#nothing quite like “YOU ARE SO FUCKED FOR THIS” about playlist choices

[rotisseries]

r u interested in sharing a link to the 5 hour zelink playlist?

here you go!

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

03 — MY COMPASS, MY TRANSPORT

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

“I have nothing else to live for.”

It’s a truth. A deep, earnest one – and it’s the only option you have.

Without Graves, without your Shadows, you have nothing. No income, no family, no support. You're left with the clothes on your body and the shoes in which you stand, with no hope of finding your footing.

In the darkness, the only light shines from the headlights of the truck, and the red of the radio. It’s silenced, of course, but it serves as a beacon of something between you all.

“I don’t – I have no other choice,” you say, voice trembling. You would not break in front of them, but you could feel yourself cracking; porcelain underneath a harsh grip. Turning yourself so you’re completely facing the two, your expression turns desperate. “I want to help you both, and I want to save Phi– Graves.”

You correct yourself at the final moment, wary of your slip up.

“Save ‘im? From what? Feckin’ charges for war crimes? Getting his ass handed to ‘im?” Soap chokes out, incredulous, eyes wide where they meet yours. He winces when he moves forward too quick, straining his arm.

“He’s…” You look down at your hands, merely watching for a moment as they close into a fist and open again. Blood crusts underneath your fingernails. “He’s all I have. I’m sure he just needs a wake up call, someone to snap him out of it.”

“He tried to kill us,” Ghost speaks up, matter-of-fact, but quiet. As if at any moment, his words will wake up the entire city. If there were any civilians left in it, you supposed. Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“...And I had to kill some of my men.”

It’s a confession of sin. Like poison on your tongue, yet at the same time, an anecdote to an evil in your veins. You’d killed your men. You’d… done that.

You still haven’t quite allowed yourself to realise it, not yet.

But if it’s enough to keep you alive right now, so be it. You hadn’t gotten this far just to give up over something as inconsequential as pride.

“Ye will tell us everything you know about ‘im. And’ll help us until we figure out what to do. We’re our own bosses now, Sweetheart,” Soap commands, that fucking nickname of his seeming to stick. You don’t dispute it – not right now, not when this is quite literally life or death.

“I promise,” you say, resolute and stern. There was no time for self-pity or wallowing, only time for action and conviction – something you had in spades. “I’m yours for as long as you need me.”

You hadn’t known how true those words would be – not then, and not for a good while. But they were a prophecy, if such a thing could at all be possible for a woman like you.

Soap and Ghost share a look; a brief, yet important one, before Ghost gives the Scot a short nod. Soap turns once more to you, his face betraying the answer of their silent agreement.

“...So?” You suggest, impatient considering the consequences of the next few moments. 

Bringing a hand up to stroke at his stubbled chin, Soap makes an act of pretending to ponder – and it succeeds in stoking the flames at your core, fury burning through you like a liquor-soaked rope.

“I dunno, lass,” he says on a sigh, his ocean eyes betraying a mischief in their depths. “Yer kinda mean to me.”

You might choke him.

Actually, check that, you will choke him. He’s impossible – an arsehole to the nth degree – somehow worse than Ghost in his… foolishness? Was that the right word? Or just straight frustrating-ness?

Seeming to sense your thinning patience, Soap’s hand falls from his jaw with a mirthful smirk, proud of himself. 

“If ye say pretty please, ye can join our lil’ duo.” He finishes the statement off with a wink, and you don’t realise that your hands have curled into fists until the sharp pain of nails digging into your palms force you to resort back to your senses.

You let out a slow, loud breath. 

Neither of them move a muscle, except for the twitch of Soap’s dimple. You hate that you recognise such a small movement, but you easily blame it on the fact that it’s a drilled-in mentality.

“...Please,” you acquiesce, however quiet. 

Ghost’s eyebrow raises. How you’re aware of that, considering his mask, is a props to him. 

“That’s not what he asked for.” His voice is a low, husky thing, and the title of guard dog suddenly doesn’t sound so incorrect.

With your teeth gritted and cheeks straining, you mutter out, “Pretty please.”

Soap’s responding smile is nothing short of beaming, and you almost immediately wish that you could take those words back. Was death really so bad? Would it even be a mercy, compared to deciding to share a threadbare camaraderie with these weirdos?

Too bad time control isn’t exactly a well-researched military weapon.

“Let’s go then,” Ghost slaps his gloved hand against the steering wheel, before looking one last time towards you with purpose, “Sweetheart.”

Soap laughs.

You get out and slam the door in his face.

“Och! You feckin’ bastard, lass,” you hear him screech, before the door opens once more and Soap hops out, fuming.

Turning away, you fall behind Ghost, and quickly take a look around at the vast, empty area that is barren suburbia. Not before responding, however.

“Next time you get shot, I’m not taking care of your ass,” you threaten. “And I’m giving the rest of my sweets to Mr. Melodramatic.”

Soap’s returning mock gasp is, in all fairness, pretty comedic. “You have more sweets? Gimme those and ye lovely bedside manners ‘nd I’ll get a cavity!”

Your returning glare could cut steel. “Keep that up, and you’ll end up with bigger issues than a cavity.”

“I think ye are already the bigger issue,” Soap snaps back, but it’s not inherently malicious. It’s… borderline playful, and that sudden thought has you internally slapping yourself.

“Both of ya – quiet,” Ghost warns.

You both shut up immediately.

With wary steps, the three of you go to step up towards the front door, when Ghost swings out a hand, stopping the lot of you in your tracks. The night doesn’t allow for any of you to see well, but he must’ve picked up something that you hadn’t.

The thought is an immediately terrifying one.

“Pressure plates,” Soap murmurs under his breath, eyeing the square linoleum tile. “Nice catch, Lt.”

Ghost doesn’t respond, instead motioning for you to follow him towards a glassless window. Gravel crunches underneath your light footfalls, easily heard in the deathly quiet, as you move to swing your leg over the access point and drop to the floor inside.

Landing with a soft thud, you go to unfurl from your crouching position, before a loud warning shout from Ghost has you freezing.

Flinching where you stand, your eyes dart to where Ghost has flung one of his daggers, the sharp metal splintering a wooden beam further into the dark room. Realising that Soap sits at your flank, you shift your gaze to spot a red light focused in on his forehead – between his eyes.

“¿Quien esta ahi?” An unfamiliar, accented voice calls out from behind the beam. You could slap yourself for being so careless, in not realising that someone else was in here before Ghost had saved your arses. 

“Rodolfo!” Soap calls out, relief flooding his tone as he rights his position, shoulders back.

A man peeks out from behind the wood, eyes wide and slightly panicked, before they soften at the sight of the two men behind you. “Soap! Ghost! You’re alive!”

Stepping out from around the beam, he reaches for Ghost’s dagger, pulling it away from where it had dug into the oak with undeniable ease. His appearance is striking, with a set jaw and gentle features – he’s quite pretty, but not at all in a way that you find yourself attracted to the man.

“Affirmative,” Ghost responds, accepting the knife back when the man – Rodolfo – hands it to him hilt-first.

“Good to see you, amigos,” Rodolfo smiles, before his appraisal sets on you, confusion sparking in his deep brown eyes. He looks to the two men at your side for an explanation, hesitant in the way he does so.

“This is…” Soap trails off, before coming to a realisation. “Feckin’ hell. I never even asked for yer name, Sweetheart.”

Rodolfo blinks. Once, twice, before his eyebrows furrow and his mouth settles into an uncomfortable grimace.

You shoot a glare Soap’s way, before gifting Rodolfo a polite, yet stilted, smile. Extending your hand, you give him your name, and then your official title.

“Colonel? Graves’ colonel?” Rodolfo repeats back, utterly taken aback by such an introduction. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, quickly hissing to Soap in unamused Spanish, “¿Has perdido la cabeza?”

“I saved his life,” you interrupt, before any verbal sparring begins. “And I’m on your team. I don’t agree with what Graves is doing – and I’m sorry for what he’s already done. But I want to help you. I swear.”

Rodolfo regards you for a moment, his internal walls still heavily locked in place. But he seems… softer, now, in a way. More understanding, maybe, less hesitant as he slowly appraises you, inspecting you under his critical analysis.

The silence stretches, before the soldier raises his hands placatingly, the left side of his mouth twitching into a smooth smirk. “No accusations from me, Corazón,” he reassures, the pet name sliding from his full lips like butter over warm toast.

“Aye, none of tha’,” Soap warns, and Rodolfo’s amusement deepens. Whatever the Scot is about to say next is abruptly stopped by Ghost’s booming demand from behind you both.

“Anyone outside of these walls is now considered a hostile – we’re a team now. This happened under my watch, and I’d bloody well do good to fix it.” His posture is stiff, hand unconsciously flexing around the blade strapped to his belt as he delivers the order. It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak in one shot.

You figure he’s stopped speaking, when suddenly his heavy gaze is on you, any ounce of solidarity snuffed out like a match’s flame. “You fuck up once, Sweetheart, and I won’t hesitate when I shoot ya dead.”

It’s as good of a compromise as you’re going to get from the hulking Lieutenant, but you weren’t made Colonel for your talents in stepping down.

“You forget that I outrank you,” you challenge, chin raised and eyes flinty. “And that I saved your mutt.”

“We don’t have a feckin’ dog,” Soap starts, but when he sees the way Ghost side eyes him, and how you give him an unimpressed look, his jaw drops. “Ye bastard! Shoulda killed ya –”

Rodolfo’s hand wraps around Soap’s forearm, the grumbling man twisting in his hold, but not putting up anything close to a fight. “She’s just stirring you up, hermano,” Rodolfo placates, his large eyes meeting yours with a hint of respect in them. It has you straightening your spine, and your resolve.

“We sort this out as equals,” you state, folding your arms over your chest and bucking your hip. Ghost doesn’t, for a single second, shift your mutual eye contact. “And you will all tell me what the fuck’s going on – and what we’re doing.”

“Alejandro,” Ghost quips, sharp and to the point. Finally, you think, his near-black eyes drift to Rodolfo. “We need him back.”

“He’s the only other lad we can trust out there,” Soap adds, his pout easing slightly. Rodolfo finally drops his hand, clapping it hard against the petulant man’s shoulder with a firm nod.

“Already got a head start, hermanos,” he gestures for the three of you to follow him further into the room, before his calculating eyes glance back at you, “y hermana.”

It’s an unknown, entirely different feeling that erupts inside of your chest at the inclusion. Rodolfo was clearly the most soft spoken man of the three, but he had an intelligence to him that you couldn’t wait to unpack. And he trusted you. Or so you had gathered, anyway.

However.

First things first.

“...Where’s Alejandro? I thought he was Mexican Special Forces?” It was, admittedly, a unique kind of embarrassing – how out of the loop you felt, considering you were a colonel under Graves’ command. You’d heard the man’s name before, but it was usually just paired with barracks gossip and warnings to steer clear. Some joke about how the only one who could kill Alejandro, was the soldier himself.

Moving along with Rodolfo, you’re surprised when it’s Soap who supplies you the answer.

“Your fuckwit of a Commander’s got ‘im,” he curses, the words grating and harsh. Deserved, of course it was deserved, yet it was still odd hearing such disrespect for the man of whom you’d idolised for so long.

Of whom you’d given everything.

Switching a light on, Rodolfo stops in front of a large table, a map laid out across the top of it. Your eyes go wide at the intricacies – focusing as the man leans over and presses a finger towards a highlighted spot, watching the three of you where you stand on the other side. Dust floats near the source of the lamp, and the scent of grime hits you a moment later, a familiar thing.

“Graves is holding him here,” Rodolfo explains, his previously mischievous expression settling into a firm, military-grade frown.

“His own personal black site prison,” Soap scoffs, subconsciously flexing his fingers around the straps of his vest. His focus is utterly devoted to the map in front of him, but his anxiety shows itself through the tiniest of movements.

Rubbing his spare hand down his face, Rodolfo lets out a long, strewn-out sigh. “My men are locked in there, too.”

“Then let’s get them back,” you supply with a small shrug when all eyes shoot your direction.

“That’s obvious, lass,” Soap says, lacking any hint of his previous vitriol when he looks around the room. “How we get ‘em back is the question.”

“By breaking in,” Ghost answers, the retort as simple as breathing.

If you weren’t so receptive to body movements, to the smallest of expressions, you’d’ve missed it. Even then, you doubted that anyone could miss how Soap’s eyes soften when he looks to his Lieutenant, how his breath softly hitches in his throat.

You want to claw out your eyes with a rusty spoon.

By the look on Rodolfo’s face, he feels much the same – until he catches you staring, and then his face twists into something much more cryptic. Like a man trying to solve a puzzle without all of the pieces, being forced to jam spares into spots that just won’t fit.

“We need weapons,” you startle out, the words surprising even yourself. You don’t go back on them, don’t even think to. “If we want to stand a fighting chance – we need firepower.”

“Who said you’re with us?” Ghost questions snarkily, but when you go to reply, you find that Rodolfo’s moved to the corner of the room, switching on even more lights, displaying a wrought iron door.

Sliding it open, you feel like a kid on Christmas morning as you take note of the supplies within.

Rodolfo shrugs, but the small, smug grin on his face doesn’t dispel. “It’s well-stocked. This is Ale we’re talking about.”

The affectionate nickname is something you store away for later. ‘Well-stocked’ is certainly an understatement – guns of all types line the walls within the room, all types of bombs and grenades along with it.

“Alright,” Ghost huffs out, the closest to appreciative that a man like him can get.

Soap is much more upfront about his joy. “My man!” He laughs, his dimples etched into his features like the light spattering of freckles over his upper cheeks and nose bridge. “We’re gonna need new wheels. Preferably up-armoured.”

Digging into his pocket, Rodolfo pulls out a set of keys, tossing them over to Ghost with relaxed shoulders. Turning, shock must be evident on all of you, because Rodolfo lets out a low chuckle. “Your wish is my command, hermanos y hermana.”

To the far end of the room, within the adjoined stables, is a fully-armoured forward drive of some sort – sleek and black and fucking perfect.

“Alejandro thought of everything,” Ghost admires, and when you look to him, you swear that you can see a hint of hope shining in his darkened eyes. Your heart skips a beat on its own accord, and you’re absorbed by the all-consuming want to pull it out of your chest with your bare hands, just so it never does such a thing again.

“Yeah, he did,” Soap whistles, before turning back around to face your small band of misfits. With a determined grin, he says as if it’s an afterthought, “Let’s go get ‘im.”

With a stern resolve and an even sterner disposition, you walk alongside your newfound teammates, and get ready for the most difficult mission of your military career.

*

When you’d, stupidly, recklessly, decided to play good guy and helps out the 141 and Los Vaqueros, you hadn’t taken into account how you’d be at the bottom of the totem pole.

While the three men you were working alongside were all considerably close, you were an outsider. At that, an outsider who had, only a few hours ago, decided to swap sides from enemy to ally.

Being paired with Ghost is, arguably, the most gut-wrenching job in your life. By the time that Rodolfo finds Alejandro through the CCTV system, you’re nearly entirely covered in dried blood, and your head thumps with a headache.

Not a headache from war – a headache from the fucking twat with a shitty DIY job for a military get-up.

“You’re seriously the worst,” you grit out, wiping off a bit of Shadow blood that’s been sprayed on your cheek. “I seriously can’t fucking believe that any one of your mates can tolerate you.”

“Who needs ‘mates’ when I have my boys?” Ghost quips back, wiping off his bloody dagger onto his vest, before slotting it back into its rightful position on his belt. His ability to blend into the night, even with the prison lights on, is uncanny – the only tell the white of his stitched-in skull.

You mock a disgusted sound, sticking out your tongue. “You sound like a fuckboy.”

“A what?” And, although it sounds nothing like a choke, you’re sure that it’s an instinctual question.

The sound of a helicopter up ahead has the two of you pausing in your tracks, feud coming to a quick halt. Looking up, you struggle to see the vehicle in the black of night, but you manage to spot the slowly circling heli above the prison.

“Ghost, Sweetheart, what’s yer status?” Soap’s voice trickles in through your comms. Ghost glances at you, before he answers on your behalf, ever the control-freak.

“Comin’ your way.”

Falling into step side-by-side, you focus on the wet gravel underneath your feet, avoiding making any communication with the man to your right.

“Copy. We’re on the move,” Soap replies, before Rodolfo cuts in.

“Heads up on the helo,” he warns. You find that you much prefer him over the other two – in fact, under any other circumstance, you could see the two of you becoming good friends. Maybe, if everything goes well, that could be a possibility – a positive in your world of negatives.

“Don’t think we’re in his line of sight,” you respond, double-checking your route and the helicopter's position in the sky. Rodolfo had warned you all, debriefing in the drive here, that helicopters would likely show up at some point.

Minutes pass, with small comms between the lot of you, when you finally spot the familiar figures belonging to the other half of your precarious team. 

Soap and Rodolfo stand at the entrance, before the two turn at the sound of your and Ghost’s footsteps. They both seem to visibly loosen their stiff shoulders, seeing you both uninjured – and if you do the same, you pray that no one notices.

