction of a second and something in his stomach drops. Oh no. “I just know what to do. Don’t you worry about that, your teacher has it all figured out!” Megumi opens his mouth, impending doom hanging over his head like a storm cloud, but by then it’s already too late, lightning has already struck. Gojo, the biggest ass in human history, flashes thumbs up in the round and then goes: “I’m sure our brightest little shikigami user would love to help you.” (or: Yuji comes back from the dead, comes back from the dead with a shiny new friend and Megumi is totally cool with that. Everything's peachy. Really.) PS: this one for all the people (me) who LOVEE Megumi absolutely loathing Junpei for no reason except the fact Yuuji befriends him (sorry Junpei)

kiss me not him by tamarsilan (T, 9.4k , Complete)

Still, her mouth had nearly hung open in shock at the news. “Junpei and I are dating,” Itadori had said with a smile on her face, holding up her and Yoshino’s intertwined hands. In their shared college dorm, Yoshino’s socked toes had dragged against their carpet, unsure. Fushiguro had been glad that she was sitting at the time. Between her hands the bunny-adorned coffee mug, Itadori had made her, threatened to shatter Or: Fushiguro Megumi and the five stages of grief

Conbini Kisses by Anonymous (T, 2.1k, Complete)

Itadori’s anger, Megumi can deal with. His silence, however, is torture. ————— Now they’ve reconnected, Fushiguro and Itadori have a much needed conversation.

The Brotherly Code by awkwardtypeos (T, 2.8k, Complete)

He sighs heavily, and looks his best friend dead in the eye, and finally delivers the news. “You cannot court Fushiguro. He is not worthy of you. I must ask you to put a stop to this.” Itadori blinks at him once, twice, several times, and then absolutely squawks, high-pitched and certainly not manly, “W-what do you mean? Todo that’s-that’s none of your business!"

sweet disposition by Nicolefrickle (T, 3.1k, Complete)

Itadori needs touched, and Megumi needs to heal

Long Fics:

you may bury my body by movequickly (M, 32.9k, Complete)

In all the worst ways, Yuji is just like Suguru. PS: I could not sleep for 3 whole days after reading this...this fic is intense i won't lie, the gojo and yuuji scenes are hard to swallow, gojo and geto scenes even more but all in all this also feels like a love letter to Yuuji

Saving You by earthtodora (T, 73k, Ongoing)

Yuji dies in the battle against Sukuna in Shinjuku. When he wakes up in the infirmary, he finds that he's in the past, before the events of the Culling Game, and the Shibuya Incident. Yuji must try to avoid making the same mistakes, and find a way to defeat the King of Curses and save the people he cares about. But first, he must find a way to deal with his own trauma and come to terms with the future he left behind. --- "Sensei," Yuji spoke up suddenly, snapping Gojo out of his thoughts. Gojo looked over at him. "Yes, Yuji?" "I want you to kill me."

tears of a tiger (there is no night without dawn) by rugbratz (T, 53.9k, Completed)

Yuuji understands that most people in his situation would be excited for the promise of tomorrow and what it may bring. But that’s not him. Yuuji can’t even begin to explain the conglomeration of emotions that he feels, but he knows that all of them are horrible and that he’s not ready. He never is.

[saunne]

You Are A Weakness I Cannot Afford To Possess - Aventio/Ratiorine Snippet

[You are welcome to yell at me and demand monetary reparations to pay for your therapy because I'm not sorry]

Every risk was cautiously considered and weighed, every move carefully calculated. Obviously, emotions were something based on a much less stable basis than mathematical calculations but... 

Veritas Ratio was not blind. 

He wasn't a fool either, despite feeling like one at that very moment. 

“...What do you mean no ?” 

The man looked at him, a bittersweet smile on their thin lips, even as one of their poker chips twirled nimbly between their graceful fingers. 

"Before you ask a question, why don't you consider whether the answer has already been determined ?" Aventurine responded softly, their eyes drifting to gaze outside as they wearily parroted Veritas' own words. "It is better for everyone if such questions are not asked... Don't you think, my good Doctor ?" 

These words, Veritas uttered them regularly.  To his colleagues, his students, Enid, his superiors, strangers even. 

To be the recipient was... painful. 

Unexpected. 

"I don't understand," Veritas whispered, his voice hoarse and his throat tight. "You love me."

Every risk was cautiously considered and weighed, every move carefully calculated. Veritas Ratio would never have risked a move if he had not been absolutely certain that his feelings were returned.

And yet… And yet.

“I do,” Aventurine laughed airily. “Gaiathra help me, I do.”

The chip was strangely warm in Veritas' palm as his hand instinctively gripped around it, the smooth edges digging into his palm. Aventurine's hand was soft against his cheek, barely a caress, ghostly and fleeting presence. 

Their lips were soft and just slightly wet as they kissed him, for barely more than a heartbeat. The faint caress of their sigh as they retreated felt as icy as the incessant blizzards of this planet of eternal winters, to which Veritas had accompanied them only weeks earlier. 

Where he had warmed their frozen fingers between his. 

Where they shared laughter and kisses as light as the snowflakes that ended their fall in their pale eyelashes.

