#props to whoever read until the end

[screampied]

Needy reader x Sukuna? Where she's been being bratty cause he's been busy, and he needs to put her in her place? Orgasm denial until he felt the reader learned her lesson? I FEEL LIKE IT WOULD BE SO HOT

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ TEASE ME, PLEASE ME ! ’﹒⺡— SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

☰ warnings. fem! reader, modern au, brat taming, unprotected, ōrgasm denial/edging, doggy, dirty talk, praise, dumbification, mdni.

an. yes

you were annoyed, to say the least.

all you knew was that you wanted more, more of sukuna. yet you had to be a good girl and wait. it irritated you, the simple fact that he was on the phone. as he’s talking, holding the phone right up against his ear, you drag your feet towards him, propping yourself down right on his lap.

“tch,” he mutters, cutting off from his words before pulling you close towards him. you lean into his touch. falling back against his chest, a hand then grabs onto your thigh. “sit still,” he says, almost reading your mind. knowing you, you’d do the entire opposite, which you certainly end up doing. sukuna lowly grunts, feeling you jerk your hip right up against his sweats, specifically against his bulge.

he’s been on the phone for how many hours—you lost count. but you were aroused, just his smell was enough to get you off. to have your panties coated in nothing but your own pathetic wetness.

“yeah, ‘m listenin' yeah,” sukuna rasps, tilting his head towards the right, trying to focus back on the topic. due to you messing with him, his mind was anywhere but the current discussion at hand. knowing that made you smile, giggle aloud and all. albeit, sukuna overheard and he’s sending you straight daggers near the back of your skull. he breaks away, lowering his tone before retorting, “glad ya think this is funny. jus’ wait ‘till ‘m done with this call, little girl.”

his voice only makes you more excited between your legs, you were indeed a brat. never taking him serious…

one of the many things he found annoying about you. how you were always giving him sass and back talk, yet he also found that trait about you partially amusing.

mainly due to the fact in how he’d always be able to put you right back into your place. like today.

he clenches his jaw, feeling you grind up your ass against him. sukuna groans, getting hard from something as facile as this. he tells you one thing, and you just do the exact opposite.

“get off the phone, ‘kuna,” you’d moan, pitching your voice a tad bit - purposely making your voice loud for whoever on the other end of the line to hear. “i want you.”

“i told ya to wait,” he snarls, and you let off a gasp once he starts to bounce his thigh. propped up on his right thigh, your moans started to get a bit whiney, nails digging right into his pants leg. leaning back against his chest, you teasingly try to reach into his sweats before he smacks your hand. “don’t try me. be a good girl ‘n wait.”

“you t-take so longgg,” you’d babble, practically grinding on his leg by now. the sheer fabric ghosting against your panties felt good, but it wasn’t enough. you wanted more, you needed more. to be stretched out, stuffed entirely full, it was all you ever wanted. “fuck me, ‘kuna.”

sukuna clicks his tongue, you were already testing his patience.

speaking of patience, it was running thin. very.

“sorry, sorry. i’m here,” he grumbles, and the bouncing of his thigh only gets more intense. you moaned, feeling yourself throb before hiding your face into his neck. it felt good, but the stimulation wasn’t enough. you wanted more and he knew it too. the way your breathing patterns gradually changed. “yeah, my uh .. pet’s bothering me. keep talking.”

it seemed like his phone call lasted forever, yet that’s when you ended up cumming right on sukuna’s thigh. your legs shook violently as it was so unexpected.

it made you spasm, and you were quite loud too. it was apparent whoever was on the other line heard you. sukuna’s jaw clenched, and you throbbed once you slowly look up to see him glaring straight down at you.

“fuckin’ brat,” he grouses, and he hangs up the phone, mindlessly tossing it elsewhere. you have a near smug grin spreading on your face, but it all changes once sukuna shoves you off his lap to instead bend you flat over his desk. “spoiled little girl. told you to wait ‘n you can’t even do that?”

“s-sorry, ‘kun—”

“girl shut the fuck up ‘n bend over for me.”

you grow quiet, not even asking questions.

he found it pathetic how you were so quick to arch your back. so willing, you moaned — feeling a rough hand kiss against your ass, the sting…

it made you bite down on your lip before you hear a bit of shuffling from his sweats. right after giving your rear with a spank, he caresses it lovingly to make you feel each individual nerve.

“this what you really want, huh? for me to be mean ‘n bend you over like this, princess?” he rasps. you let off a soft moan, feeling sukuna’s sharp nails softly run against your skin.

“y-yesss.”

“dumb girl, ya weren’t supposed to answer.”

whilst you were bent over the desk, sukuna doesn’t waste any time to make his way inside of you. you wanted him so bad.

you wanted far more than just his boring thigh. just imagining his thick cock easing its way inside of you, it had your head spinning.

he had so much girth, you’re salivating at the pure image of feeling him stretch you out like he always does. holding your hips up so he could bounce you on his cock — all until you’re just stupid fit him. eyes rolled back, tongue lolled out, his ultimate favorite descriptors.

“such lazy posture, can’t even bend for me right, tch.” and he’s clearly mocking you.

mocking you with how you tried to sit up a bit but he makes you lean down further. your breathing hitched once sukuna brings his tip towards your slick, puckering entrance. he groans, watching the way how you’re trying to quickly swallow him.

it amuses him, you amuse him.

you swallow thickly, feeling him grab both of your wrists back. he holds onto them with one hand, another gripped around his length. “s-sukuuu,” you slurred out, feeling his plump tip brush up against your slit. the strings of your own mess voluntarily coating his dick just from a few love taps, it makes him insanely feral.

sukuna likes studying you like this, from behind more specifically. the way your muscles would retract. the perfect position to see your ass go back against him, the recoil.

he loved the recoil.

“want attention, i’ll give you attention, girl.”

you’re completely speechless the moment he gradually goes inside, showing somewhat of a decent courtesy at helping you adjust to him. yet once you’re all good. and …oh, he’s vigorous.

drilling his hips into you with such power, babbles run out of your mouth and your head’s nearly being shoved against the multiple scatted papers on his desk.

“mhm,” he grunts, gifting your ass with another rude spank. you were so warm from the inside, one of his favorite things to feel.

the way you gripped down on him, clamping and clamping. a cluster of nerves made your body feel like it was on cloud nine. his thrusts had you were making the most stupidest sounds, over and over. “shame. all it takes to shut ya up is to bend you over.”

“s-shut uppp, sukuna.” you whined, still having a bit of brat left within you.

he rolls his eyes, and with a sharp smack against his hips. it makes you eat your words. “never know when to quit, huh? bet me bein' this deep in you makes you soaked,” and he leans up close to you—your ass was pressed right up against him and he’s buried all the way in. a hand wraps around your neck softly, a thumb stroking the passageway of your throat before he whispers lowly into your ear. “soaked for me like some slut.”

“i’d be more wet if you knew how to f-fuck me right, suku—”

he doesn’t even let you finish your sentence, you definitely struck a nerve. although, all sukuna does is snicker. he admires your . . brattiness.

“can’t stand that nasty fuckin’ mouth of yours,” he grunts, and his pace quickens. his dick reaches everywhere to have you spasm.

you’re whimpering out his name repeatedly as if it’s some sort of mantra. until it’s the only word your brain could comprehend.

he’s ruthlessly driving his hips into you so good, it leaves your maw hanging, a bit of drool running past your lips.

it was a sight, you were a bit filthy. actually, a bit was probably nothing more than a pure understatement though.

you were practically being rammed against the wooden desk, the constant jerks and screeches the furniture sang in harmony rang throughout your ears.

“f-fuckkk, ‘kuna,” you’d whimper, feeling his cock tap right against that particular spot. it sent a bunch of nerves to coarse all throughout your veins. you were nearly limp, feeling yourself start to grow warm all over your body. “think ‘m close, ‘m gonna c-cum, sukuna.”

“i don’t let brats cum on me, little girl,” sukuna replies in a husky tone. it makes you pulse — it was pathetic, him muttering a few words in that deep voice was enough to have you soaked. “besides, ya don’t even deserve it anyway.”

the biggest pout goes against your lips, and you furrow your eyebrows as you feel his hips pivot deeper into you. the angle he’s got, it’s got you sent into a complete frenzy. his rounded tip kisses against your sweet spot numerous times before you let off a soft squeak. “y-yes, yes i do. please.”

“oh, you think you do? after the little shit you pulled?” and he sounds amused more than anything. the sudden rasp in his tone makes you wet, you’re casually bent over with the most cutest arch possible. “i beg to differ, baby. you interrupted my phone call just so i can fuck you.”

completely ignoring his comment, you whimper out a sweet, “s-sukuna, please. wanna c-cum, please.”

“awww,” he purrs, and he starts to jackhammer his cock into you. it leaves you dumbfounded, your mouth open and you’re struggling on what to register in your empty little brain. your pussy squelched as a response, squelch after squelch it started to sound more like a harmony. a lewd harmony. “you wanna c-cum?”

he mocks your stutter and you pout for probably the umpteenth time. sukuna purposely butches your voice, and with the way he rolls his hips into you—you’re captured in a trance.

his cock was so thick, dragging all throughout your walls to where you’re a babbling mess. “yes, wanna cum. please ‘kuna. ‘m c-cumming.”

“no, you’re not.” he huffs out, and you let off a whine once he prods again and against your most sensitive spots. his cock roamed everywhere, he knew just the right areas to reach, to torment, to toy with.

your mouth suddenly grew dry, being denied like that — it had your heart racing. “what you’re gonna do is, you’re gonna be a good girl ‘n wait some more.”

“but s-sukuna.”

“but- but, yeahhh,” he snickers, chuckling at the way he mimicked your whiney state. he was so mean, yet it never failed to make you drenched between your thighs nonetheless. you were hungry for more, panting and heaving all throughout. although, sukuna ends up pulling out abruptly.

you’re still catching your breath, laid flat over the desk, wriggling your ass in confusion as to why he suddenly pulled his shaft out of you. you frowned, now clenching over nothing.

“w-what happened?”

“i’ll tell ya what happened,” sukuna mutters, and he gets right up close towards you. he gets behind your ear, and you let off a moan once he brings a hand between your legs, softly stroking near your swollen pulsating entrance. “i’m finished.”

you furrow your eyebrows, yet moan once he starts to slip a finger inside of your folds — softly giving you a few sweet strokes. “h-huhh? but you didn’t-”

“i’m done,” he repeats, and the curse kisses the side of your forehead. “no brat’s gonna disrespect me. but hey, you can always be a big girl ‘n finish yourself off.”

you whined, definitely not wanting to do that at all when he was right here. you moan, uttering out a needy, “but sukuna…” only for him to turn your head towards him — leaving a sweet and sloppy kiss planted right on your lips. the second he pulls away, he smacks your ass before leaving.

“no buts, finish yourself off. come call me when you’re done being a brat, princess.”

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter VII - Fill Me With Love

Summary: After catching sight of you several times being a sweetheart towards different children, Aemond wishes for a babe of his own, to finally take a step further into growing your family, and he is hells bent on doing it tonight.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 3,8k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece); smut, so minors DNI; oral sex (female receiving); p in v sex; fingering; switch!Aemond (in this chapter he is truly dom!Aemond); breeding kink

Notes: Okay, this was kind of rushed, but it is because I’m about to go on a trip until the new year and I didn’t want to end the year without updating this story. So here it! Please let me know what you think!!

Anyway, as always, if you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I’ll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. Happy holidays, and I’ll see you all next year! Enjoy!

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It was driving him mad. Absolutely downright insane. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

In all his years living inside the Red Keep in King’s Landing, Aemond had never realized how many children inhabited the castle along with everyone else. Most of the time the children, especially the babes, were kept separated from court, and even when the older ones did attend, they remained quiet because, as his mother had once told him many years ago, ‘children were meant to be seen, not heard’. 

Even then, he didn’t typically interact with most of the kids. Sure, he enjoyed the company of his sister’s children, Jaehaera in particular, but other than that he did not really speak to other people below adolescence. What he didn’t account for was how much you seemed to spend your time with children.

Everywhere he went you seemed to have a child not too far from you; either a babe in your arms, a toddler propped on your hip or a child clinging to your skirts, you seemed to attract every child in the vicinity. When you weren’t helping Rhaenyra with Visenya, cradling her close to your chest, you were teaching Aegon and Viserys how to bond with their dragons. You even started spending time with Helaena’s children; more than once he caught you in her chambers, playing with Jaehaerys or brushing Jaehaera’s hair, or bouncing Maelor in your arms. Sometimes he even saw you interacting with one of the servants’ children, giving them your undivided attention.   

The most unexpected for him, however, was what the sight of you with a child, whoever they were, made him feel. Anytime Aemond would lay eyes on you laughing and making silly faces towards a child, or consoling a crying infant his heart clenched and something in his stomach twisted. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, couldn’t properly give this feeling a name, until the day he caught you bouncing Visenya in your arms, humming under your breath. A lullaby, he recognized, one his own mother used to sing to him many years ago. That’s when it hit him fullforce, the meaning behind the heat pooling low in his stomach. spreading to his chest, crawling up his neck and warming his cheeks. 

He was horny. 

Aemond was honestly taken aback by how turned on the thought of you with a child, more specifically, with his child made him feel. He felt his cock twitch at the image his mind conjured: you, carrying his child in your womb, stomach swollen and heavy. As your hums gave way to words, outright singing to your sister now, the image changed, now another child, a toddler, a mop of white hair atop their head and eyes so much like yours, sprawled at your side on a bench, head on your lap as you read to both them and the child still inside you, book propped on your prominent bump. The strength of the pleasure brought to him by the thought was so great he had to lean against the nearest wall in order not to fall over.

The two of you had been married for over a moon already and his seed had yet to take root, as the ladies in court insisted on reminding you, much to your visible displeasure. It wasn’t for lack of trying though, oh no, but sometimes these types of things take time, as Rheanyra reminded you once. But even her words could not prevent the disappointment that had taken over you once your moonsblood arrived a little over a sennight after the wedding. Aemond had never seen you this disappointed before, not even when your mother had scolded you after finding out you had kicked Aegon years before (even though he very much deserved it), and you had spent the rest of the day in quiet solitude. He had eventually found you sulking in the Keep’s library, thumbing at a book he knew you had already read, having skipped supper.

“Wife.” he had greeted “You were missed at dinner.”  

“I am not hungry.” you pouted, and had you not been thoroughly upset, he would have found it charming.

Sighing, he had taken a seat next to you, gently grabbing one of your hands and pulling it towards his lips. 

“We can try again.” he laid a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“I know. I just-” it was your turn to sigh then “I was just so hopeful.”

“I know. As was I.” his thumb started caressing the back of your hand “But we keep trying. We do not stop trying until I have fucked my seed so far into your womb it has no other choice but to take root.”

You chuckled at his antics, growing flustered at his crass words.

“And besides,” he placed a short yet hungry kiss upon your lips “it is not like the ‘trying’ part is displeasurable for either of us, if my memory serves me right. You were actually quite…” he mockingly paused, pretending to look for the right word “vocal about it last night.”

Although your cheeks were flaming with embarrassment, you had kissed him fiercely in return, not necessarily disagreeing with him. He then proceeded to take you right there in the library, with you bent over the hardwood table, the book you had been previously reading long forgotten. Aemond was sure grandmaester Orwyle had entered the room at some point but he couldn’t bring himself to care a single bit, too distracted by his cock nestled upon the damp warmth of your cunt.  

At the time he hadn’t realized how much the thought of you carrying his child impacted him, but now? It was all he could think about. It was a raw, almost primal need, one which set his blood aflame, like dragon fire. He wanted, no, needed it. At the same time, a softness enveloped him when such thoughts arose in his mind, him caressing your swollen stomach and whispering sweet nothings to your, his, unborn child; sleeping on his back with a tiny babe sprawled on his naked chest, right over his heart, one of his large palms over their back, covering the entirety of their little body and protecting them from the dangers of the world. 

It all came to a head one afternoon, his sparring session with Ser Criston running later than he predicted, causing him to miss lunch with you. So he set out to find you, intent on making up for his mistake, but he couldn’t find you anywhere inside the palace. After inquiring about your whereabouts to some of the servants they pointed him in the direction of the gardens. And the sight that greeted him almost knocked him off his feet.

You were sitting under the weirwood tree, your back against the harsh bark, Helaena slumped against the tree next to you, deep in slumber. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera laid at your side, both with a head laying against each of your thighs, while you cradled baby Maelor with one arm against your chest. Your free hand was interwoven in his niece’s soft locks, caressing her scalp. For a moment he figured all three children, like their mother, were asleep in your lap, and although that seemed to be the case for both his nephews, he soon heard Jaehaera’s soft, tiny voice speak up to you, her eyelids heavy and droopy.

“I ran into Lady Baratheon after tea.” she said “Me and brother were running in the halls and I bumped into her legs.” 

Aemond watched as your lips curled into a smirk, picturing the two children running around and causing mischief, much like the two of you once did in your youth.

“And what did she say?” you questioned.

“She went” and the little girl produced a scoffing sound, almost ridiculous coming from her “and said we should not be running, that we could hurt someone.”

It was your turn to scoff then, as if the notion that two small children could hurt a grown adult was ludicrous. 

“She looked angry and said I should stop behaving like that, that it was too un… unla…”

“Unladylike?” you supplied for her, your smirk no longer present, a gloom look crossing over your features.

“Yes, that!” she giggled, then her expression turned slightly sour “She said it is no wonder I am so q… qu…” 

“Queer?” you gritted out.

“Yes, that I am queer just like my mother.”

Aemond felt his blood boiling in his veins at the jab directed not only at his niece, but also at his sister. It was true that Helaena was different, had always been, but it never ceased to enrage him how the people, and mostly, the women on court would treat her. The younger ones would exclude her from their endeavors at best, and at worst they would pretend to be interested in her and then proceed to whisper foul things about her behind her back. The older ladies would often treat her like a child, infantilizing her and speaking to her in a sickeningly sweet and paused tone that he knew she loathed. It was one of the reasons he was so thankful for the way you treated his sister; unlike his mother, who pretended nothing was different about her, you acknowledged it and embraced Helaena’s differences, the things that make her who she is. He was glad that Helaena found a dear friend in you, not failing to notice that since your arrival at the Keep she had been visibly more relaxed and less lonely.

“Jaehaera.” he had barely noticed that your fingers had stilled their movement in her hair or that your expression had hardened “You know what you should do next time Lady Baratheon, or anyone for that matter, says something like that about you or your mother?” 

“What?”

Your previous smirk returned to your features then, mischief swimming in your eyes.

“You kick them in the shin.” you shook your head “Or better yet, you call for me and I will do it for you, that way you will not get in trouble.”

For a single, brief moment, Aemond could have sworn his heart ceased beating, were it not for the loud ringing in his ears. Warmth spread through his body, starting from his chest and travelling up his neck, to his cheeks heating up the tip of his ears, all the while that same blood boiled in his veins, traveling down and making his cock twitch.

For a fleeting moment he felt lousy for the reaction such a tender moment between you, his wife, and his beloved niece arose in him, but the feeling was brief, for the very next moment he was rushing to your shared chambers, like a man on a mission.

He was hells bent on getting you with child that very day, and the Seven be damned if they didn’t give him what he wanted.

Your afternoon spent with your good sister and her children left you feeling refreshed, regardless of the foul feeling your conversation with Jaehaera elicited in you. If you were being quite honest, some of the women in court irked you, always meddling into other people’s business and treating others, including those of higher stations than them, as if lesser than. Lady Cassandra Baratheon was one of those women, so you didn’t feel a single drop of remorse about the advice you had given to your cousin, now niece.