“The door’s locked,” Soap informs you all, gesturing to the steel entrance5.

With a small hum, Rodolfo reaches for the pack on his vest. “We’ll need to breach it,” he explains, but before he can grab a charger, Ghost raises a hand to stop him.

“No, Rudy –” And that is a nickname that you’ll be using later, “Knock.”

Rodolfo seems apprehensive, but he agrees anyway, giving all three of you separate glances. “On me…”

All of you getting into readying positions, Rodolfo knocks on the door, the sound echoing loud enough to have your blood pounding in your ears.

A moment later, a Shadow – one you don’t recall having met – pushes open the door and moves to step outside. However, Rodolfo and Ghost are quick to neutralise him, softly dropping his body to the floor.

Pushing through the entrance, everyone except for you shoot a Shadow dead – clearing the room in less than twenty seconds. It’s impressive, how smoothly run the operation is, considering the lack of proper authority or guidance.

You’re the first to spot some more Shadows moving your way, down the stairs – calling it out. “More Shadows from the second floor – watch out!”

This time, you find yourself the cause of two men falling to the ground, blood pooling underneath their lifeless bodies. Your team doesn't give you time to second guess, to mourn, before they’re encouraging you to follow them up the stairs.

“Ale’s up here, let’s go!” Rodolfo urges, his voice bordering on a kind of desperation reminiscent of a boy enlisting for the first time.

Like expected, Alejandro’s cell is down the hall, sat to the far right. Two Shadows guard the steel door, but Soap and Rodolfo are quick to light them up, successfully clearing the entire two floors. You’re ashamed of how relieved you feel, being gifted the small mercies of not having to kill your previous subordinates, unless necessary.

You feel, more than see, Ghost’s heavy gaze on you. When you look back up from the gun in your hands, however, he’s turned completely away – and if you were a less accurate person, you’d have thought you were imagining things.

“There’s Alejandro’s cell.” Stopping at the steel door, Rodolfo adjusts his grip on the gun, before giving you an encouraging jerk of his head. “Open it up, me and Soap will cover you.”

Another small mercy, you think, as Ghost reaches into his backpack and pulls out a set of bolt cutters, regarding you stiffly. “When I pop this lock, you push in,” he directs you curtly, and you bite back a retort. You knew the process like the back of your hand – you had no need for an explanation.

The ‘especially from him’ goes unsaid.

With precise, practised movements, Ghost positions the bolt cutters, and pushes open the door.

As soon as you take one step into the cell, a large hand wraps around the back of your neck, slamming your face into the concrete wall, a blinding pain shooting through your retinas. Letting out a small yelp, your chest rattles as your hands wildly raise in an imitation of surrender.

“Alejandro! Let go of ‘er! It’s us!” Soap calls out, and you swallow unhealthy amounts of air. That hit had taken more out of you than you’d expected – and your harsh breaths were making that incredibly apparent.

The grip on the scruff of your neck slackens when Rodolfo shoots off in quickfire Spanish, “Coronel, relájate, cabron, somos nosotros.”

Your cheek aches and your head pounds as the hand removes itself entirely, allowing for you to take in lungfuls of oxygen.

“Soap, Ghost!” Alejandro bursts out, and as you rise to your feet unsteadily, you watch as he thumps both of them on the back of their shoulders, before turning to Rodolfo with an expression that could only be described as longing. “...Rudy.”

“Didn’t think we’d leave ya, did ye?” Soap chuckles, oblivious to the thread of tension between the two men. 

Whatever silent conversation had occured between the two enforcers is quickly cut as Alejandro accepts the shake of Soap’s hand, a feral grin wide on his features. “What took you so long, pendejos?”

“A traitor with an attitude is what,” Ghost inputs, and really, how much self control can a Lieutenant lack? Wiping at your cheek, you let your hand fall once more to your side as you meet Alejandro’s inquisitive gaze head-on.

“I’m Graves’ previous colonel,” you extend your hand, “And I’m your best bet at getting your base back.”

You expect suspicion, uproar, maybe – or at least questioning, similar to that of Rodolfo’s.

Instead, all you’re met with is Alejandro’s manic smile sharpening, and a slap on the back of your own. Ruffling your hair, he uses his free hand to accept the gun Rodolfo’s extending towards him, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Sounds good, hermana. Welcome to how real men fight.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re

[fairlyang]

Let you break my heart again 🕷️

you are in love with your best friend

w/c: 999

pairing: miguel o’hara x reader

tags: kinda angst? you’re so in love, he doesn’t feel the same, heartbreak, shitting n crying, slightly delusional

notes: the grip this song has had on me the past two weeks- this idea came to me last week I just HAD TO-

part two

You had been feeling down the entire day since you saw Miguel post the new girl he had been talking to and calling her his girlfriend with today’s date on the caption.

Him calling you a couple hours after asking if you wanted to go to a party with him only added salt to the wound.

You have been hopelessly and desperately in love with him since your freshmen year of high school.

8 years.

8 years of silence.

8 years of torture.

No one even looked his way in high school because he, alongside you, were known as the science nerds of the school. You obviously didn’t care, if anything it made falling for him that much predictable.

At least for anyone with eyes and good at deciphering body language.

Which Miguel wasn’t.

Somehow he never realized and you never had the balls to confess your love to him.

After graduating high school he had quite possibly the biggest glow up (unbeknownst to you he had turned into spider-man) and first semester of uni changed everything for him.

He had girls eating out of the palm of his hand and practically falling to their knees for him as if they hadn’t been using him to do their homework just a few months back.

Miguel didn’t seem to care or see through all the girl’s intentions.

Meanwhile you had liked him when he would wear nerdy little crewnecks and those thick glasses that had now been long abandoned.

You liked him when he was getting brutally bullied and were the only one to ever stick up for him, but it never going well for either of you.

You liked him when he was going through a hard time with his mom and relied on you heavily for nearly everything.

You liked him when the revelation of who his father was, tore him up to literal pieces.

He was always in your head. Whether it be daydream, hearing someone talk about him, or actually dreaming about him at night.

Only in your mind can you pretend that you’re his girlfriend. That he likes you.

That you’re his first and only choice.

That you’re the only one he wants.

That he’s just as in love with you as you are with him.

He had taken over all your thoughts possible and it never got any easier.

You thought you’d get over it after sophomore year but it only grew as he ended up being your only friend throughout high school.

Nothing was more heartbreaking than having to hear him talk about all the girls he would go out with, or fuck.

The worst was when you’d actually go to parties with him. You’d end up almost throwing up or crying in the bathroom after seeing yet another new girl grinding herself against him or a girl making out with him.

It never ended up being less heartbreaking. You had luckily made a few friends who tried their best to help.

Peter B and MJ.

Somehow you befriended them your first year of uni and all four of you became a little group. They were your occasional saviors when you’d find yourself sulking over Miguel being with another girl.

They’d always try to distract you and cheer you up.

Or if they were the ones to spot Miguel fooling around they’d turn you to the opposite direction to avoid your heart from crumbling again.

You felt as if you were being entrapped.

It was almost as if Miguel subconsciously knew what he was doing.

Because when he grew bored of a girl all of a sudden his attention would be fully on you.

Buying you food, getting you cute little plants, helping you study.

It was an endless cycle of pain and heartbreak then yearning and being enamored by him.

Right now was pure heartbreak and misery.

You had been crying for hours on end now and just let your sad playlist loop.

All you were wishing for now is that one day you’d stop falling in love with him.

That somehow your feelings for him would wash away and you’ll never have to deal with this heartbreak ever again.

But it’s been long now. These feelings weren’t going to disappear.

And he wasn’t going to magically fall in love with you.

Especially because he’s always been the one to let anyone and everyone know that you were only his best friend. And nothing more.

But the way he’d wrap his arms around you, leave kisses on your forehead and cheeks just boggled your head.

The way he would just stare at you when you were rambling about the newest science news you’d heard about.

The way he would hug you tightly at the most random times imaginable.

The way he’d willingly put his jacket on you if it were too chilly outside.

The way he would get so overprotective when a guy asks you out.

So you were always questioning what he really thought of you.

He never made it easy to decipher any of his feelings unless he was telling you up front, which he almost never did.

As more hot tears fell down your face, you could only pray that someone will like you like you like him.

It felt like such an impossible ask.

You loved him so much and you could practically feel pieces of your heart breaking. Why couldn’t he just reciprocate your love?

Why did you have to torture yourself like this?

Why is the only time you’re truly happy (besides when you’re with him) is when you’re dreaming about actually being with him?

Why is it so hard for him to romantically love you?

Why does it always have to be platonic?

Maybe one day you’ll be able to get over him and these feelings won’t be as strong.

Maybe one day you’ll find someone that’ll know how to take care of your heart and return your love.

Maybe one day it’ll be him.

[ddymarie]

☀︎ Bakugo x reader

OPACAROPHILE

☀(n) A Person Who Loves The Sunsets

☀You had a rare weekend with katsuki and you both decided to spend it with a beach date

☀includes: kissing, rubbing, water, body worship, use of good girl, car sex (back shots) .

☀ a/n : I haven't uploaded in a while ik but I have so many fics in my drafts ready to made! Also some song suggestions are scattered throughout the fiction from my 'random' writing playlist! Speaking of music I haven't been able to get bad by wale outta my head

The sky was filled with orange reds and yellows. The setting sun adding a glow to your brown skin. Katsuki eyes looked as if they glowed from the way the sun had affected them, as he towered overed you, even sitting down.

"Katsu~ " he mocked holding your face in his hands "katsu~, let's go to the beach" he mimicked your voice.

Rolling your eyes lying back on the towel. Black bathing suit (design of your choice) highlighting your curves. Your pretty jewelry added a glow to you. You looked like a goddess.

Your Bluetooth playing partynextdoor. The smirk on your face was quickly wiped away when your boyfriend suddenly picked you up " katsuki! " you screamed giggling "ahh! " the loud splash you caused-caused katsuki to laugh.

" you son of-" swimming back to the surface looking around for your petty ass boyfriend-only to not find him anywhere in sight. Just then you were lifted up from underneath. Katsuki arose from the water with you on his shoulders "look not so bad right, pretty?" he teased looking up at you.

The water dripping off him had you hot and bothered. Fuck he looked like he tasted better then he smelled in this moment. And your favorite thing about him was his caramel scent. It drove you crazy when he sweated.

Retreating from your position on his shoulders. Standing in the water. It came just up to your neck. Paddling your hands on the water as you splashed him. Your small smile soon grew bigger once he began to splash you back " oh, pretty it's on! " he looked into your eye's with a glare hinted with a bit playfulness.

Hours passed before you both decided to call quits on the water fun.

The sky had shined bright even during the night. Stars causing nothing but your silhouettes to appear. Together you both looked like Greeks God's. Especially with your arms around his neck and his on your waist kissing away like you would loose each other to the deep, dark depths of the water. It was majestic.

The sound of your bracelets jingling as you allowed him to lift you up by your thighs. Escorting you outta of the water. Lips just now breaking apart. You both gasped catching breaths you hadn't realized you'd lost.

" you look beautiful in that bathing suit. Might have to buy you more " he said squeezing what he could of your plump ass before smacking it,french kissing you.

Lying you you both down on the singular orange towel. Orange and black the same color of his trunks. Your glasses that once sat on top of your head now falling on the the tip of your nose.

Removing them off your face and setting the black shades a side.

Bakugo began trailing his hands down your body. Lifting a leg of yours over his waist. Licking his lips as he dove in stealing another kiss from you

"Uh-uh" you said looking at the blonded lover in the eyes waving a finger in his face 'no' was what it symbolized " wait til we get home, play boy" you said pushing the muscular man from a top of you

Getting up, taking the blue tooth with you to the car. Katsuki sat there for a moment mesmerized by your jiggling ass before abruptly getting up snatching the towel and your shades up with him trailing behind you...

Laughing as you jumped into your shared foreign car. Katsuki pulling outta the now empty parking lot.

Driving on the empty road one hand on the steering wheel the other on your thigh. It was a small simple gesture of his until it started to trail up your thigh. The car slowed down... Pulling into yet another empty parking lot...it was 10:30 pm

Unbuckling his seat belt while leaning over the the arm rest grabbing your face and kissing you causing you to drop what ever treat you had in your hand. You two had been on the breezy road for about 27 minutes. The large shirt that pulled over your bathing suit. Was now being lifted. The shirt was off within seconds along with your top... And panties.

In this foreign car let it go

You went from kissing in the front seat to receiving back shots in the back of your truck.

" mm~ " you whimpered this man was knocking the air outta your lungs. Leaving you breathless "fuck" he growled throwing his head back. Hands gripping tightly on your waist which was sure to bruise later. Your hips collided. You throwing your ass back meeting his hard forward thrust. " ah-ah ahh~" you moaned as he pulled your hair, Leg up on the seat spanking your ass leaving a visible hand print on your brown skined ass. " fuck, pretty, just like that " he said removing his hand off your ass and onto your neck.

You cried out begging.. Pleading " please~" what were you begging for? Shit you ain't even know. His thrust slowed as he tilted your head down putting you in a face down ass up position and he lurched forward " love this body, baby" he worshipped hands roaming with no destination in sight. The feel of your skin. Your curves. Had this man on his knees everytime he seen em. Whether at home or on the feild. As his thrusts slowed they got deeper. He drew his hips back further it was torture to you. But it felt "soo good~". The pleasure he was giving to you made you arch your back more. You stopped throwing your hips back letting him do his thing. And from there it was nothing but praise~

"Mm~" you whined at his words " ass so soft. " he said gripping your soft ass spreading your cheeks. Slipping a thumb in your butt "ahhh, katsu~" "yea thats right say my name, good girl~"

Take the time to find you out

You love when a young n! go down on it

"Say it baby" he groaned.

" in this foreign car, let it go" he whispered in your ear.

That was all you needed to hear before you let go. " I'M COMING,KATSUKI!" you moaned his name Cumming all over the seats. You both sat there in silence for a couple of moments.

"Guess someone couldn't wait til we got home" you said looking back with a smirk before passing out.

You woke up to the car pulling into your shared pent house parking lot.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

[hwan-g]

DAWN TO FLIGHT 🚂 chan & changbin.

part one/four of the skz go to hogwarts! series.

MOODBOARD | PLAYLIST

pair. quidditch captain! chan x fem! reader (+ changbin, minho) | genre. romance, slight angst, smut | warnings. profanity, food, possessiveness, unprotected sex, dirty talk, manipulation, brief mentions of dark magic | word count. 8.6k

synopsis. history will include him in its thickest books. but you? if you stay with him, you’ll be nothing but a mention, an afterthought. ‘she was there, but he was bigger than life,’ and it’ll be true, but it will all be for him, and it wasn’t jealousy or envy—

“Alright everyone, gather up!”

A crisp autumn morning, trees naked of leaves, mountains in the process of preparing for winter, and the Great Lake, its vast deepness, all the creatures concealed beneath the freezing waters—it was Quidditch time. The first practice of the season.

And Chan’s last year as the captain of the Gryffindor team.

Laughs echoed in the oval pitch, five-hundred feet long and one-hundred and eighty feet wide, with the tall spectator towers, four colors to them but switching down to two every match, to signify the playing squads. Red jerseys and flowing capes, helmets, gloves, and brooms of every kind looked back at the leader, ready for some flying action after a long summer break away from Hogwarts. The castle in question appeared grand as ever from afar, its stone walls and top peaks standing proudly, indicating centuries of magic and wizards alike.

“Quit your yapping!” Changbin barked, coming to stand next to his best friend. The murmurs of the crowd seized immediately. “Go ahead, captain,” he smiled brightly at Chan.

Chan smirked, nodding at him. “Thanks for that,” he turned to address his teammates. “Welcome to another year of Quidditch. As you can see, one of our Chasers, as well as our only Keeper have graduated, leaving us no choice but to hold trials for new members. I took it upon myself, Bin here lending me a hand on picking out their replacements.”

He gestured at the unfamiliar figures standing awkwardly at one side, not quite blending in with the rest, brooms clenched tight. The two oldest broke in toothy grins, trying their hardest to reassure. After all, the age difference wasn’t that significant.

“This is Jake, a Third Year student, and Eunwoo, our fellow senior. They’re both excellent fliers that will hopefully help lead us to victory against the Slytherins.” Snickers all around, whispers of not-so-kind words spreading among the team. Chan chuckled, sharing their sentiment. “Yes, no one counted on the loss of last year, but we’ve held that Cup, we know its weight, and we know exactly what to do and how to play to earn it again,” he finished his pep speech with a clap of his hands. “So, then, if everyone’s ready, a round of applause for our new friends, and let’s begin!”

“Let’s fucking go!” Changbin shouted, lifting his broom in the air, before mounting it and flying away to his spot as a Beater, alongside Jungkook.

Practice lasted nearly two periods, the captain dimming it important for everyone to get accustomed to the way the new boys moved around, and of course, to teach them all about their positions. Jake had been recommended by Hagrid, mentioning how he met him back on his First Year, and how much of a natural he was on his broom, passing the class with flying colors, and afterwards helping him with miscellaneous tasks that included heights much taller than the gatekeeper could reach. Eunwoo had played once before as a Seeker when he was much more compact sized and curious about the sport. Then, he’d resigned as classes got more difficult, assignments multiplied, and time was of essence.