Where a cheerful “Why not, Veritas?” had met his cautious questioning, where only a silence heavy with lost words now met this same question, this "why" trembling with dashed hope.

"Because... All or Nothing only works because there is nothing left, Veritas. Nothing except myself, which is nothing in itself,” the Stoneheart confessed in a breath, in a plea that sounded more like a condemnation. “I can’t…”

They closed their eyes, taking a deep breath.

When they looked at him again, the heat of their gaze was not that of an inviting hearth, but that of a raging fire. 

A heat of desert wasteland bathed by a blind sun, of an age-old drought that a cataclysm would not be enough to repair. A heat made of prayers as numerous as the grains of sand of Sigonia-IV and as sticky as the blood that had stained it.

 “You are a weakness I cannot afford to possess, Veritas Ratio.”

A silence.

"And for what little it's worth, I'm truly sorry."

[shroomsroom]

Hiiiii I hope ur doing good but can I request the greaser gang with fem!black reader :33 (this is very much self indulgent heheehe)

Summary: The Outsiders x Black!Reader

Warnings: none Author's Note: sorry if I got somethings wrong againnn

PONYBOY CURTIS

Thinks you're so pretty and have the prettiest eyes

Stares at them, Def gets “lost in them”

buys you cds of all your fav music so you can listen to them with him

Will ALWAYS be with you. He thinks he can intimidate the socs away

JOHNNY CADE

Very insecure abt yalls relationship because he doesnt think hes cute enough to be with you

Stands in the pharmacy to read about your pop culture in magazines

Thinks your hair is so attractive, loves running his hands (gently) through it

he'll get literally red faced, screaming, attacking anything if you get insulted or jumped, he's gonna be your ride or die.

SODAPOP CURTIS

Obsessed with your facial harmony

When your doing your hair he'll help you separate the curls for you

Loves seeing you in his DX shirt because of your perfect figure

If you like a certain artist, he'll definitely try and sneak you into the concert

STEVE RANDLE

His love language is food, so hell cook whatever your mom gives him recipes for

If you don't like it, he's making that same thing everyday until it's perfect for you

Loves your fashion sense, he tells you that its like dating a model

Tries his absolute hardest to get you the right color jewelry, like he has a note of either gold or silver 

TWO BIT MATHEWS

Perhaps a little insensitive and rude without trying to be, like hes trying to crack jokes but some of those dont land

IMMEDIATELY respects the boundaries you put down, backs off quickly.

Likes doing your “girly” stuff with you, but he mostly tells you to do it on his sister so you two can bond

Turns out her hair hold a really pretty curl and she asks you to do her hair everytime you come over, hes literally so in love with the fact that you two get along 

DARRY CURTIS

Tries his best to not be rude, its like hes always walking on eggshells.

He has you explain everything to him so now he has 100 mental notes about everything you do, like, eat etc.

Tries to treat you like a queen and saves up so much money for fancy dates and stuff.

No one fucks with you because hes on semi good terms with socs and good terms with greasers. So ur just in the middle ground

DALLAS WINSTON

Once again (say it with me guys!) DALLAS IS A WHITE BITCH

doesn't understand anything, will lowkey judge you for many things

Literally tried to bag you as a challenge, but kinda fell for your charm

Hes not head over heels but he's falling, just will never admit it.

[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

I've been really loving this run we're on with these two shows, I'm always in a good mood after watching them. These are on Gaga and I highly recommend watching.

At 25:00 in Akasaka

Shirasaki noooooooooooooo! We were getting so close to a breakthrough for our guy but of course he just had to get a blow to his confidence right when he was gearing up to confess. And of course he doesn’t have the confidence to realize the person Hayama can’t get over is him, so now he finally understands what it means to be heartbroken. I really love the way this show treats its characters with so much gentle compassion. I always feel very rooted in their emotions and able to understand their choices even when I’m frustrated with them. Do I wish Shirasaki had simply asked Hayama who he likes instead of jumping to conclusions and ending their relationship? Yes. But do I understand why he didn’t? Absolutely. And poor Hayama is too kind and accommodating to push him. I need these boys to get on the same page before my own heart breaks. 

Living With Him

This was the week for boys losing their nerve at the crucial moment, but at least in this show we ended on a more hopeful note and we know this will be cleared up in short order (it helps that this is the penultimate episode for this one). We are definitely back in it with the main narrative arc after a couple weeks of the story treading water, with Natsukawa struggling to confess and Kazuhito attempting to reject himself out of consideration for Natsukawa. These boys are so incredibly kind, but their reticence to put pressure on each other is getting in the way. Kazuhito’s mom certainly didn’t help, but it was satisfying as always to see a Japanese boy run after his sweetheart, even if he didn’t catch him. Side note: I absolutely love Natsukawa’s sisters and would watch a whole show about their adventures. 

Over to @bengiyo to add a manga update.