The only thing about your day that had not been so enjoyable was the fact that your lord husband had skipped lunch. It wasn’t so much that his absence itself bothered you, although you did enjoy spending time in his company, it was just that at times he got so in his head that he often forgot to take care of himself. A few hours into the afternoon you had thought you had caught a glimpse of him in the outskirts of the garden but where you were expecting him to join the lot of you, he had completely vanished by the time you properly glanced his way. 

That was over a half hour ago, where you now strided towards your chambers to clean up for supper.

Or that would have been your plan, had you not been surprised by a warm body practically colliding into you the moment you crossed the threshold, one large hand tangling in your hair and the other snaking around your waist. Lips captured your own in a hungry, messy kiss, teeth clashing and a warm tongue brushing over your bottom lip and into your mouth.

“Ābrazȳrys, finally.” he moaned, pulling back only a fraction, just enough to look at you for a moment before connecting your lips again.

“V-Valzȳrys…” you tried speaking as he pulled you further into the room and pressed you even more against himself, closing the door behind you, but his kiss was relentless, his lips moving to your jaw and down your neck, titling your head to give him better access to your skin. 

It was then that you noticed the state of him: his hair down, a few messy strands out of place, the first few buttons of his doublet undone and something hard was poking your navel. Pulling back a bit, as much as his grip on you would allow, you noticed that his breeches were unlaced and pulled down slightly, his cock out, hard and glistening, which told you he had been tugging at it for at least a while now.

He pulled you back in, mouth latching against your shoulder as he sucked and nibbled on the skin.

“Aem…” it was when you felt his hands moving to your back, clawing at the laces of your dress, that you pulled back and held his cheeks in your hands, forcing him to keep his gaze on you “Aemond, what has gotten into you?”

He sighed then, leaning into your palms, before coming closer and leaning his forehead against yours.

“I am putting a child into your womb tonight, my love.” his warm fanning against your lips, his words making your heart skip a beat “I do not care how long it takes, ot how many times I have to fuck that sweet cunt of yours, my seed is taking root inside you tonight.”

It was your turn to kiss him desperately then, something primal fueling your actions. Something about the way he spoke, about what he spoke of, lit a fire in your stomach that pulsed in your core. He met you in the middle with equal fervor, his tongue tangling with yours as he resumed his task.

He turned you around then, pushing you towards the foot of the bed. His hands were a contrast with the way the rest of his body was moving, gently moving your hair out of the way so he could nibble on the skin of your exposed neck harshly. His other hand softly untangled the laces of your dress, all the while he grinded his exposed cock against your clothed ass.

“What brought this on, if I may ask?” you asked breathlessly, yet still curious about his behavior.

“Seeing you, with them,” he moaned and grinded into you more forcefully at the thought, and you could feel his cock twitch violently against your behind “I want that for us, for you.”

You softened then, a warm and fuzzy feeling taking over your heart. You wanted that too, as you had once told him, you wanted a family of your own, you wanted to share this with him. And it seemed he wanted it just the same. 

You couldn’t dwell on it for too long though, because soon enough your dress was loose enough for him to push it off your shoulders, the fabric pooling around your feet, quickly followed by your underclothes. You went to turn around but a pair of large hands on your waist stopped your movements. 

“Stay.” he whispered against your ear, and you could do nothing but nod.

The sound of heavy fabric rustling behind you let you know that his own clothes were being discarded, which was confirmed when you felt the entire plane of his naked chest pressed against your back, his heavy cock nestled on your ass as he wrapped both arms around your middle.

“Ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria.” he spoke against the shell of your ear before nipping at your earlobe “Muña hen ñuha riñar.”

It made your heart clench and heat climb up your spine, a gush of something warm spreading between your thighs. 

His hands moved then, softly caressing your skin as they went before settling, one on your lower back and the other right between your shoulder blades. A light of pressure of his palms caused your knees to bend, hitting the soft mattress, your upper body bending at the waist as you placed your hands on the bed to help support your weight. He knelt behind you, gently rearranging you so you scooted further on up on the bed.

For a moment nothing happened and time seemed to pause around you. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed besides the two of you in this very moment. 

Then you felt it, his hands holding your thighs as his hot breath tingled against your glistening folds before his tongue made contact with your cunt, licking a broad stripe against your folds. A whimper escaped your lips as his tongue circled your clit, moving back up and circling your entrance in the same manner, dipping only the very tip inside. His movements were slow yet sharp, precise, like he knew your body inside and out.

You whined, him mouthing at the entirety of your cunt, pulling your folds between his lips, before his lips latched onto your clit, sucking gently. Your arms started trembling, forcing you down to your stomach with your forearms flat on the mattress, his grip keeping your ass up. He plunged not one but two fingers inside you, eliciting a sharp cry from you as you tried to move away from him, though again his grip on your thighs wouldn’t let you. He waited a moment for you to adjust, one of his thumbs gently caressing your skin as he whispered sweet nothings in high valyrian, before slowly, very gently starting to move his fingers out of your cunt before pushing in again.

In a few moments he was clawing against your warm walls as if his life depended on it, probing, searching for that spot that made your mind spin and knocked the breath out of your chest. Hot molten pleasure was pooling in your stomach, spreading through your limbs and up your spine when the pads of his fingers brushed against it, sending a twinge of pleasure travelling all through your body. The mounting pressure in your navel kept growing and growing with each pass of his digits, making sweat drip from your brow and heat settle in your cheeks. 

A harsh tug of his lips, sucking harshly on your clit, was what sent you over the edge, the coil snapping and sending waves upon waves of pleasure through you, stealing your breath from your lungs. He barely gave you any time to think, though, the familiar sound of him sucking his fingers clean followed by his cock poking at your entrance. Then you felt two hands settling in each one of your shoulders, pulling you back towards him and onto his cock in one swift thrust, your previous release offering no resistance.

You moaned loudly, your ears ringing as he started pounding into you, his hands moving to your hips. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as his hips met your ass repeatedly, your own loud whines and his groans and grunts the only other sounds you could make out.

The pleasure was quickly rebuilding, not having fully receded in the first place, but after a few moments he slowed down to a stop, a whine of disappointment ripping from your throat.

“No,” he panted, his own breath stilled “this will not do.”

Your disappointment was short lived however, as he quickly flipped your around, manhandling you on your back and pushing your knees to your chest. He hurriedly thrust inside your cunt again, positioning himself so your legs slotted perfectly over his shoulders and his chest was flush against your own, pushing down on you, before resuming his erratic pace.

It was dizzying, your head was spinning and you could barely catch the words he was speaking against your skin, both his hands cradling the sides of your face as his cock slipped in and out and in and out of you over and over.

“Ñuha dāria, sīr vok,” he groaned, pressing even further into you and, in turn, pressing you even more into the matress “kesā tepagon nyke hen riñar, kessa ao daor?” 

You could only nod, feeling that familiar pressure climbing and coiling ready to burst at any moment. At the same time, an immeasurable wave of love exploded from your heart at the thought, making you clench tightly around him, pulling a hiss from him.

“Tepagon ziry naejot nyke, pār.” his own voice was trembling, one of his hands leaving your face to circle your clit in short sharp circles “G-Give it to me and in turn I will give you however many babes you might want.”

You cried out, the coil of pressure snapping once more and making molten heat, scorching like dragon fire, filling your mind, waves of pleasure radiating from your core to every part of your body, taking over all your senses and enveloping your very being. He was quick to follow, thrusting sloppily into your cunt as his cock twitched violently, shooting ropes of his warm seed, painting your damp walls, his body collapsing over your own.

As you came to your senses you could feel him mouthing gently, almost lazily at the skin around your breast. When he noticed you staring at him he raised his head, his lips meeting your own in a sweet, soft peck.

“Avy jorrāelan, zaldrītsos.” he smiled tiredly, his whole face lighting up beautifully.

“Avy jorrāelan tolī, ñuha zaldrīzes.” you answered in kind.

After a few moments regaining your breath you pushed at his shoulder gently, so he could get off of you, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Where are you going, ābrazȳrys?” he jested, a mocking smirk taking over his features as he thrust his now softening cock shallowly into your cunt “I told you I would get you with child by the end of the night, and I intend on making good on my word.”

By the looks of it, you’d both end up missing supper that evening, as you were in for a long night

High Valyrian translations: - ābrazȳrys - wife - valzȳrys - husband - ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria - my wife, my queen - muña hen ñuha riñar - mother of my children - ñuha dāria, sīr vok - my queen, so perfect - kesā tepagon nyke iā lot hen riñar, kessa ao daor? - you will give me a lot of children, will you not? - tepagon ziry naejot nyke, pār - give it to me, then

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

@bitchassgoose

@voguiing

@dibutw

@fruityvampslayer

@garden-in-the-rain

@queen-of-elves

@woodlandwrites

[whoopsyeahokay]

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating (not on you). egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - H

H is for hot, hypnotizing touches and hard kisses at a party Wally should be focused on hosting. But how can he think when you swan in wearing that fucking dress, hair styled just right for him to fist into when he has you on your knees. Janet commanded that he not invite you, gave him a look and a threat, and he didn't listen because fuck her, it's his house, his party, and he'll invite whoever he wants to.

Your friends surround you like the Secret Service, Xavier and Maddie and Simon watchful and out of place amongst the hypersexual pop squad and their clingers-on. It's a smaller party, harder to get away with what Wally wants to do (that being tying you to his bed and wrecking you over and over again until sunup), but he steals moments here and there to make you aware of how fucking horny he is for you.

Halfway through the night, Janet's hammered to the degree she doesn't give a shit that you're there anymore, her arm around your shoulders, convinced she's the best thing to ever happen to you because she rescued you from social squalor. Now everyone who matters knows who you are, she beams, hugging you like a sister, thanks to me. Wally helps you help her up the stairs to his old room—the struggle real—Janet handsy in a way she never gets without her audience to perform for.

She grabs and gropes and pouts for Wally to cuddle, to kiss her, to touch her how she knows he fantasizes about touching you. And it's the closest you and he have come to being caught on Candid Camera, holy hell, but she passes out before he's forced to fess up.

Once he closes the door behind him, he hunts you down, finds you in the bathroom down the hall trying to dab out the Sour Puss and Blue Curaçao Janet spilled (accidentally-on-purpose) on your dress.

"Just take it off," Wally smirks, arms folded, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe, "We both know it's gonna end up on my floor anyway."

"Yeah? You're right." Your reflection flashes him a coy look. Slowly, you turn, prop against the sink, eyes heated, "No harm in giving everyone a show, right?" Your dress pools at your feet when you slip it off, leaving you in dark green satin that Wally's cock highly appreciates.

He kicks the door closed with his heel, on you in two long strides, grabbing your hair and forcing your head back so you have to look at him. "Naughty girl," He grips your ass with his other hand, "You know that's not what I meant." A bite to your neck, a lap of his tongue to soothe the sting, "No one else gets this, baby. You're all. mine."

Wally hoists you onto the sink, insinuates himself between your thighs as soon as he shoves his jeans to his knees. He humps himself against the imprint of your pussy through the satin, his brain fogging from the friction. Your eyes are hazy, lips parted on sweet sighs of need that he hastily swallows. The music downstairs might be loud, but eventually, someone's going to come looking and he can't have them hear you. Those sounds are as much his as the rest of you.

In less time than it took to put Janet to bed, Wally has you on his cock, bouncing like a beauty queen in his lap as he sits on his haunches, one arm behind him to hold himself up, the other tight around your waist. Fuck, he's never felt this hopeless for someone. This hungry and desperate and obsessed. His hips buck in tandem with yours, driving himself as deep as he can get, wanting every inch of you to be his, his, his, "That's it baby, ride daddy's cock just like that, fuck—"

When you and he rejoin the party, he's dressed you in one of his button-downs, belted around the waist with the tie he wore to his cousin's wedding. His scent all over you, his come inside you, and nobody notices a thing thanks to too many shots of Hennessey.

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

alphabetical navigation:

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

linear navigation:

B T K A F P V R M S D C I J H W N O E X G L Y U Q Z

[girlsdads]

let us unfold one another; maxiel | 1k | explicit

cw: gangbang

Max's garage has a tradition. This year it's extra special.

read on ao3 or below :)

Max’s thighs ache where they’ve been spread for the past hour, one of his mechanics on either side of him with arms wound under each leg to keep him propped up and open. He knows their names, under normal circumstances. Right now, all he can do is feel—the hot hands on him, the sheen of sweat that’s starting to cool, a relief to his flushed, bare skin. The smooth carbon beneath his back, still warm. The phantom hum of the engine that surely is why his whole body feels like it’s vibrating.

His hole, still pulsing softly after the last of them withdrew. The tickle of lube as it dribbles out of him and down his crack to make a little puddle on the car. He has a flash thought that this car doesn’t deserve to share this with him, not like Rocky had. Then he feels the blunt press of several thick fingers at once and he’s not thinking about anything anymore.

Well—he’s thinking about one thing.

Whoever’s got their fingers in him rubs at his prostate and Max strangles a sob as his cock blurts precome onto his already soaked belly. The hand that’s been stroking his sweaty hair moves to cup his cheek and jaw. Max turns his head and mouths wetly into their rough palm.

“Don’t—I can’t—not before—“ Daniel. Never before Daniel.

His team knows the arrangement. They get to use him however they like, for however long it takes Daniel to get here. They can come on him, but not in him. Max doesn’t get to come at all. Not until Daniel.

It’s never taken this long before. The last three years Max had barely been fucked once before Daniel was there, sliding into him like no one else belonged. But it will be better this time, Max knows. Max got to share the podium with Daniel again, and soon, when Daniel is finished beaming to reporters, he’ll come find Max and share this with him too.

It doesn’t make the here and now any easier, as someone else slips their cock into him. He thrashes and keens as he’s taken apart again, large hands on his hips controlling the pace. He’s trembling. He needs to come or he might actually splinter into a million pieces. A hand grips the base of his cock and Max wails. Someone else feeds their cock into his mouth as it hangs open, and Max is grateful for something else to focus on, besides the pounding pulse he can feel in his balls that’s probably spelling out Daniel’s name in morse code.

They’re speaking all around him, in hushed, reverent tones, telling him he’s so good, he’s driven so well, he looks so good, he deserves this. Max believes it. Every time he believes it, when they do this. It’s not enough, right now. He needs it to be Daniel, saying these things. The voice closest to his ear coos Daniel is on his way, Max, be good for a little longer, you can do it.

Max whines pitifully around the cock in his mouth. He gets more soothing pets to his hair and his neck and down his chest that do little to settle him. The one fucking him shudders and drops his weight onto Max as he comes, breathing heavily. The tip of Max’s neglected cock smears onto a taut pelvis thick with hair as he’s pressed down. Max tries to jerk away from the sensation but there’s nowhere to go. His hands clench and unclench uselessly at his sides.

Both the softening cock in his ass and the one that’s still rock hard in his mouth leave him suddenly. Max feels bereft for a moment until he hears footsteps from the other side of the garage. It’s like the air shifts the second Daniel enters, bringing with him an electrical current that zings up Max’s nerve endings and has every molecule calling out for him. Max would run to him if he could move at all.

Soft voices again, this time Daniel’s in the mix, then some shuffling around, more footsteps, a door closing—

“There’s my World Champion.”

Daniel is there, above him, backlit by the harsh garage lighting and looking all the more beautiful for it. He’s still wearing his race suit, like Max had asked, unzipped and fireproofs pulled down enough to get his cock out. The picture it makes, navy on flushed, tan skin, is indecent and wonderful. His smile is bright and wide and real. And the way he gazes down at Max, like he’s the only person who’s ever existed—Max could float away on the feeling.

As it is, Max can only make weak grabby hands and croak out a Please.

Daniel sinks into him and it’s the only time in his entire life Max has felt perfectly, utterly whole and right.

“Oh fu-uck, Maxy,” Daniel groans, shoves his face into the damp space behind Max’s ear, angles his hips to hit that spot that makes Max scream and shake. Daniel is shaking too, and Max knows neither of them is going to last very long, now.

Max winds his hands up to where Daniel’s arms are bracketing his head, taps the tops of his palms until Daniel gets the hint and twines their fingers together, rests his chest fully against Max’s. Max lifts his arms up over his head and pulls Daniel’s along so that Daniel’s lovely body is stretched out and blanketing him completely. Daniel’s thrusts are getting sloppy, he’s not hitting Max’s prostrate dead on anymore, but it’s even better like this, with Daniel’s breath in his mouth and heartbeat against his own. It’s perfect. It’s everything.

Each time Daniel comes inside him it feels unsurvivable, like Max will actually die if he doesn’t get to have this again. Now, as Daniel is whining high in his throat and filling Max with everything he has to give, as Daniel is kissing Max like he needs it to breathe, as Max spills all over Daniel’s torso and those two red bulls, it feels like coming alive again.

[james-is-here]

EHEM I need to rant about this and you're my favourite kpop writer so-

Imagine member reader who just CAN NOT be serious about his social media. He has 3 accounts on every platform, 1 for that's literally just him being an idol and shit, and 1 where he stalkes stays edits/posts about him and comments as if he's a fan and occasionally posts memes. One time he fucked up and sent a post that was supposed to be on meme account on idol account and fans go absolutely insane like "wtf is this??".

But on the 3rd one he's sooo troll-y. He pretends to be a fan account of himself and or the group and just randomly takes videos of himself or the group to post, again, acting like a fan. So stays are like "OMG DUDE WHERE DID YOU GET THIS STUFF FROM" and "OMG SOURCE?!?!" but people get suspicious when he's just like 🤷‍♂️. And they keep asking where these videos/photos are coming from and he's just like "just trust me bro🙌" until he gets like scolded by one of the members.

(I'm so sorry I didn't mean to rant like this I just thought it was so funny and needed to tell SOMEONE)

Omg wait that is so adorable and hilarious. Also knowing I'm your favorite makes me so giddy.

So Mn has three pages, his page he posted with the others, a private account, and a fan account.

He had just posted a slideshow of photos from an event he went to then ended up in a scrolling spiral, just watching random videos and he comes across an edit of him and Felix being sassy together and he giggles softly as he opens the comments and he's reading the comments and one said "Sass Kings" and Mn couldn't help himself and commented his reply "We slay." and then he just goes on to the next video.

A few minutes later, his notifications are going off and people are replying to his comment and that's when he realized what account he used and without giving context he just...deleted the comment.

Then people started making memes about the "Mn Comment moment" like someone created a "I was there for the Mn comment" ticket meme.

I have an idea for the third one, he posts videos of him bugging the members or sneaky videos he took when the others were cuddling with him.

His most watched video with a butt-ton of comments asking for the source is a clip of a video he recorded of him sitting sideways on the couch and back hugging Chan who was on his laptop, a blanket over both of them on Chan's lap and Mn's face isn't visible since it was resting on Chan's shoulder not facing the phone. Fans could see Chan leaning back into Mn's body and in the clip Chan turns his head and whispers something that has Mn tightening his hold around Chan. His most liked photos is a candid shot of Hyunjin looking back over his shoulder while painting, brush still hovering over the canvas.

People were commenting how cute it was but also where it came from and how this unknown user kept getting these videos and photos.

His third page (I'm gonna name SKZ Archive) made its way to a few of the boys and at first the ones who found it were confused as hell and worried until they realized and payed more attention to the photo or video that they remembered where it came from.

Mn was responsible though! He didn't post invasive photos of the others, he posted a shirtless photo of himself every now and again but thats it.