Seventh Year seemed like a good year to return to it. It was everyone’s last opportunity to enjoy flying before heading off to jobs at the Ministry, or studying in Trade School, or returning to Muggle life. Their last chance of being carefree, doing something they love unapologetically, without regrets.

For Chan it was one step before going professional, chasing after his dream of being part of his home country’s regional team, the Wollogong Warriors. Australia was an ocean away from England, he’d left it for Hogwarts at an early age, but his heart would never forget his roots, his birthplace. When he’d moved into his dorm, the Warriors poster with the moving team members lining up for the picture, had been the first thing he’d taped on the headboard of his bed. A reminder to never lose focus of his one true love, of what he'd been shown of magic, of flying, at the mere age of six. Being a half-blood, the balance between the two worlds, it was as easy as breathing to him. Because he’d been raised in a loving home, because no one refused him his real nature, what he was, what he’d grow up to be.

Unlike some, Chan had a purpose. A premeditated life. Regional, then international. And no one would get in his way, no one dared. No one could. Being captain of the Gryffindor team was just the start.

“Time!” he yells, flying close to Jake who paused his movements to stare at his captain. “Good play, mate, but you see what you just did there is called stooging. Not more than one Chaser can enter the scoring area,” he explained, patting the boys’ back encouragingly.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Changbin offers, flying past them with his bat.

A slight drizzle made everyone look up at the gathering clouds, a nasty storm winding up to fall upon the grounds. They agreed on doing a few more rounds before Chan called it a day. They all had classes to attend pretty soon, anyway. Not to mention his growling stomach.

“This would be a good time to end it. Great job everyone! Don’t forget, we only have two more practices before our match with Hufflepuff, so please take care of yourselves, and I’ll see you around.”

“Fuck yeah!” Jungkook exclaimed, earning a few whistles and claps.

As everyone landed on their feet, running to escape the rain that grew stronger with each minute, Chan took shelter under the gateway of the field, catching his breath before heading to the Great Hall for some lunch. Changbin stayed behind as well, talking to you about Seeker techniques.

You’d been their Seeker since your Third Year, getting better with each match, winning them the Cup twice. An important member of the team, no one could disagree, but also—his childhood friend, his first friend coming to Hogwarts, and eventually…his fuck buddy.

“Well, why are you just standing there, Bang Chan? Let’s go, I’m starving,” you speak out to him, lifting the hood of your cape, conjuring an invisible umbrella with your wand. “Get under, losers.”

Changbin huffs, his brown hair getting in his eyes, heavy with humidity. “I’ll have you know—”

You sigh, your lips turning inwards into a thin line. “I don’t care, Seo. I’ll leave you to drown. Who forgets their wand? What kind of wizard—” and the bickering continues, the two of you going at it tirelessly, as you make your way to the castle, the yet unchanged green scenery stretching before you.

Chan, ever the smart guy, keeps his wand with him at all times, exactly for situations like these, and fixes himself an umbrella as well, walking alongside you, enjoying the pattering of rain, the way your fingers search for his own, the faintest of touch between you, as you make Changbin go red with embarrassment, your teasing overwhelmingly immodest at times. He doesn’t miss the wink you throw him out of the corner of his eye.

He smiles to himself.

Passing through the Entrance Hall, you cast a drying spell on the three of you, taking off your gear as you head to the Great Hall. It’s uncommonly quiet as you take your seats, the long tables mostly empty, albeit for a few students snacking on fruit and nuts, finishing homework, or reading to themselves. The big windows bleed a cloudy blue over everything, the rain finally taking its full form, hitting against stone, against grass, against still water. You’re smack in the middle, the Gryffindor bench facing straight ahead to the headmaster’s seat at the teacher’s tabletop. McGonagall had gone completely soft on them, what with it being the last year before her retirement and losing the Quidditch Cup, rather unfairly if you might add. Slytherin colors were pretty, but everyone held a certain pride for their Houses; it had nothing to do with prejudice.

Not anymore.

Chan waves to the Ravenclaw table, Jisung hunched over thick books, a big teapot at his side. He seems entirely lost within the words, scribbling away with his quill, but his head snaps upwards, his eyes dazed, as he waves back mechanically.

“Don’t go crazy over there, yeah?” the captain calls out, and Jisung grins, soft hair covering his forehead.

“Assignment due this evening, Bang. Need the credits.”

“He’s a lost case,” Changbin muses, his signature smile in place as food appears in front of them. “Merlin’s beard, is that orange cake?”

You giggle, and dig right in. “You’re the lost case here, Binnie.”

Silence falls upon you as plates clink, utensils move, the pea soup and bread disappearing in record time, pumpkin juice clenching your thirst, cake satisfying your sweet tooth. Changbin’s tooth, especially. That man has an unmatched weakness for dessert of all kinds, it’s unbelievable, yet his physique is even better than Chan’s, something you thought impossible. You’d witnessed his naked upper body and all its glory last year at a game of ‘truth or dare’ in the Gryffindor common room, drunk on firewhiskey. It had been a chaotic night, and most of it a blur, really, but this one thing you remember.

Well into the game, he’d taken a dare. ‘Do fifty push ups shirtless.’ It’d been one of the girls that often followed him around after classes, and she’d said it bravely, like she’d rehearsed it a few times. He complied, of course, jumping at the opportunity to show off his toned arms and chiseled abs. Quidditch helped immensely, but this was work done mostly by himself, in his room. You knew because Chan joined him frequently, the two of them working out into the late hours of the night, when everyone else was asleep.

You also did things after hours, after everyone else had gone to bed. But you’d rather not talk about that, the mere thought painting your cheeks a flushed shade of pink.

“We need to talk strategies,” Chan spoke, his serious face on, as he leaned closer to you. “The new guys are good, but they need to get better. We can’t afford to lose matches.”

“Give them some time, mate, yeah? Jake hasn’t played a game in his life,” Changbin reasoned, enjoying a bite of baked orange.

“That’s true,” you agreed. “Not to mention Jisung’s reading, have you forgotten?”

“For fuck’s sake, not this again.”

Chan’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t believe in Divination, Seo? Is that why you failed so miserably?” His and your eyes meet, the teasing ensuing like it’d never stopped to begin with.

Your friend rested his head on top of his hand, feigning annoyance. “You two idiots are so incredibly gullible, it’s laughable. Seeing the future? What’s next? Flying unicorns?”

You laugh, holding your stomach, the enchanted ceiling thundering. “Says the one that attempted to give them wings as a gift for his sister's birthday.”

“I almost succeeded,” Changbin makes a face, giving up. “Who knew pegasus' really are mythical.” He fake-sulks for a bit, serving himself another slice of cake, gulping it in four bites. “In any case, how’s Slytherin not winning, giving us the Cup by default? There are other teams besides theirs.”

Chan looks at you and you look back, blinking. The silence is deafening. Changbin realizes, choking on juice. You smile, patting his head. Rude.

“Wow. That’s shit spirit for our fellow Houses, isn’t it? Shame on the both of you.”

“All I’m saying is,” the captain raises a leg up on the bench, popping a grape in his mouth. “As long as they don’t get it, I’m fucking content.”

“We’ll discuss strategies at the next practice, okay? I have Charms to attend. Please go to class, N.E.W.T’s are a thing, you know,” you get up, blowing a kiss in their general direction, and wave again at Jisung. He smiles in return. “Both of you go shower, you stink.”

“Love you too, baby girl,” Chan retorts, a lazy smirk on his face.

Your elective courses were giving you a hard time already. You’d never been a top student, nor were you looking to become one now, but your grades had, at the very least, been average, passing you through your exams easily, staying between Acceptable and Exceeding Expectations since your Fifth Year. All this, on top of Quidditch, and wanting to internship at St. Mungo’s—it was too much, you would suffer in ways you’ve never experienced before, you could already tell by the strain on your neck, that ache running down your spine, the thud your bed made every night you’d fall on it.

September hadn’t even ended yet. You sigh as you tighten the hold on your books against your chest, walking to your fourth and last class for the day—Potions. You’d bumped into Changbin earlier, him on his way to Transfiguration, you running a quick errand for your teacher before the subject began. The truth of the matter was, your friends were on a different wavelength than you, and because of that, you’d see them less and less over the course of this year. Chan had taken it upon himself to overlook First Years’ flying lessons, giving his all to that sport he loves so much, with only a couple selective classes to fill in the blanks, and Changbin wanted to become an Auror, so his time was spread across a few things, Defense against the Dark Arts being one, spending his weekends at the Ministry of Magic, and Quidditch bringing you all together.

Meanwhile your dream was to become a Healer, someone that’s supposed to know all, or at least a bit of everything, so in that way, you think you set yourself up for insanity from the get-go. Working hard for extra credits, spending awful hours in the library alongside Jisung, the two of you skimming through countless books, empty teacups, and ink-stained sleeves. If you didn’t have magic, you’d think it impossible for a person to graduate from this school. It was a nightmare already.

But you did it all, anyway. At least there were no wars to be fought, like times passed, at least no dark wizards threatened to burn the world down, kill innocent lives, rule in blood. Just the hum of fall, the sound of lightning over the mountains, early starts in your days, and late notes, draped over answers, and essays, and ancient scriptures written in calligraphy, words unrecognizable—

Sitting down at your usual place in the very front, you waited for your professor, making small talk with your classmate; a pale, Hufflepuff girl you shared a ton of other classes with. She suggested studying together later that night, and you agreed, excited for a different library partner. You liked Jisung, but he was too quiet when focused, too much of a bookworm. Not a bad thing, of course, but not a particularly good match to your more animated character.

“Good evening, class,” the professor entered, smiling kindly.

After the resignation of Slughorn, Potions had never been the same. And still, that old man had half a mind teaching, the other half rubbing shoulders with the rich students, inviting them to his exclusive club every single year. You wondered what it was like back in the day when Severus Snape taught. You figure it was glorious.

“We’ll go over a Sixth-Year potion today, something I’m sure you’re familiar with. The Draught of Living Death.”

His robes swung with him as he turned his back to the rest of you and started scribbling instructions on the board, guiding you through what you’ll need, encouraging you to light the fire under your cauldrons. You take a peek at the back of the class—Kim Seungmin, Head Boy of Ravenclaw, Lee Minho, pureblood of Slytherin, his desk tidy, his fire lit, his eyes shining in the dark ambience of the room. He notices your stare, stares back. You gasp, turning away in a hurry, embarrassed. You’ve never talked to him, yet you grew up together inside the walls of this very castle, shared similar tribulations, and had mutual acquaintances. It was funny, really. You were a muggle-born, and did not belong in this world, learning the same things as him, excelling in them, waving your wand around.

In a different time, you’d be ridiculed for it, he’d hunt you for who you were, what you represented. But as it is now, in modern days, long lines of aristocracy, money dating back to the sixteenth century, mansions with engravings of his very name on his doorstep still very much present—he did not care for such insignificant things, not anymore. None of them did. The wizarding community had shifted, it had finally changed to tread with the footsteps of the times and age. You’d been glad for it, although couldn’t quite shake the feeling of your fellow muggle-borns, how they didn’t have the same privilege you do now, to live free, without shame, amongst people who’ve known this incredible thing since they were born, when you’d only learned of its existence a mere few years ago, through a letter that would change your entire trajectory.

What a strange feeling. Carrying the weight of history.

“Who can tell me the seven ingredients of this potion?”

You raised your hand immediately, eager to voice the answer, and gain your House some points. So were other students, apparently.

“(Y/L/N), go ahead,” he signaled to you, the lines on his forehead carved deep, that friendly smile never leaving his aged face.

“Valerian root, Moondew, Flower head…”

After class ended it was already dark, the grounds illuminated by the flames of torches. Making your way with the Hufflepuff girl to the Great Hall for dinner, (her name was Chaeyoung she’d introduced herself); she’d seen you around with the boys, but was too shy to approach you, was very glad when you did. Loud voices, and relieved students filled the corridors, ready for some food and a good night’s sleep, and you couldn’t agree more—if only you didn’t have to spend most of your night at the dreaded library, with its frightening silence, and tall bookshelves that stretched as far as the eye can see.

“Hello, Gryffindor girl.”

Your yawn was cut short, books clutched tight against your chest—next to you, falling in step, was Royalty Incarnate Lee Minho, the very guy you failed to look straight in the eye only moments prior. You both blinked at each other, as your feet instinctively stopped moving.

Chaeyoung eyed you strangely, as did most students that passed by you. Minho seemed to pay them no mind, as if they didn’t even exist. Such was the nature of Slytherins, encasing themselves in glass, stepping over everything that did not serve their purpose, going through life aloof, unapproachable. What was this boy doing with you, then? What was his business?

“Can I help you?” you prodded him to continue, curious.

Dark purple hair falling into round, glittery eyes—for many centuries now, you’d learned, this was the Lee family’s signature give-away; silky, prune colored hair. Just as was Hwang's slitted, serpent-like shape of the eyes. There’s been so many of them, the line running so far back, that these things have developed a pattern, a tradition. Like freckles or moles for the Muggles, but grander, more distinct.

He gives you a quick smile, kind but impatient. He really is very handsome, you think, but— otherworldly, not to be messed with, not to be touched. Dark magic in human form. The only student to have a Phoenix feather wand core in all their school years. Powerful. You’ve only known him by rumor, never by fact.

“Certainly,” he replies curtly. “You are to be a Healer, yes?”

You furrow your brows, no idea as to where this was heading. “Indeed.”

Minho grins at you, then, all perfect straight teeth, boyish charm. “Excellent. A very promising intern, I hear.” To your evident confusion he provided an explanation, “My family is directly involved with the hospital. I require your assistance,” he stopped mid sentence, and glanced at Chaeyoung who was listening in.

“Excuse us,” he spoke politely, grabbing you by the arm. You looked at him bewildered, but followed along just for the sake of understanding why, out of everyone and especially a Gryffindor, would be his first thought of selfless aid?

“I am in the process of starting a very intricate potion, Ms. (Y/L/N), and having heard of your Potions grades, as well as the exemplary impression you’ve left on the Head of St. Mungo’s, I just had to recruit you,” he finishes, and gives you one long convincing look, before moving away, his touch dropping from your aching arm.

His words don’t quite register in your ears. Sure, you were a fairly good student and tried your absolute best with your internship, but what sort of potion couldn’t be followed with simple book instructions and a friend’s support?

Minho’s eyes flashed. It dawned on you. Unless…

“This isn’t school related, is it?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Bringing your books closer to you, your mouth turns into a thin line, disapprovement on the ready. You did not know this boy, had nothing to do with him, and certainly owed him even less. What he was asking of you was—ridiculous. Insane. Intriguing.

“And what is your purpose with this potion, Lee?” you asked after a short pause.

The Slytherin straightened his back, smoothed his expensive robes with one hand, and glanced at you over his nose. You did not break eye contact, determined to get the truth out of him. Serpents had a way of manipulating themselves out of situations—you’ve seen all of their tricks.

“Step the fuck back, Minho.”

A body crashed onto yours, enveloping half of you into big, muscled arms, a familiar cologne invading your nostrils. Bang Chan to the rescue, as always, Changbin close behind, both clad in warm, red sweaters with your House emblem. Looking up at your best friend’s angular face, you couldn’t help but notice the barely contained possessiveness he’s been letting himself show more and more lately. Both boys had always been protective of you, but considering the last relationship status change you’ve had with the captain, it made the dynamic strange, the waters untested. You, unsure of how to feel when he acted like this.

The purple haired boy smirked faintly, hands raised in front of him. “No trouble here, Bang, just small conversation between classmates. We’re allowed, are we not?”

Chan’s hand squeezed your shoulder, a silent question. You nodded your head, something he saw out of the corner of his eye, his hold relaxing slightly. Nothing changed in his stance, though. Defensive, ready to kill for his own—a true Gryffindor, through and through.

“What would you have to say to my girl?” It felt like time stopped, as soon as he uttered the word. “Say it, then. Go on.”

People were beginning to gather; Changbin cleared his throat in warning. You looked around, sighing as you did. It always had to be a showdown, a fight for dominance with Chan. Feeling your blood boil, and your nerves strain in the back of your head, you jerked away from him, Minho smugly watching you do so, hands coming to clasp together behind his back.

“Let’s go, Chaeyoung,” you said to your new friend, desperate to leave all three boys stewing in their own testosterone.

“Seems like you jumped the gun there, Christopher, yeah?”

“(Y/N),” his voice yelled after you. “(Y/N) wait, goddamnit!”

“Let her go, Chan.”

“Like hell I am,” was the last thing you heard, before the same arms pulled you towards the opposite direction of the one you were heading, the Hufflepuff girl gasping audibly at your capture.

“Listen to Changbin, Bang Chan,” you warned him, fighting against his scorching touch.

“When do I ever listen, baby girl?”

His breathing erratic, eyes determined, mouth set, the Gryffindor took you to the West wing of the castle, away from everyone else at this hour of the evening, and shoved the both of you inside a forgotten closet, wand out to mutter, “Capacious Extremis.”