[strwberri-milk]

Hi dearest 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

How about something funny like how does the LADS react to you having a puppy with their name and give the puppy more attention than them? KAKSSKSKSKSKDKSKKSJSKJS I know Rafayel is gonna be so salty 😭😭😭😭😭

Hope it helps cutie! GOOD LUCK 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽🩷🩷🩷

Zayne thinks it's a little silly of you but he doesn't mind at all. He does get jealous at times but it's primarily over things he perceives as a real threat, such as another man. Cooing over a dog isn't a massive concern in his eyes but the fact that he shares a name with said dog gets distracting at the very least. Every time you call out his name in that sweet voice of yours he quickly turns his head, thinking you've finally decided to give him the attention you've been depriving him of but when he sees you crouched on the ground next to the dog he simply sighs.

That night he's a little quieter than usual. He doesn't seem angry - he's never mad at you - but he does seem annoyed at the very least. You can't really figure out why he's acting the way he is because you totally forgot about the fact that you named your pup Zayne to mess with him as he slings his arm over you. It takes just the slightest furrowing of your brow for him to "confront" you, asking if you really needed to name the puppy after him.

Once you figure out what this is about you laugh a little, rolling your eyes and hugging him tightly. You reassure him that you aren't actually going to keep the puppy's name Zayne and it was just to mess with him for today. In response he rolls his eyes back at you, shaking his head in disbelief. He knows he should have seen it coming with that mischievous grin on your face, sighing at your antics as he tells you to go to sleep.

Xavier is confused when you introduce the puppy to him with his name. He asks you if you're mistaken, thinking that you just mixed up his name with the puppy since you're talking to him. When you hold the puppy up and confirm that yes, you meant to call the puppy Xavier he finds himself conflicted. On one hand, he thinks its very cute that you named the puppy after him. On the other hand, he immediately recognises how confusing it'll be for him and the puppy to share a name.

You tell him that you're well aware of that which is why you'll be experimenting with new nicknames for the dog and see which one sticks best. He does agree that the puppy is very cute, sitting with you to play with it but slowly realises that you're absolutely pampering it to the point where he's barely able to get a word in edgewise.

He doesn't really mind at first when he thinks that it'll pass after a while but when he leaves to go pick up some snacks and returns to see you in the same position he left you he starts to realise that you might be more obsessed than he initially thought. Again, he does think that the puppy is very cute but he doesn't think it warrants taking away all of your attention away from him.

He sulks off to the side, waiting until you manage to put the puppy down down for bed. He doesn't want to confront you until then, not wanting to come off as too bitter but you can tell that he is because of how he stares at you playing with the dog. Once you come back to his side he immediately wraps his arm around you, burying his face into your neck and breathing you in. His weight seems to collapse against you, sighing a little when your arms go around him.

He pouts a little more, telling you that he deserves to have a little bit more of your attention and that he didn't think you would neglect him to that extent just because of how adorable the puppy was. You laugh a little, telling him that you're sorry for neglecting him and that it won't happen again. You make it up to him by holding him and cuddling up to him for the rest of the evening, something he very much so appreciates.

Rafayel is the only one who will react the second he notices it happening. First he's flattered you named the dog after him, then offended. He thought it was cute that you wanted to name the puppy after him, but now he decides he should be insulted because he's potty trained and that puppy is not.

Once you start showering it in attention he starts to whine. He throws himself on your shoulders or on your lap, ignoring the dog crawling all over him in an attempt to crawl all over you. At this angle you realise rather than looking like a pathetic kitten like he usually does, he just looks like a needy puppy.

You did not think this through. You forgot that Rafayel's clingy tendencies would give any puppy a run for its money. He's whining and keening for attention, gently moving the puppy out of the way if it means winning this round. You can't take him seriously at all and when he sees that he won't be winning this round he runs off to his studio to pout some more.

You follow after him after a while, telling him that yes, while the puppy is absolutely adorable it's still a far second from him. He starts to become a little more amenable to you but you wouldn't know it if you weren't as close to him as you are. He turns to you a little bit more, humphs a little less aggressively, and actually looks at you.

He can't keep the act up for long and finally relents. He'll still act pouty but with how tightly he's holding you you really doubt that he's actually upset at you. He is extra clingy for the rest of the night to make up for it, fighting the puppy for your attention until the two of them come to some sort of mutual understanding.

[arahdow]

NIGHTY

Pairing. Shadow x reader x Silver

Content. f!reader (nicknamed as nighty). poly!relationship. hurt to comfort. one (1) mention of smoking, description of injuries, harsh language. they're worried sick and shadow channels his worry as anger. silver calms both of you down though! suggestive at the end? jsjs i got carried away.

Word count. 2.5 k

A/N. AAAAAAAAAAAAA thank you anon for requesting this !! I absolutely adored writing this, although at first I found it quite difficult BUT I hope I did a good job! This is my first time writing a poly relationship, but I have faith I portrayed well. Same ol', no beta read, no nothing, I just had fun jsjs.

+ my back hurts HELP SKDJFJ i'll take a well deserved rest after this aH

“What are you doing?” the voice of Shadow startled her, as she hid her own arm behind her. He was leaning on the opened door, arms crossing, eyes boring into her figure. Turning to look at the man, she closed the tap water and cleared her throat uncomfortably. 

 “I didn’t see you there.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

The girl sighed. “Nothing of your business.” she grumbled, trying to walk past the black hedgehog, but it was no use. Shadow snatched her arm making her wince at the action. His eyes widened at the way the skin was ripped open, blood seeping through her arm dripping to the white floor. The rest of her arm was bruised.