He got scolded by his dad but he was told he could keep the account since it's not all the harmless.

I have a social media maker, I could actually make this. Would y'all want media posts?

--Can I insert an idea I had with Ateez?--

Mn posting a video on his third account in his room and it starts with him struggling to prop up his phone and once it's set, he steps back and Wooyoung is attached to him on his back. Mn takes his hands off his legs to show that he was no contribution to holding the male up, it's all Wooyoung. Then Mn looks off screen with a smile but then it falls when whoever he's looking at is suddenly in frame and Mn has to catch him. Now he has Wooyoung on his back while slowly loosing grip on Seonghwa and a second later, Seonghwa is going down with Mn and Wooyoung in tow, crashing to the floor and Wooyoung lets go of Mn but the way he landed when he let go had him kneeing both Mn and Seonghwa at the same time and when he realized and heard the both of them groan he started spewing apologies between his laughter.

Mn was semi curled up on top of Seonghwa and both couldn't stop laughing, Mn eventually slowly rolled off Seonghwa and now all three of them couldn't stop laughing at the events that happened.

Fans found the whole thing hilarious and a lot speculated something happened at Mn and Seonghwa's combined groans and Wooyoung's apologies, some were more focused on the laughter and others were trying to figure out where this video came from.

[lilacmingi]

THE HOURGLASS

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: Pirate!Guerilla!Wooyoung x fem reader

Word count: 7,921

Note: This was the first lore-inspired imagine I ever wrote! There’s so much from Ateez’s storyline in here. I had read through the diary versions of my albums a few months before Guerrilla was released because I wanted to understand their lore better and I was SO inspired to write something after I read it. And so, this imagine was created. To this day it’s one of my absolute favorites!

It had been months since you last saw them. Your friends. The boys you'd grown so close with over the past year. The ones that felt like home.

They were home.

Then, they disappeared.

Like many other things in your life, they were here for only a brief moment, leaving far too soon. Unlike the drifting people that weave in and out of your life, your eight close friends had seemingly disappeared and you didn't know where they went. It's almost like they vanished from existence. You missed them all dearly, but you missed Wooyoung the most. He was always so cheerful, easygoing, and full of effervescence. Like the others, he enjoyed cutting up and joking around, always messing with you or one of the other guys. You missed that. What you would give to hear one last teasing comment.

Standing alone in the middle of the abandoned metal building you used as a hangout, you reminisced on good memories and stress-free times. A time where you could all forget about the dismal aspects of your pathetic lives and just be in the moment. You found yourself coming to this place often. You weren't sure why, but you found yourself being drawn here, pulled by some invisible force. All you ever did was walk around the empty space, looking back on memories that were now ghosts from the past, haunting you.

Your fingers trace absentmindedly along the dusty lamp that sits atop a stack of wooden pallets used as a makeshift table. A baseball bat lay propped against a stack of crates and an abandoned skateboard sits idly on the dirt floor. The couch and other worn out furniture had been left behind like everything else in the building.

Everything was left as it was, as if time was frozen.

As you moved about the building, you noticed boot prints in the dirt floor of the warehouse, one's that were't there previously. The only people in that warehouse were you and your eight friends, and they hadn't been around for quite some time.

Curiosity got the best of you and you ended up following the footprints outside. They overlapped at some point, first leading to a cluster of boot marks imprinted in the dirt just outside the entrance, then going away from the building.

Judging by the multiple shoe prints outside the entryway, you concluded that whoever the tracks belonged to was standing just outside the door for an unknown period of time.

Someone was watching you.

You continued moving beside the tracks until you arrived at a grassy area where they ended. That's when the sound of leaves rustling nearby caught your attention. Bushes that dotted the edge of the tree line rustled in the wake of someone running through them.

Whoever was in the warehouse had been lingering nearby.

A small voice in the back of your mind told you to let it go and get out of there, but a louder voice told you to run into the woods.

You chose the latter.

Dead sticks and leaves crunched under your shoes as you trekked through the dense undergrowth of foliage and vines, unsure of which way to go.

You nearly trip over your own feet, stumbling to a stop when you spot an hourglass lying in the undergrowth. If you hadn't been paying attention you would have stepped on it. Your head tilted in curiosity as you bent down, reaching for the out of place object.

"Find them."

You sharply stood upright at the sound of the foreign yet vaguely familiar voice that rang out through the air, the hourglass left sitting in the vines and plants. Your head turned. Standing in the distance was the silhouette of a man in a fedora. His face was covered and he was too far away for you to see him well.

Was this the person that was watching you?

"Who are you?" You asked.

No answer.

Turning back to the abandoned hourglass, you recall what the strange man in the fedora just said moments prior.

"What do you mean find th—" You were cut off as you turned back to him, seeing that he had vanished.

Reaching for the object again, you picked it up off the ground, turning it in your hand, watching the sand shift inside as you examined it.

What could you possibly do with an hourglass?

Your fingers came to rest at the top of the hourglass, debating on what to do. These were incredibly strange circumstances and you weren't left with many options. The only thing you knew to do was to turn it, so you did. Your brows pulled together as you rotated the timer, a bright light shining from within it as the sand began to move backwards.

"What the—"

There was a sudden flash of light so bright it stunned you, your eyes squeezing shut in response to the flare.

You landed with a hard thud on a wooden surface, the sound of the ocean reaching your ears almost immediately. It didn't take long for you realize you had somehow been transported away from the warehouse... far away. You lifted your head just as a gun was drawn and pointed directly at you. Your eyes followed the barrel of the weapon, moving up to see who was holding it, your breath immediately catching in your throat when you saw who it was.

There's no way.

"Wooyoung?"

The look on his face was one of disbelief as he stumbled back a bit, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"I can't believe it. I found you." You breathed out, getting to your feet. You wasted no time engulfing him in a tight embrace, squeezing him slightly, silently praying he wouldn't disappear.

"How..." He trailed off. "How did you get here?"

You didn't have time to answer as another voice cut in, making you pull away from Wooyoung.

"What's going on?"

Moments later, San came rushing onto the deck of the ship, his eyes widening in response to what he was seeing.

"Y/n?"

"San!"

More footsteps thumped against the wooden boards as the rest of the boys stepped out, their faces showing pure shock at the sight of you. Clearly, none of them had expected you to show up and honestly, neither did you.

You were so overwhelmed seeing your friends again that tears began to well in your eyes.

"Y/n, is that you?" Hongjoong asked, breaking the long silence that hung in the air.

"It is." You nodded with a smile, your voice trembling. "I never thought I'd see you guys again."

Unable to stop yourself, you rushed forward, embracing them in a hug, happy to finally be reunited.

"I can't believe you're here." Yeosang breathed out in disbelief.

"Me either."

"How did you get here?" He inquired.

"Actually—"

"Is that the Cromer?" Mingi asked before you could finish your sentence. His mouth hung agape as he pulled away from the hug, his eyes drawn away from the group.

"The what?" You questioned, turning your head.

"The Cromer."

A few feet away was the hourglass that brought you here, lying on its side. It appeared to have rolled away from you when you landed.

"Is that what it's called?"

"Where'd you get it?" Wooyoung asked.

"I found it in the woods by our hangout. Some man in a black fedora left it."

All eight boys shared a look that told you they knew something you didn't.

"What?" You questioned, your brows pulling together as you looked around at the group.

"Did you get a look at his face?" Asked Hongjoong, answering your inquiry with another question.

"No. He was too far away."

"Did he say anything to you?" Seonghwa cut in.

"Find them."

The oldest glanced over at Hongjoong and the others, all of them sharing perplexed expressions.

"I don't understand what's going on."

No one said a word as Hongjoong stepped forward, retrieving the fallen Cromer and holding it in his hands.

"Do you guys know what this means?" He asked, turning to the group with glossy eyes, a look of longing and hope on his face. "We can finally go home."

Wooyoung then stepped forward.

"You need to put that in a safe place." He advised almost sternly.

"I will. We don't want them coming after it."

You turned to Hongjoong with a bemused expression.

Who's them?

Wooyoung could tell you were confused about the whole situation, so he decided to step in.

"Why don't we talk?"

"Yeah. That's a good idea."

He grabbed your hand, pulling you to a shallow deck located at the back of the ship where the two of you could talk in private.

Ever since landing on this ship, the only thing you've been met with is confusion, leaving unanswered questions to pile up and swirl around your mind like a violent storm.

Wooyoung dropped your hand, moving to lean against the ship railing, you followed suit, watching him as he stared out at the open waters, a wistful look on his face.

"I thought about you guys a lot." You spoke up, cutting through the silence. "Every day, actually."

"We thought about you too, Y/n. We've been trying to get back."

"What is this place? How did you all get here? Why haven't you been able to get back? Who are these people you're trying to keep the Cromer from?" You asked only a few of the many questions that weighed heavily in your mind.

Wooyoung let out a long sigh as he turned to you. "Y/n, there's a lot you don't know."

"Clearly."

"No." His face became serious, something you didn't often see on Wooyoung. "This is much bigger than you know. Did you not think the man in the fedora in the woods was odd? Or the fact that an hourglass of all things just transported you to a different place?"

"Of course I did, but as soon as I saw you guys, I couldn't be bothered to worry about anything else."

Wooyoung's gaze softened for a moment, your statement pulling at his heartstrings. He missed you so much, probably more than you missed him, however, you've fallen into a world much worse than the one you came from. You didn't know anything about Strictland or the horrible things happening in it.

"The man in the black fedora, we've met him before." Wooyoung finally spoke up. "He came to see Hongjoong."

Your brows pulled together as you processed his words.

"Things were starting to fall apart. Yeosang's parents didn't like that he was dancing, Jongho and Mingi were mad at each other, everything was just crumbling to pieces."

"I remember." You nodded, thinking back on those gloomy times that you tried your best to forget.

"Well, it wasn't long after we kinda split up, Hongjoong was at our old hangout when this man showed up and brought him the Cromer. His face was covered, so Hongjoong didn't recognize him, but he later found out that man was himself."

"What?" You breathed out in disbelief.

How could it be?

"When Hongjoong turned the Cromer, we all came back to the warehouse. We were all together again, but we weren't alone. A fleet of men in white came to attack us. We had to flee and along the way, the Cromer got taken from us. Things have been so crazy since then." He shook his head as he recalled the events that had taken place. "Yeosang... he risked his life for us. We lost him for a while. The android guardians, the men in white, got him and the Cromer we had got broken in order to save us."

"What happened? Yeosang is here, so you obviously succeeded, right?"

"After some time, yes. Yeosang got captured by the androids after tossing the Cromer to Hongjoong. The android threatened to break Yeosang's neck if he didn't get the Cromer, so Hongjoong tossed it over. While Yeosang made his way back over to us, he caught the Cromer and turned it before smashing it on the ground. Hongjoong tried to grab his hand, but he didn't make it."

"So Yeosang was left with those... things?"

Wooyoung nodded, somberly. He admired his friend for risking his life the way he did in order to save them, especially considering the circumstances. However, he hated that something like that even happened in the first place.

"What happened to you guys? Where did you go?"

"The past."

He explained to you that they felt stuck with no Cromer and no way to get Yeosang back. That is, until Seonghwa shared a news article with them about a group going to steal a Mayan relic from a museum—the Cromer.

"So what did you do?"

"We stole it."

You gaped upon hearing this, unable to imagine them doing such a thing.

"Yunho wanted to stay behind because in the past where we were, his brother was still alive."

Your heart ached a little. You knew of Yunho's situation and how dear his brother was to him. You also knew how his death weighed on Yunho and how he carried that grief with him, so you didn't blame him for wanting to stay behind.

"The plan fell through when I tried to get the Cromer from the leader of the group. He had a knife held to my throat and was holding us hostage. That's when Yunho showed up on his motorcycle with his friends and caused a distraction. They helped us make an escape. Unfortunately, the group leader got into a vehicle and chased us, which essentially ended up crashing into the sidewalk."

Your heart sank in your chest as you felt a sense of dread looming over you, being able to assume what happened next.

"Yunho's brother had seen him on TV and left to find him. He was headed to the museum when the crash happened."

A frown pulled at your lips as it clicked into place. Yunho had to experience his brother dying all over again.

"Is he okay?" Your voice came out quieter than you expected.

Wooyoung nodded, which brought you some relief.

"Yunho's brother found his journal and saw where he wrote about him dying. He told Yunho it wasn't his fault and that he needed to move on and stop letting his death hold him back."

"So he got closure."

"He did."

"And what about everyone else?"

"We were able to make a narrow escape and get back to Strictland to save Yeosang."

He told you about the Grimes siblings who had helped them escape their first run in with the android guardians and a man named Left Eye who they were able to recruit, filling you in on everything that had occurred since their disappearance from the dystopian Strictland.

"This place... it's not like our world. It looks the same, but it's not the same—it's much different. The government is trying to control everyone. They're taking away people's biological energy. They have no emotions and there's bans on everything. No art, no music, no singing, nothing. These men in the black fedoras are freedom fighters—guerrillas. They go performing in the streets to help break people from their trances. The people they recruit are part of an underground alliance called The Black Pirates. The men in the black fedoras are us from this dimension and they're the leaders of The Black Pirates. They're rebelling against the government of Strictland and fighting to change things."

"You said the Grimes siblings and Left Eye came with you to the android bunker. Where are they?"

Wooyoung's expression seemed to fall a bit, making you assume the worst.

"When Yeosang was stuck in that glass tube at the abandoned gallery, he saw them. They had gotten their biological energy taken."

You frowned at this even though you'd never met the kids.

"And Left Eye?"

"He lost his right arm, but he made it out."

For some reason, you breathed a sigh of relief.

"So, if the men in the black fedoras are you guys from this dimension, then who was it that left the Cromer for me?"

"It could be any one of us."

"Why?"

"I don't know, but one thing I'm sure of is that he saw purpose in you. You're obviously here for a reason."

"You think so?"

"Yes. He wanted you to find us."

"And I did." You added. "So, now what?"

"You stick with us."

Hearing that sent a tidal wave of relief through you. You'll never allow yourself to be separated from them ever again, especially Wooyoung.

You watched as the rest of the guys moved about the main deck, Jongho and San working to raise a sail. It appeared that they knew what they were doing, most likely having practice over the last few months.

"So are you like, a pirate now?" You asked Wooyoung.

"Sort of." He chuckled. "We've been using this ship to get around. It seems safer this way. Because of that, we've had to learn how to do certain things."

"So, what happens next? Where are you heading?"

"To The Black Pirate's hideout. We sent a Morse code message to Left Eye to let him know we're back and we're ready to fight."

"Fight?"

Wooyoung nodded.

"So, this is a rebellion?"

"A revolution." He responded, his eyes cast upon the horizon where the sun was slowly dipping down into the water. His expression was hard and determined, his brows creased in thought.

This situation was much more serious than you initially thought it was. These boys, your friends who were always smiling when you were together, were willing to fight against these guardian things. They'd changed since you last saw them. Their personalities had been slightly altered from what they once were. Everyone seemed serious and perhaps even more mature.

"You've changed." You commented aloud.

"What do you mean?"

"You've all gotten serious."

"We're just determined to change things, that's all." He responded, his eyes cast down, fixed upon his hands that were clasped together. "Is it bad that I've changed?"

"Well, no. Not necessarily. Considering the circumstances, you all kind of had to grow up and become more mature. I understand, but I'll admit, I was looking forward to seeing all of you happy and smiling. You know, how we used to be when we were all together."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

Wooyoung couldn't help but think about how his personality had changed since coming to Strictland. Had he changed? He wasn't sure.

Perhaps he was still the same Wooyoung and just wasn't in the right circumstances to be as lively and upbeat as he usually was. That's what he liked to think. Even so, did you not like that he had changed? Did it make you feel differently about him?

"Hey!" Mingi's voice cut through the air, catching Wooyoung's attention. "Hongjoong needs everyone in his quarters. We need to discuss some things."

After sharing a brief glance with Wooyoung, the both of you trailed behind Mingi, following him through a doorway that led to a large room. Inside was the rest of your friends, all of them gathered around a table with maps spread across it, the Cromer sitting in the middle.

Hongjoong glanced up at you through a pair of glasses perched on his nose.

"Has Wooyoug caught you up?"

"Yes, he has. I do have a question, though. What happened to the Cromer you stole from the museum?"

The boys shared a look before Hongjoong addressed you with an answer.

"We're not sure. We think it went back to its dimension."

"It just... disappeared?"

"Yes. After we saved Yeosang, we couldn't find it. We know the guardians didn't get it, so we just assumed it went back to its rightful dimension."

The explanation didn't sound quite right to you. How could it have just disappeared? It didn't make any sense. Then again, nothing made sense. An hourglass that allowed you to travel through dimensions? That's wildly illogical, but it's real. The very item is sitting before you and it's already proven it's abilities.

"None of that matters now, though." Seonghwa chimed in. "We have the Cromer now and that's all that matters."

"He's right." Mingi nodded. "Once this is all over with, we have a way to get back."

Get back. Back home. Wooyoung liked the sound of that.

Once everything was back to normal in Strictland, Wooyoung and his friends could return back to the world they came from and things would be better. This time, the group wouldn't split up and he would finally confess to you. He would do everything in his power to make sure you all were happier.

One thing he regretted when first getting brought to Strictland was that he never got to tell you how he truly felt. He was too scared and kept putting it off. One day when I have the guts, I'll tell her. He said that to himself so many times. One day... but one day never came because the group started to drift apart, then they were all brought here to Strictland with no warning—without you.

"Wooyoung told me you're heading for Left Eye's hideout." You mentioned.

"We are." Hongjoong nodded.

"How will you find it?"

"He told us."

"He sent us the coordinates via radio." Yunho told you.

"We'll be safe there." Yeosang mentioned.

"How long have you guys been on the ship?"

"Three days. If my calculations are correct, we have at least one more day of sailing before we get there." Mingi stated.

As night descends upon the ship, the guys decide to drop anchor at a nearby island to rest and make dinner. Turns out, learning how to raise sails and work on a ship wasn't the only thing they learned how to do while sailing.

The fire burned brightly in front of you, the orange glow from the flames flickering across everyone's faces as they sat huddled around it. They'd stocked the ship with plenty of rations and supplies, so you had some decent food to eat as well as plates and silverware to eat with. On top of that, Jongho and Seonghwa had caught some fish for you all to eat that night. Wooyoung was currently cooking said fish over the flames. Yeosang had opted to open a bag of chips stashed on board the ship while he waited for the food to finish cooking. Wooyoung scolded him for doing so, complaining that he always eats while he's cooking and that he'll ruin his appetite.

"You guys have been through so much in such a short amount of time." You commented over the crackling fire. "I can't believe I was off living my life while you were stuck here fighting for your lives."

"It's not your fault." Wooyoung shut you down immediately. "Don't blame yourself, especially for something you couldn't possibly know about."

"Yeah." Mingi spoke up. "It's the worst thing you can do."

You shot Mingi a curious gaze, prompting him to continue.

"Remember that stuff I said about the time we spent together being meaningless?"

You nodded, thinking back on the moment. That was when Jongho threw a punch at Mingi.

"I only said that because I thought I was going to lose my grandma. While I was having fun with all of you, she had collapsed. I blamed myself for not knowing even though there wasn't any way I could have been aware of what was going on. So please don't say stuff like that."

This whole time you thought he truly didn't care about the times you all shared, but it was just him blaming himself for something out of his control.

"You're right." You nodded.

"Come on, guys." Yunho nudged Mingi. "Let's lighten things up."

"Yeah." San grinned. "We've been reunited with Y/n. That should be something to celebrate, right?"