The space enlarged twofold at once, and you were able to wiggle out of his vicious grasp with a forceful tug. He let you, that dark gaze studying you intensely.

“What the fuck was that?” you demand, beyond furious with his caveman behavior.

He huffs, passing a hand through his disheveled hair. “Never fucking mind that—what were you doing with Lee Minho out in the open like that?”

You scrunch your face. “‘Out in the open’? What does that even mean?”

“You know what it means.”

He stared you down with hard eyes, trying to figure you out. That’s what Chan did the most; tried to figure everyone out, what made them tick, what was the thing closest to their souls. So he’d be prepared, so he wouldn’t lose. You sigh, suddenly exhausted. It was a wise choice you’d made long ago, picking your fights with him.

This one just wasn’t worth it.

“We were just talking, Chan,” you move your feet to close the gap between your bodies. “I promise.”

Another thing about your captain—he will never waste a good opportunity.

Your lips smash together as his arms wrap around your waist and back protectively, possessively. He groans into the kiss, his tongue taking yours for a short dance, a fight of sorts, pleasure shooting through you like an arrow, like all the other times before, where he’d cornered you, asked for your surrender. Snatched you, anyway. He had this instinct of knowing what you wanted, what you most craved.

Right now it was him, what he offered. His hands on you, fingers tracing their way back into places he’s explored before, has owned countless times after hours, in beds, couches, cold astronomy stairs, closet walls…

“Obedient, are we now?” He mumbles smugly against your mouth, trapping you between his firm chest and stoned wall.

You grab the sides of his face and bring him back in, savoring the minty taste of his full lips. His hands immediately disappear under your robes, lower themselves to your skirt, pulling it up, sinking into the wet fabric of your cotton underwear. You gasp, and let out a broken moan, pressing into his calloused palm, loving the friction it provides for your aching pussy.

“Shut up and fuck me, Bang Chan,” you whisper in his ear, as you cup him over his trousers. He hisses, cursing your name. You smile. “Think you can do that?”

Chan chuckles darkly, rubbing circles over the small bundle of nerves at the top of your cunt. You roll your hips on his digits, holding onto him for dear life, nails digging on his broad shoulders, stomach churning, his cock stirring for attention in your other hand. Your lip trapped in between your teeth, you unzip his pants, dipping in his briefs in search for that delicious length that has filled you so many nights. And days. Some afternoons, after practice, not so far away from the rest of the team, something you both had giggled about, the exhilarating feeling of getting caught messing with your minds—

You’ve fucked a lot, you realize, cheeks burning. But it always made sense, it always felt good. You’d told yourself when it stops being those things, you’d walk away, but as he pulls your panties down, and you guide him to your entrance, sloppy, wet kisses running down your neck, to your collar, over your breast, you think it might not be so easy, after all.

Chan sinks inside you slowly, growling as he does. He squeezes your ass, your thigh circled tightly around his hip, but it’s not enough. Not for you, not for him. He needs more, he needs control.

“Jump on me, baby,” his voice is soft but the command is curt.

You lose contact for a split second as you slightly jump in his arms, the hardness of the wall digging into your back. The pain barely registers in your brain, as he slams into your cunt with fervor this time, the stretch incredible, his length hitting the deepest spots inside of you, so deep you feel him in your tummy. Your head drops on his shoulder, and you’re unable to control your moans, your very self, as skin hits skin, the sound filthy, sweat dripping from your forehead and staining his sweater, his hot breath on your cheek, whispering incredible things, words that will have you seeing stars—

You’re so fucking wet for me, baby girl, clenching around my dick so good, go on, take whatever you need, you know I got you, I’ll give it to you, love, let me see your face, let me see that pretty fucking mouth. Fuck, baby you’re so wet…

Your thighs hurt where he holds you, but your release is so close you couldn’t care less about bruises and soreness. You use his shoulders to sink down as he pistols up, the both of you entirely focused on getting off, sex in its most primitive form. You miss the eyes full of awe, of adoration, or more like, you ignore them. You won’t comment on the way he presses his mouth on the apple of your cheek, either, your name nothing but a ghost of a whisper on his tongue, a way of pushing himself forward, of bringing you to your climax.

“Come on, baby girl, give it to me. Give me a good one, milk my cock, that’s it, fuck, that’s my girl, such a good little slut, aren’t you?” He grunts on your skin, moving his lips to your ear, picking up the pace, tearing you from the inside out. “For me. Just for me.”

“Yes, yes…” you moan, and clench around him one last time, your body convulsing, vision blurry.

He chases after you, thrusts fast and precise, spilling around your tight walls, his load hot and sticky, and he wants nothing more than to—your legs touch the floor at once, as his hands grab your face aggressively, bringing you in for an open mouthed kiss, sweaty and breathy, mouths dry and searching, always searching for each other. You’d be lying if you said this didn’t mean more sometimes, somehow.

Sometimes it’s everything, it’s all that holds you down, that could hold, gravity meaningless pitted against Bang Chan and his warmth, the way he envelops you in his arms, the safest place in the world. As you play side by side, as you fight for the same cause. It’s easy and it’s familiar, and it’s home. As natural as breathing.

“Tell me you’ll keep your head straight,” he says seriously, looking down at you worriedly. “Minho is…” his dark eyes cloud over, “Don’t go making deals with the devil on me just yet, you hear me?”

You sigh into him and he shakes you gently, getting your eyes on his face again. “Please, (Y/N)?”

You nod, rubbing your wet thighs together, remembering you have a library date with a girl you left behind unexpectedly. What must she be thinking?

Oh, but who cares? This was so worth it.

“Okay. If it means that much to you, I won’t.”

“You promise?” He doesn’t let you go.

“Yes, Chan,” you say pointedly. “Jesus.”

He cleans you up with a quick spell, his hands raising your panties up your hips, touch lingering. You wiggle out of his grasp, giggling. He smirks, still crouching down as you open the closet door and walk away from him.

“Leave him out of this!” He calls out behind you.

“He’s your God, too,” you sing teasingly, making a run for the Great Hall.

The fourth Saturday of September, just before Hallowe’en, Gryffindor competes against Hufflepuff.

It’s a tough match, only for the incessant stormy weather that’s been building up, turning the field into a muddy mess, clouds hanging low for days, visibility incredibly poor. Practice had been good, but not great and flying conditions were, to say the least, not ideal, but the team has had to go through worse, and so they’d persevere as they always did, with a strategy set in place, everyone knowing exactly what they were supposed to do, instructed down to a T.

Bang Chan yelled for Jake to watch out as Yang Jeongin, a Fifth-Year Beater knocked one of the Bludgers his way, bat swinging, competitive smile on his pale face.

Jake momentarily lost control of his broom, cursing as he came down fast, holding on to the wooden stick for dear life.

Chan motioned for Changbin to go help him, as he pushed through the two Chasers standing in his way, Quaffle under his arm, heading straight for the opponent’s hoop. Thunder cracked as the ball went past the Keeper and into the big ring behind her, earning Gryffindor another point.

“Fuck yeah!”

The towers burst into applause and cheering, a small Second-Year boy announcing the success of his Houses’ team, praising the captain. Chan threw his fist in the air, basking in the attention and excitement of the crowd, Changbin and Jungkook flying close to clap his hand and back, as they flew past and back to their positions.

“Another great goal from captain Bang Chan! We’re counting eighty points, so far, to Hufflepuff’s sixty.”

The game had been in progress for two hours now, but the adrenaline rushing through Chan’s veins, his ego inflating, expanding over his team, his boys (and girl)—it meant everything. Tiredness was just a concept in front of all this; glory and winning, for an athlete, was greater than anything else. Nothing could come close, could compare. Perhaps, with the single exception of you bouncing on his cock, head thrown back, nails digging into his skin, absolutely beautiful in your vulnerability.

But the rain grew nastier, colder as the end was still nowhere in sight. You’d been searching through the heavy clouds for the Golden Snitch nonstop since the game had started, with not much luck. You’d encountered the opposing team's Seeker once or twice, but for the most part you were flying solo, half blind, while your team fought the good fight underneath you, compensating for your apparent bad seeking skills. You were frustrated, growing angrier by the minute with yourself for losing the small golden ball so fast. If only you could get one good glimpse of it…

“Losing your touch, (Y/L/N)?” Kim Sunoo teased, shouting over the rain as his broom whooshed behind you.

“Not a fucking chance,” you yelled back.

“C’mon, let’s fly above!”

One reason you enjoyed playing with Hufflepuff—this. The healthy competitiveness, the good spirit of the game, and a promised fun time, nothing less nothing more. It was such a stark contrast to Slytherin’s sinister, sneaky way of navigating through the game. And the injuries were considerably fewer, as well, the stakes never higher than necessary.

Above the storm, it was quiet. Peaceful. The both of you halted your brooms, stilling for a second, scanning the serene skies for the Snitch. Sunoo frowned, disappointed and embarrassed to go back down with empty hands, and you were too, determined to find the freaking thing and end this forsaken match—

There. On the horizon, much closer than it looked.

“Bye, Sun!” You laugh, as you rush towards your desired target, hand outstretched, so near you could feel it, taste it.

Victory.

“Hey!” You heard before you dipped in the clouds, the rain and clapping of thunder entering your ears once again. It did not matter.

You had a clear view of the ball, and you’d get it. No matter what.

“A missed shot from Sim Jaeyun, a shame for the Gryffindor team!”

Not for long, you thought as you willed your broom to fly faster, wiggling your fingers as if that would be any help to achieving your task, the Snitch teasing you with its whimsical moves. You were relentless, though, years of experience preparing you for its mood and difficulty to attain.

You really just had to go for it.

So, you did, Sunoo flying dangerously close, his own hand reaching. In your attempt to trap it in your palm, your broom tumbled and knocked you over. A scream tore from your throat, lightning flashing, as you almost lost control and fell off your trusted stick—if the Hufflepuff hadn’t helped you upright, his grip tight on your shoulder. Your heart beat fast, as your eyes went wide, head snapping his way.

“Thank you!”

The Fifth-Year smiled at you, his cheeks rosy and cute. “No problem. Go before I come for it.”

You nodded quickly, and parted a cloud appearing on the field waving your fist around. The crowd watched you fly to your teammates, the intensity of the rain calming down as if on cue, Chan the first to notice your arrival.

“It seems (Y/L/N) (Y/N) has caught the Golden Snitch!” Roars sounded off like sirens. “Gryffindor wins!”

The colors on the high towers then show yellow and red, proud and bright, even amidst the grayness, and you grin wide and content, as you come face to face with your best friend and captain. Your boyfriend, he would correct you.

He’s glowing, wet and exhausted, pearly whites showing. “That’s my fucking girl!” He barks, as the entire team erupts in celebratory song.

‘Come around and see

Gryffindor will win

With Bang Chan in our team

And (Y/N) as our Queen

Gryffindor shall win!’

The common room was rowdy, to say the least.

Seventh-Years had snuck alcohol in from The Three Broomsticks Inn apothecary, and were currently helping themselves and others to a few cups of it. The fire was lit, the walls rich in color, the music blasting and the portraits laughing and discussing their own years at Hogwarts, their historical wins against the other Houses and their parties that lasted until the early hours of the next day, charms keeping the voices and ruckus from echoing throughout the rest of the castle.

Bang Chan and Changbin were busy being obnoxiously loud and quite drunk in the middle of the room, many students gathering around them like true fans, asking the two make-believe celebrities of Gryffindor all sorts of questions they had absolutely no problem answering. Your boyfriend was sprawled over the leather couch, freshly showered, brown hair falling over his eyes in loose curls, as his most trusted friend occupied the armchair, a mug of firewhiskey filled to the brim, making his eyes glossy and his mood light.

You shook your head at them, chuckling softly as two younger girls approached you, congratulating you on today’s win. You thanked them politely, popping a few nuts in your mouth. You could never be them; the center of attention, the center of the universe, it felt like sometimes, but you were just as deserving of praise and honor as them. Being a Seeker was hard enough, but being held at the same standards as Bang Chan?

Impossible. You wondered how he did it, then reminded yourself that he was born for this. Fame, prestige. He loved it, lived for it, and had dedicated his entire life for it. It was second nature to him, but to you?

Oh, but it’d end soon enough. And then a whole other chapter would unravel itself for you to tread carefully through it. The rest of your life, your career, what you’ve been working so hard towards. Quidditch was a hobby, and a damn good one, but it wasn’t the end goal.

Chan finds your gaze and holds it, smiling suggestively your way, and winking. You smile back, lifting your cup to him. He beams, and your heart swells.

You loved him but this, whatever you two had, would end too. And none would be the wiser. You couldn’t call it a waste of time; after all, for what it was, it made sense. Plus the sex was incredible. But you couldn’t ignore the cold, hard truth—he’d leave for Australia, and you’d go into intensive training at the hospital, books and medicine being more than enough to fill your time. 

He’d ask you to go with him, and you’d get defensive and ruin your friendship. He’d get mad and you’d go months without communication, until finally you’d hear news of his dating another girl, someone that could keep up with him, and break your own heart ten times worse than before. It would play out exactly like this, because that’s the natural way of a relationship between an athlete and a bookworm. There’s no meeting halfway for them, there’s no meeting at all.

You notice a couple making out on the stairs going up to the dorms, a full table of Six-Years playing cards, and your team preparing for butterbeer pong, a tradition of yours at this point, introduced years ago by a muggleborn that established it as the game-to-play after a successful match. It was harmless enough.

Except for the fact that your captain was an incredibly competitive and stubborn man that took everything way too seriously.

“Round!” Changbin roars, as all the boys cuss and down shots of firewhiskey at once. “Fuck, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“One hell of a headache is waiting for you tomorrow, Bin,” you comment as you near the long table the game is about to take place on.

Chan is helping set the cups in order with his wand, Jungkook filling them with the appropriate amount of the beer concoction, the red of their wool sweaters in such contrast to their pale complexion.

“I’m a wizard, honey, I’ll make it go away before you can say Merlin’s full name.”

Everyone in close proximity clutched their chests, laughing at the burn. You raised your eyebrows daringly. Challenge accepted.

“Sure, though not a very good one, are you, honey?” You retorted mockingly.

“Well, shit, you got me there.”

The room burst in ‘ooh’s’ as someone lifted your arm, declaring you the winner of this little showdown. Chan chuckled, the side of his mouth lifting, admiring your proud face. He was next to you before you could even blink, taking you in his strong arms and crushing you against him, lips on your ear, breath warm, comforting.

“You’re trouble, you know that?”

You smirk, pulling away slightly. “The best kind.”

His hand snaking its way around the nape of your neck, he brings you in for a kiss. You could taste so many things on him, but you think his heart was the most rewarding of them all. Your foreheads touch, as everyone in the room fades away, light years away, the two of you holding gravity, and the fucking axis of the very earth in place.

Nothing mattered when you were with Bang Chan, and you were beginning to think that wasn’t such a good thing, after all.

“The only kind,” he swears. “The only one I want.”

The game starts with Eunwoo missing a clear shot, and paying the price for it. After him, Jungkook follows (three wins in a row before ultimately losing), a giddy Changbin nearly ending the game at once with his excellent performance, but not before knocking everything over as Jungkook tackled him for “cheating.”

“No one leaves until I have a fucking turn!” Chan barks, and the team scrambles to pick up the mess, setting the table for their leader.

The entire common room gathers with bated breath to watch their captain win against beer and plastic balls, and you can’t help but marvel at the way all seems to still for this man. He carried such power, such influence, and he was the nicest thing around. Always fair, loyal, a sweetheart to his friends, a general out on the field. You’d follow him to battle if it came down to it, as would literally every single person in this room.

It was very sudden, your need for oxygen. The air was stifling, everything moving in slow motion as Chan succeeded in putting the sixth ball in the glass cups. A new song is in the process of writing itself for your favorite boy, you sense it in your bones, in the way the people in the portraits haven’t said a word since he started playing.

History will include him in its thickest books. But you? If you stay with him, you’ll be nothing but a mention, an afterthought. ‘She was there, but he was bigger than life,’ and it’ll be true, but it will all be for him, and it wasn’t jealousy, nor envy—

It was confidence in knowing you deserved better. The best.

“Where are you going?” He asks, when you move away from his peripheral vision.

Heads snap towards the question, curious.

“I’ll be right back,” you announce, drowning. “Please don’t follow me,” you continue in a smaller voice, hoping he hears you.

And it must’ve been something in your stance, or your face, or your eyes, who fucking knows, because this time—

He doesn’t chase after you. He listens.

Your feet take you to the Great Entrance.

For what time it was, you expected no one else to be around, making it easier for you to break down and cry after a long, stressful day. You weren’t particularly keen on letting anyone in on the small fact that you were losing your entire mind over how hectic your life had become, and you certainly weren’t about to be reckless about being out of your dormitory after hours.

It was fairly simple to move around the castle at night, though, if one was careful enough. There was only one teacher patrolling the corridors and they were currently located on the other side of the staircase, giving you the go to make a run for it.

You’d also placed a silencing charm on you, for good measure, because you weren’t about to be the person that gave and took away points from their House all in one day.