“What the fuck is this, Nighty?” He asked, a commanding tone laced in his voice.

The girl pulled her arm and took it to the sink again, opening the cold water and letting it stream onto her wound. “Just a cut, it’s nothing.”

Shadow inhaled deeply. “Does Silver know?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters if you’re hurt, now don’t be a brat and answer me.”

“He doesn't, okay? And I don’t care if he does, there’s nothing he could do either way.” She said, hissing at the feeling of her wound being cleaned.

Shadow almost felt bad. Almost. But he simply huffed and turned around going into his room. 

The girl sighed and kept on cleaning herself, the silence in the kitchen making her feel lightheaded. Nighty, as Shadow and Silver liked to call her, lived with the two hedgehogs. Not in the same house though. It was such a weird situation: Silver once found Nighty dehydrated and with a grave state of anemia, passed out on the street. He took the girl to Shadow, which was the closest location to where he found her. At first, Shadow was reluctant to help Silver save her, why would he care?

But it became something difficult to ignore when the girl woke up, not remembering anything about her. They thought she had been abused or kidnapped and somehow managed to escape, but it was weird that she couldn’t even remember her own name. So they called her Nighty. 

After that, she took turns to stay in either Silver’s or Shadow’s house, and because of the proximity and chemistry, she started developing feelings for both of them, and so were they. Silver and Shadow didn’t like each other that much to start a relationship themselves, so they shared her, with no hard feelings for each other.

This week was Shadow’s turn, but she somehow managed to stay more time outdoors than with him. And the thing was, she actually started going out with the people she met at a club. This girl called Rouge was the one who introduced her to a group, and since then, everything started going down. Now she prefers going out, smoking with friends and engaging in risky scenarios. And with every day that passed, her partners got more concerned. They looked at her one day and she was so changed.

After she finished cleaning herself, she turned to the bathroom to grab the aid kit, which surprisingly, was in Shadows hand. He was kneeling, cleaning the droplets of blood that dripped from her arm earlier.

“Thank-”

“It’d leave a stain. Don’t go around making a mess here if you’re going to behave like this.” His tone laced with venom. She looked at him, hurt.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means whatever the hell you think it is.” He replied, standing up, aid kit on his hands. “You can’t keep going out, end of story.”

Nighty snickered. Shadow looked at her with anger brewing inside of him. “What’s so funny?”

“You.” She spat. “You thinking you can order me around like you’re my father.”

“I may not be your father but I am your partner, you live under my roof, you do as I say!” He raised his voice slightly.

“Who do you think you are? I didn’t ask to be saved, I didn’t ask for your shelter,” The girl huffed. “I certainly didn’t ask for your pity.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, I never said I pitied you.”

“Well it looks like it, why would you tell me all this, then?” 

“Because you’re changing! You’re not the girl I love!” 

Wrong fucking words, Shadow.

Eyes dull, she looked at him, suddenly the wound in her arm didn’t hurt as much. “Wow, you’re showing your true colors, huh?”

“The hell does that mean.” 

But she didn’t let him speak. Turning around, she started walking at the door. Shadow suddenly blocked her, his back pressing against the door.

“Please, open the door, Shadow, I’m not playing games.”

“Neither am I. Where are you going?”

“Why do you care? You’ve clearly stated you don’t love me anymore.”

Shadow felt a hollow pit in his stomach. “What-”

“Can I leave?” 

And he looked in her eyes. Angry tears running down her eyes. The man seething, pure hot through his veins. But, why did he feel so… Helpless?

“I never said-”

“‘You’re changing, you’re not the girl I love’, does that ring a fucking bell?” She asked, her tone raising.

“You know for a fact that’s not what I meant!”

“Oh, do I?” The girl asked, her voice broken with pain. “Then what did you mean? Mhm?”

Shadow stared at her. Suddenly losing the words, he stood there motionless. His brain racking with ways on how to explain that he was worried. That he was terrified for her, her body, the way it kept getting worse and worse every passing day. The way her skin was becoming a garden full of bruises and cuts. He noticed then she had a busted lip too.

The girl sighed, shaking her head. She took advantage of Shadow being in his headspace, walking close to the door and opening it wide enough for her to go through it. “You can be so cruel when you put your soul into it.” Was the last thing she said before walking out the door.

Hearing knocking on his door, Silver got up yawning in the process. It was the middle of the night, he wasn’t expecting someone. And he definitely wasn’t expecting her.

“Night-?”

“Can I sleep here?” She asked, rushing inside his home. 

Silver hadn’t had the time to ask her a thing. Rubbing his eyes, his brain started growing more conscious by the moment. “Wait, why? What happened to Shadow?” He asked, receiving a scoff from the girl.

“Can we not talk about this?” 

Silver closed the door, walking slowly until he saw the injury on her arm. His mind cleared up as he rushed to the bathroom to get some supplies and meds. “Why are you hurt? What happened, Nighty?”

“Can we not?” She avoided his questioning as well as his eyes.

“Hey-”

“Stop! Can’t you understand a fucking request? Am I the only smart one here? Leave me the fuck alone!”