As he glanced around the group, everyone began to nod in agreement. San was right.

It was then that he jumped up and started doing a silly dance to help lighten the mood, which prompted the group's resident dance machine Yunho to do the same. The two began to bust out some dance moves, which made everyone laugh. Yeosang began dancing in his spot on the ground, one hand in the bag of chips he was eating. It didn't take very long for him to finally stand up and start dancing. After taking the fish off the fire, Wooyoung quickly joined the three, all of them doing the same dance move while Yunho sang. You recognized it as the chorus of a popular Korean pop song they used to sing and dance to.

Wooyoung pranced around the fire, the orange glow lighting up his face. You're reminded of all the times the guys had dance practices in the warehouse and the way their eyes glimmered, especially Yeosang's. He loved dancing. He was forced play the violin like his parents wanted him to, but his true passion was dancing. And Wooyoung... he had stage fright, but you were all there to help him get past that. You remembered he once admitted to you that when he got nervous, he thought of you and it helped him calm down. You never forgot that. It stuck with you.

His squeaky laughter fills the air as him, Yunho, Yeosang, and San dance together around the fire, Hongjoong watching with a fond expression.

You're relieved seeing Wooyoung in good spirits, knowing he hasn't lost his spark. He was still the same bright-eyed Wooyoung. The one who wasn't fighting against the government in a different dimension.

Seeing him having fun with the others felt like old times.

"Maybe we could just stay here." You find yourself suggesting before you can stop yourself.

The group goes quiet and the dancing ceases, making you mentally scold yourself for allowing your tongue to slip like that.

"It's too dangerous." Hongjoong said, turning the idea down immediately.

"Yeah. Why would you want to stay in a place like this?" Jongho added.

"I'm sorry. I got caught up in the moment. It's just that we're all having such a good time right now. If we go back, who's to say we won't split up again?" You voiced your concerns aloud.

"We won't split up again." Mingi told you, his gaze sincere. "I'll make sure that doesn't happen."

"Me too." San agreed.

The rest of the guys began to nod their heads, saying they'd all do whatever it takes to make sure you stick together.

"If we can't stay here, then, why not just leave right now? You have the Cromer. Let's just get out of here." You suggested.

"We can't." Yunho spoke up.

"We have to stay. It's what they want." Seonghwa stated.

"Exactly. We have a job to finish and until that gets done, we have to stay. No matter how long it takes." Hongjoong added.

"I see." You murmured, staring at the flames before you as a long silence settled over the group.

"You know, even though we're in a really bad situation, I feel a lot better knowing you're back with us." Yeosang broke the silence, taking a seat.

"Me too." Wooyoung agreed.

"We should eat before it gets cold." Seonghwa mentioned.

Right. You'd almost forgotten about dinner.

Wooyoung plated the fish and helped serve it while San prepared the side dishes, which were just canned goods.

"I promise we'll eat something better once we get to the hideout." He assured as he spooned out canned corn for everyone.

You didn't mind. In fact, you were grateful none of you had to fend for yourselves and find food out in the wild, besides the fish.

After a somewhat decent meal, you decided to take a walk down the beach, Wooyoung offered to come with and keep you company.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets as you walked along the shore, making sure the water didn't get on your shoes.

"Dinner was terrible, wasn't it?" Wooyoung spoke up.

"Not at all. It was a lot better than I thought it would be."

"That's good to know." He glanced down at his feet, watching them sink into the sand with every step.

A sigh slipped past your parted lips, your hands moving up to run through your hair as you stared out at the ship anchored out in the water.

"I feel like I ruined everything." You admitted suddenly. "I just missed you so much. I though me coming here would be a good thing, but it seems like I just walked into something much bigger than myself."

Wooyoung reached over and grabbed your hand, giving it a light squeeze.

"It is a good thing. You brought the Cromer to us." He offered up a smile. "And I missed you too. In fact, I thought about you more than I'd like to admit."

"You did?"

He nodded. "The day we were all brought back to the warehouse and we found out we weren't in our world anymore, I thought about you. I wondered what would happen to you and how you would react if you never saw us again."

"When you guys disappeared, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what had happened or where you'd gone. It always felt like you had all just vanished, turns out you did." You took in a deep breath. "Even though things are bad here, I'm thankful the man in the fedora gave me the Cromer. If he hadn't, I'd still be wondering where you guys were."

Wooyoung couldn't help but smile. He was overjoyed that you found your way here. However, he cares too much about you and because of that, he didn't want you to get hurt—or worse.

"You should take the Cromer and go back."

His sudden suggestion made you do a double take.

"What? I'm not doing that. You said that fedora guy saw purpose in me and that I'm supposed to be here."

"I know, but..." He trailed off. "What if you get hurt? What if they capture you and your emotions get taken away?"

"I won't. If this gets used, we're using it together." You stared intensely into Wooyoung's eyes, your gaze burning into him in order to convey how serious you were.

You could see his resolve crumble almost immediately as he let out a sigh.

"Alright." He caved. "We'll use it together."

You gave a nod of finality. "Good."

With that, you both made your way back down the shore, returning to the fire, which appeared to have died down a bit while you were gone.

Seonghwa was leaned over on Yunho, both of them looking a bit drowsy. San was stretched across their laps with his eyes closed, appearing to be in the process of dozing off. You couldn't blame them. They've been running, hiding, and fighting nonstop since arriving at Strictland, and after a long day at sea and a nice meal, they're more than likely ready to rest.

Hongjoong stood up, dusting off his pants as he glanced around the group.

"Should we call it a night?"

"Mhm." San hummed, sleepily.

Jongho took it upon himself to put the remains of the fire out as everyone stood up and headed to the small row boats left on the shore, piling in. The boats were rather cramped, because of that, you found yourself sandwiched between Wooyoung and Mingi. Thankfully, the ride was fairly brief, as the ship was anchored just beyond the sandbar.

The members worked to tie the boats to the ship and pull themselves back to the deck.

Wooyoung stepped out of the small vessel and onto the bigger one, extending his hand to you. You took hold and stepped back onto the ship.

"We should figure out sleeping arrangements for Y/n." Yeosang spoke up.

"She can sleep with me." Wooyoung offered almost immediately.

No one argued, they merely nodded their heads and went their separate ways.

The thought of sharing a room with Wooyoung had you feeling a bit nervous, or perhaps you were excited. You weren't sure.

His room was exactly how you would have pictured it: small with a few tiny pieces of furniture and a bed. You knew the rooms would be small, even with your limited knowledge on ships.

"Well, here we are." He gestured before rummaging through the drawers of the tiny bedside dresser. "You take the bed."

"Where will you sleep?"

"The floor."

"Wooyoung, I'm not letting you do that. We can share the bed. I have no problem doing so."

He couldn't find it in him to argue, so he agreed to share the bed with you. It wouldn't be so bad. Wooyoung was a cuddly person anyway... with the members, at least. When it came to you, even though you were close, he found himself being hesitant, not wanting to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.

You were given some clothes to sleep in and a few moments alone to change into them. Once both you and Wooyoung were in your sleepwear, you got in bed. The sheets were rather soft and the comforter brought more warmth than you thought it would. The bed wasn't all that big and barely fit the both of you. Your shoulders were touching, pressed against each other as you both stared at the ceiling.

"Do you have enough room?" Wooyoung asked quietly.

"Not really."

"Maybe we should try something else."

Hesitantly, Wooyoung shifted, turning on his side as he worked to readjust himself.

"Can you roll on your side?" He requested.

You thought nothing of it, nodding and repositioning yourself. It was then that you felt an arm wrap around your midriff, pulling you into a warm, firm chest. An involuntary gasp left you in response. You didn't mean to, but the action surprised you—it also made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

"Is this okay?" Wooyoung asked softly, his voice so close to your ear it gave you chills.

You waited a moment to answer, afraid your voice would give out on you. "Yeah."

It was the only thing you could say.

The ship bobbed with the waves, the vessel creaking every so often as it was moved by the water. You could see the half moon outside through the porthole in Wooyoung's room, a faint beam of moonlight streaming in through the circular window. You found yourself staring at it, trying to distract yourself. Having Wooyoung hold you like this was something you dreamt about for a long time, but now that it's happening, your insides were a mess. You're so very aware of his arm around you and his chest pressed against your back.

Wooyoung had his eyes closed, still unable to believe he made such a bold move. He hoped you couldn't feel his racing heart. Like you, he was struggling to go to sleep, his mind swarming with thoughts and what ifs. He wanted to keep you safe and close, just like right now. If he were to lose you, he didn't know what he would do.

"Y/n?"

"Yes?"

"I have to tell you something."

You turned your head, glancing at him over your shoulder. "What is it?"

"It's really important and I'm afraid if I don't say something now, I won't get to say it later."

A million different things popped into your head at once, your heart jumping in response. The urgency and seriousness in his voice had you on edge. Because of this, your turned around in his hold, moving to face him. The room was dim, the only light in the small space was being provided by the half moon hanging in the night sky outside. Even in the low light, you could see Wooyoung's features, including his nervous eyes.

Sensing his unease, you spoke up, hoping to give him some solace. "Whatever it is you need to say, just say it. Don't overthink it. You know I won't judge."

Wooyoung took in a deep breath, your words bringing him very little comfort, but only because you didn't know he was about to pour his heart out.

"Alright. I'll just say it then. I like you, Y/n."

Your breath hitched slightly upon hearing his sudden confession.

"As in like like?"

"Yes."

This was news to you—big news.

"For how long?"

"Almost since we met."

"I can't believe this." You chuckled softly. "I like you too. In fact, I've liked you for about as long as you've liked me."

"You're joking." He breathed out in disbelief.

"I wish I was."

"I can't believe I waited this long to tell you and you felt the same the whole time." His head dropped as he let out a sigh of exasperation.

You gently put your hand under his chin, lifting his face up.

"At least you said something now. Better late than never, right?"

A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Right."

The room became still after that, a heavy silence hanging in the air, save for the faint creaking of the ship. You could feel Wooyoung's shallow breaths fanning lightly against your cheeks, making you realize just how close you were to him.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked in a quiet voice.

"Yes."

The next thing you felt was his lips on yours. His soft, velvety lips, the ones you've always admired and daydreamed about kissing. Now that you were actually experiencing the moment, it doesn't come close to how you imagined it—in fact, your fantasies about kissing him paled in comparison to the real thing.

Wooyoung's hand now rested on your waist, his thumb rubbing up and down in a soothing and loving manner as he kissed you, his head tilting to the side, slotting your mouths closer together. The feelings you were experiencing in the moment were indescribable. Your face was on fire and your body felt like absolute mush as well as your brain. The only thing you could think of was Wooyoung.

Wooyoung, Wooyoung, Wooyoung.

Your hand unconsciously moved towards his hair, twisting your fingers around the dark strands, tugging every once in a while in an attempt to ground yourself. In response, Wooyoung drew you in closer, pulling you by your waist until you were flush against him. This only clouded your mind further.

"Woo." You sighed against his lips.

"Y/n." He responded, sounding just as dazed and out of it as you were.

He pressed his lips firmly against yours once more before you parted ways, both of you left breathless. You huffed out a laugh, dropping your head on his chest, both of you panting in an attempt to catch your breaths.

"Wow." You chuckled.

"Yeah. Wow."

"That kiss gave me so much energy, I feel like I could take those android guardians by myself."

Wooyoung let out a soft laugh in response, holding you closer. You closed your eyes, wrapping your arm around him. Suddenly, the cramped bed felt much more comfortable with you in Wooyoung's arms.

You woke up the next day with a pep in your step. Wooyoung confessing the previous night was quite possibly the best thing that ever happened to you. The kiss you shared still had you reeling as you moved about the deck.

"Morning, Y/n." Yeosang greeted, appearing to hold back a smirk. "You seem chipper."

"You could say that."

"Did something happen last night?" He questioned.

"You could say that."

Yeosang let out a short huff of laughter through his nose. "I knew it. I can see it on your face. He finally let the cat out of the bag, didn't he?"

You nodded shyly, holding back a smile.

It was then that Wooyoung emerged, stepping out of the crew's sleeping quarters and onto the deck. Yeosang gave a glance at him, then you before grinning and walking away.

Your roommate sauntered over to you, his arms sliding around your waist from behind as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

"Morning, love." He hummed, nosing at your neck.

"Morning."

"Did you sleep well?”

"I did."

You fell asleep wrapped in Wooyoung's arms and woke up still snuggled into him. His sleeping face was the first thing you woke up to.

"You hungry?" He asked.

You nodded.

"I'll go start on breakfast. We've got a long day ahead of us. We'll need all the energy we can get."

After a rather large breakfast, everyone was feeling awake and energized. The ship was set to arrive at Left Eye's hideout later in the day and everyone was more than ready to get there. The wind had picked up, so you helped Jongho and Yunho raise the sails a bit higher, pushing the ship forward.

After that, everyone was able to meander about the vessel and wait until you reached land. Mingi sat atop a crate, watching the waves while Seonghwa busied himself by sweeping trash off the deck. Yeosang sat in the rigging with Jongho and Yunho, all three of them pushing each other every once in a while in an attempt to scare one another. San was on the forecastle deck with Hongjoong, you could hear him singing every once in a while, the wind carrying his voice down to the main deck. As for you and Wooyoung, you were both leaned against the wooden railing of the ship watching the horizon.

"Y/n!" Yunho called.

"Yeah?" You shielded your eyes from the sun with your hand as you glanced up at Yunho who was in the rigging.

"Come up here with us."

"Yeah, it's fun." Jongho added with a gummy grin.

"I don't know." You responded, unsure of wether or not you wanted to be on flimsy ropes with the three of them.

"We won't push you. We promise." Yeosang told you, though you didn't really believe him.

"I'll go with you." Wooyoung whispered. "If they harass you, I'll push one of them overboard."

You chuckled at that, moving over to the ropes and joining the three rambunctious boys.

"Hey, Y/n. Watch this." Yunho laughed, letting go of the ropes, allowing himself to fall back, hanging by his legs, which were looped into the rigging.

You squeaked in response.

"I wanna try." Wooyoung spoke up, doing exactly what Yunho had just demonstrated.

"You're both going to give me a heart attack if you keep doing that." You groaned.

They only laughed, swinging their arms with reckless abandon.

You spent your time hanging out on the ropes for quite some time. Thankfully, no one fell and no one was pushed overboard.

San extended the telescope, peering out at the horizon ahead.

"What do you see?" Hongjoong asked from the helm.

"I see land!"

A smile pulled at Hongjoong's lips. "Fellas, we made it! Left Eye's hideout is straight ahead."

The crew erupted in cheers as both happiness and relief washed over the group. Wooyoung and Yeosang were so excited they started shaking the rigging, causing you to clutch onto the ropes in order not to fall.

You were helping to set up large speakers in the streets, Wooyoung, Jongho, and a couple other Black Pirate members, making sure the cords were hooked into the large spherical speaker.

After arriving on land, the group located Left Eye's hideout where you all made plans on how to make a move against the government of Strictland. This plan included setting up speakers in the streets to play music through in hopes that it would help break people from their trances and being back their emotions.

"This one's done." Jongho said. "Let's move on to the next one."

You nodded, following behind the group, pausing when you saw a familiar silhouette in a shaded alleyway. You would have ran had it not been for the black fedora on the shadow's head.

Giving a quick glance towards the group, you turned down the alley, approaching the man. Once you stood before him, you were able to properly look into his eyes. Like his voice, something about them seemed familiar.

"You found them." He stated.

"Who are you?"

The man brought his hand up and slowly pulled down his mask to reveal the face of Wooyoung.

"You..." You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence on account of the shock you were feeling.

"Yes. It was me that brought the Cromer to you. It was also me who took it."

"You took it? I thought you were trapped with the other men in black fedoras. The ones who look like my friends."

"I was. While your friends were saving Yeosang, my group was able to make an escape. We knew what was coming and I made the decision to take the Cromer from your friends when they weren't looking. I brought it to you and you brought it back to them."

"I have so many questions." You shook your head. "How did you find me? And why me?"

"Your Wooyoung had mentioned your name when they found us trapped in the abandoned art museum belonging to the android guardians. He said he wanted to get back to you. Your friends need all the help they can get and so when I escaped, I went in search for you. It was just dumb luck that you were at the warehouse when I arrived."

"You escaped. Did the others get out too?"

He nodded.

"You have to come with me back to the hideout. We need you."

"No." He shook his head. "They mustn't know me and my team made it out."

"But you guys are the ones who started this."

"And you'll finish it."

"What? No—"

"We're watching you all. There's no need to worry. You're doing exceptionally well."

"What if this doesn't work, though? What if it backfires?" You questioned.

"You and your friends will figure something else out."

"Y/n!"

You turned to see Wooyoung standing at the end of the alley.

His shoulders sagged in relief when he spotted you.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"I was just talking to..." Your voice faded out when you turned to find the space in front of you empty. The man in the black fedora was gone.

"No one." You added, quietly.

"Well, come on. We've got more speakers to set up."

Giving one last glance at the empty space, you turned and joined Wooyoung, heading down the vacant streets to your next destination.

You almost brought up your brief chat with the man in the black fedora, however, just as you were about to speak, something held you back.

"They mustn't know me and my team made it out."

Your words died on your tongue before they could even come out.

You should do the right thing.

"Were you going to say something, Y/n?" Wooyoung asked.

"No." You shook your head.

He glanced at you for a moment before bringing your hand up to kiss the back of it.

"Come on. Jongho and the others got ahead of us. We need to hurry and get back with them."

"Right." You nodded.

As the two of you went to catch up with the group, you glanced over your shoulder, the man in the black fedora standing idly in the street. He held his hand up, giving you a small wave. You weren't sure if he would see you, but you gave a nod towards him as a way to let him know: "Your secret is safe with me."

Hongjoong ⟡ Seonghwa ⟡ Yunho ⟡ Yeosang ⟡ San ⟡ Mingi ⟡ Jongho

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

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[tonydaddingham]

take me up / cast me away

so this is going to be a veritable word vomit but this is actually so exciting to me; we obviously affiliate aziraphale with the flaming sword and both its biblical and GO narrative implications, but the catch that @frog-person made on this particular shot has got every synapse firing.

(and therefore this is a meta for @frog-person and them only, mwah✨💕)

not only is the sword going through their hands, but it's one sword of many in a particularly fiendish magic trick (or at least an earlier version of one made popular by the morettis in the 70s), and the box itself with all of its swords is relatively prominent in most of the scene, as background props go (more on this later).

now, i don't know enough about magic tricks or illusions to understand the significance that this aspect may have, if any - possibly the element of trust, sure, but also the sheer ability to hoodwink the audience into accepting that there is no way that whatever is inside could possibly survive such a trick. however, i simply want to just talk about the sword in general.

let's start with connotations and symbolism behind the image of the sword. first of all, it's a phallic symbol and is largely used in the context of knighthood, chivalry, and sovereignty. it symbolises justice, and truth, and righteous and merciful power. to hold the meter of life and death in your hands, and to be trusted to use it in conscience and clemency.

in alchemy, the sword was shown as a symbol of purification, between life and death. similar connotations in other histories, literature, and customs read the sword as being the key to balance between truth and enlightenment. later into history, especially in the middle ages, swords of discernible quality were understandably resource-intensive to make and therefore came to symbolise wealth, but moreso in the context of strength and glory, and further then a symbol of protection and shelter. traditionally, oaths and pledges would be made to the sword (literally, sworn-sword), and in turn swords were - and continue to be - used to elevate you to a higher station (eg. use of a knighting sword).

the imagery of the sword in the box is evocative of the sword excalibur, probably one of the most famous swords in literature and legend. cliff notes: excalibur was the believed magical sword of king arthur, and was written in some accounts (specifically in this case in the poem Merlin by robert de boron) to have lodged in an anvil, sat atop a stone, and that whoever could pull it from the anvil would be proof of rightful lineage of uther pendragon - and therefore, by divine right, king of the britons. obviously, arthur was said to have pulled the sword from the stone.

excalibur's symbolism can be interpreted somewhat as being as i said above; tennyson wrote that the words inscribed on excalibur as being (paraphrased): "take me up" / "cast me away"; to indicate that the sword is a weapon that should be used sparingly, only when necessary, and never without mercy or fair judgement. it is a power that can destroy, and should be safeguarded from turning that power to insidiousness. a call-to-arms when taken up, and a grace and peace when cast away.