You never counted on coming face to face with Lee Minho like this. He took notice of your nervous state, and it was then you noticed the pin on his robes. Head boy, you shut your eyes tightly, cursing yourself inwardly. Of course.

“I take it your midnight stroll didn’t go exactly as expected?” He comments sarcastically, but his tone is flat, and his perfectly shaped left eyebrow is raised.

He’s taller than you, not by much, and you guess the authority he holds also gives the illusion of height, multiple books hovering in mid air behind him. You guess he was making his way from the library to his last patrol of the night before resigning to the Slytherin dorms in the dungeons.

It really was just your luck bumping into him, wasn’t it? Especially after that one awkward evening a couple of weeks ago, his proposition still unanswered days and days after. Minho blinked twice at you, seeming to be waiting for your answer to his remark.

You snap out of it, biting your lip, and you see him follow the movement indifferently, your cheeks turning red under his intense stare. He doesn’t seem to pay your embarrassment any mind, though, as he deems you unworthy of his time and goes to pass right past you.

“You still haven’t told me,” you call out. He stops. Turns. You hesitate slightly, “The reason why you’re making an illegal potion.”

He muses your words for a second, turning them over in his mind. “Not so much illegal, as…frowned upon.”

Huh? “Well, what is it?” You press, taking a brave step forward towards him.

His beauty is unparalleled, only perhaps, and you do not say this lightly, second to that of Hwang Hyunjin’s, making it so incredibly hard for you to look at him straight on. His eyes are so big and glittery, looking as if they’ve swallowed entire stars in them, and his jawline is so sharp and sexy it feels like you’re cheating on Chan just by glancing his way. He looked immaculate, even at this late time, and you’d blame it on the pure blood thing, but Changbin was upstairs making a fucking fool of himself, ten different stains on his clothes, drunk beyond all reason at this point, you’d bet good money on it.

Not Minho. Never Minho.

“It’s dark magic, (Y/N),” he nears you slowly, taking his sweet time with a prey like you. “Necromancy.”

You looked at him, and looked again, just in case he was making some sort of sick, twisted Slytherin joke that you didn’t understand and were just another victim of. Dark humor is eclectic, yes, but harmless in the long run. Unfortunately, he wasn’t batting an eye to your reaction. If anything, he appeared to be…disappointed?

It was hard to tell through a million layers of frost.

“Dark magic is illegal, Minho,” you say and you feel like the dumbest person alive at that moment.

He stares at you like you are. “Many would disagree,” he retorts calmly. “All magic is the same to a wizard.”

You tilted your head, begging for him to be joking, and certainly not enjoying the glamoured jab at your blood. It was petty and so below who you perceived him to be, that you had to second guess the way he worded it in order to keep your sanity.

And your points.

“You want to raise the dead?” You whisper incredulously.

He smiles briefly at that, but his mask quickly falls back into place. “I’m offering you a chance to make one of the most difficult, intricate potions known in magic history. The craft is something that interests you, correct?”

You stutter, feeling like you’re being manipulated into something completely out of your comfort zone. Despite this knowledge, you can’t bring yourself to refuse.

“Yes, but I would very much like to stay out of Azkaban if I can help it.”

He considers you seriously, then. You almost think he’s gonna turn around and dismiss you, considering you unable to complete his task, but then he takes one step closer and gazes at you through thick eyelashes.

“I’m enchanting skeletons for Hallowe’en.”

You squint up at him. “You’re lying. You don’t need a potion for that.”

His lip twitches, and you think you see a ghost of another of those rare smiles. It’s gone too soon for you to tell. A purple strand of hair falls in his eye, and your fingers itch to touch it.

“Will you help me?” He chooses to ignore your statement.

“Now I’m helping you?” You challenge him, before you can stop yourself. “Where did all those other fancy words go?”

Minho drinks you in, every single one of your features being studied, before he pulls back, a breathy chuckle escaping his pretty mouth.

“I can see what he sees in you.”

“Don’t make this about him.”

There goes that infuriating eyebrow again. “Oh?”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll help you,” you repeat the, apparently, Slytherin taboo word. “If you tell me what I’m getting myself into.”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat as you see him lean towards you, his cheek touching the side of your face, a woody scent enveloping your senses. You’re unable to move, it seems, he has you under a complete spell—and it’s not the one you cast with a wand. I underestimated him, you think, panicking.

“A revolution, sweetheart,” his enchanting voice whispers in your ear. The castle stares back as your eyes glaze over with numbness. “Your name in history books. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

And it shouldn’t have taken you as long to figure out as it did, Chan’s words of caution ringing true in your head, because nothing could be clearer, really—

Lee Minho is a Ligilimens.

tags. dedicated to @streetlight-s 🖤 | @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @koorminii, @hellishmoons, @lix-ables, @americanokisses, @j-0ne25, @danyxthirstae01, @she-wintersoldat, @fa3body, @letterstolilah, @exclusivej3ss, @seungschacco, @heeseung-lover686, @heetr, @arieslost, @skz317cb97.

NO REPOSTING/STEALING. hwan-g™️

[lost-between-letters]

Acquired Taste

Pairing: Jack Kline X Reader (she/her)

Requested by: @cherryyyangel

Word Count: 1,710

Summary: Jack discovers his love for music and Y/N discovers that having a cuddly crush sucks. (Or maybe that it doesn't at all)

A/N: remember how I asked for Jack prompts? Like a million years ago? Yeah, this is one of them, sorry that it took me so fucking long - but hey, I'm back! (We're ignoring that this fic is just three moments in a trenchcoat, okay?)

"What are you doing there?" Jack leaned down and peered over her shoulder in an attempt to get a better look at her phone.

Y/N looked up, startled by his voice cutting through the music blaring through her earphones. And his presence behind her. She could have sworn that she had been alone in the library a few moments ago. "Hm?"

"On your phone," he clarified and pointed at the list of songs she was contemplating, "what's that?"

"Oh that." Y/N stopped. Stared down at the device. Was he asking how Spotify worked or about the concept of music? "I'm making a playlist. For the next road trip."

"But Dean's choosing the music?"

Jack's forehead crinkled up cutely and Y/N had to physically stop herself from reaching up and smoothing it over. Instead she snorted once. "Yeah and it's always the same fucking three albums. No offence to AC/DC but there's only so much I can hear of back in black before I start to bite things."

"That's true." Jack nodded and pulled out a chair for himself.

Y/N swallowed the giddy feeling she got when their knees touched. Angels. No concept of personal space. That had to be it.

"And Dean's okay with your playing your own music in the car?" Jack's voice pulled Y/N from her daydreams. The second time today.

She snorted again.

"One, I don't particularly care if Dean is 'okay' with my choice of music," Y/N made air quotation with her fingers that made Jack laugh, "and two, I'm using earphones. Saves me quite a lot of headaches usually."

"That's very smart."

A moment of somber musing followed where Y/N alternated between watching Jack's face and pretending that she wasn't.

Then, Jack perked up again. "Can we share?"

"What?" Her weird staring obsession?

"The earbuds," he clarified, "I wanna know what kinda music you like."

Oh. Yeah, that made much more sense. Y/N scrambled for them, hoping that her cringing wasn't showing too hard on her face. "Sure, here."

"Thank you," Jack smiled politely and plucked the tiny bud from her fingers as if he was totally unaware of what their brushing fingers did to Y/N.

Which was mostly due to the fact that he probably was totally unaware of what their brushing fingers did to Y/N. Jesus Christ, she had to get a grip.

Then, Jack tapped her forearm excitedly and pointed to her phone. "I like that song!"

Oh, he was going to be the death of her. Why did he have to have good taste on top of everything else?

"Me too," Y/N smiled weakly when the familiar tunes of her favourite song filled her ear. At least Jack was too absorbed in his own mind to notice that her voice wasn't as cheerful as it should have been.

Having a crush sucked.

Twenty minutes into the drive, Y/N felt something poke her shoulder. Grudgingly, she pulled one earbud free and looked at Jack.

Who was smiling at her hopefully. "Can we share the music again?"

It took her a moment to remember what Jack was referring to - she had been halfway asleep already when they had entered the car. "Uh, sure."

Y/N handed her left earbud over and stifled a grin. It was just music. Nothing to get excited about.

She skipped through her playlist, rearranging and deleting a few songs that felt too off to listen to with Jack together. Too intimate, too much like baring her soul already. Not that she would say that out loud.

"Can we keep listening to the last one?" Jack asked softly when Y/N changed her mind just short of the chorus.

"Oh, sure." And really, she had to expand her vocabulary sooner or later.

It didn't help that Sam was watching them, an amused sparkle in his eyes at her fumbling. So Y/N glared at him through the rearview mirror to which he merely raised an eyebrow.

Jack - unaware of the silent argument - nodded once and scooted a little closer so that the chord of the earphones was hanging loosely between them. "Thank you. I really like your music taste."

"Thanks," she said softly, afraid that if she spoke any louder she might be squealing. Good job at playing it cool, Y/N.

It didn't get any better when Jack's head dropped on her shoulder another twenty minutes later or when he snuggled into her side like he belonged there.

She pointedly ignored Sam and Dean's glances while she tentatively relaxed against the boy next to her and drifted off.

Slowly, a habit formed from there on.

At first, the sharing-music-thing was strictly related to the long hours on the road when neither of them could stand Dean's tapes anymore.

But soon Jack got his own phone and set up his own Spotify account. He was almost constantly listening to music then, together with Y/N or on his own.

They had multiple shared playlists to which they listened to almost every waking hour. It drove Dean up the walls for some reason.

Not that Y/N cared particularly about what Dean thought about her music consumption or who she shared it with. She had to admit that it was pretty funny though to see him fume whenever he spotted the two of them connected by the chord of the earphones snuggled up on one of their beds. Which was all of the time.

"Hey Y/N," Jack was leaning against her doorframe - he was hovering uncharacteristically.

"Hi Jack." Y/N smiled and didn't even try to fight the warm feeling bubbling up. "Did you turn into a vampire or why are you waiting to be invited inside?"

Jack frowned at her (admittedly awkward) joke. "I never quite got that piece of lore. What sense would it make that a vampire couldn't get inside without explicit permission?"

"Dunno, makes you feel like you're somewhat in control?" She guessed half heartedly.

"I don't get it."

Y/N chuckled. "Yeah me neither. Did you want something Mr vampire?"

"Oh uh-" it actually looked like Jack was blushing, "-I uh wanted to show you a playlist I made."

Her heart was doing somersaults already. This is not a rom com Y/N scolded herself before her hopes could get the better of her. So she planted a friendly smile on her face and patted the empty spot next to her.

"C'mon then. Show me."

Jack smiled back somewhat nervously and sat down a little closer than she had anticipated. But again, no protest from Y/N. He nearly dropped his phone when he unlocked it though he managed to reduce the shaking to a minimum when he handed the earphones over.

Y/N was positively melting.

It got better though.

The first song in the playlist was a familiar tune - it was the one she had played for him when they had started this.

She was bobbing her head to the beat by the time it moved to the second song - a much slower one. More romantic, maybe a little cheesy but she liked it.

And Jack seemed to do so too. He was watching her intently so Y/N spoke up. "It's really good! I like the playlist."

"Thank you." Jack was still studying her, a glimmer in his eyes that she couldn't pin point.

A wave of sadness crashed into Y/N unexpectedly. Surely, Jack didn't know about the implications of making a playlist full of romantic songs for someone. Probably just had discovered them by accident and wanted to show her.

Deflated by her own mind, Y/N dropped back against the pillows, fighting to keep the smile on her face.

But something must have slipped.

Jack's expression fell. "You don't like it, do you?"

"Of course I do," she assured hurriedly, "I really like all those songs."

Somehow, that seemed to make it worse.

Jack pulled his legs up to his chest, eyes trained on his phone. "But that's not what I meant."

Colour her confused.

When he made no move to elaborate, Y/N reached forward and placed a tentative hand on his knee. "What did you mean then?"

"You don't like what I was saying with the playlist, right?"

And God, Y/N would give her left arm to wipe that expression off his face. But Jack wasn't making sense right now so she had to keep asking.

Surely he couldn't mean what she was hoping he did, right?

"Can you say it directly for me then? Maybe I like that better," Y/N tried again.

Jack just looked at her miserably. "I was trying to say that I really like you. But you don't like me back."

Dumbfounded, Y/N stared at him but Jack was already barreling on with a smile that looked closer to tears than anything else. "And that's okay! I just - I just need a moment."

And then he got up to leave.

He made it to the door before Y/N had processed what Jack just said.

Faster than she thought it possible, she had jumped up and blocked his way. It was definitely possible that she was feeling a little dizzy from the motion though.

"What do you mean I don't like you back?"

"You don't," He said but his voice was wavering, "or do you?"

"Wasn't that painfully obvious?" Y/N asked, a helpless laugh stuck in her throat, "Jesus, I've been pining for you since you dyed Dean's apron pink with me and you never noticed?"

"I didn't," Jack was looking down at her so earnestly, so full of painful vulnerability that Y/N just had to reach up and cup his cheek.

Briefly, time froze. Did she really do that? Jack's eyes were wide as saucers, maybe not as surprised by the touch itself but the intention behind it. Not that Y/N could blame him.

She was pretty sure that the last time she had had this kind of courage scraped together she had just killed her first monster.

"Can I kiss you now?" Y/N was whispering. It felt wrong to break the silence but she had to. Or else the tension might kill her.

Jack turned his cheek deeper into her touch. Reached around her waist gingerly. Tilted his chin just a fraction and let a radiant smile overcome his face. "Please."

General Taglist: @immrbrightsideee, @fandomfoodiedancer, @lovesfandoms, @nyotamalfoy, @stixnstripesworld , @foxyjwls007 , @amythedoctor , @alexxavicry

Jack Taglist: @sweater-weather-spn , @xoxokiaraaxoxo @theslawstee (no blog found, sorry)

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[casuallyimagining]

When September Ends // part one.

Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Six years after leaving your home planet, you’re forced to confront your past… and the one you left behind.  Word Count: 4,128 Genre: Star Wars au, friends to enemies to lovers, angst Warnings: minor character death, survivor's guilt, yoongi has anger issues, mentions of the death of an entire planet, anxiety, alcohol, reader character suffers from the burden of high expectations, mentions of torture (nothing  explicit), mentions of needles, hospitalization, brief descriptions of scarring, brief descriptions of panic, hospitalization, an assassination attempt, a gun fight, murder

Notes: Thanks to @daechwitatamic and @the-boy-meets-evil for listening to me complain about this fic, helping me plan, and beta-ing for me; to @oddinary4bts for the late-game encouragement and edits.

Playlist: All of the poetry in this fic has been pulled from various songs and poems. You can find all the songs (and some others) in the playlist that I made for this fic on Spotify.

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Fuck this planet, Yoongi thinks as he stalks his way through the corridors. It’s freezing. It’s always fucking freezing. Granted, it’s an ice planet, but he preferred the last base on the tropical forest moon, thank you very much. Sure, it had been so humid that his hair curled at the ends most days, but at least there, he could feel his toes.

Two junior pilots jump out of the way as he rounds the corner. He doesn’t blame them. He’s probably wearing quite the scowl, and the heavy steps of his boots against the steel flooring leave an angry echo reverberating through the mostly empty halls. For a moment, he considers apologizing–the junior pilots haven’t done anything, and he knows he should at least try to fit himself back in here. But then he’s standing in front of the door to his destination, and the apology dies before it even has the chance to form.

The doors hiss open mechanically, and the council room is already full. Yoongi picks his way through the crowd, eyes on the only empty seat in the room. Someone greets him, and he offers a quick nod in recognition but says nothing else. Suddenly, inexplicably, he’s nervous. This meeting was supposed to be with some of the higher ups–Yoongi expected some majors, a few captains, maybe a colonel. But some of the council is here, and he recognizes at least one general by the five pips on the man’s breastplate. 

Someone clears their throat just as Yoongi sits down, and it only takes a moment for the room to fall eerily quiet. He can feel every pair of eyes focusing on him, and Yoongi would love nothing more than to pull the hood of his puffy coat up over his head and hide away. He’s never been one for attention, but he does his best to appear nonchalant, like he doesn’t want the frozen ground to open up and swallow him whole. (He might not mind if it did.)

“Thank you for coming, Captain Min,” one of the commanders says.

Didn’t really have a choice, Yoongi thinks. But it’s not like I had anything better to do.

“We’ve received your official request to return to duty,” the commander–Commander Vela, Yoongi notes, though he’s only seen the man a small handful of times. “All six of them. Given the circumstances, we wanted to give you the opportunity to discuss this in person.”

What is there to discuss? Yoongi wants back in. He’s bored, itching to get back out in the field. He’s exhausted, he’s not sleeping, but that’s nothing a little adrenaline can’t fix. If he stays here, sitting around, doing nothing, he’s going to go fucking insane. And truthfully, not doing anything feels like he’s letting the Empire win, like Kitt and Feeney and Jieun’s deaths meant nothing. 

And he won’t let that happen.

But instead of saying all that, he says simply, “You need spies. I’m a spy. I don’t see where the issue is.”