She exploded. And Silver raised his hands, worried that he had a time bomb in front of him. She needed care, and he couldn’t afford for her to run away. He guessed something happened at Shadow’s, but he chose to stay curious.

“I’m not gonna ask anything else, for the moment, then.” He said decisively, but with a soft voice and a gentle smile trying to not irritate her more.

The next few minutes, he started to patch her up, gently, taking full care and attention at her expressions. A quick glance at her told him everything. She and Shadow had an argument. And he knew that because it was the only moment where she cried. 

Yes, Shadow was someone known to be a dickhead, apprehensive even, when things didn’t go his way; but he somehow always managed to get under everyone’s skin. People used to warm up to him easily because he was also a protector by nature. He cared, in his own way. Silver knew that much.

He cared for the girl when the second Silver arrived at his home, and even when Shadow denied such a thing, Silver saw something in his eyes. A glint of worry. A glint of need to protect such a soul. The way Shadow’s eyes lingered on her, or when he spoke softer to her than anybody else. Silver noticed all of that. But both of them were hard-headed. 

Putting some ointment on her bruised skin, he noticed her busted lip and inhaled sharply. The need to ask was consuming him, but he held himself. 

With one gentle hand, he took the girl’s chin and turned her head his way. Her teary eyes were so pretty, but he wouldn’t comment on that in this scenario. Maybe another day. Nighty looked at him, his golden eyes boring into hers, his naked hand caressed her cheek. She could feel his short claws gaze at her skin, but she felt cared. Safe.

Silver averted his gaze, taking a cotton ball and smearing alcohol in it.

“This might hurt.” He warned, she only nodded.

Followed by a hiss, he started to wipe her lip, the dried blood being cleaned up from her. Her skin red from the pain. The man shushed softly at her, lulling. She felt less pained, somehow. 

Her tears were coming out less and less, Silver made sure they never hit the floor. She lunged forwards, hugging him with the arm that she hadn’t injured. The man yelped, receiving warmth from her body. Then he reciprocated the hug.

“I don’t want you to leave me…” She whispered, barely audible but Silver could hear her perfectly.

He waited for her to calm down a bit, and when she pulled away from the hug, he took her hand in his. Her breathing seemed calmer now.

“Can I ask now, what happened?” He asked, his voice the softest he could manage.

The girl sighed and recalled the events at Shadow’s. Silver nodded every few seconds to let her know he was listening. When she finished telling him about it, he inhaled sharply. 

“I see,” Directing his attention to the aid box, he took the bandages and opened a hand for her to give him her wound, now that the ointment was absorbed in her skin. “now, can I talk about this situation? I have some questions.” Nighty nodded. “How did you got this?” He asked, referring to her arm.

With a sigh, she replied. “I… There were these guys at the bar,” Silver’s breath hitched. “they wanted me and my friend to leave with them, but they seemed sketchy. Rouge tried to wave them off but they were pressing the topic a lot, to the point where they got frustrated and…” She gulped. “One of them had a knife…”

Gauging Silver’s reaction, she stopped speaking for a moment. The man nodded. “Keep talking.”

Nighty inhaled. “He was going to hurt Rouge, but I took the hit.” 

Silver looked up, his eyes were no longer gold but a dirty brown. “And the lip?”

Shrinking in her seat, Silver didn’t need anything else. Sighing deeply, he tried calming his nerves. This was the first time he has encountered about her odd friends and outings, but this? This was too much.

“Nighty,” he started. “you know we care about you, right?”

She sat in silence. 

“Right?” He repeated, looking at her. 

“I’m not sure… I think i’m a nuisance, I don’t want to worry any of you but…” She trailed off. 

“There are no limits when it comes to you, princess.” He said with a gentle smile, continuing on patching her arm. “We’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Sniffing, she nodded. “Shadow… He…” It was hard to even remember what had happened between them.

Silver clicked his tongue, taking a band-aid and putting it carefully on her lip. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow morning. You can stay here, and we’ll handle this tomorrow, okay?”

Nighty nodded, feeling herself become drowsy. Holding back a yawn, Silver giggled at her state. Kissing her forehead, he took her bridal style and walked towards his room. “Let’s put you to sleep, princess.”

The day after, Nighty found herself nuzzling into the pillow. It smelt nicely of Silver: like cherry shortcake. Quiet voices made her stir in her sleep. Turning to lie staring at the ceiling, she winced at the pain coursing through her injured arm. Ah, she forgot. 

Sitting up, she could tell apart the voices. Silver and Shadow. Her stomach flipped with nervousness, as she got up from the comfortable bed. Walking slowly towards the door, she opened it. The boys didn’t notice, so she slipped to the kitchen.

“You need to apologize.”

“I will! Stop repeating that, I know-”

“If you knew you would’ve kept your mouth shut, jackass.”

Shadow murmured under his breath. Both of them were sitting on opposite sides of the couch. Nighty took some coffee from the counter and got out of the kitchen. Her presence was noticed by both hedgehogs. 

Silver jumped in his seat. “My- When did you go to the kitchen?”

“I just walked by.” She answered, her voice hoarse and weak. Her head hurting. Probably for all the crying last night.