(im a whore for arthurian legend ok, im from southwest uk) (and have a tattoo on my arm of those words, im a basic cornish legend bitch)

now, i realise that excalibur is not literally a part of the GO story (that we know of, notwithstanding the flashback in s1), and the sword we know in GO has a rather different narrative importance (or does it?). so, we know that in genesis the flaming sword was given to the cherubim in eden to guard adam and eve, and this is pretty much transposed to GO right up until aziraphale does the Cool Thing and gives it away, meant as a means of protection.

however, given that it ends up in the hands of humanity's personification of war, it bears a rather vivid mirror to the intention of excalibur; that in casting it away, aziraphale inadvertently introduces the concept of destruction to humanity.

but im now going to move away from the symbolism of the sword itself (i promise im trying to organise this meta into some semblance of order), and instead look at it in terms of when aziraphale actually holds it. we start with him giving it to adam and eve:

and then when he takes it up at the airfield:

and in the time bubble with adam and crowley:

now this is really obvious, i realise, but it does have some bearing for me on the image we see in the 40s minisode. sword up: ready to fight. sword down: ready to rest. it's a reasonably common occurrence to see in heraldry (by extension in logos/emblems and even on gravestones) two crossed swords pointing up or pointing down. usually, for the former, that the prospective wielder is ready to battle, is prepared and willing, and is or always has been braced for the onslaught.

the latter however indicates that either the fighting is done, or that no threat is meant - and that this can be in death, in surrender or defeat, or out of conscientious choice. that the wielder may have chosen mercy, and to act with peace and without conflict. one step further - sheathed sword goes on to symbolise that a fight is not anticipated; not necessarily in the sense that the wielder is unprepared, but instead that they are not turning to violence as an option.

this is where i think the presence of the sword in the shots from the minisode, with all of the connotations of it from eden (and its similar, in my eyes, likeness to excalibur) come into play. as i said before, the sword/s are notable visually in the whole magic shop scene. its in primary focus along with the desk as they enter, its the first display aziraphale goes towards, and it oscillates in the background from to aziraphale's right, to between him and crowley, and latterly back again:

summarised thoughts on this, because it will otherwise be a truly garbled mess:

the sheer presence of it reminds the audience that a fight may be imminent, even if the scene/story is currently at peace

that whilst the narrative is not currently in full combat, it pays heed to not only the events of ep4 being somewhat of a fight, but the events that precipitate in ep5 and ep6, and leading into s3

that where it is currently cast in the figurative stone, it may be called upon to take up arms, and confer suggestions of sovereignty, divine power, and strength

that victory (however that may conclude) may only be possible with the right person in power; aziraphale as the new supreme archangel and prince of heaven

it also confers the necessity of protection, of justice, and of mercy, being elevated to a position where you have the power to make that judgement

all things which aziraphale intended by giving away his own sword, and is what he indicates in ep6 that he intends to deliver to heaven once he ascends

that this fight, whenever it may come, may literally divide him and crowley in the story that lies ahead

...you don't need me to explain this bit contextually, right?

the last thing that stumped me, however, is that there ought to have been something in ep6 that almost bookended all of this imagery (at least temporarily, until we have a s3), or at least indicated whether or not aziraphale chooses to take up the sword again like he does at the end of s1. that shows him prepared for a fight, to defend the weak, and uphold judgement in mercy... and then it hit me:

of course there bloody is.

[c-c-cherry]

Febuwhump Day 6: Forced to Stay Awake

(My Hero Academia)

My first (and hopefully not last???) contribution to febuwhump! Aizawa gets thrown around so much in canon and I can't be the only one to wonder what happens during those moments in between. Ao3 is on the fritz this week so I thought I'd cross-post for once lol

___

Read on ao3 for more specific tags!!

Art for it is HERE!!

cw: vomiting, (past, canon) character death, general suffering (its febuwhump you get the drill)

___

No One, No Way, Nowhere

Day 6: Forced to Stay Awake

Word count: 7121

He thought he knew himself by now, that nothing could phase him anymore. No injury or death or horrifying realization could get behind that hard exterior. Whatever he used to believe was irrelevant now. This feeling wasn’t going away like it was supposed to. After confronting what’s left of Shirakumo, Aizawa finds it impossible to close his eyes.

Aizawa could feel his own breath, hot against his face. It stuck to his hair like sweat, making contact with the frigid air of the facility, that was too air-conditioned for a human to stand. 

It was all he could hear, aside from the roaring in his ears, growing louder by the second as he tried to shake the sound that Kurogiri had blasted their ears with. While heavy and laboured, he knew he could still breathe despite the sensation that shook his shoulders, despite everything today.

He sat kneeling on the bathroom floor, somewhere in the decrepit basement that held the remains of what used to be their comrade. He didn't bother to lock the stall door—Aizawa had made it painfully clear that no one was to follow him in. The harsh air of the investigator's facility bit back against his eyes, causing them to sting even more than when his quirk had been activated minutes prior. 

The world still felt as it did back there. Not even the feeling of the air had changed. The sound around him was muted, exposing his ears to nothing but echo. The area behind his eyes throbbed painfully, making it impossible to hold his head up any longer. Aizawa blamed the blurriness of his surroundings on overusing his quirk, even if his sight had never morphed the room into shapeless blobs like this.

He breathed deeply, intentionally pushing the air out of his lungs as if he'd forgotten how to do it naturally. When a muffled, desperate noise cut across the still air, Aizawa couldn't help but press a hand to his mouth to avoid making too much sound.

He couldn't believe what the hell he just saw.

That thing wasn't something he knew. Aizawa refused to believe it. It wasn't something he could recognize in the end. It was something reanimated, manipulated, disgusting, it—Jesus.

He swayed forward as the image, that split second of recognition, forced its way back into his head. Aizawa pitched forward and let his hands find the walls of the bathroom stall, pressing against the sides until his knuckles turned red, then white. He attempted to prop himself up to no avail. His stomach churned urgently, how it felt whenever he had too much to drink or not enough sleep.

Aizawa's eyes begged to close, but he knew if he took his sights off the bathroom wall, images of what just transpired would flood back to him again. He couldn't do that again.

He thought he'd gotten past this grieving stage. It had taken him a long time to undo it and suppress it. Aizawa always thought that dead meant dead. That was how the world worked, even with quirks. It wasn't fair to defy that truth and open things back up so tastelessly. Not after so long. Not after the tragedy had long been put to rest.

Aizawa's chest jumped painfully as he gagged, his mouth filling with saliva instinctually. He swallowed it down, ignoring the sour taste and the shiver that wracked his body in response. 

They were monsters. Whoever did this to his friend was a monster. More monstrous than any Nomu. More hideous than what Shirakumo had been turned into. They couldn't just let him rest? Hell—after everything, Oboro wasn't allowed to rest?

He was going to be sick. 

Aizawa couldn't control his movements. His stomach convulsed against his brain's better judgement. He shivered, attempting to breathe through it as watery lines of cold sweat trickled down his face and the back of his neck. Everything in his body just wanted to reject itself, rid itself of what he'd seen and heard and felt today. With a full-body shudder, the man choked again on a gag stuck in the back of his throat. Then, with enough silence to fool a whole room, he emptied his stomach with nothing more than a handful of coughs.

It was quick, silent, without much struggle. The noise of it splashing into the toilet bowl echoed through the line of empty stalls and sinks, but Aizawa couldn't hear it over the sound of his ragged breathing. His face felt undeniably wet as he bent down and spat the taste out of his mouth. Round two came out quicker as if it knew Aizawa had somewhere to be later. After the third round, he flushed the toilet, slumped onto himself and let his breathing regulate.

Aizawa knew he should feel better after something like that. It had been a long time since something left him disgusted enough to vomit. But sitting here, his body curled up against the wall like crumpled-up foil, things felt far from okay. 

His feelings—whatever feelings he had left to show today—felt like they'd been pulled out of him against his will, brought up like another thick ribbon of vomit. The investigators had used him to crack some code, something that would help him get revenge on whoever had done this, but…

"Aizawa," a familiar voice came from outside and a hand knocked on the bathroom door. He tensed up, waiting for someone to enter. They never did. "You good, bro? We should get going."

He could recognize Hizahi's voice, trying his best not to sound as concerned as he did. Aizawa knew what those words really meant. Underneath it all, Hizashi was asking if he had to come in and see if he'd done something stupid. Aizawa recognized the same tone in his voice every time he landed in the hospital. 

Bringing someone into this, even someone he knew would understand…it felt too much to bear. He just wanted to forget this, but he couldn't.

"Yeah," Aizawa called out gruffly, trying to make this voice sound steadier than it was. "Yeah. Fine."

After everything they'd seen, he told Mic and Torino to give him five minutes. Five minutes, and then they could drag him back to school. He just needed to fix up his eyes. He needed to compose himself before returning to Hizashi's car and pretending nothing happened.

Pulling himself shakily off the floor, Aizawa blew his nose, still running from the pressure released upon spilling his guts. He washed his mouth out, then his hands. Finally, he applied a few drops to his eyes and pocketed them later. He didn’t bother looking at his reflection.

Hiding strategically behind his hair and readjusting his capture scarf, Aizawa pushed the door open as determined as he could muster. Sure enough, Hizashi and Torino stood a few feet away. For once, the blond was silent as he trailed along next to him. They both had a lot to think about.

"I know it doesn't seem like it right now to you, but I'd consider that a miracle," Gran Torino finally broke the silence. "It's not the one we all hoped for, but the fact that we could get him to talk at all was an incredible breakthrough." 

Neither of them could respond to that. Aizawa felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, mingling with the cold sweat stuck to his skin like glue. Thinking about it made him want to vomit again.

"So, what?" Mic's voice was so low that it was hard to hear. "What now?" 

Torino kept walking, as grim-looking as the rest of them. It was as if he never witnessed their outbursts earlier. Treating them like adults when they both felt like such kids.

"There's only one thing we can do from here," the older man stopped at a pad of numbers, typed in a series of them, and stood back as the large metal doors screeched open. It was comforting to know that everything he'd seen today was contained to this series of hallways. "We listen to what Shirakumo told us."

That wasn't Shirakumo, Aizawa wanted to say. He kept having to remind himself. These people should be locked up for even assuming that such a thing could still be Shirakumo. They had no idea what he was like back when he was Shirakumo. They couldn't take that purple-shadowed amalgamation and stick the name of a martyr onto it.

"I don't want to be called out of class again unless there's something else to show for it," Aizawa snapped out instead. He could feel his skin prickle and tried to imagine Hizashi's hand on his arm from before, something that now felt strikingly absent. "Don't waste my time."

I'll continue the investigation myself if no one else shows competence. That was what Aizawa knew he should add to that, but he just couldn't. Promising something like that right now would be a death wish. This entire ordeal was going to kill him, and just after he tried to lay it all to rest.

The elevator took them up to ground level. Hizashi didn't call him out on his harsh words like he had before they saw what they'd seen. He didn't tell Aizawa to calm down. There was no reason to be rational now.

"We'll be in touch. I imagine we'll be out on the field later this week," Gran Torino nodded in their general direction, barely bothering to look at them as the two wandered into the parking lot like a pair of zombies.

The passenger seat of the car was cold. Aizawa had to swallow back the taste in his mouth as the vehicle jerked to life. Within minutes, they found themselves back on the freeway in bitter silence.

"A miracle," Hizashi finally muttered. It was venomous, ready to strike at anyone who disagreed. His hands gripped the wheel like it was someone's neck. Someone's neck. Even after all these years, they couldn't shift the blame onto anyone specific. "What a load of shit. Torino's old, but he's not senile enough to forget that miracles are supposed to be fucking happy."

Aizawa turned and looked out the window instead. He couldn't look in Mic's direction anymore. They never spoke about it like they should have when it first happened, and he wasn't ready to do it now.

"And now what? They want us back to teach?" Hizashi continued under his breath. Hearing him below top volume was unnerving. "How do they expect us to train kids to fight things like that? When the hell did that become part of the job description?"

The blond laughed with disbelief, almost manic. Aizawa curled in on himself and viewed the reflection of the man in the window. He didn't want Hizashi to look at him. Didn't want anyone to look at him.

"We signed up for it," he said gruffly, but— Jesus—did they really? Was this really in the books when they first became teachers?

"Yeah," Mic laughed breathlessly, "Sure. Whatever, Aizawa. I'll have no problem conjugating verbs while thinking about the state of whatever we saw in—"

"Watch it," was all Aizawa could snap in the end. He could feel the tension in the car grow tenfold as his friend fell into silence, and fuck, bickering with Hizashi was always so awful when it was over something real. Watching the man get serious was like watching the sun crash out of the sky.

"Take a nap," Hizashi's hand dug into his shoulder, and Aizawa felt the need to shrug it off. "Until we get back, at least. You need it."

Aizawa didn't have it in him to argue, not even to tell him to fuck off. He let his head fall numbly against the cold window instead, allowing the frost to seep the rest of the warmth out of his body.

As if he could sleep after seeing something like that.

~~~

Aizawa knew what shock looked like. He had years in the industry to get accustomed to it. He'd seen it on the faces of civilians and in the unspoken body language of his past students. It stuck to the faces of Pros despite how tough they all seemed in tense moments.

He was forced to identify it in school and then trained to act on it in the field. When he enrolled as a teacher, mandatory courses and workshops on ensuring your students coped adequately with exposure to dangers became trivial.

Aizawa had seen enough shock to recognize it in himself, too. Or he thought he did. The USJ and Eri's rescue did a number on him, but even that eventually floated to the back of his head. He thought he knew himself by now, that nothing could phase him anymore. No injury or death or horrifying realization could get behind that hard exterior.

Whatever he used to believe was irrelevant now. This feeling wasn't going away like it was supposed to.

Aizawa wasn't quite sure what was happening now. Was this was a new development that would stick with him forever? Or maybe things had felt like this his whole life, and he was just noticing it now. It felt endless, the feeling of watching a hollowed out version of himself.

Aizawa was used to feeling detached. It was necessary for his work, but something about this felt painfully different. His hands barely felt like his hands now. The reflection looking back at him looked foreign, too old, too unfamiliar. His work after seeing Kurogiri felt more like a series of computer commands than any kind of mission with substance. Everything about him felt aimless. He couldn't tether himself back to solid ground. He couldn't even pretend to.

Maybe he had more in common with Nomu than he thought.

You're sickening, he told the person in front of him, the unrecognizable him. Comparing yourself to those things? What right do you have even entertaining that? 

After a day of carrying out orders like clockwork, saying the things he was supposed to say and plotting a well-deserved revenge plan with the other Pros, Aizawa couldn't help but feel like the rug that had been pulled out from under him wasn't even close to being back beneath his feet.

It could be a delayed response, he kept telling himself. That was entirely possible. He'd seen prolonged effects of bad moments in his students all the time, especially within this batch of first years. Midoriya and Bakugou faced off against one another over issues that happened years ago. Kirishima got a faraway look in his eyes when he watched Ashido in combat. Even the class reps had their rocky moments of self-consciousness and blinding rage.

But this kind of a prolonged response from a Pro? An employee? A mentor? It was unprofessional, even at its best. 

Aizawa didn't get it.

All they had in there with Shira—no, Jesus, Kurogiri—was a conversation. Nothing more than that. A conversation with something horrific, yes, but nothing compared to the other things they'd faced. Mic seemed angry but still just as functional as before. Why was this happening to him? Why now?

Pushing through it or taking time off seemed like a viable solution. In fact, Aizawa was sure Nezu would have forced him to take a few days to himself after going through something so awful, but it seemed impossible to think about now. Not when the mission to find out who'd done this was already underway.

It didn't take them long to zero in on the hospital, to find a name and a face. It wouldn't be long before Mic could blow the monster's brains out, and Aizawa could strangle it with his scarf until it turned blue.

Aizawa knew he should feel invigorated, finally allowing himself some kind of closure after years of grief. Hizashi couldn't wait for revenge, so why shouldn't he? Instead, he sat over his computer, watching confidential emails flood in about the operation. More and more Pros outside of UA had been copied to it.

He suppressed whatever feelings he had with blue light, his bed in the other room still made and untouched since the night before. He would read about the finer details of the operation over and over. He would stare at the unfinished profile of the man they suspect made the Nomu. 

If his eyes began to close, he would feel around in his desk drawer for eye drops and apply them. Rinse, repeat. Sleep wasn't going to happen just yet. 

"...Aizawa." 

The man nearly jumped out of his chair as a cold hand tugged at his sleeve, pulling him away from whatever harrowing thing kept him glued to his screen. Aizawa thought of the worst first. Early ambush, Nomu, another dead friend. He spun around, lack of sleep already filling him with irritation and misplaced adrenaline, ready to separate himself from whatever force had locked onto him.

It was only when his eyes strained in the half-lit room that—no—nothing was coming back to haunt him, after all.

"Eri," he breathed out, trying to keep his expression neutral rather than… whatever he was showing. "You snuck up on me."

Eri looked up at him, hand still gently gripping his shirt's sleeve. She was always so quiet, even when sitting and playing in her room. Aizawa preferred the silence compared to some of his wilder students. He knew she did, too, at least for now. Mirio suggested putting a bell on her to ensure no one tripped over her, the way she loved to sneak up behind them.

"You've been here a long time," the girl ignored his previous comment. She pointed over to his computer screen. "What is that?"

Aizawa's heart nearly fell into his stomach as he flipped back around, head running through all the graphic evidence he'd been looking into all afternoon and how he was going to make the poor girl doubly traumatized. He was lucky it was nothing. An email from the Endeavor agency. 

He sighed into his other sleeve. 

"Work," he spun the chair around slowly, bending down to her level. "I've been working. Is there something you need from me?" 

"It's dark," she said quietly, "But you aren't sleeping."

Aizawa felt the pounding in his head far more intensely than before. It used to be light out, he realized. The sun had nearly set, leaving the room in a dusky, half-lit glow. Eri was always a little too observant. 

"I'm doing some research for my next job," he said. The girl looked confused, and he realized she was probably too young to know what that meant. "I'm trying to know more." 

"Oh…" she looked down, thinking about it. Aizawa watched her carefully before she looked back up and stared right at him. "You didn't go to bed yesterday. I wanted water in the middle of the night, and you were awake. And you didn't fall asleep today like you always do."

Aizawa blinked unexpectedly, a bit of moisture coming back to his eyes. He supposed she was looking for a bit of reassurance from the blip in her everyday routine. "I've been busy. But everything's okay." 

"Did you get hurt?" Eri stood her ground. "Heroes get hurt sometimes. Lemillion said it."

Aizawa shook his head, trying not to chuckle. "I'm not injured." 

"What about here?" standing on her tip-toes, Eri leaned over and pressed her finger into his chest. Dragging it slowly, it landed right above his ribcage. Aizawa's shoulders tensed suddenly as he realized she was trying to find his heart. "When it hurts here a lot, I stay awake, too."

Her words pierced him more than he expected. His mouth felt dry. Eri wasn't supposed to worry about him. That wasn't her job. The fact that she understood something at such a high emotional level was both impressive and heartbreaking, and Aizawa felt sick thinking about it. Before he could reply, the door opened wider.

"Eri, Aizawa's working in here, remember? What did I say about going in without asking first?" A sunny voice accompanied by a pair of big hands came up behind her, hoisting her several feet in the air. The girl squirmed under Mirio's grip, eventually falling limp as he stuck her on his shoulders. The blond looked over at Aizawa, his smile too big for his face. "Sorry. I was in the bathroom. She's been wanting to come in here all afternoon."

She was really worried about him. Aizawa didn't like that for a number of reasons.

"Thank you for looking after her today," he crossed his arms as if trying to hide whatever part of his heart that Eri could see. "She'd be pretty bored with just me today." 

"It's no problem at all," Mirio let Eri situate herself on his shoulders and reached up to hold her dangling hand. "Big day coming up, right? All the teachers have been talking about it."

"An understatement," Aizawa's head throbbed with each word, and he was grateful to be sitting down. He wanted to put more eyedrops in, but…hadn't he just done that? 

"Lemillion says a big hug can make anyone feel better," Eri inserted herself back into the conversation. She still had her eyes locked on him. "Lemillion…can you tell him? Please?"

Mirio tilted his head to the side playfully.

"What's that? Does Mr. Aizawa need a hug?" he looked up at Eri and laughed, not noticing the frustration growing on her face. "For the sake of UA's future, maybe we should both volunteer!" 

"Very funny," Aizawa tried to deadpan, brush it off, and return to his work. But now, with the funny feeling of dread hanging off his arms, shoulders, and face, he couldn't help but feel it in his heart, too. 