Commander Vela hums, his attention falling to the data pad sitting on the table in front of him. “You’ve been through a lot, captain. Most men would, understandably, need to take time off to-”

“I don’t want time off.” Yoongi can tell his interruption isn’t taken well based on the grumbles that ripple through the room. But he can’t help it. If they would just listen to him, he could convince them that he was fine. Or, at least, that he would be fine if he could just get his life back to normal. “I’ve had time off. I want to get back out there. You need me back out there.”

It sounds cockier than he’d intended, but the sentiment is true. They’d just lost three of their best intelligence operatives. Yoongi knows they can’t afford to lose another. 

“How can we guarantee you’ll perform to standard?” A Mon Calamari major pipes up from the corner, his gravelly, grumbly voice cutting through the rabble that Yoongi’s words have caused. “How do you know you’re ready?”

The question catches Yoongi off-guard. “I just do,” he answers, and though it feels like a feeble, desperate answer, his voice comes out cool and confident.

More of the committee speaks up. Yoongi can feel his blood pressure rise as the questions come, both more probing and more asinine. How is he feeling? How is he processing? Is he still up to date on his marksmanship training (even though his marksmanship training was basically just here’s a blaster, go shoot stuff)?

He’s fine. He’s processing well. Why don’t you give him a blaster and stand at twenty paces, and you can check yourself if his training is up-to-date?

Yoongi feels like he’s being interrogated. Do they treat their Imperial prisoners like this? He can feel the heat on his skin, can feel the thrumming in his veins. He takes a deep breath to calm himself, forces himself to unclench his jaw. He can’t let them see how much the questioning has affected him, even if the effect is just to piss him off. If they think he’s anything less than perfectly collected, they’ll never let him back in the field.

A dark-skinned commander is halfway through a long-winded question about security protocols, and safety, and something else that Yoongi has lost track of when a voice rings out above the din of the room.

“This is ridiculous,” it says, and it takes Yoongi a moment to find the speaker.

His heart rate picks up, and he can feel his palms get clammy as he zeroes in on her. There, three seats to the left of Commander Vela. He’d know that voice anywhere. And when her eyes lock with his, the room stops, the rest of higher command doesn’t matter.

It’s you.

“Clearly he wants to come back,” you say, leaning forward out of the shadows. You observe him casually, almost bored. “We’re clearly in need, otherwise we wouldn’t be entertaining the idea. Just let him come back. Assign an in-field eval.”

Commander Vela hums, twirling the end of his mustache in his forefingers. From the corner, the Mon Calamari major grumbles his agreement. Some other members of the committee voice their displeasure with what you’ve said, but Yoongi watches as you simply turn your head to look at Vela, a small, seemingly innocuous smile on your lips. But Yoongi knows what it means. He’s seen it hundreds of times.

Gotcha.

The Commander clears his throat and nods in your direction. “An interesting compromise, major,” he says, and Yoongi doesn’t miss the hint of pride in the officer’s voice. “Very well. Captain Min will accompany you on your upcoming mission. With the two of you together, we should expect first-rate results.”

The world freezes. Yoongi’s heart stops. And then just as suddenly, it starts again, the thrumming going into overdrive. He is dismissed in slow-motion, and his body moves without his brain’s acknowledgement. Suddenly, he’s standing, and in a small handful of steps, he’s outside of the council room.

It’s much quieter out here. The hum of the electricity running through the walls, the howl of the freezing wind outside, the far-off cacophony of the rebellion’s finest doing what they can to stay prepared for a moment-notice fight. It all comes together, washes over Yoongi. It’s chaotic, but it’s also strangely comforting. The cold seeping through the walls, though still bitter and absolutely intolerable, cools his temperature and his temper easily.

Yoongi takes a deep, slow breath through his nose. A mission. With you. Upon which his future hangs precariously on the condition of success. Truthfully, he’s not sure how to feel. He’s excited. He’s nervous. He’s hopeful. But somewhere within him, there’s something bubbling, something angry, something that he doesn’t want to confront right now. So he pushes it down and vows to himself. 

He will be back in the field. This mission will go well. 

It has to.

The mess hall is crowded and loud, and Yoongi hates crowded and loud. But he manages to find a table in a corner, blocked by a wall, that isn’t quite so noisy. It’s been months, but people still avoid him. And he gets it. People don’t know how to talk to him anymore, and it’s not like he’s ever been the easiest guy in the world to converse with. He’s always found small talk difficult, always preferred to listen rather than speak. All of the friends he’s ever made have been more a reflection of their stubbornness rather than a result of his ability and desire to be outgoing. So despite the fact that the mess is practically full, Yoongi’s table in the corner remains single occupancy. 

That is, until you appear in front of him.

You stand there, holding a tray in one hand and a cup of caf in the other, your datapad tucked between your elbow and your body. “Mind if I sit?” you ask. It’s soft. He can barely hear it over the din of the room. 

For a moment, he stares at you, expression flat. You offer him a small smile. It’s a lifeline, he realizes, a peace offering. But something roils inside of him, something angry, and he’s not sure why. Maybe it’s the slight air of apology he can see in your eyes. You have a look that says you’d like nothing more than to talk. Something in Yoongi wants that, too. But a larger part is six years deep into thinking his best friend is dead. And that part is pissed.

“I thought we could go over mission details,” you tell him, awkwardly shuffling so he can better see your datapad. As if keeping things strictly business might help bridge the gap. “I don’t know how you’re used to doing things–if you’d come find me or if-”

“I haven’t been able to find you for six years. I stopped trying a long time ago.” It comes out venomous, almost like an accusation.

He watches as your smile falters, can see in your eyes the exact moment it transitions from genuine to practiced. You cough, and nod once, very quickly.

“Okay. Just meet me in the hangar tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred.”

Yoongi watches in silence as you turn on your heel. He follows you with his eyes, watching as you power-walk to the mess exit, dumping your tray and your caf in a trashcan on the way out. The angry part of him quiets, and suddenly, he’s no longer hungry.

The klaxon is shrill in the once-calm cockpit. Outside the windshield, TIE fighters shriek past, their guns targeting the small transport ship. In the belly of the vessel, Yoongi can hear banging and shouting. For a moment, he considers going to help Feeney and Jieun prepare the escape pods. But then Kitt swears from the cockpit, and another alarm sounds, and Yoongi is rooted to the spot.

He watches the displays, unable to look away as the shields deplete steadily. Those Imperial fucks can’t hit the broad side of a star destroyer, and yet today, of all days, they’ve managed to nearly deplete the ship’s shields.

“This is Tatooine one-two-five-niner-oh-five requesting immediate ceasefire,” Kitt says into the ship’s comms. Yoongi can hear the desperation in her voice. “Please. We’re just a haulcraft.”

The comms crackles, but no reply comes. Kitt swears again. Kitt never swears unless things are really bad. The displays start to beep urgently, and Yoongi’s eyes are drawn to a flashing indicator on the wall to his left. Ten percent shields left.

Things are really bad.

“I can man one of the guns,” Yoongi offers, following Kitt out of the cockpit and down the ladder into the belly of the craft. He skips the last few rungs, jumping off when he’s still a foot from the ground. “Buy us some time.”

“No.” Kitt pats his shoulder and offers him a small smile. The scar on her upper lip pulls taught, and her smile looks almost broken in half. In her eyes, there’s a small fire. She’s determined to see this through. 

The look scares Yoongi.

“You go. Get in a pod.” She pushes Yoongi in the direction of one of the escape pods that Jieun and Feeney have readied. Kitt turns to Feeney and presses a small metal rectangle into his chest. “Take this,” she tells him. “Get out of here. We’ll be right behind you.”

For a moment, Feeney looks like he wants to protest. But then he shuts his mouth and nods. The ship can only launch two pods at a time. “Come on,” he says, clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. “You heard her.”

Yoongi doesn’t know what happens next. He can’t remember getting into the escape pod, doesn’t know how he managed to hit the ready to launch button on the internal console. He’s really not even sure if he turned on the encoded tracker. 

All he remembers is the pounding of his heart in his ears and the feeling of weightlessness as the pod decouples from the ship and the zero gravity of space takes hold. He remembers his pod floating away from the main ship, remembers watching in horror as a third pod attempts to deploy and the grappling arm sticking without letting go. He remembers seeing movement in the cockpit of the haulcraft, a blinding light, his pod rocking through space with the force of an explosion.

Yoongi jolts, and for a moment, he’s disoriented. Everything is spinning. He can still see the debris field, but slowly, it morphs into his quarters in the base on Hoth. It’s the chill that brings him back. The cold air on his exposed skin forces his mind back to now. He’s not even laying down–his back is against the metal wall, he’d fallen asleep with one leg tucked up against his chest. His pillow is at the other end of the cot entirely. 

Yoongi sighs, his heart still hammering in his chest. His head falls backwards against the cool of the metal, and he forces himself to breathe deeply.

That was months ago, he tells himself. Pull yourself together, idiot.

It feels like an eternity later, but eventually, his heartbeat slows, his breathing evens out, the adrenaline leaves his system. He’s exhausted–this is the fourth time this week the dream has plagued his sleep–but he doesn’t dare lie down. Instead, he gropes around his cot until his hand brushes against the screen of his datapad. He turns it on, and the cool blue of the letters on screen strain his eyes.

My friends, my friends forgive me That I live and you are gone There's a grief that can't be spoken There's a pain goes on and on

He’d been working on a poem when he’d fallen asleep. It was a habit he’d picked up from Kitt. Poetry and music, she’d told him once, were things the Empire could never take from you. They have their roots in your soul and bloom in your mind. As long as there are people, there will be poetry and music.

It’s only half true, Yoongi thinks bitterly, picking up his stylus and tapping into the document to edit it. He has poetry, but he’s lost the people he cared about most.

“If we do not leave in 20 minutes, our chances of success go down to-”

“Please stop talking,” you tell the droid, TK-53. You’re sitting on a crate just outside of your ship, waiting for Yoongi. 

Tee’s right, though. Yoongi’s over half an hour late, and if you’re not gone in 20 minutes, you won’t make it to Bespin in time. There’s a small window that you have to hit, just a short span of time where the Tibanna refineries’ contracts are up before they restart. You have to be there in that window, otherwise, you may as well give up. Major Kim would be stuck on the planet for another year.

Though, you suppose even if Yoongi turned up in the next ten seconds, you aren’t sure how successful the mission will be.

“Tee, check the med bay. Perhaps he fell ill.” 

The droid hums, and you can hear the whirring of her joints as she moves over to a panel in the wall. But before Tee can even access the panel, there’s a cough behind you. When you turn, Yoongi is standing there, a rucksack slung over his shoulder. It’s a small comfort that he looks like shit. His hair is a mess, and he looks exhausted. But when he wordlessly pushes his bag into Tee’s arms, you can feel yourself get angry.

“You’re late,” you say flatly, grabbing the bag from your droid.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Right.” You roll your eyes and motion for him to walk up the ramp into the ship. You shove his bag back to him as he passes you. Tee clanks in after him–a solid foot and a half taller, she has to duck to make it in the ship without bumping her head. 

As soon as you’re inside, the ramp starts to ascend into the hull of the ship. It’s small inside. The cockpit is the biggest part of the ship, but there’s a small cabin with hideaway beds and a galley. For a moment, it’s quiet. 

“Do you usually not care about your missions, or should I consider myself lucky?”

“What?” Yoongi’s brow furrows. He’s made himself comfortable in one of the jump seats in the cockpit.

“Can you at least pretend to give a shit about this mission?” You plop into the co-pilot’s chair. Tee has already started going through the pre-flight procedures. “I mean, honestly Yoongi. Did you act like this for your last commander? Because I wouldn’t-”

“Don’t talk about her.” His voice is deep, angry, and for the briefest of moments, you can see the hurt in his eyes. “Get pissed at me all you want, but keep her name out of your fucking mouth.”

Quickly, you pivot. “We had things to do this morning, Yoongi. Preparations. We needed to get papers made. Now we don’t have those. I didn’t tell you a specific time because I thought it would be fun.”

You barely register Tee speaking into the comms, asking for clearance to launch.

“I said I’m sorry, okay? You think I wanted to be late?”

“I don’t know!” You admit, exasperated. You turn in your seat and press the last few buttons in the launch sequence, and the ship rumbles to life under you. A slight jolt, and it’s up in the air. “I don’t know what you want anymore,” you mumble.

Behind you, Yoongi grumbles something, but you don’t pay attention to it. Your focus is on the console in front of you and getting the ship into hyperspace. It takes a few minutes of tense silence for you to get out of Hoth’s atmosphere and into the hyperspace lane. But as soon as the ship leans into the speed and the stars are speeding past the cockpit windows in a cluster of bright lines, you let yourself change focus.

You turn in your seat only to see that the jump seat is empty–Yoongi is gone. You can see him in the cabin, leaning against one of the bunks. Taking a deep breath, you let it out in a heavy sigh. 

It’s hard seeing him like this. The Yoongi you remember was quiet, but kind and gentle. So gentle that you’d had to stand up to bullies for him when you were children. There was a time when you’d tell each other everything. There had been plenty of nights when you’d sat on the roof of your building side by side, staring at the stars and dreaming of something better.

But a lot has happened in six years. You don’t blame him for the animosity, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Once again, you sigh. But then you force yourself to stand and step into the cabin. It’s quiet for a while. Yoongi doesn’t look at you as you make your way over to the galley and slide into one of the benches. Eventually, you get sick of the silence, sick of only hearing the hum of the hyperdrive all around you.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” you say quietly. “Why don’t we get the mission talk out of the way, hm? Start with that.” Then, maybe, you can get him calmer, less hostile.

He’s quiet, and you risk a glance over at him. His eyes are on the metal flooring as he chews on the inside of his cheek–a habit he’s had since he was a kid. But after a second, he pushes himself off the wall and stiffly moves to the seat across from you. Good. Progress. Progress is good.

You push your datapad across the small table so he can see the information. “We’re going to Bespin,” you explain. “To the Tibanna refineries in Cloud City. Major Kim Namjoon has been undercover there for almost a year.”

It doesn’t take long to describe the scope of the mission. Get in, get out, simple extraction. No combat anticipated, mostly just the two of you talking your way into getting Major Kim off-planet. On paper, it’s easy. In practice, you’re sure it’ll be more difficult. But there’s no way to know how things are going to go until you’re in the moment.

It doesn’t take long to explain. Yoongi has a few questions, and you’re happy to answer him. They’re simple, informative, and you get the sense that he’s testing the waters a bit. It’s a little tense, but it’s the most comfortable conversation you’ve had with him so far. 

When you’re done, he continues to look at your datapad, dark eyes scanning the mission log. He doesn’t look up when he speaks. “Where’d you go?”

You frown. You should have expected it, but the question still catches you off-guard. You know what he’s asking, know what he’s looking for, but fuck, you wish you didn’t. 

“Here and there for a few weeks,” you finally answer, playing with your fingers. “And then finally here, to the rebellion.”

He nods, and for a moment, you think he’s satisfied. But then, “Why’d you leave?”

“You know why.”

“Humor me.”

You sigh. You could walk away right now, not answer him and go back to the cockpit. You could hide behind duty and professionalism and rank. But something about you hates that idea. Yoongi was your best friend from ages six through 22. He deserves more than to be iced out. But god, did you really want to get into that blackhole now?

Finally, you settle on, “I was smothering on Fest. I had to get out.”

“You didn’t tell me.” He looks up, then, and even though his deep brown eyes don’t meet yours, you can see the hurt in them. Six years of it. And it crushes you. “You were my best friend. And you didn’t tell me you were leaving.”

“I did the best I could.” Your voice comes out shakier than you intend it to.

Yoongi stands. “You know,” he turns and makes his way over to the bunk he’s claimed, tossing his rucksack onto the floor, “there was a time I’d believe that.” He climbs into the bunk and rolls so that his back is facing you.

And with that, any hope of rekindling your friendship dies in your heart. Of course, it bothers you. So, despite everything in your soul screaming at you not to, you push.

“Why are you being such an asshole?”

“What?” His head turns so he can see you over his shoulder.

“You heard me. You’ve been nothing but an impossible, immature, impetuous asshole since you walked into your hearing. I-”

“Ever think that maybe it’s you?”

It’s a punch to the gut you weren’t expecting. You can feel the wind leave your sails. “What?”

“You’re the problem. I just want to get this mission done and get back in the field. That’s it. Just leave me alone, you don’t need to be annoying.”

You nod, despite the fact that you know he can’t see you. It’s the mess hall on Hoth all over again. Yoongi has always known how to disarm you. You used to think it was a good skill. As teenagers, you’d been able to calm each other’s tempers, keep each other grounded. But now, you aren’t sure that it’s such a good thing.

Your heart is heavy when you slip back into the co-pilot’s seat.

“We should arrive in Bespin airspace on schedule,” Tee reports, turning to you. “I’m detecting an abnormal heart rate, and your breathing is shallow. Should I begin protocol 04-”

“I’m fine, Tee.”