The room filled with silence. She didn’t know if she should go and sit down with them or not. But before she could decide, Shadow decided for her. 

“I…” He said, standing from his seat. He always found it difficult to apologize, but he couldn’t bear her thinking he hated her, or that he loved her less. “I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t erase the pain I put you through last night,” he cleared his throat with anxiety of not sending his point across her. “I shouldn’t have let the worst of me take over.” He added. 

Coming close to her, he took the cup of coffee from her hands, putting it down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Going back at her, he took her hands into his, focusing for a bit on her patched lip, suddenly feeling guilty for not taking care of her properly.

“What I said last night wasn’t real, it wasn’t what I really thought of you.” Deep sigh. “I love you however you are, although that doesn’t mean I won’t worry about you…”

Before he could go further, Silver cleared her throat, Shadow pressed his lips in thought. 

“What I mean is, I love you, and I’ll keep saying it until you forgive me.” He looked at her hands, kissing the back of them.

“I love you too, Shads.” It was hard not to forgive him, she loved him too much. “I’m sorry for calling you cruel, I too was hurting and… Yeah.”

Shadow shook his head. “I felt worried. Terrified even. I’ll work on that and… Explain myself better next time.”

Nighty nodded and kissed his cheek. They stared at each other for a few seconds, the girl walked back to the couch, sitting in between the two hedgehogs.

The men looked at each other and smiled, and she noticed. “Guys, may I remind you I’m still injured.” 

Both of them got close to her, Shadow placed his hand on her thigh as Silver kneeled on the couch, his snout rubbing onto the side of her head, until his lips gazed at her ear.

“Then let us do all the work, princess.”

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Harpy/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 2,918 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You catch a cute and bashful harpy in the book shop one day. Later, at a book signing for your favourite author, you realise they’re one and the same.

In the softly lit maze of the bookshop, you meandered between the shelves, your fingertips grazing the spines of countless books. The smell of paper and binding glue filled the air. This was your retreat, the place you went to when the world got too much.

As you approached the fantasy section, your excitement grew; today was the release of a novel you'd eagerly awaited. Just as you reached out to grab the last copy from the shelf, another hand got there simultaneously, lightly brushing against yours.

"Oops, sorry about that," came a light-hearted apology from beside you.

You looked up to see a harpy, all dark auburn feathers and curly red hair. He was beautiful—sharp features softened by gentle brown eyes, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

"No worries," you responded, your initial embarrassment giving way to curiosity. "Looks like we have the same taste."

His smile widened. "I guess we do. I’m Antal," he said, holding out the book to you. "You take the last copy, I was only looking.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

“Please?”

His hand extended, offering you the book. A bright orange cover stared back up at you, a phoenix with her wings spread wide.

“Please, take it,” he insisted, claws gently curled over the cover.

You hesitated, the politeness ingrained in you bubbling to the surface. “Are you sure? I mean, we both spotted it at the same time.”

Antal’s smile didn’t waver as he pushed the book a little closer to you. “Absolutely. I hope you enjoy it,” he added, and you swore his cheeks tinged pink beneath the feathers.

Accepting the book, you couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks, then. I appreciate it.”

As he watched you slide the book into your bag, a thoughtful look crossed his face. “Any other books you’re hunting for today?” he asked, a curious tilt to his head. His dark eyes were enormous, with big pupils that made him look a little owlish.

Was he an owl?

Shaking your head, you said, “well, I’ve been trying to get through all the works of Kristoff Varga,” you replied, holding up the new book. It was the latest in a series of four, but there were dozens of other books written by him. “He’s my favourite at the moment, I just can’t get enough.”

Antal’s eyes lit up, cheeks reddening even more. Dammit, it was too cute. “You like his other books?”

“I like them all so far.”

“Which one’s your favorite?” Antal inquired. He didn’t seem to realise that he was leaning in, closer and closer.

You thought for a moment, trying to ignore how close he was. You could taste the coffee on his breath, feel his feathers tickling your shoulder. It made it very difficult to think.

After a moment you said, “I love Silver Skies. You know, the one about the dragon and the orc princess.”

“I love that one too!”

As you and Antal meandered through the aisles, he began to point out other authors whose works he said were similar to Kristoff Varga. You happily ambled alongside him, listening to his smooth, deep voice.

"If you enjoy Varga, you might also like Helena Rook. Her trilogy about the war between night creatures and humans has that same worldbuilding," he suggested, pulling a book with a dark, moody cover from the shelf.

You took the book, flipping it over to read the blurb on the back. Antal's recommendations sparked a new interest, and you added it to the growing pile.

He pointed out a few more, and you ended up needing a basket to hold all of the books. The entire time he chatted away happily, talking about this author and the next, and you found yourself inching unconsciously closer to his side.

As you approached a display of new releases, Antal casually asked, "So, do you have any plans for the weekend? Other than reading all of these books, I suppose."

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, you thought he might be leading up to asking you out.

The hopeful part of your mind spun scenarios of continuing these delightful conversations over coffee or at a quiet park.

Except, you were busy.