~~~

Aizawa knew he should be preparing his body more for this moment. 

People were counting on him out there. His quirk was needed more than anything. They needed it to have a fighting chance with who they were up against.

He'd received special orders, classified instructions that blurred and warped on the paper when he looked at them. There were places he had to be. Times he needed to memorize. He couldn't overuse Erasure for anything unnecessary, had to save it for the pivotal moment he was sure to contribute to in a matter of days.

His allies instructed him to protect his eyes twice as much until the day came. He had to rest his body and ensure he wouldn't burn himself out before the battle began.

Aizawa would have taken the opportunity to sleep in an instant. The room had started to tilt at an angle, and his head pounded incessantly. He knew he needed to give his body a break. 

If only he could close his eyes without wanting to rear his head and vomit.

Sleeping was a no-go until that dreadful feeling let up—if it ever let up. For now, Aizawa found himself in the staff room. it was empty, as everyone else scrambled off to prepare for their anticipated confrontation with the Liberation Army.

The students and teachers participating in the fight found themselves on the field, coaching themselves and others on what to do in every conceivable scenario.

Aizawa was alone, pulled away from his students. They required him for "bigger things," meetings with Endeavor and the Hero Commission and whoever else had been recruited to take these people out. He stared down at his stack of papers, trying to lie to himself that he was being productive when he could barely lock his eyes on the words.

"Aizawa. Hey there." 

Correction. He was almost alone. It seemed he'd forgotten that one teacher at UA couldn't participate in the fight. 

"All Might," he greeted the man without turning his head, not bothering to straighten himself out and sit up. The staff was used to his informal, exhausted posture. The former symbol of peace was no exception. "You're not out training."

The older man stretched his arms above his head as he crossed the near-empty teacher's lounge. Aizawa should thank the man. Toshinori covered the classes he should have taught when he was pulled into the investigator's facility. He wondered if the man knew how important that was. There wouldn't be a solid attack plan like this if it weren't for that. 

"I'm giving them a breather. Letting them escape my iron grip," Toshinori laughed to himself, and Aizawa couldn't help but think it was ironic that All Might himself was teaching people about taking breaks. "Handed them off to Cementoss for the more endurance-level activities. Not much I can do in that department anymore, right?"

The man flexed whatever was left of his bicep and laughed again, a chuckle that quickly became a wet, crackling cough. The imagery of blood spilling out of the man's mouth didn't usually phase him, but this time, it made Aizawa visibly wince, his shoulders instinctively closing in on himself. He shook it off and tried to focus on the list of commands he'd barely been able to memorize.

"Right," he muttered.

Aizawa felt the world catch up with him late as he turned his head and watched a blurry version of the hero on the other side of the room.

All Might didn't seem to notice his colleague's off-ness. Instead, he chose to cross the room, over by the coffee machine that Aizawa knew was there, even if it blended messily into the wall when he tried to focus on it. He strained his eyes at the golden silhouette insulting his eyes instead.

"And what about you?" Toshinori asked curiously, "Last time I checked, you're supposed to be recharging your battery. I didn't expect anyone to be in here with everyone out preparing." 

Aizawa knew he couldn't use any kind of usual excuse. Prep work, mission planning, debrief, lunch break…none of that mattered until the League was dealt with and things could lull back to normal. He winced again as All Might flicked on the second set of overhead lights. He could hear the noise of a spoon clinking against a coffee mug. He blinked. His eyes felt painfully dry, like they could shrivel up and fall out of his head.

"Reviewing instructions," he answered slowly. He tried to keep that monotonous tone in his voice. It was unexpectedly difficult. 

"What, for the ambush?" Toshinori, coffee presumably in hand, came closer. Aizawa tried not to flinch away as two blonde strands of hair poked over the back of the couch, peering down at the page in his hand. "They handed those out the day they located the hospital. You still haven't looked at them?" 

God damn the man for being so nosy. He couldn't even fight this battle. Why did Toshinori have to know every detail about the operation? He bit back whatever honesty he had for the man and tried to say something less damaging. 

"I can leave if you don't want company," Aizawa tried to squash the waver in his words.

There was a momentary pause before Toshinori put his hands up defenselessly. "No—no, I don't mean it like that. I don't mind at all. I guess I'm just surprised."

"Surprised," Aizawa repeated tiredly, like a robot. He'd run out of filler words, so he had to take them from someone else. 

"Normally, you'd take up any offer to get some sleep."

The energy in the room shifted quickly. Something about those words felt loaded, but he couldn't bring himself to read between the lines. 

Aizawa paused, straining his eyes to focus on the man as he rounded the side of the couch and sat down next to him. Toshinori kept his distance, but something about this felt off. Everything felt off. He wasn't himself. How would he aid in this ambush if he wasn't himself?

"I've slept more than enough," he lied through his teeth, hands falling into weak fists. If he wasn't careful, the papers he held in front of him would crumple. And then a lot more would crumble after that.

"Sure, sure," Toshinori offered him a wry smile. "Your eyes are so bloodshot, they're making mine feel dry."

The world tilted again, and Aizawa tried not to let the secret slip that he could feel the earth rotating beneath him. The retired hero was speaking again, and he snapped himself out of this disorienting feeling by forcing himself to respond. 

"What?"

"I said you look like you're ready to fall over," a quick pause before, "Seriously, when was the last time you slept?"

The roaring in his ears was back. Aizawa ignored the cold sweat that gathered on the back of his neck and swallowed. He'd get up and leave if he trusted himself to walk, but right now, he couldn't tell if he was swaying or if the rest of the room was. His eyes burned. 

"Everything's under control," he forced out, even though that was far from the truth. "I'm doing what's been asked of me to ensure this runs smoothly."

"You don't have to spit out whatever lines you're feeding to the Commission," Toshinori pressed, uncharacteristically hard for someone who barely knew him. "Sleep is important—even more so for someone like you. If you need someone to look after Young Eri, I'm sure we can arrange for—"

"Everything's under control." 

Aizawa meant it as an end to their conversation, a plea for the man to stop prying or else he would discover something he didn't like. Because everything was not under control. It unravelled like a spool of thread, too thin and wispy to pick up and fix. 

Aizawa considered getting up, but where would he go? Eri was already worried enough, and only so many places at UA felt so secluded. A part of him thought he could make it to his feet, even if his body felt stuck to this couch like a magnet. Toshinori's slim figure remained silently next to him. Neither refused to move.

"I know what happened with Kurogiri." 

And just like that, the world began to spin out of control again. Aizawa had gotten used to the shaky ground he now stood on, but this was so much more nauseating. The couch felt like quicksand. It pulled him in, crawling up his back and filling his nose and mouth. 

Aizawa shifted his eyes to All Might, who stared into his mug. He looked guilty. He always looked so fucking guilty over every bad thing that happened.

"Sorry. I probably should have started with that. I wasn't quite sure how to bring it up, if at all," Toshinori set down his coffee and shifted over to Aizawa, whose body threatened to turn away. "I got a call from Gran Torino after it happened. I don't know the full details about the interrogation, but I know enough."

He felt an endless pit in his stomach now. Any minute now, he would start to choke on his own breath. 

"Just hearing about it makes my stomach turn," he muttered, and Aizawa stared forward, out the window and off into space. All Might shuffled closer, trying to catch his gaze. His warmth did nothing to shatter the cold he could feel down to the bone. "I'm sorry you had to go through something like that."

None of this is your place to know, he wanted to snap back, among a million other things. I don't want to hear what you have to say about sacrifice. I don't want a speech about not giving up. I want to be left alone. I don't want to be left alone. I don't know what to do. I don’t know what I want.

Exhaustion took over any motivation to be angry. It took away motivation to be anything at all. No matter what fleeting thought came to mind, Aizawa couldn't do anything but try not to sway with the earth. The sky on the other side of the window looked hazy.

"Torino sounded worried about it on the phone. After seeing you now, I think he has every right to be."

That monster that Shirakumo had become  tried to say his name. Shouta. He almost heard it. It sounded so painful, horrifically human. His heart rate climbed until he could barely mask his breath, coming in and out of his mouth unnaturally. Everything felt surreal, and he refused to blame it on the days of sleep he'd missed.

"Do you remember what you said to me a few days ago?" a low, gentle voice pierced through his thoughts, "I can still teach people, even if things are different for me now."

Had he really said that? It sounded wise. Something a teacher would say. Someone who had everything under control.

"Yeah," he forced himself to speak. It was painful doing so. The blurred room had a mind of its own now, his vision swarming like a watercolour painting, just like before. "I said it. What's your point?"

Toshinori was silent for what felt like too long. Then, an alarming and unexpected hand fell onto Aizawa's back. He inhaled sharply as the hand touched the back of his shirt. It sent a shudder down his entire body, one he wished he could control.

"I don't want to overstep," He could almost see All Might's sunken, sombre smile just outside his periphery. "But it feels to me like you need a teacher more than anyone else right now."

That declaration shook him like paper in the wind. Aizawa didn't like feeling 16 again when he was well past 30. The sensation was suffocating. He was an adult now, yet he couldn't stop thinking about how defenseless and childish he felt back when everything first happened.

As if on instinct, Aizawa reached for his eye drops with a trembling hand, cursing to himself as he realized he'd already gone through his other bottle. He couldn't do anything right. He hadn't done anything right this entire school year. 

"Your eyes are in pretty bad shape," the voice attached to the hand on his back spoke up again. Aizawa could feel the man's fingers twitch, an unexpected warmth passing over him. He suppressed the urge to shiver again. He felt so cold. "If you don't sleep, at least let them close. Just for a few minutes, and hear me out on what I have to say."

The soft, authoritative voice blanketed over his thoughts. Aizawa's body felt like static as he fought over whether it was a good or bad idea to plunge his sight back into darkness. He kept seeing things that weren't there when he closed his eyes but his retinas couldn't take much more light. It burned to keep them open. 

Finally, he hunched forward and stopped fighting it. Aizawa thought it would take everything in him to keep them like that, but the temporary relief it brought to his head was like a drug.

He tried not to let his thoughts wander back to Shirakumo, but that felt impossible now. It wasn't just that face anymore, the one he saw in the purple smoke. It was the building. The weather that day. The last expression he saw on his friend's face. Aizawa breathed in a little too harshly, as if even closing his eyes was too torturous.

"You can't be thinking straight, thinking you can rush into battle like this." Toshinori's hand was still pressed against his back. Aizawa kept his eyes closed, lids screwed shut a little too tight. "So tell me what you are thinking."

Aizawa couldn't help another strained, shaky exhale. He wasn't even sure what he was saying anymore—if he was saying anything at all.

"I think it should have been me instead," he choked out roughly, trying and failing to steady his voice. The silence afterwards was deafening, as if he'd revealed his most coveted secret. It had to be obvious, the way he held himself. Aizawa hadn't stayed alive all this time for his own sake.

They both sat there, letting the air fill the gaps between them. Aizawa regretted putting that thought into words.

"I know what it feels like to see someone come back from the dead," Toshinori finally said. Aizawa let his hands find his face and he redirected his breath into his palms. "I've seen it in enemies I thought were gone. Enemies that came back and continued to hurt others. For that, I'll never be able to forgive myself. It felt like I failed my only job."

Dead is supposed to stay dead. Thinking that was the only way to cope with grief. Losing all hope of seeing them again was a part of the process, and now everything had been turned on its head. Dead is supposed to stay dead. Aizawa felt like he'd been screaming that since the interrogation, but no one seemed to understand it.

"But…I see it in the kids, too." Toshinori’s hand moved over to Aizawa's shoulder. It felt strangely solidifying, both his grip and his unexpected words. "I see people who are gone come back to life in the students we teach. It's like I'm staring right at them sometimes." He paused. Aizawa could hear the smile in his voice. "I know you see it, too. It's one of the twisted perks of staying alive this long." 

Toshinori laughed softly at that, and Aizawa felt something wet drip onto the palms of his hands. His eyes were just recovering moisture. This wasn't anything more than that. He still found himself sniffling in response.

"Don't apologize for being alive." The space between them grew smaller, and Aizawa could feel an arm sling around him, loose yet confident in his motions. "You said that to me too, Aizawa."

If Aizawa were in any other state, he would have strangled him for violating the five-foot barrier of aura he exuded. Instead, he brought his sleeves up to his closed eyes and let his breath grow wet and unsteady. 

"I know you're hurting. It's not hard to see it now," Toshinori's half-hug felt surprisingly strong for his current form. "I know it's unfair that people expect you to move on from what you saw so quickly. You deserve more time to grieve instead of dealing with all these loose ends. I wish I could give that to you now, but I can't." the man looked away for a moment as if he couldn't handle saying that last part. "I'm so sorry for not being that anymore." 

Those words felt more like an apology to the world than just him. All Might sounded disappointed that he could no longer prop everything up on his shoulders, and Aizawa hated how good it felt to have his thoughts spoonfed to him from another source. It helped him think less. He didn't want to think anymore. He wanted to drift, ignore how he felt and what he'd seen.

"No matter what's right, avoiding sleep will make everything feel worse."

Aizawa couldn't do anything but nod thickly. He hated being wrong, but everything this week repeatedly proved otherwise. He sniffled again. His sleeve was getting wet.

He really needed to pull it together. 

"I want to," Aizawa finally said, not moving from his position. He thought to get up again but a part of him knew that would be difficult. The previous symbol of peace could ward off Shirakumo's ghost with his presence now, but that wouldn't last once he got up and stumbled to his room. "But I don't know if it's possible." 

He didn't like how his voice sounded hanging in the air. It pathetic and desperate. He didn't know why All Might of all people had been the one to make him break. Despite the man's insecurities, he still had the aura of a hero. A protector.

"If you fight in this state, it won't just be you who dies," Toshinori spoke, "I don't think your body has much of a choice."

He could barely handle closing his eyes. Exhaustion transformed into panic again. He couldn't go back to his room. He couldn't worry Eri or Hizashi or any of his students, who were undoubtedly much braver and more passionate than he could ever be.

Aizawa couldn't stop himself from admitting how he truly felt.

"My mind says otherwise." 

Toshinori was still for a moment, and just like that, he seemed to move without thinking. Quickly and ungracefully, he lifted both arms out and wrapped Aizawa in a tight hug. It was a proper one that squeezed his chest and stomach into one and forced his head to rest in the place between the hero's chest and neck. Aizawa couldn't hide the trembling in his shoulders, letting his head fall onto the man's chest. His eyes swarmed with tears, and he blinked, his scarf catching them as they fell.

This sight would have been unseemly at any other time, but Aizawa couldn't find it in him to care. It felt like his chest had been ripped open and exposed, and he couldn't help but fall limp like Eri had the other day under Mirio's care. He was good at being quiet—silent with everything he'd ever done—but the way his breath shook him and the rest of his upper half felt strikingly loud.

When Toshinori broke the hug, Aizawa found the courage to look up and finally meet his eyes. They were teeming with guilt…or maybe it was more like understanding. 

"I'm here for awhile. If you try again, I'll make sure you aren't disturbed," Toshinori said, as if to really say, I'll be here to protect in whatever way I can.

It was so like him. All Might's state of mind hadn't changed much with the loss of his body.

Aizawa couldn't argue. He was no stranger to napping in untraditional places. He wrapped his arms around himself, head falling forward into his scarf. The world still spun beneath him, even with his eyes closed. Right now, it seemed less like quicksand and more like…nothing. Open air. More neutral than before. 

"Did I ever tell you what happened to those water filters I ordered for delivery? UA security thought the delivery guy tampered with them. Said they could be bombs or poison. I could only use them if I went out and bought them myself…I asked what difference it made if I bought them in person instead of online… you're not gonna believe what they said…"

Aizawa knew what the man was doing. It was painfully purposeful. Filling the room with mindless words instead of the obvious. You only have so much time left before leaving for Jaku Hospital. People are counting on you. You need to think more about living for your own sake. You need to sleep now.

Like always, All Might's actions somehow spoke louder than his words. 

As he finally drifted off, he couldn't help thinking that maybe Eri was right.