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okay, so like.... how do we feel about the first chapter? I'm so curious to know your thoughts! my ask box is open--feel free to shoot me a message and let me know how we're feeling.

Yoongi's poetry this part is from "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" from the musical Les Miserables.

[bodycountgame]

The way I, and i think lots of others, would devour your Hozier essay like please spare us some crumbs i beg (also Vinh my beloved......when I say that song choice has ruined me.. your mind thank you)

hahaha okay this been so hotly requested but i am incapable of coherent thoughts so please enjoy these rambling thoughts that i jotted down in the notes app while on the bus!

i feel like there is more to be said but also bus journeys are finite so i'm just doing what i can with the time i have lol. what are your thoughts??? please share with the class i Know you have opinions and i wanna hear em!

adegoke: movement

so adegoke's character playlist actually has a different hozier song on it (from eden) which i always imagined to be more from MC's perspective. 

for adegoke, i love the idea of romance like the push and pull of the ocean currents, waves meeting and breaking, a rhythm. and movement just gives me that, i guess! adegoke is also a deeply creative person and movement really gives the vibe of the lover as an inspiration, a muse, which i think would be something that he would totally relate to. as a writer, love is at the core of his work - even when it isn't the subject it is what he finds grounding. 

adegoke also loves to dance (and is an excellent dancer) so that particular expression feels so appropriate. 

arthur: angel of small death and the codeine scene 

this one is quite literal, i guess - arthur is a mean little weasel and it can be a challenge to find the sweetness in him. i think arthur defaults to an "i can make them worse" approach to romance which i think this sort of speaks to.

also his family are terrible and he often feels like a bit of a stray, i think. 

atticus: NFWMB

this one has been pulled straight from his character playlist because its just So ???????? musically it just reminds me of him but i know nothing about music so i have no idea how to articulate it - the sort of unassuming and almost casual vibe contrasted with the utter devotion in the lyrics. the emotional intensity comes from the lack of fanfare, you know?

also like. atticus loves a hair pull, sort of sexy possessive vibes and a rhetorical question so the "ain't you my baby" really hits on that level as well lmaooo 

avery: it will come back

this is another one that is already on avery's character playlist hahaha what can i say i'm a hozier bitch!

this choice is really about avery's complicated relationship with softness and intimacy, especially in a romance with MC which is Forbidden when she places such an emphasis on her professionalism. the way that she partitions different parts of her life is something of a defense for her after her difficult experiences in medicine - she's learned the hard way, she knows better, and yet she just can't help herself. i always think of avery's romance as being like a dam bursting; there's nothing for a long time until a little crack forms and then the dam breaks and everything falls apart. once she has a taste she can't be satiated, which i think this song speaks to. 

charlie - sunlight

he just can't keep away, even knowing how totally disastrous it will probably be for him, but he continues on gladly because he thinks that being that close to the sun will feel worth it even after it's burned him. he's 'death trap clad happily'. 

ellis - almost (sweet music) 

i did a deep dive into ellis' who playlist on patreon way back when and (surprise surprise) this was one of the songs that features on their playlist. this was actually one that i didn't say too much about because its just a bop, you know??? there's the lyrics about their foolish heart, but otherwise this song just screams ellis at me and i never really know why its just a warm fuzzy good vibe and that's them all over. 

florrie - take me to church 

a song thats an endictment of catholicism And fucking???? all the ingredients to make up a solid florrie song. there are a few lines that give me big florrie energy (she's the giggle at the funeral / knows everybody's disapproval / my lover's the sunlight / get something shiny) but in general i imagine florrie would fare well being worshipped, i think that's a great dynamic for her, so this is reflective of that. 

griffin - someone new 

i don't think this one really needs much explanation - griffin falls fast and hard and often. he's my romeo, and every bit as naive.

beyond that, i do think that griff is someone who doesn't believe there's a Right Way to go about things and he's quite happy to muddle through life and always seems to land on his feet - a great person to help someone really uptight unwind hahaha 

imogen - my love will never die 

of all the characters, imogen is the one who is most likely to get on her knees and beg someone to love her. 

also she loves flowers 💐 

nyra - to be alone 

this one is also pretty literal lmao i am many things but i am Not a deep thinker. she doesn't love crowds, and i think the thing that nyra would value most in a partner is having someone that she can be alone with, if that makes sense? one of those special people that you can hang out with and still have the regenerative effect of alone time. 

when we meet nyra in body count she's in the midst of a really hard time in her life - we're at a real low point for her. she doesn't really feel like a person, she feels like a zombie dragging herself from one day to the next. she needs to work through that on her own (falling in love doesn't Magically Fix People), but i think that her relationship with MC would give her a few little sparking reminders to help guide her on her way. 

rowan - jackie and wilson 

again soz this is on her character playlist hahaha! this is an absolute rowan anthem for me - she is my roman candle of the wild. i mean obviously this song is so fun and that is Very Rowan, but the "better yet, she wouldn't care" particularly speaks to me. rowan is very much someone who can meet people where they're at with grace and understanding and help to build them up. 

syd - work song 

syd was the hardest person to match a song with, weirdly, but it was the second verse that really cinched it (and I was burnin' up a fever / i didn't care much how long i lived / but i swear i thought i dreamed her / she never asked me once about the wrong i did). syd is a hard person to Date because they are a fuck up! they don't always get things right or know the right things to say or make the right gesture. that said, if someone can work through the initial challenges with them, they would be rewarded with endless devotion (albeit expressed in their own funny little way). 

vinh - in a week 

lying down and dying together in a field to be eaten by animals is peak romance to vinh lmao. in general, i think once they find Their Person it will be someone that they can feel at home and happy with regardless of the situation, and there isn't much that they wouldn't be willing to endure as long as they had that. 

[harrysonlylover]

you're right. many blogs have expressed frustration, but i don't follow those blogs. i follow you, and your posts have been all over my feed. i’m speaking up because i don’t understand. i didn’t highlight that you’re a fan and find him unattractive. i pointed the hair post out because you’ve made numerous posts about his looks, about his silence, about the people he associates with. your post on his “lost charm” was only one piece of what i listed. it’s hardly a little detail when you spam things.

your name is harrysonlylover. whether you worship the ground he walks on or you only use his name to boost your fanfic, you still have a blog called harrysonlylover that is dedicated to harry styles. you can call it what you want. what influence exactly are you hoping he has? you’ve contradicted yourself, saying you want him to speak up because he has influence, and then simultaneously followed that up with “i can assure you that a white man’s opinion who’s a singer isn’t that relevant.” his opinion matters, or it doesn’t? you want to hear he’s not a zionist? you’ve admitted you’re not even a fan of his. it’s just very confusing. why don’t you use a different celebrity’s name if you don’t like his music, his work, or him? his name isn’t doing much to boost your fanfic anyways.

I created this blog 1 and a half fucking year ago. The reason i chose this user is probably something random because as i said “let’s normalise growing out of something.” It depends on your definition of a fan. I’m not listening to his music much anymore because guess what? We grow up, explore and become into other things. This blog is personal to me because it holds memories and mutuals that i love. If you’re so wound up go ahead and unfollow me.

His opinion is irrelevant to political matters, his influence isn’t.There’s a difference. If he posts a whole ass political statement that is out of his field of knowledge then yeah that’s not relevant. But if he posts a donation link for Gaza then it matters.

Again, unfollow me because this is more about you being concerned with me. All about what i like, dislike and my posts which is quite pathetic. Why not choose a diff user? Idk my life doesn’t really depend on it. If you think that a user name is so so significant to one’s life then you’re wrong because there are users here like @harrysass or something. It’s just for the fun of it. Not everything needs to be analysed.

Don’t twist my words. I didn’t say that i don’t like his work. I said i don’t listen to his songs as much as before. Do you want to come over, make me a playlist and tell me who i should listen to? You’re so concerned with my “fan status” like what is a fan to you? Do you want me to dedicate my life to him? You don’t choose what i get to call myself. Who are you??

Again—we can give our opinions on what a person is doing even if we love them. Giving my opinion does not mean i’m sending him hate messages, bullying him or harming him. You do know that we have something called freedom of speech right? Or do you only consider someone a fan if they shut up and agree with everything he does? Because you’re obv so concerned with the fan term.

Read the sentences in italic again^

And this whole thing about him not boosting my fics— oh sorry to disappoint you but i’ll ask him to recommend my stories to everyone next time i see him.

I’m pretty sure my fics are fine. My skills and writing style exist with or without his name. If i wake up tomorrow and write something with a character called harry styles or a whole different character, that’s up to me. Or do you want to analyse that as well?

Going back to the point i made earlier to remind you that this blog is old. The user wasn’t born yesterday, i don’t wake up everyday and light a candle for him. Understand that while i don’t listen much to his music anymore, it is my choice whether i write fanfiction or not (which btw, he is nothing but a face claim. What i write is a whole other made up character but is just called Harry)

They’re also written for fun so don’t worry about boosting them because i’m not submitting them for a nyc times best seller.

This felt like an investigation so i urge you to go out, touch some grass, connect with nature and lessen your curiosity. I’ve removed my anon option because if you wish to grace me with your presence and delightful questions, do so without hiding.

[tired-reader-writer]

Okay so, ask game incoming.

Character(s) (you can choose one, if you want): Our son Arslan, Give, Isfan or our queen Farangis! (You can also do one of your OCs, if you want ☺️)

Questions: 2, 5, 14 and finally 23 for a wonderful end!

Hope you have a wonderful day!

(I have HARD Azar/Maar/Daryun/ArSen brain rott today... ugh my brain is OVERFLOWING with ideas and scenes!)

(I'm so sorry for the many options I can't decide on characters)

What an ask! Here's the original ask game post for others who might want to participate.

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

Arslan

There's a lot of things I like about him, so much that I struggle to pick a favorite. I think I'll settle on the fact that he remains kind despite everything, where other stories might've made him “disillusioned” and become more ruthless in the name of character development, I am incredibly thankful that it didn't happen to Arslan. He gets to be kind. All the strengths he gains and the growth he goes through happens to support his kindness. Parts of him aren't being taken off, he's becoming stronger so that he could be allowed to continue being kind. And I find that revolutionary especially in a historical fantasy type story like this.

Gieve

The fact that deep down he does want to believe in something good, want there to be something worth believing him. He's grown cynical due to reality but the fact that he does hope even if unbeknownst to himself does something to me. Also, the fact that he's like an onion I guess. He's got them Layers™ and unraveling those layers might or might not make you cry.

Isfan

His absolute earnestness I suppose! He's so eager, he puts 100% into things he does (like, apologizing for not being able to capture that sorcerer despite having reduced that one onto one leg, despite having fought so valiantly? boy's a perfectionist and overachiever). I find it admirable even if I can't relate in matters except art, lol.

Farangis

Her refusal to entertain Gieve's bullshi— okay, that aside, her ability to step back and see the bigger picture instead of being caught up in emotions, and thereby having the ability to gently nudge other people (especially Arslan) back on track. Also her courage because damn is she daring as fuck.

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

Arslan

• Kamado Tanjirou no Uta by Nakagawa Nami (more canon leaning)

• Untitled world by ReoNa (more Wolfpack AU leaning)

• Yakudou by Sakamoto Maaya (applies to both but also leans a taaad more towards AU if only because all those bells in the song)

(all three songs included in the playlist!)

(also I know this is technically three songs instead of one but have you considered he is my darling son?)

Gieve

There hasn't really been a song I hard-associate with Gieve just yet, I don't know why but nothing quite hits the sweet spot for me so far. If anyone's got recommendations I'd verily appreciate it!

Alternate joke answer is Yakety Sax.

Isfan

Wolf Blood by Adrian von Ziegler! It's an instrumental with no lyrics but I immediately think of him whenever I listen to it.

Farangis

I think I've said it before but Trøllabundin by Eivør always makes me think of Farangis! To add one more to that, Dance of the Spirit by Kokia.

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

Rather than assign one if the modern aesthetics bc frankly I know nothing about them, I'm just gonna take this opportunity to infodump about my character design choices. Also, my answers will be for Wolfpack AND my character design sheet stuff because why the fuck not.

Arslan

His clothes reflect the most the people around him. He's surrounded by two cultures and he combines them to express himself. In terms of silhouette I tried to make him look Solid. A solid block of friendship LOL.

Gieve

Loose, free, flowy stuff. There's always something flappy hanging from his clothes. Wind is an element I associate with him so yeah! You'll see when my design sheet of him is done.

Isfan

Clothes that fit him very well in terms of tailoring. Rather than the clothes creating a specific silhouette they adhere to the body instead if that makes sense. On the more traditional side of things. Due to geographical proximity, the regional fashion of the Gorgan region is influenced by Turanian (Mongolian) ideas.

Farangis

Flowy, but in a different way from Gieve in that it's much more well put together and tidy. I don't really know how to explain it, but I chose the clothes that I did for Farangis for a reason!

23. Favorite picture of this character?

HOO BOI HERE WE GO.

Arslan

Gieve

Isfan

Farangis

[foxtricksterwriting]

Folksaga MC; Eir

Author's Note; Eir accidentally became very soft, I meant for them to be very sarcastic bordering on being a bitch but that changed lol. Also, at the time of writing this Fritz's profile is not ready to be published yet but you can look through his pinterest board-thing if you want.

Tags: @folksaga-if

Other MCs:

Anastasius | Fritz

Name: Eir █̵̸̡̢̛̛̯̣͉̣̺̝̰͕̦͙͍̞͓̯͈̯͕̫̀́̀̀͋̐ͪ̂͒͌͋̈̀ͨ̏̿̎̆̂͌̈͐̽̈ͣ̍̊̍̀͋̐͑̓͒ͫ͛̓̚͜͢͞͠█̵̵̸̢̢̨̧̢̡̛̲̜͉̰͎͚̫̼̙̮̙̼̖̳͙̩̜̩̥̝̺̅̃ͣ̒̃̿͐̒ͩ̌̒ͫ̈̒͆͗ͬ̑͆́̑̽̅̾ͦ́̿͊ͩ̏̃ͣ̚͠͠͡͞█͎̤ͯ́ͥ̿̐̂̈█̡̦͕̘̱͉̲͈̥͈̀̀͌̍̐̔̓̍͊̋̑ͧ̓̾̎̊ͦͬ͘͡█̨̧̩̜̹͙͎̭͉̯͂ͯ̈́ͬ̔ͭ̌͌ͥ̍͝█̛̼͓̎ͧ̽ͣͥ̂͋͡█̷̱̲͖̤̫͇̼̱̰̰̤͖̺̇̒̽̒̉̑́̈ͬ̑͜͟█̸̧̪̭̭͉̹̯͎̹ͣ͛̏̀͐̂̂͝͠͡█̵̶̶̨̢̧̛̫̳͇̥̖̩͉̟̩̗̫̩̹̳̮̯̤͚̝̯͚̻̠̣͙͙̥ͨ́́ͮͧͮ̃ͭ͛̐̆ͬ̍ͪ́̅̓̈̊̍̀̿̾̚͘͢͞█̴̶̢̡̦̘̼̫͈͙̟̱̭̬͉̠͇̳̝͚͚̜̲͙̫͖̹̪͚̱̞͇͓̟̓̈́̔̃ͯ̄̿̉̃̆̏͌͛ͨ̓ͦ̓̀̒͊ͯ͊̋̈̈ͭ̃́̌̆͆ͪͮ͒̇͑ͮ̈̏͊̀ͯͨ͘͘͟͟͟͞█̪̽͊█̶̸̡͔̣̲̰͚̺̮̹̳͙̟̺̞͉̝͚̤̭̳͕̣̠̭ͫ̆̎̐͋ͫ͋ͥͦ̔ͭ͊̾̂́̓̾̀̇̿ͨ̇͗͋͂̿͡͝█̬̪̖̠̹̠̔ͫ͊ ̷̧̙̟͑̓̄ͬͩ̊ ("Huh? Oh, hello. Sorry, didn't know you were trying to talk to me.")

Alias: None

Gender + Pronouns: Agender + They/them

More About Them: Eir is a quiet person. They don't speak much, preferring to listen to what's happening around them. When they do speak it's often blunt and scathing. Despite this, they're quite soft and care deeply for everyone around them. They're sensitive and cry easily. The kind of person to cry when angry, that won't stop them from verbally tearing you down physically too if you piss them off enough.

They can be stubborn with their decisions, rarely backing down from a fight; a trait they share with Fritz. And they are vain; they're very pretty and they know it. If Eir thinks it'll help them then they'll use it to their advantage. They're not above using their body, either. Why not flaunt what they've got?

Fun Facts;

Pinterest here

Playlist there! (Been a while since I did one of those)

They are so pink lmao

I named them after the norse goddess of healing, Eir. I thought it'd be funny and a bit ironic, considering they're uh.... them.

Their hobbies are baking and ballet. They used to make candy, but that has since evolved into baking. ("Here, I've made this for you. Hope you like it ♥")

They also collect things; any thing. Eir has a shelf full of random shit they've picked up. Keys, bottle caps, rocks, nails and screws, broken jewelry, trash; nothing is safe. If they think no one wants it, it's in their pockets. ("Ah, another piece for my collection!")

Really a kleptomaniac.