"Actually, I’m going to Varga’s book signing on Saturday," you answered, watching his reaction closely, trying to gauge his interest. "You should come along; it’s rare to see him in public."

Antal’s face flickered with an unreadable expression before settling into a polite smile. "I’d love to, but I’m already tied up that day," he replied with a small shrug.

You felt a twinge of disappointment. "That’s too bad," you said. "It would have been great to have you there, especially since you appreciate his work so much."

Antal nodded, his smile tinged with a hint of something you couldn't quite place—was it regret? “You’ll have to tell me about it. Maybe I could give you my number?”

“I’d love that.”

The question filled you with a pleasant anticipation. You entered his number carefully, excited hands a little too fast for your own good.

He smiled as you both stored your phones away. “I have to go, I was only going to pop in for a minute. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime soon?”

You shivered at the softness, the gentleness, in his voice. “Yeah, that would be great.”

As you moved to the checkout, you felt a sense of contentment. Antal stood beside you as you paid for your books, almost close enough to touch. It wouldn’t have taken much for you to close the gap, and kiss him.

As you thanked the desk clerk, you sighed. Kissing him! What a silly thought.

With your books bagged and receipt in hand, you both walked towards the exit. Antal held the door open for you. As you stepped outside, the sunlight turned his auburn feathers a gorgeous golden shade.

There was an undeniable grace about him—a fluidity in his movements that, under the sunshine, made him almost ethereal. His shoulders were broad, tapering into narrower hips, covered in a layer of fluffy feathers beneath his low cut top.

You paused outside the bookstore, smiling gently. “See you around?” you asked hopefully.

“Absolutely.”

You didn’t want to say goodbye, but you had to eventually. With a sigh, you offered him a smile before turning to the car park across the street.

You felt his eyes on you as you walked away. A quick glance back confirmed it, and he offered you a parting wave with claw-tipped hands, a gesture that you returned. As he turned to vanish around the corner, you paused for a moment to watch him.

Antal disappeared quickly; he was tall, with gorgeously long legs. Even from a distance, there was something about the way he moved that captivated you—maybe it was the otherness of him, since harpies were so rare in Oceanhall. Maybe it was his sweet personality, his flushed cheeks and shy smile.

Either way, he left an impression that lingered in your thoughts as you unlocked your car and settled inside.

You started the engine, but your mind was still back in the bookstore, replaying your conversation, his laughter, and the ease with which you had opened up to each other.

You really wanted to see him again.

***

You arrived at the bookstore on Saturday, the buzz of excitement obvious as soon as you stepped inside. The queue for Kristoff Varga's book signing snaked through the aisles—a fact that hadn't fully dawned on you until now. Each person in line clutched their copy of his latest novel, their animated conversations filling the air with anticipatory chatter.

Trying to catch a glimpse of Varga at the signing booth proved futile; the crowd was simply too dense, a wall of eager fans blocking any view of the author himself. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, you decided to escape to the relative calm of the bookstore’s café.

As you approached the counter, the barista greeted you with a friendly smile. “What can I get for you today? Something to help with the wait?” he asked, his tone light.

“A flat white, please,” you replied, appreciating the warmth in his greeting. “It’s quite a turnout, isn’t it? I didn’t realise Varga was this popular.”

“Yeah, it’s been non-stop since we opened,” the barista said as he started on your order. “It’s good for business, but I’m running out of hands!” He laughed, handing you your coffee with a flourish.

“Thank you,” you said, taking a sip of the hot beverage, and digging out your card to pay. “I suppose it’s not every day you get a celebrity author here.”

“That’s true. He’s a bit of a recluse, isn’t he? Makes these events all the more special.” The barista wiped down the counter, casting a glance towards the queue. “You might be here for a while. At least it’s a good crowd, all book lovers together.”

You nodded, agreeing, your thoughts drifting to Antal. Throughout the week, you had exchanged messages. He had mentioned being busy today, but a part of you had still hoped he might surprise you and turn up.

With your coffee in hand, you found a table near the window, a spot that offered a view of both the café and the bookstore entrance. Each time the door opened, your gaze lifted, a reflex action fuelled by the hope of seeing Antal walk in. However, as the minutes turned into an hour, the reality set in that he truly wasn't coming.

You took out your phone, typing a quick message to him: it’s packed here! Wish you could’ve seen it. How’s your day going?

Even as you hit send, you felt disappointment and understanding mingle.

As you waited for his response, you sipped your coffee, watching the crowd and wondering about the man behind the author's desk. What would Varga be like? Would he live up to the mental image you had of him?

As the line began to shorten, you decided it was time to join the queue, balancing your coffee carefully as you edged closer to the excited throng of fans. The energy around you was infectious, with snippets of conversation floating over the buzz of the crowd.

"Can you believe we're actually going to meet Kristoff Varga?" exclaimed a young woman ahead of you, her voice pitched high with excitement.

"I know, right? I heard he's a harpy, which is why he hardly ever makes public appearances," her friend replied, the idea clearly adding an extra layer of allure to the event.

You perked up at this, the coincidence striking you as odd. Two harpies in one week? It was rare enough to meet one, given their usual reclusiveness. The thought lingered in your mind as you inched forward, the line’s pace steady but slow.