___

If you got this far, thank you for reading!! As always, my ask box is open for any thought/requests :)

[lipsberzatto]

⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ | your braids like a pattern, love you to the moon and to saturn.

hi ! i wrote this as a bot for c.ai, but unfortunately it was too long :( i’m proud of how it turned out, though, so i figured i’d share it here ! reblogs are deeply appreciated & i hope whoever reads this, enjoys it ! 🤍

⋆.˚ ────୨ৎ──── ⋆.˚

gentle. it wasn’t a word he was particularly used to.

lip didn’t come from a gentle home. he wasn’t read bedtime stories or cuddled to sleep. he didn’t have a mom who kissed his all boo-boos away or a dad who taught him how to throw a ball.

no, he didn’t have gentle parents. instead he had a frank, and he a monica. selfish parents, who catered to their own needs, their own desires, over the wellbeing of their children. a mom who ran out on her kids, choosing to not get the help she needed, but rather the high she craved. and a father who drank. and drank and drank. a father who maybe was there physically, but never emotionally. only needed his children when it benefited him somehow. whichever kid could make him the most money or get him the most alcohol or drugs would become his favorite for the day.

lip was used to abandonment, doing everything on his own and relying on no one. they all were, all the gallaghers. they had to, because well, what else was there? fiona was the closest any of them had to a mom, really, and maybe he was the closest they’d have to a dad, even if he didn’t think of it that way. they were his siblings, and they deserved better than what they were given.

maybe he did too, even if he didn’t think of it that way.

he sort of kept this same mentality in his love life. it was so deep rooted, it was all he knew. he didn’t do relationships, or anything long term. hookups, one night stands, y’know, no strings attached. it was comfortable, the lack of attachment. it was familiar.

oh, but then you came around, somehow weaseled your way through his cracks, under his skin, and showed him that maybe, just maybe, he could have it all. he could have.. gentle.

you’d met at a frat party a few months ago, a party neither of you should have been at, not with finals the next morning. but you were with your sorority girls, and well, lip needed to get laid. and what easier way to do so than to find a pretty girl, sweet talk her for a bit, then take her to bed? but when he bumped into you at the spiked punch bowl, it was as if a switch had been flipped. a single brush of your hands, both reaching for the ladle of punch, and everything he thought he knew, thought he wanted, had changed.

you hooked up, of course. but you also talked. really talked. you had a way of simply looking at him, with your big, doe-eyes, and making him practically word vomit. vulnerability? opening up? that was foreign, off-limits. but you.. god, you just peeled back at all his layers, until all that was left was a boy who craved gentle love and affection. a boy so deserving of it. you made him laugh, not chuckle, laugh. and you cuddled, you ran your fingers through his soft curls and massaged his scalp. you made him feel like was worth something, like he was deserving of breathing fresh air.

it was all new to him, and as much as he found himself loving it, found himself missing your warmth and missing your soft giggles, he couldn’t help but wonder when it’ll all just.. end. when you’ll realize he’s nothing more than south side trash, that he’s got nothing to offer you. he’s waiting for you to leave him. maybe because it’s all he’s ever known.

it was the morning after another little sleepover — third one in a row. he was sprawled out in your bed, shirtless under the soft, warm covers. he folded the pillow under his head, propping himself up as he watched you. you were at your vanity, wearing his shirt from last night, with only your underwear on underneath. he didn’t even attempt to hide his smile as he saw how oversized it was on you. you weren’t doing anything exciting, not really, just braiding your hair. but just like everything else you did, you had him entranced. he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, and he didn’t even try to. didn’t want to. the way your locks flowed through your fingers like honey, the way your skin was practically glowing in the morning light, and the way your tongue was peeking out as you concentrated.

you caught his eye in the reflection of the mirror, his smile widening as your cheeks flush a soft shade of pink.

“you’re staring.”

you murmur as you secure your braid with a clear electric band, before moving onto the other side of your head.

lip simply shrugs in return, guilty as charged.

“yeah, well..”

he murmurs before slowly rolling out of bed and making his way over to you, wearing only his plaid boxers. he runs his fingers through your hair, much softer than it was last night. you shudder at the memory.

and to your absolute surprise, he starts to braid it. and now you’re the one watching in awe, his calloused hands carefully weaving your hair into a messy, yet somehow still perfect braid.

lip cracks a smirk at your reaction, his eyes sweeping over your face before returning his focus to your strands of gold.

“used to do my sister’s hair like this when we were kids. dunno how i taught myself, but i did.”

he murmurs, his voice all low and soft from sleep. his hands were so graceful. so.. gentle.

[clippetty]

white haired men and their homosexual tendencies

astarion x drow! bard! male! tav

an. a short fluff piece for my tav and astarion! mostly so i can write about altair in act one because that man was so not okay (alcohol withdrawal symptoms) ending is a bit rushed, but it's cute anyway

cw. mentions of blood (it's astarion, it comes with the vampire fic)

“I mean, we could’ve tried getting Gale to heal you. I don’t know if you want him of all people healing you, though.”

“Eugh, Gale? Healing? I’d rather you let me die.”

Altair rolls his eyes. “You're so dramatic."

“You love me for it.”

“Unfortunately.”

wc. 1.3k

Astarion smelled blood and thought of home. 

(If he could even count Cazador’s mansion as a “home.”)

It's a mix of his blood, some of the party’s, some of whoever they’d just killed. The scent is strong as it wafts towards him, unpleasantly combined with dirt and whatever poison he’d had on his blade. Its warmth creeps into his shirt as he bleeds out.

Strange how his blood is so warm while his body is ice cold.

His arms are as heavy as lead, his body is sore, he thinks he’s dying. Again. 

He’s dragging himself across the rough ground, blood seeping from his wounds and teeth grit. He can’t muster up the strength to push himself off the ground. 

Shadowheart is saying something unintelligible to him, and he’s vaguely aware that the fight is over. He's drifting in and out of consciousness. The last he sees is a pair of boots running towards him and his party’s concerned faces. 

-

He wakes up to the soft playing of a violin.

Altair.

“Can you stop playing? My head is killing me.”

Astarion groggily props himself up, feeling the stiffness of bandages wrapped around his arms and chest. Altair’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, a few feet away from his bedroll. How long had he been out?

“It's only been a few hours, if you want to know.” 

“I didn't ask.”

“Figured you’d want to know.” He smiles, shrugging halfheartedly. Altair had a horrible knack for being able to read Astarion perfectly. 

His smile only worsens his discomfort, his eyes shifting away from Altair. Talking to him always felt less like talking to a person and more like a cheerful brick wall. A cheerful brick wall who knew exactly what was wrong with him and would try his hardest to fix it.

At first his overeager personality and unfaltering smile made Astarion think that Altair must’ve had some kind of hero complex- but he soon realized that he was just a doormat. Always wanting to please everyone in the party, going as far as it took to keep them around him. 

He’d completely change his personality without hesitating if it meant that they stuck around him.

It unnerves him.

“I sent Karlach and Gale for a supply run a while ago, we're gonna have dinner when they get back. Unless you want to feed now?”

“I can wait until they get back.” He prods at the bandages. “Why didn't you or Shadowheart heal me?”

“Out of magic.”

“You and Shadowheart?” He scoffs. “I thought your magic came from your instrument?”

“The magic comes from the violinist, not the violin.” He retorts. “I mean, we could’ve tried getting Gale to heal you. I don’t know if you want him of all people healing you, though.”

“Eugh, Gale? Healing? I’d rather you let me die.”

Altair rolls his eyes. “You're so dramatic.”

“You love me for it.” 

“Unfortunately.”

“Love” might’ve been a strong word to use for their relationship, if he could even call it that. They had sex a few times, shared flirty banter (much to the dismay of the rest of the party), and he’d opened up begrudgingly about his past to Altair. 

Regrettably, he thinks he’s falling in love with Altair. Despite his never-faltering smile and inconsistent personality, his actions were becoming a genuine source of comfort and security. 

“Knock knock, hope I’m not interrupting?” 

They both turn to Shadowheart, who's peeking through the flap on his tent. She takes Altair’s smile as an invitation, and sits on the floor next to his bedroll. 

“Hello, Shadowheart.” Astarion starts, “What brings you to my humble abode?”

“Healing.” She curtly responds, sighing tiredly as she sits beside his bedroll. 

“Your little paramour has that sad look on his face, wouldn't leave your side ever since you got knocked out. You’re lucky that I like Altair- and that I have the energy to heal you.”

“I didn’t have a look on my face!” Altair retorts, crossing his arms. 

Astarion rolls his eyes, chuckling. Altair’s only- what, a couple decades younger than him? Certainly not young enough to act like a child! 

“You're a fully grown 200-something year old drow! Stop looking like a kicked puppy when someone gets hurt!” She starts shooing Altair away. “Gale and Karlach are back already, get some food. I’ll heal Astarion and then you can both have dinner together.”

“I’m 215, for your information!” He indignantly huffs. “Fine, I’ll go and walk my fully grown ass outside to get food. I’ll be back.”

They watch as Altair begrudgingly slips out of Astarion’s tent. What a silly man.

“He’s only like that with you, you know.” Shadowheart turns back to him, her hands hovering over his bandaged wound. 

“Whatever could you mean?”

“Clingy.”

“He’s not like that with everyone?” 

“No.” She scoffs, “I don’t know if it’s because he likes you or if it's something else. He's just much more clingy with you, constantly has that kicked puppy look whenever he’s separated from you. It’d be cuter if he wasn’t a fully grown man.”

“It's a little cute.” Don't think about this any harder, he’s not supposed to get close- he's not anything more than protection. Oh my gods- stop it. “He’s just a little romantic, isn’t he?”

“That's one way to put it, I suppose.”

Shadowheart wipes her hands, looking into Astarion’s eyes tentatively.

“I know we haven't known each other for long, but Altair is a good person. I hope you don't hurt him in the future, Astarion.”

“I’m not planning to kill him or anything!”

“You know what I meant.” She stands, “He’s a good person; better than both of us at least- you know that. Don't hurt him, alright?”

“Yes, yes” He flippantly waves his hand, “You can go now, if you're done prodding at my conscience.”

She leaves, and he sits in silence waiting for Altair to return. Great, she has him thinking about the scenario where Altair and him actually become something real. He has to make sure that it never happens. He doesn’t even know if he’s ready for something real.

He's not even sure if he can face the guilt of confessing this shit to Altair. If all goes as planned, then he won't ever have to- right?

-

It’s been a few decades since his plan miraculously failed and their relationship became something “real"

Astarion thinks it went pretty well, considering Altair didn't just ice him out on the spot when he confessed all those years ago. 

They got married about a decade after the reconstruction of Baldur’s Gate. He moved into Altair’s house (not like Astarion had a house of his own anyway), got “normal people” jobs, opened a business, and just settled down.

It was dreadfully domestic.

Not to say that he preferred his life before, living on the road was a dirty affair (not the fun kind, mind you), and he doesn't even want to mention Cazador. He just didn't expect his life to end up being so peaceful.

He sits on their couch, Altair is sprawled out next to him. It’s some time in the evening, he’s not sure. He's sad that he is once again restricted to the night, but Altair trying to match his sleep schedule had made it more than bearable. 

The fireplace crackles in front of them, and he decides that it’s about time for them to start their night. He softly bookmarks his page, shutting his book and setting it down on the coffee table. 

His hands gently shake Altair, who lets out a groan as he wakes up. He shifts as Altair sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“You couldn't let me sleep for a few minutes longer?”

“I was hungry.” He replies, shrugging playfully. “Besides, it's about time we got our night started anyway.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever.. Have your breakfast first and then we can go and buy stuff.”

He grins as Altair moves his hair aside, exposing the tender skin on his neck. His fangs sink in, the taste and smell of Altair’s blood is intoxicating.

“Ah, this is the smell of home.”

[terrorizings]

hey i just fell down one of the most bizarre rabbit holes i’ve ever fallen down that began with a tiktok ai reading an r/amitheasshole reddit post and ended with whatever this puppet sex homestuck arg (?) was. Having spent the last two full hours absolutely enraptured with this series of blogs, i was wondering if anyone involved in this bro strider muppet nonsense knows @the-muppet-joker or who’s behind that account, or if he’s just an unrelated guy that just so happened to frequently reblog and interact with the 6 of you guys. I have significant reason to believe that blog is another elaborate bit (as it’s the reason i got here) so it would be really fucking funny if whoever runs that account (be they genuine or not) just so happened to stumble upon your shitposts while searching for horny muppet posts and started reblogging then. either way props to you for doing all of this and good luck on whatever daisy brown alantutorial shit you wind up making next because you are all definitely going places. sending this ask to all of you individually btw.

I think I may have been the first of the blogs to get interacted with by the muppet joker, as I received an ask from him relatively early into my blogs tenure and simply let it steep until the other folk started hitting his line and interacting with him. That being said!

No fucking clue who that dude is.

I assumed it was all a very elaborate bit since it's all within the same realm of internet-referencing (particularly, tumblr related internet-referencing in the realm of making wide gestures towards things like tumblr sexymen and error sans from error(??) undertale) bullhockey as every ambitious blog parodying weird fetishes. In combination with his interests being specifically two bastions of internet memes, the joker and kermit the frog, I think he's just a guy who's really committed to the bit.

That also being said.

I got an ask saying he'd gone crazy and was actually doing crazy shit, so. I don't know! Maybe he is just a genuine guy. But I sure don't know who he is and he sure didn't have anything to do with my stuff.

[omoshirokiller]

Little More

zoro x gn!reader

[no pronouns mentioned for reader]

Warnings: angst, major character death, more angst, cursing, crying, mentions of injuries

word count: 842 words

[I cried while writing this. I hope it’s good and whoever is reading this enjoys it. I was listening to Million Years Ago by Adele, so I recommend it]

Why? All Zoro could process right now was the question, why was this happening right now?

“Hey Marimo.” You were propped up against a wall looking up at the green-haired swordsman.

“What the hell are you doing? Why are you hurt?” Zoro was pissed, but not at you. He could never be mad at you no matter how hard he acted like he was. He felt guilty that he wasn’t with you to protect you. He let you get hurt.

“I didn’t mean to. I really thought I had the upper hand, but I got weak and let my guard down. Sorry, Zo.” Your voice came out weak while explaining. 

Zoro didn’t wanna sit there and make you think he was mad at you. He didn’t wanna lecture you about how you need to be safe. He just wanted to take away all your pain. His thoughts were ripped away when you spoke to him. 

“Hey Zo. Can you sit with me?” 

Zoro lowered himself to lean against the wall with you. He loved it when you said his nickname and his heart squeezed because you needed him. That you were comfortable with him. Once settled beside you, his arm was slightly brushing against one of yours. Being now closer to you and seeing your injuries up close, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. You won, but at what cost.

“I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” 

Zoro didn’t notice that he was staring right at you with pain in his eyes until you spoke to him. “I know, you're strong. You're stronger than anyone I know.” He saw a small smile appear on your lips. You had turned away from facing him to lay your head against the wall and stare ahead.

“Even stronger than Sanji?"

"Of course, you are stronger than that dumb cook." Zoro couldn't help but laugh under his breath at your question.

“What about you? Am I stronger than the pirate hunter Roronoa Zoro?” He lied and told you yes. Just to hear your laugh again, but it wasn’t the same. Your laugh usually made the swordsman get butterflies. This time, his chest became tight and tear welled in his eyes. You weren’t you anymore.

And it hurt.

“I wish I could live a little more.” As soon as those words left your lips, Zoro couldn’t help but let his tears fall. “I would tell the whole crew that you said I was stronger than you.”

“You are gonna live longer. I haven’t got to tell you everything I wanted to yet.” Zoro placed his hand on your leg. Neither of you were looking at each other anymore, both of you were just staring straight ahead.

“Tell me now. Let me listen to your voice until the end.” You leaned to lay your head against his shoulder.

“(y/n)...” Zoro wasn’t gonna let this opportunity go. He needed you to know his feelings, he wanted you to feel comfortable. He was gonna be vulnerable just for you. “I want to be with you. I’ve wanted to be with you ever since you joined the crew. Hearing your laughter and seeing you smile made my heart feel odd. Robin and Nami were the first to tell me I had feelings for you. I couldn’t believe it and I wanted to deny it and run away from you, but everywhere I went, you were there smiling and being kind. I found myself longing for your company, I wanted to be by your side forever and have you by my side. Not like this though.”

“I appreciate you being by my side right now, Zo. I needed you and you came.”

“I will always come to be by your side. I will never leave your side.” 

“You’re going to have to leave me. I’m sorry, Zoro. I’m sorry that I’m leaving you when you need me.”

Zoro still had his tears falling, but they weren’t heavy anymore. He tried to hide his tears and unstable breathing from you. He didn’t want you to see him crying. He knows you would feel guilty for causing his sadness. You also had some tears leaving your eyes, but the major change was that your breathing was getting more shallow. You knew it wasn’t long before your body submitted to the pain. At least you would leave knowing that Zoro returned your feelings.

“I love you, Zo. I wish we had more time together, but I don't think I'll be here much longer” with those last words lingering in the air as you took one final breath. Zoro began to sob, feeling your body go limp against his.

"Please don't leave me, (y/n)." Zoro turned and grabbed your body and he held you in his arms, close to his chest. His tears that dropped were now running down your face. Your eyes were closed and you had a smile on your face. Zoro leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

“I love you too (y/n). I’ll always love you.”

[do-not-lick-the-walls]

a devil put aside | chapter six - communion

masterlist | read on ao3

(gif via @goodsirs)

beelzebub x fallen angel!reader

summary: you have a drink with the council.

(she/her pronouns are used for reader, no use of y/n)

warnings: religious themes & trauma, strong language, drinking/drunkenness, some sexual undertones, peer pressure(?)

ineffable taglist: @sarcastic-sourwolf , @angelofthenight <3

a/n: sorry the end of this is kinda rushed, as I unfortunately have responsibilities other than this fic (boooooooo) which currently includes a lot of college auditions. Alas, in order to become the funny little gay on TV, I must sacrifice some of the fic about the funny little gay on TV. So it goes. Pretend it was all on purpose because she's drunk djdjdndjdjxjd

---

You're bad at a lot of things, but round two is looking like it's about to involve some of your worst.

Skidding through your first Council meeting has injected you with a nervous high, an unblinking energy that makes your teeth hurt and your fingers bleed while half-carved anxieties play catch with your pulse. You can't make it slow (will you ever tame the horrible throbbing of this heart?) the tha-thump is going too strong for that (will you ever get used to it?) so you're resigned to live out your agitation on this couch, picking at your nails until you're thrown back in the ring.

This backroom is surprisingly cozy, making it all the more unfamiliar. The light is warm here, rather than green, cast from several vintage lamps and the fireplace. Little statues, trinkets, and other curiosities decorate the mantle with a slice of the room's casual grandeur. There's a settled-in feeling to the place, telling you both that you're welcome and that you don't belong.

While Hastur and Ligur hang their coats by the door, Beelzebub sprawls out at the other end of your couch like a very relaxed corpse. They let out a sigh reminiscent of a balloon slowly deflating.

"Welcome to our little hideaway. Make yourself comfy," Ligur invites. With an effort, you cross your legs and lean back some. He does a much better job of it, flopping down on the sofa across from you, soon joined by an uneasy Hastur. Dagon perches on the arm of an old recliner.

"Eric, bring us a couple bottles!" Beelzebub shouts. (You flinch.) They're seemingly confident that whoever Eric is can hear them despite the closed door and whatever distance there may be. You don't question it. The past thirty hours have carried weirder stuff, and you're more concerned about what Eric's bringing.

At least you knew the rules of a meeting. Granted, it was the oddest meeting you've ever been in, but still, you had a basic understanding of the game. You've been in tons of meetings. It's a meeting. It's fine. You have no idea what the rules of "having a drink in the back" are, except that you're pretty sure drinking is one of them.

To calm yourself, you let your eyes wander the room some more. The dark, swirling brocade of the wallpaper is almost soothing to your nerves, as is the half-felt drag of your shoe's heel across the rug when you pull your foot back and forth. Oil paintings of evil's greatest triumphs hang proudly, and you wonder if they were just miracled into existence, or if somebody spent hours and hours on them. You wouldn't be surprised if someone had; subject matter aside, they're beautiful.

After the paintings, your eyes fall on a boxy contraption in the corner. It's placed atop a cabinet, lid propped open to reveal silver bits of machinery on the inside. Unsure if it's within the rules to ask aloud, you nudge Beelzebub, glance at the box, and raise your eyebrows.

They laugh. "That's a record player, doll."

"Oh." You pause. "I don't know what that means."

"Here," Ligur gets up and pulls an envelope from the cabinet, then a black disc from the envelope. He places the disc in the machine and fiddles around a bit with the silver pieces. Then, something clicks into place, and the box begins to make an unfamiliar kind of sound.

You scrunch your eyebrows together, frowning. "I don't..."

"It's music," Dagon explains. "It's playing a record."

"Oh." The tension in your forehead slowly drops away as you listen. It doesn't sound anything at all like the angel choirs you sing in. There's a heartbeat at the base of it. Not an unpleasant, flighty one, though, a steady bounce that's felt more than it's heard, like the constant pace of a perpetual motion machine. And over top of those beats, a funky, squiggly sound chases itself back and forth with abandon. It strikes an urge to do something in time with the whole affair. "I like it."