These characters don't have specific ROs that they'd romance; they're more made to explore their dynamic with said ROs.

Eir's height is 5'6.5 ft or 168 cm.

Loves their coffee, and it needs to be as sweet as possible. Eir drinks so much that they often get sick from it; it's the fucking sugar. ("Ugh, I need to stop adding so much crap to my coffee....")

All of their bark-y, woody bits are birch based. I really liked the idea of it, I thought it'd be a cool design choice.

[al-ghoul]

Harringrove ambient for sleeping

So. There's these two audios youtube has decided to throw at me:

Sleeping next to Billy Hargrove (sound of rain, dude's breathing, a bit of background music in the beginning, one hour)

Sleeping next to Steve Harrington (sound of rain, very steve-sounding dude's making little noises while he sleeps, one hour)

The first one was a bit on the nose for me with his intense breathing out (I don't even like asmr to begin with), although generally nice, the second one has landed really fucking good on me but I've felt like it needs more salt.

So I've decided to put them both on at the same time. And it was really fucking good. So I've decided to suddenly learn me some audio editing.

I've combined both of those audios into one, as they were, not changing anything, (can be found here, on google drive, 149.5 Mb), for more convenient listening than youtube, (the original author, Celeste, is a literal god, please like both of their videos if you're gonna use my edits).

It turned out nicely, but then I've decided that it needs to be LONGER and with MORE MUSIC, and some fiddling with Steve's track (flipped left/right channels for him so the overall combined rain could become more 3d). Six hours later it looked like this:

I put the music track at the very low volume, with some reverb, so it would sound like it's in another room, quite closely resembling music in the Hargrove audio, so there's no difference to be noticed at the change.

The playlist choice is a bit anachronistic (not everything is 80's) but for me it all worked quite well together:

Billy Idol - Rebel Yell

Bon Jovi - You Give Love A Bad Name

Warrant - Cherry Pie

Motley Crue - Girls, Girls, Girls

Journey - Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)

W.A.S.P. - Sleeping (In The Fire)

Van Halen - Little Dreamer

Def Leppard - It Don't Matter

Ocean Jet - Into The Storm

In This Moment - Fly Like An Eagle

Ray Adler - Crown Of Thorns

Chris Rea - Road To Hell, Pt.II

Billy Joel - A Matter Of Trust

Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band - No Man's Land

Judas Priest - Night Comes Down

Billy Idol - Rebel Yell

Bon Jovi - You Give Love A Bad Name

Кино - Кончится Лето

Atrocity - Cold Black Days

Paradise Lost - Small Town Boy

Lucifer - Pacific Blues

Whitesnake - Is This Love

The Kinks - I'm Not Like Everybody Else

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club - Beat The Devil's Tattoo

Chris Stapleton - Nothing Else Matters

BOA - Duvet

I've left some twenty minutes in the end without any music, but if you're not already sleeping by now it probably won't help much.

The whole thing lasts for 2 hours 8 minutes, the file is about 294 Mb big.

DOWNLOAD HERE (google drive)

My eternal thanks to the Celeste of Youtube for compiling the originals.

I hope y'all sleep well tonight.

[lindszeppelin]

Hello everyone, Happy New Years!! I hope that 2023 is the year for everyone's wishes, dreams, and accomplishments to manifest. These past few years for myself have been quite stressful and it's not something I talk about on social media, so without knowing it you've all helped to make 2022 bearable for me.

I've been on Tumblr for so long that I should receive some kind of senior discount. Out of all the fandom's i've been apart of, the Austin/Elvis community is one of the friendliest groups i've seen. And it was one that I didn't expect to join at all.

July 9th, the day after my birthday, was when I went into the theaters with my parents to watch the Elvis movie. I had no clue who Austin Butler was. I knew who Elvis was, but I wasn't a big fan. I was keen to see what things I could learn about him, and maybe gain a different perspective and newfound appreciation. Well, upon minute one of watching the movie and exiting the theater I was a changed person.

I was quite literally obsessed with Elvis and I learned everything about him. Falling down the rabbit hole is putting it mildly lol. And then, this sweet blonde blue eyed man came along for the ride with me. To say that Austin changed my life is a massive understatement. I don't know what I would do without those two men. They're forever interwoven into my life.

NOW...onto the parts that are extra fun :) because why the fuck not!

Music is something i'm extremely passionate about. It honestly should be an official love language because im a professional mixtape maker lol. Since the summertime i've been compiling a playlist of songs specifically for Austin that fit his vibe, and that I think he'd enjoy (if he isn't aware of the songs already). The playlist itself is already linked in my profile, but I wanted to share my top 10 choices for the man himself! He's the best muse i've had in a long time :)

Incubus: Echo

Gary Clark Jr: I Don't Owe You a Thing

Royal Blood: Figure It Out

The Pretty Reckless: Absolution

S. Carey: Have You Stopped to Notice?

Al Green: Let's Stay Together

Beach House: Myth

Mac Miller: Dang!

Tame Impala: The Less I Know the Better

Guitar Song (Demo): Frou Frou

There's been way too many videos of Austin that I watched in 2022. Like...my YouTube history is filled with nothing but him lol. So, I thought i'd compile a list of my top 10 favorite moments of Austin this year. There's a wide variety for everybody, and for some reason incase you haven't seen some of these, you're welcome ;)

Austin's Actors on Actors with Janelle Monae

Austin on SNL as Grandma Lois (Jewish Elvis skit)

Austin on Jimmy Fallon

Austin for Esquire (on his fashion)

Austin for GQ (10 things he can't live without)

Austin at Graceland for Access

Austin for HBO MAX (how he transformed into Elvis)

Austin's "Firsts"

Austin with Baz (I call this one the "manspreading, sleepy, sexy Austin interview lol)

Austin for Deadline

MISC EXTRA VIDS (really short ones)

Austin being super bashful in Japan

Austin posing for the camera at Cannes

Austin eating Elvis's sandwich in Graceland

Austin at the Governor's Awards

And last but certainly not least, all of these lovely people i've grown to love over the last half of 2022, and I can't thank all of you enough for the friendship and heartwarming laughs you've provided me! If you aren't following them already, please do ♥

@powerofelvis @cryingabtab @ab4eva @infatuatedharleys @areacodefan @star-shard @purejasmine @avengen @elvisabutler @burninlovebutlerr @samfangirls @p-oolshark @pearlparty @plasticfantasticl0ver @troubleinapinksuit @imperialmarchingthroughthegalaxy @karamelcoveredolicity @floralcyanide @foreverdolly @blurredcolour @lovininapinkcadillac @lllsaslll @powerofelvis @aconflagrationofmyown @mymamalife @stargiirl27 @ash-omalley @loving-elvis @presleyonfilm @fantuhsise @she-is-juniper @elvisstyles @butlerstyles @missmaywemeetagain @bisexualwvtson @succsessions @sapphirescripts @carnevol @if-i-can-dream-of-elvis @mamaspresley

Love you all, and see you in 2023!

[the-force-awakens]

For the fic asks, 5, 29 for your Poe/Volya fics, and 37

!!! Ah, thank you!! *rubs my hands together gleefully* my time to shine, I love talking about these two

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about [insert fic]? Answer it now!

I feel like every single question I've ever wanted to be asked about Poe and Volya just like - flew right out of my head, lol. I contemplated something about their Force connection but I don't actually think I've included it yet in any of the fics I've posted to ao3, so I'm gonna go with something involving the "bad au" once again, cos it's something that jumped out to me when I was reading the tlj era fics back to back: the difference in when Poe and Volya both think something's changed between them, and why.

In my hand was the one you reached for, Poe mentions in his internal dialogue that something changed between them aboard the Raddus (which I think is reinforced in an earlier one-shot that @dameronalone wrote) during the events of tlj, but in the fic that's pretty much a direct sequel to that, if we got nothing we got us, which takes place from Volya's POV, she thinks that their relationship shifted after he made it back from Jakku and the Finalizer.

And I think that makes a lot of sense, 'cos although we definitely haven't touched on that specific era yet from Volya's POV yet, the days Poe is missing absolutely are what makes Voy in this verse realize just how much she loves him and just what she's been risking trying to hide that. Unfortunately, her crash course in "fuck I can't lose him, I love him too much for that and he doesn't even know it" gets a follow-up grade in tlj when they get put on separate transports during the evac to Crait....cos I'm. extremely evil.

And then of course, for Poe - they haven't really had the time to *stop* since he got back, until the Raddus, for better or worse (but mostly for worse), so I think that's the first stretch of time that he's actually had where he can notice something has changed for Volya that makes her a lot more open with her feelings than before, and ergo that their relationship has shifted because of it.

29. What songs would be (or are) on a playlist for [insert fic]? Explain your choices if you want!

I mean I have a couple of generalized poelya playlists already to be quite honest - their regular one, and one specifically for the aforementioned bad au. And one somewhere that's specifically songs I think Volya would put in a playlist that remind her of Poe.

But.....the two songs that are just simply put the most Volya/Poe to me, to the point that they could really fit any fic I've written for them, is About Love by Marina and Storm by Ruelle. Their relationship is (obviously) very much inspired by my big ole feelings for Poe, so Poe's pretty much the first/only person Volya's also had big ole feelings for, and I think these songs really capture the "oh shit this is my one exception and oh man what do i do with all these FEELINGS" that Volya constantly feels around him:

… Started in the strangest way Didn't see it coming Swept up in your hurricane Wouldn't give it up for nothing Now I'm all caught up in the highs and the lows It's a shock to my system I don't wanna run away so I stay [About Love]

&

I am caught off guard by you Like a wave I'm pulled into It's a feeling I can't fight Like a wildfire deep inside You're taking my heart by storm I'm lost in your love (lost in your love) I can't hold back any more I'm lost in your love (lost in your love) [Storm]

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

Okay, my first thought was not actually a Star Wars fic - although there's definitely some fics of mine there that I wish got more traction, and it'd be nice if my poelya ones got a leetol more attention but I'm also not terribly bothered by that because hey I'm writing for myself and my friends and it's fun - it was a crossover Spidey/Moon Knight fic that I wrote in 2022.

Just...maybe not the crossover you were expecting. I had finished replaying Spider-Man PS4, I think, and I was like....this would work really well for a crossover with Moon Knight. It ended up being a blend of the television show and the early Mackay run before I quit reading. It definitely got a little bit of attention, but mostly just of folks wanting a continuation, which I had no plans for. But it's definitely still one of my favorite fics I've written - writing for Peter really is just so much fun.

fic writer asks?

[devilbrakers]

🍫💚🍰🥡 for venus/johnny and gray/dante (or/and dmitri and vergil if you want 👀) <3

i owe u my life

venus/johnny:

🍫 Who is more likely to steal the other's clothes? What are their favorite items to steal?

Venus is definitely more likely to do this, and it's also canon given everything he gives you in game jfdslfj. But I think once he gets a body, she definitely keeps up with that and steals whatever catches her eye 😭 shirts and jewelry mainly but nothing is off limits. But she's partial to that Samurai tank-top since she likes to sleep in it pretty often.

💚 Which one is more kind-hearted and who angers easily first?

LOLLLLLLLLLL. I would say Venus is more kind-hearted and Johnny angers quickly. But they're both fairly temperamental people but also working on themselves so I can't rag on them too much </3

🍰 What is 'their song'? Officially or unofficially.

rx queen by deftones >:)))

🥡 What does a relaxing night in look like for them?

I think being with the aldecaldos can be exhausting as it is thrilling so to wind down, they often sit around the fire, sharing drinks and shooting the shit with other members. But alone time is also important so they'll eventually retire to their tent, jamming out and talking about whatever or fucking before they go to bed.

gray/dante:

🍫 Who is more likely to steal the other's clothes? What are their favorite items to steal?

answered here but it's gray fjdsklf

💚 Which one is more kind-hearted and who angers easily first?

I would say Dante is more kind-hearted, not to say Gray isn't kind but they're a bit more jaded for lack of better wording. Depending on the point in their life, they're less likely to help people for the sake of it like Dante often does. Gray's quicker to get angry since they're quite emotional and can be reactive at times.

🍰 What is 'their song'? Officially or unofficially.

all or nothing by theory of deadman. i'm a sucker for sappy dad rock which shows on their playlist 😔

🥡 What does a relaxing night in look like for them?

Relatively simple! Their lives are often filled with chaos and danger so taking a chance to just chill and order in (probably pizza) is always welcome. I imagine they'd probably watch some cheesy action movies that Gray's already been subjected to many times both by him and Miko in the past jfkldsjfk.

dmitri/vergil:

🍫 Who is more likely to steal the other's clothes? What are their favorite items to steal?

While he wouldn't do it often, Dmitri is definitely more likely to steal from Vergil. I can see him stealing his jacket here and there, either to get on his nerves or just for shits and giggles. But I can't see Vergil minding all that much anyway fdjskfl

💚 Which one is more kind-hearted and who angers easily first?

Dmitri is more kind-hearted, I would say. As much as he likes to present himself as insufferable and selfish, Dmitri does like to help people especially those close to him. He's got a soft heart overall. I would say Vergil is quicker to anger as Dmitri doesn't tend to get angry all that often. In my opinion, it's probably not all that difficult to grate on Vergil's nerves but he's tolerant to a degree unless you're Dante 😭.

🍰 What is 'their song'? Officially or unofficially.

Monster by STARSET

🥡 What does a relaxing night in look like for them?

A nice, candlelit night in Dmitri's apartment above his shop, I think! Probably reading and drinking wine or Vergil's beverage of choice. I think they'd take turns reading to each other as well, talking about everything they've read recently and what reminds them of the other, etc etc. I think it'd be a nice escape for Vergil with everything he's been through and probably still has to deal with.

[positivelybeastly]

hi! I'm the anon who sent the icebeast playlist ask. It was actually nice to get some actual context on what's been going on with Bobby and Hank to get them to this point- I'm reading chronologically right now and I'm still in the 60s, (though I have read some more scattered modern runs here and there) so my knowledge is limited. I love both characters quite a lot but i can definitely see why you're upset on Hank's behalf in those interactions :( . I'm not gonna defend Bobby here, because while even with my limited knowledge I can piece together some reasons for why Bobby responded the way he did and fucked that conversation up, there's no justification and he definitely needs to make it up to Hank. Thanks again for the context, I really and truly love seeing nuanced takes on character dynamics and sometimes that nuance gets messy when it comes to looking at what actually happened in the text as opposed to what one might have preferred to happen.

Oh, hey, hello there!

First off, I want to say - if anyone has a meme prompt that they want to send in, like this playlist meme, but they don't have an RP blog, you're still good to send things in on Anon! That's what Anon is for, precisely because you, my Anonymous friend, sent in the playlist ask, and now it's opened up a whole conversation and people are learning more about comic book characters who, let's face it, have SO MUCH history. SO MUCH.

Being able to just get the highlights or even an attempt at a throughline makes such a difference, honestly - it gives you a coherent story where you can go, okay, I want to see more of THAT, and that's when you can just go, hey, where can I read more of this storyline or this writing style or this character. Comics are so much more legible and easy to break into when you can pick a character or a dynamic or a storyline, and just go from there. It's still a massive problem, all these years on, and Marvel and DC don't make it easy with their confusing numbering systems and constant retcons.

With that said . . . hoo, you're starting off in the 60s? I am. Kinda sorry, friend, that is a rough time, I can only do so much Lee/Kirby X-Men before I just start breaking out into hives. When you get into the early 70s, and especially when Claremont takes over, though, man, you're in for a treat!

And it's also - I feel like it's really important for me to state my biases, because I am biased. I love Hank. I write him a lot. I've read . . . probably the lion's share of his comics. He's kind of a personal inspiration, in some ways, and he was really influential to me when I was a kid due to various body related issues.

So I'm inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, and I maybe tend to side with him by default, but that's usually why I include the panels when I talk about these things, so that you can see them and have your own take on it, so you can see why I came to that interpretation. There's nothing I hate more than comic book fans who will tell you how a storyline or a character goes, and their back-up for it is, that's the way I remember it, and then you go and read it and it's completely fuckin' different. Fucking annoys the piss out of me.

And I want people to feel like they can argue with me! I love talking about messy character dynamics, and character who fuck up and make bad choices, because that's how life is and how people are, that's how I am and how you are. Especially since I know what and why Hank was feeling in a particular moment, why he needed Bobby so much and Bobby let him down, but I don't know where that sits in Bobby's story. Maybe I'm being harsher on him than I should be, and I welcome that discussion, that's a conversation worth having!

If I wasn't open to interpretation of these characters by other people, I would solely write fanfic - and, to be fair, I do - but I mostly roleplay, because I love the windows into the soul. I love the moments when characters click or don't, because it reveals essential truths, it hits you in the gut, it's fucking satisfying, man.

And honestly, there's so much about Hank's story that I wish had gone differently. So many character dynamics that have fallen by the wayside, that made them better - remember when Hank and Emma used to be best friends? Yeah! That used to be a thing! So getting to play that out here, with friends and talented roleplayers and talented roleplayer friends (lbr, these three things are the same thing) is just a joy.

Thank you for the asks, friend!