"He must be quite something to look at, then," someone else chimed in, "All those feathers. And the talons!"

"Yeah, and it’s not just any harpy. They say his feathers change shades with the seasons—how cool is that?" another added, the group nodding in agreement.

As you finally neared the front, you craned your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive author. There, at the signing booth, you saw him—a figure with striking auburn feathers, his face partly concealed by a black cap. The feathers were glossy under the lights, and strikingly familiar.

No, he couldn’t have been…

"Amazing, isn't it?" the person behind you whispered, almost as if they could read your thoughts. "I've never seen him up close before.”

You nodded, lost in thought as the line moved forward. Each step brought you closer to Varga, and you craned your neck to try and see his face.

Finally, you were second in line, and your heartbeat thumped against your ribs. Your fingers tightened around the cup of coffee you still held, and you fumbled slightly as you pulled the book from your bag. You smoothed down the cover, trying to calm your nerves, your mind still reeling.

When it was your turn, you stepped up to the booth, and he looked up. Your breath caught in your throat.

Antal.

His auburn feathers seemed more pronounced here, under the softer lights of the signing table, and when his eyes met yours, there was a moment of mutual recognition that ground everything to a halt.

Antal's expression softened. He cleared his throat, his voice softer, more tentative than before. "Hello, nice to see you again.”

You were momentarily at a loss for words, the surprise pinning you in place. Finally, you managed to speak, your voice a whisper of confusion and curiosity. "Why didn't you tell me who you were?"

He hesitated, his glance flickering away before meeting yours again. "Because I wanted you to like me for myself, not as Varga," he admitted with a shrug. "It's easy to like someone for their success or their fame... but you were so excited to meet Kristoff Varga… I wanted to hold off the inevitable."

His honesty struck a chord. A soft laugh escaped you as you shook your head slightly, the absurdity and the sweetness of his concern mingling together. "That's so silly," you said fondly. "I like you, Antal, and I like Varga. They're both you, aren't they?"

Antal's expression lightened, a relieved smile breaking through his initial reserve. "I'm glad to hear that," he said, his eyes brightening.

As an impatient murmur from the person behind you grew louder, Antal’s laughter broke the brief tension, his demeanor relaxing as he took your book to sign it. As he handed the book back, his fingers lingered just a bit too long.

“Are you busy later?” he asked.

“No, I’m free,” you replied, the excitement bubbling up inside you, making your heart race with anticipation.

A shy smile spread across his face, his usual confidence tempered with a vulnerability that made him even more endearing. “Would you like to meet up after the signing?” he ventured, his gaze steady on yours.

“I’d love to,” you said, stepping back to allow him to greet the next fan.

As you moved away from the booth, you heard snippets of conversation and whispers from those around who had caught bits of your exchange with Antal. There was a hint of jealousy in their tones, their eyes following you.

You moved to a quieter part of the bookstore, your heart still fluttering. You sat, waving hello to the barista from earlier, and waited.

As the hours trickled by, you lost yourself in the pages of Antal’s new book, glancing up every so often to see the queue dwindle. Around you, the bookstore began to quiet down, the last few patrons lingering as the event wound to a close.

Noticing the time, the barista approached your table with a gentle smile. “We’ll be closing up soon,” he mentioned, his eyes sweeping over the mostly empty café.

“I’m just waiting for Varga,” you explained, hoping it wouldn’t be an inconvenience.

The barista’s eyebrows rose in surprise, a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he nodded understandingly. “Of course, we don’t close for another thirty minutes,” he said, and with a final tidy of the table, he left you to wait.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you saw Antal making his way towards you. The sight of him, free of the signing table and the throngs of fans, reignited the excitement from earlier. You stood up, and as he approached, something in his smile made it impossible to hold back.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, burying into his feathers. He was so soft and warm, and his closeness sparked something in you. Without really knowing what you were doing, you stood on your toes for a kiss.

The kiss was gentle at first, exploratory, even careful. As you grew more confident, the kiss deepened; you clung to him, hands around his waist to pull him closer.

Antal tasted faintly of sugary coffee and strawberries, a hint of sweetness lingering on his lips. You could feel the slight brush of his feathers, his talons carefully touching your back.

As you stepped back from the kiss, breathless and heart racing, the excitement thrumming through you made your heart stutter. Your lips met his again as you practically crushed yourself against him.

Antal's laugh, light and genuinely happy, mingled with the air between you.

Pulling away a second time, Antal glanced down at the book open on the table. "How are you finding the book?" he asked, his tone playful.

"It's fantastic," you replied, your eyes still locked on his. "I love the romance in it—but I have to say, the real thing is even better."

Antal’s response was to pull you close once again, his arms wrapping around you in a hug that lifted you slightly off your feet. The warmth of his body and the strength in his hold were exhilarating.

As he set you back down, your laughter joined his, the sound echoing lightly in the near-empty café. You glanced over his shoulder and saw the barista watching, a knowing smile on his face. The sight might have embarrassed you at another time, but right now, it didn’t matter. You were too caught up to care about an audience.

Smiling, you pecked Antal on the cheek and said, “let them watch. They’re just jealous I’ve got you all to myself.”