Just as you're starting to tap your finger a little, the door slams open, tearing a very un-demonlike yelp from you and sending your pulse into double-time.

"Alright, alright, alright! Got a nice selection for you tonight, Lords, all reds as always, got some lovely flavors here," says the intruder, a tall, skinny demon with his arms full of clinking bottles and glasses, and who is presumably Eric. You take a few breaths, hand to your chest, while he sets the collection on the coffee table.

Centuries of politeness-instinct makes you open your mouth to thank him, even though you don't mean it, but Beelzebub gives you a subtle kick, and you clumsily glare instead. Eric responds with an encouraging smile and a thumbs up.

"Very nice, very nice! You must be the Seraph, then! Nice t'meet you, I'm Eric. I'm kind of the everyman around here, you can find me pretty easy, so just call if you need anything, yeah?" He bombards, "How's hell for you?"

You open your mouth again, only to be cut off with variations of "Fuck off, Eric!" From four different directions. Eric doesn't seem to mind in the slightest, and gives you a cheery wave before he leaves.

"You'll get used to him," Dagon says, while you avoid watching Ligur pour the wine. "He's annoying, but he's useful."

A concerningly pleasant aroma floats through the air as the demons pass around their glasses. There's no cheat for this, no trick, and there's no calling for backup when your backup's handing you the cup. This trial is four against one. This is a hurdle you have to jump yourself.

You accept the full glass from Beelzebub with both hands, letting it nest in your palms. It's heavier than expected. You feel like a child, awkwardly holding something a little too big for her, and afraid of being punished should she drop it. Wine, blood, what's the difference when it's spilled on the floor? The cup you're cradling doesn't look too different from the pinpricks of red on the fingers that hold it.

Four sets of evil eyes are trained onto you. Curiosity, suspicion, apprehension, faith. The tempting, fruity aroma of sin kisses your nose like it did Eve, exciting your heart again before it even got the chance to fully calm down.

A smile ticks at the corner of Beelzebub's mouth. They hold out their glass. "Cheers. To you."

The glasses ring when they knock together.

The wine is sour on your tongue, then sweet after you push it down your neck, and it tastes like red. It tastes very much like you're not supposed to have it. Somewhere in your throat it catches, and you choke, then force it to stay down. You make a face.

Beelzebub laughs. "It's an aquired taste, love. Keep drinking, you'll come to like it."

You grimace, but take another sip. It's not as bad the second time, and you do better with the whole swallowing thing. Still not good, but not as bad. Maybe it can be appreciated, if you get used to it. You swirl around the glass, watching the red whirlpool form, then dissipate.

Hastur lights a cigarette by engulfing his entire hand in flame. "So, how are you liking hell?" He asks, tentative, as if poking a lion with a very long stick. You shift around.

What you want to say is, "It's hell, what do you think?"

You don't say that.

Instead, after an awkward pause and a mental dig, you blurt out, "I like the clothes."

Well, you landed somewhere honest. You do like the clothes. There's variety down here, styles, colors and shapes you didn't realize were options, all far more interesting to look at than heaven's raiment.

"I can see why," Ligur chuckles. "Beez dressed you nice. You look right well in them."

Beez???

"Wait, wait, hold on a second, is that---" Dagon sets her glass down, leans in, then falls back with a bark of laughter. "She's got their pin on!"

The room erupts into snickers, lighting sparks on your face. You look to Beelzebub for help, find them emptying their glass, and decide to follow suit. You can't pound it like they do, but your hands and the cup give you somewhere to hide.

"I knew you liked your new pet, Beez, but I didn't know you were already so attached!"

Wine sloshes out of your glass as you shoot to your feet, sputtering. "I am not a pet!"

"Ooh, bit fiesty, are we?" Ligur teases, then grunts as Hastur throws an elbow in his side.

"Shut it, all of you!" Beelzebub shouts. They pour themself another, buzzing, and tug you back down. "Don't mind, love. They're just teasing. If anything, means they like you."

Your face is still burning, but you calm a little as you sink back into the leather. This is not heaven. This is a different game, with different rules, you remind yourself, and finish whatever wine you didn't spill. Play the game.

Fiddling with the pin, you take a breath. You're bad at a lot of things, and choosing the right words might just be the worst of them.

You try anyway.

"It's okay that you're jealous, Ligur. I would be too," you joke, then immediately slap your hand over your stupid mouth. Beelzebub chokes on their wine.

But there must've been a miracle left in you, because he whistles high, and breaks into a grin. Relief untenses your shoulders. "I was right, you are fiesty," he laughs, "Beez, I take it back, I'm glad we didn't feed her to the hellhounds. She's fun."

You laugh along nervously, also glad they didn't feed you to the hellhounds, but keenly aware that it's not off the table yet. Still, you snag the golden piece of approval, and you let the want for more of it refill your glass.

"I told you all, she's got it," Beelzebub smiles, then turns to you, "Oh, careful there, love. It's your first time, and you're on an empty stomach."

Waving them off, you sit back and take a sip. It's starting to taste good, and the amused look you pull from them tastes even sweeter. Their arm rests along the top of the sofa, as if tempting you to come curl into their side. You drink.

Little shocks flutter in your fingertips as a pleasant haze rolls in over the next few minutes, and then much longer after that. For the first time in many days, you feel unheavy. Floating instead of falling, instead of sinking. You kick off your shoes and pull your feet onto the couch, pulse matching time with the music, to which you've started tapping your fingers along with. You're contented just to listen for a while. To the record player, and to the idle, demonic chit-chat.

Maybe you have another glass, or maybe you just make this one last a while, you're not really sure. Which is quite funny, now that you think about it. You should know that, but you don't, but that's okay, because it's fine. You laugh at yourself, and then again at the sound you make. When's the last time you laughed? It feels good, you should really do it more. No wonder you're sad all the time.

With that problem solved, you turn to Beez---the name makes you giggle again---to ask for another drink.

Oh.

Fuck.

You already knew they're gorgeous. This shouldn't be a surprise. But holy shit, are they beautiful, looking so at ease, so in control, sprawled out like they own the place. Which they do.

You want to touch their face. You want them to touch you. You want them to burn sunsets into you with their hands, kiss your neck like they didn't before. You just want them.

Their side is still open, inviting, and you give in this time. After all, why shouldn't you? They make an 'oomph' noise as you fall into them, then a squeak, then a "shut the fuck up," in response to a chorus of snickers. They're warm, they're beautifully warm, and they're safe. You're safe. You could bury yourself here.

"Alright, you're officially drunk, then," they laugh, "Should've known, you've got no tolerance for it."

"Mmmmmnnhhhnn," you respond.

"What's that?"

You sigh, wrapping your arms around them, and press in closer. If this is being drunk, you don't see what makes it such a sin. You're at peace, in safe hands, and free to stop thinking. It's an altar you'd worship at any day.

A hand runs down your back, and you remember what it is you wanted to say.

"You're so nice."

[fidothefinch]

In the Library

For Holy Server B@tman prompt: Reverse Robins AU Jason noticed the new kid the second he stepped across the library’s threshold. There was a large window, and though little Dickie was silent, he cast a shadow across Jason’s book as he passed. Rookie.

Jason turned a page nonchalantly, hoping that the kid would get bored and move on. He only half understood what his eyes were scanning as he mentally tracked Dick’s progress. Across the library. Up the shelves of the furthest case. Across the top shelf. It was the long pause that followed, Dick likely perched on the bookshelf directly behind Jason’s comfortable seat on the wingback chair, that finally made Jason nervous.

Without moving his head, he glanced at the chandelier twelve feet above. Sure, the kid was an acrobat, but he wouldn’t—

“Ha!”

It took all of Jason’s vigilante training not to jump at the sight of the feral child shooting across the ceiling. Dick had a wide grin on his face as he caught the chandelier like a pro (which he had been). The whole structure swung with his momentum, making the crystal chime.

When Jason’s heart had started to beat again, he snapped his book shut around one finger to hold his place. Pretense gone. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

Dick had maneuvered himself so he hung upside-down by his knees from the lowest ring. “Did I scare you?” he asked, batting his eyelashes. Not even a hint of shame.

“You’re lucky you didn’t bring the whole thing down.”

Dick shrugged. “I’ve done it before.”

Jason raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really?” He stretched out the second word, making his interest clear.

Dick paused mid-stretch and eyed Jason, like he suddenly realized he could be dealing with a narc. “What are you reading?” he asked instead.

Jason wasn’t falling for such terrible deflection. “You could hurt yourself, and I’m not going to get in trouble for letting you. Get down from there.”

Dick grinned, and Jason didn’t realize his mistake until he swung the chandelier, gaining momentum, and launched himself across the room again. Jason reflexively stood, like he could have caught him, but Dick flipped in the air once, twice, and landed in a roll. Jason just stared flatly as the kid stood tall, arms high, and gave a grand bow.

“I get it now,” Jason said. “You’re a show off.”

Dick stuck his tongue out at him. Jason hoped that would be the end of it, but Dick bounded up to him like a puppy, all lanky limbs and boundless energy. So much energy. Was Jason ever like this when he was Dick’s age? He understood now why Tim had avoided him at first.

“What are you reading?” the puppy-eyed boy asked.

“Shakespeare.”

“For school?”

“No.”

Dick gasped. “For fun?”

Jason glowered. “Shakespeare is a master of the written word. Look,” Jason thumbed the well-loved hardback open to a dogeared page. (It had been leftover from whoever last read from it. Damian, maybe. Jason would never.) He skimmed a few lines before he found what he was looking for. “To be or not to be, that is the question—”

Dick groaned theatrically. Everything he did was theatrical, Jason was beginning to suspect. “Sounds boring.”

“A man propelled to madness by his grief and his drive for revenge, boring?” Jason took his seat again. “I think Cass still has Dick and Jane in her room, if that’s more your speed.”

Dick scowled at him, but Jason pointedly stuck his nose back into his book.

“Fine,” Dick said. The seat next to Jason rocked as Dick invited himself in, legs kicked over the armrest.

“Your elbows are digging into my side,” Jason grumbled.

Dick adjusted and flopped all the way into Jason’s lap. He was giving Jason that grin again, the one he was beginning to associate with trouble.

He could just shove Dick into the floor. But Jason was mature. So he propped his elbows on Dick’s sternum to hold his book up.

Dick wisely didn’t complain.

After reading silently for a few minutes, a small voice asked, “Can. . . I mean, would you. . . .”

Jason understood. He cleared his throat in acknowledgement, and picked up right where he had left off.

As he began to read the verse out loud, Dick melted into his lap. Jason hadn’t realized how tense he had been. Maybe he should cut the kid some slack.

After he learned about Shakespeare.

[darkstar225]

Twice's 10th member visits Nayeon on her solo's set

A/N: Hey guys, I'm sorry for disappearing but I got my wisdom teeth out so yeah- lol. Anyway- I got an ask on Tumblr and I loved writing it, ty anon! :D

The request: Can I request something, you know nayeon solo pop behind the scene, nayeon was so sad because 10th doesn't come because she's in hiatus, she sad but suddenly staff ask her to go out and said something 'fresh air'. She's grumpy because her favorite member is not coming and what she saw is the dancer who help her in mv but it turned out is 10th member. She suddenly feels embarrassed (nayeon) because she didn't notice her until now

PS: Tysm for everyone that reads what I write, I hope I can bring a smile to your faces every time I post! I'd like to thank whoever sent me this idea 'cause I loved to write it <3

__________________________________________________________

Nayeon stared at her reflection in the dressing room mirror, her usually bright eyes dull with disappointment. She took a deep breath and tried to shake off the heavy feeling that had settled over her heart. Today was supposed to be a special day, the behind-the-scenes shoot for her first solo music video. But it felt incomplete without Y/N, the 10th member of TWICE, by her side.

Y/N had been on hiatus for the past few weeks due to health concerns, and Nayeon missed her presence more than she had expected. The maknae's energy, laughter, and the way she could effortlessly brighten up any room were missed a lot, especially today T-T.

As the camera crew bustled around her, adjusting lights and arranging props, Nayeon's mind kept drifting back to her kid. She wondered how her fellow member was doing and if she was feeling any better. Nayeon had always been protective of Y/N, despite the girl's unwavering independence. She felt a pang of guilt for not being able to be there for her angel during her hiatus.

At that moment, one of the staff members entered the room and snapped her out of her daydreaming.

Staff 1 - Nayeon, we're ready for your solo shots now! 

Nayeon plastered a smile on her face and walked onto the set, giving her best performance despite the absence that weighed on her heart. Hours passed, and the shoot continued. Nayeon pushed herself to focus on her performance, giving her all to every take. But every now and then, her mind would wander back to TWICE's sunshine, wondering if she was watching the live stream of the shoot or if she was resting and recovering. She deserved to rest but perhaps...

As the day wore on, Nayeon couldn't shake the melancholic feeling that had settled over her. She had been hoping to share this exciting moment with Y/N, to see her smiling face on set, cheering her on. But her babygirl's absence cast a shadow over the entire experience.

The word Cut! that the director called out signalled the end of another take. Nayeon let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and walked off-set, retreating to a corner of the studio. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through her messages in hopes of any news from Y/N.

 A voice called out to the eldest member and Nayeon looked up to see one of the backup dancers approaching her. 

Backup dancer - Hey, Nayeon, you did great out there!

Nayeon managed a small smile, grateful for the dancer's kind words but her soft voice betrayed her as she tried to hide her emotions. 

Nayeon - Thanks. It's just... I wish Y/N could be here.

The dancer nodded understandingly. 

Backup dancer - I heard she's getting better. Maybe she'll surprise you soon. (little does she know lol)

Nayeon sighed, her shoulders slumping. 

Nayeon - I hope so *frowns*

Just then, another staff member approached her. 

Staff 2 - Nayeon, how about you take a break? The fresh air might do you some good.

Nayeon grumbled inwardly but forced herself to nod. She walked out of the studio and into the corridor, leaning against the wall. The cool air did little to alleviate the heaviness that had settled in her chest. As she stood there, lost in her thoughts, the sound of laughter reached her ears. Nayeon frowned, recognizing the voice but not quite believing it. She turned towards the source of the sound and blinked in disbelief.

There, surrounded by a small group of staff and dancers, was Y/N, her girl. She was wearing a casual outfit, her smile radiant as she chatted animatedly with those around her. Nayeon's heart skipped a beat as she took in the sight of her younger sister, looking healthier and happier than she had expected.

Nayeon's initial shock quickly turned into a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment. How had she missed Y/N's arrival? She watched the girl's every move, feeling a warmth spread through her chest as she realized that Y/N had come to surprise her.

As if sensing Nayeon's gaze, the maknae looked up and their eyes met. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they locked eyes. Then, Y/N's smile widened, and she excused herself from the group, walking towards Nayeon as she started talking, her voice soft yet full of warmth.

Y/N - Hey, Nayeon unnie. 

Nayeon felt her cheeks heat up, a mixture of embarrassment and joy flooding her system. 

Nayeon - Baby, you're here.

Y/N chuckled, her eyes sparkling. 

Y/N - Yeah, why wouldn't I be? Are you surprised? Lol

Nayeon nodded, a wide smile spreading across her face. 

Nayeon - More than surprised. I can't believe I didn't notice you until now! *pouts*

Y/N shrugged playfully. 

Y/N - Well, I guess I can be pretty sneaky when I want to be. And... You're old lmao

Nayeon laughed, the heaviness in her heart lifting with every second she spent in Y/N's presence even if she was being teased by her kid. 

Nayeon - You have no idea how much I've missed you, love.

TWICE's honey's gaze softened, and she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around her older sister in a gentle hug. 

Y/N - I've missed you too, unnie. But I'm here now, and I'm so proud of you!

Tears welled up in Nayeon's eyes as she hugged her youngest back, holding onto her tightly. The months of worrying and missing Y/N melted away in that embrace, replaced by a profound sense of gratitude and happiness. As they pulled back from the hug, Nayeon wiped away her tears and looked at Y/N with a teasing smile. 

Nayeon - YAH! You know, you should've warned me. I've been moping around all day.

Y/N chuckled, her eyes sparkling mischievously. 

Y/N - Where's the fun in that? Besides, seeing your reaction was totally worth it.

Nayeon shook her head in mock exasperation, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. As they stood there, exchanging laughter and stories, Nayeon realized that even in her absence, Y/N had a way of brightening her world. And as they headed back to the studio, arm in arm, Nayeon knew that her solo shoot was no longer incomplete because Y/N was right there by her side and that made her have only one thought:

I love our dear maknae.

A/N: I apologise for any errors, English is not my first language. Pls, let me know if there's something wrong, ty for reading <3

[whatislifebesidesrehearsal]

Hello, do you speak in hypotheticals by chance?

Let's say that, hypothetically, your show's lead actress quits 2 days before performance day. Let's also say that, hypothetically, you have been removed from stage management and placed onto the cast in a panicked frenzy.

In this completely hypothetical and not-real-life scenario, is there any kind of advice you would give yourself for learning an entire character in 48 hours?

(Yes everything's fine why do you ask?)

So, hypothetically, I've never had to learn a role on this tight of a time line, but here's my like. General Memorization Strategy™:

You've been part of the SM team, you've got a general idea what's going on, you're not going in completely blind, you can do this.

Repetition. Repetition. Repetition. (spoiler: this is also in every other point.) Run it as much as you can.

You need a line partner. You will read the script (Several times! Out loud even!). You will go 'yeah know what the lines are.' You will not. Get someone on book while you run. It can be a cast member, it can be your friend, it can be your mom, it can be some guy you stop in a grocery store aisle, whoever, Someone needs to check you.

Adding to 3, my favorite method to have them check me, is where I start at the top and go until I mess something up at which point they correct me and I start over from the very beginning. This makes the scene take ages and gets boring fast and it is Absolutely Crucial to making sure you know the scene in context (also. free repetition).*

Do this on your feet. ** I like to run lines under my breath while I'm walking places, which can be anything from around the block, the aforementioned grocery store, or just straight up pacing. You're never just speaking on stage so try not to practice like that. Get your body involved

Don't forget the Everything Else you're doing. You know the lines but do you know where the next entrance is? Props? Costume change? Quick turnaround? Make a list***. Run the list often so you can recall things backstage

Also uh..i've never been concise but 30 Second Character Workshop:

Feet and shoulders. Bam. Like 85% of character body movement right there. How does the character hold their feet and how do they hold their shoulders. If you know that it will lead pretty naturally into the rest of the movements.

*I am absolutely guilty of bailing on my own method and only going back part way bc I have said that dialogue forty times in the last five minutes thank you very much, so this isn't like a hard rule but try to start from different places each time so that the memorization is cohesive and run it all together at the end. I also personally like my partner to make me be word perfect but that is dependent on both directorial and personal preference.

**This is more of a step 2 bc it can be a lot esp if you're trying to read at the same time, but you want to get to it as soon as possible. Also a great place to run blocking if you know it but if you only run things on your feet when you have space to do blocking you're losing out on ages of practice time. Just get your body moving.

***Given the fact you're stepping in so last minute, I'm going to hazard this list already exists in some way but make it your best friend. If you have time to rewrite it (by hand ideally) that can help cement it into your memory. My personal format is "In Scene X, I am playing X in X costume. I enter from X carrying X and exit X carrying X. After I leave, I X" but do whatever format and information makes the most sense to you, cause you're the one who's going to use it.

That's like. kinda a lot but I hope it helps! Anyone else got something they think would help (hypothetically)?