#so we’ll see if it works this year……

[defmaybe]

J’adore

5.2k words

aespa’s Yoo Jimin/Karina x Male Reader

Prequel to Not Shy

A/N: Kind of extension to Not Shy! Also, this is my last sprint before the midterms lol, I’ll be back after that and try to write something good. Kinda rough bc there’s no beta-reading lol. Thanks for reading as always!!!

Spring

“You? A student council member?”

“It’s just the treasurer!”

It’s the easiest position, according to your seniors, which seems to be much, much more credible sources than Kai, the friend you got caught in a debate with.

“Just the treasurer. Mate, have you seen the lads from last year? I swear that one of them almost died.”

“I have to build my portfolio, man. You even have your dance club!” You retort, trying to grasp on something.

“Well, it’s because I like to dance.” Kai says in a mocking tone. He doesn't mean to be condescending, of course. He’s your best friend, after all. “Do you like to work with Excel?”

“I mean–”

“Board games? No, too nerdy. Cheerleader? No, too demanding. And then you fucking jumped onto the student council? I swear, man, you definitely have some kind of death wish,” he says.

You sigh, surrendering to his points. Still, you're too deep in the application process to turn back now. You look back at your phone, seeing all the completed questions in the form.

“I’m not leaving you behind, still,” Kai says, patting your back. “I’ll give you caffeine when you need it.”

Do you think you’re qualified to be a student council member?

Yes.

“I’m sending it now.”

“Good luck.”

Submit

Thank you for your submission. We will announce our selection by May 1st.

—

Summer

Maybe it was how the last year’s council members turned out to be. You were the only one who applied for the treasurer's position. Hell, even the other ones aren’t any more popular either. There was no one in the head of first aid, and they had to roll out another round of applications for that.

The fresh faces of the new student council members are all standing inside this meeting room—so determined, so passionate. Their chatters fill the room up with life.

You glance around the room. You’re familiar with some of them, walk-pasts in the hallways, sitting-fars in the classes, until one woman catches your eye.

Yoo Jimin, you’ve heard that she beat the second place applicant for president by quite a margin. Her confidence is probably what makes her so alluring to the students. Also, her face, fuck, her face, she’s the fucking epitome of perfection.

Maybe it’s the way you stare at her for just a little too long; she starts to walk towards you, and that’s when you fell into her trap for the first time.

She stops just a step away, offering you a handshake—firm, assured.

“Yoo Jimin,” she declares—stern, expressionless.

“Pleasure to meet you, Jimin.” You accept her grip, lips curling inward, letting out a minuscule smile—relaxed, reserved.

“We’ll be working together for the next year. I’m looking forward to it.” She keeps it professional in the expression she makes. There’s nothing to be made of it, except for the fact that she’s very reticent with her face.

You force out another small smile. “I’m also looking forward to it, Jimin.”

—

“Areas! I need two tables and four chairs. Parcels, get your equipment ready.”

The first meeting between the freshmen and their seniors is always the hardest to perfect. There’s the idea that the first impression defines the future of the relationship between the two. So, here you are, in your faculty’s First Meet event. You’re lucky that they let you use the air conditioners on the d-day. Those fucking run-throughs got you all melted.

You have little work to do today, having managed the proposals and preparing to do the post-production stuff. So, you’re at the core team’s table, playing whatever your old laptop can handle, until—

“Are you free?”

You look up from your screen to see the angelic figure that is Yoo Jimin standing in front of you, towering you with ease with you sitting in your seat.

“Uh–,” you can only let out a hesitation.

“I guess you’re—” she bends over the desk to see the gaming screen, before letting out a small laugh. “—free?”

“Y–Yes, Jimin.” A slight view of her cleavage can be seen with her posture, and you have to do your best to find something else to look at.

“Good. Can you help us carry a few tables?”

You look at your frail arms—should’ve done some more work at the gym. “If you want me to tear my biceps.”

Jimin chuckles, before closing on your ear, left hand pressing on your right thigh, “Don’t worry that you wouldn’t be able to jerk off, treasurer. I can do it for you.”

You freeze, not believing the words coming out of her mouth. Did she just say that? Such lewd words?

Jimin, sensing your tensed up body, pulls back from you and laughs. “Oh my god, look at you. I was just fucking with you!”

“Good grief, Jimin. You could’ve killed me,” you huff.

She shoots back a beam. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

—

Fall

The clicking sound of your keyboard and the scratches of the bills you’re arranging permeates the room this evening. Jimin is sitting on the other side of the trash-ridden table—stationeries, snack wraps—eyes unfocused as she swipes one short video after another. Her thoughts seem to be elsewhere now. Dinner? Bed? Someone? You’ll never know.

“Fucking hell, this bitch again,” she mutters under her breath, which you catch. You look up from the budget plan you’re working on, meeting her eyes.

“Sorry, Tinder stuff.”

You return her a tiny smile before going back to inputting the bills. Still, you can hear Jimin’s tossing and turning in her chair as she seems to type something into her phone, before smashing her thumb on the right side of its poor screen. You can’t help but let out a chuckle, one that she catches.

“Yeah, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” Jimin rhetorizes, placing her phone on the table. “A student president that just can’t find any partner.”

You shrug, still typing, “Well, the work is gruelling.” And she chuckles at your statement.

“Yeah, I guess so. But it’s just, how to explain?” She furrows her eyebrows, tapping her chin to seek the right word in the air, before coming to an answer. “I just can’t find the right person, you know? Half of the line is gone once I show any bit of confidence, and the other half are, well, clingy ass bitches.”

You smile back at her, trying to give her some solace in solitude. “I’m sure you’ll find the right person soon, Jimin. You like–have the whole faculty in your hands.”

She gives you a weak smile. “You always have pleasant words for everyone, treasurer.”

You smile back before returning to your accounting work, unbeknownst to the light bulb brightening up inside her head.

“So, how’s your love life?” She asks, rising from the other side. She leans forward ever so slightly, hands supporting her frame on the white table, slightly revealing the valley of her breasts.

You break yourself from the laptop, once again, meeting her cleavage in your line of sight for a split second. It’s magnetic, but you’re able to resist it, for now.

“Hmm?”

“I mean… you don’t seem to be an awful choice for women, or men, judging from… how many months?”

“Four,” and you gulp.

“Yeah, four months with you, my treasurer. But I’ve never quite caught you being involved in anything,”—she stands up straight, before slowly striding towards your seat, hips swaying at each nifty step—“romantic.”

You clench your eyes ever so tightly at her alluring motion—the swaying hips, the crossing steps—as if there’s anything to examine but her burning lust. “Well, Jimin, I don’t think the passive mid-table guys get much,” you state.

“Is that so? Because you don’t seem to belong at the mid-table.” The distance between you two is shrinking, slowly. And with a few more small steps, you find her towering over you, chest basking in front of your face.

Jimin bends down slowly, revealing just a slight sight of her gorgeous cleavage. The poor crop top is struggling to hold her supple flesh within, even with the workshop shirt helping. You shift just slightly in your seat.

Your eyes are doing their best to resist the magnetic force, but her big brown eyes aren't a sanctuary, either.

“Thanks, miss president.”

Her Dior J’adore is enrapturing you.

“You know, I notice the perfume you wear every day, even if it’s just CK One.” She forces sultry into her perceptive words, and to say, it works. She drags her right middle finger along the length of your arm, lighting a fire in its trail.

You try to keep your composure; it works, for now. She doesn’t seem to notice the sweat hanging off your forehead yet.

“Or how you dress so damn well to class, even if it’s some fuckass subject,” Jimin continues, tracing her hands up to your forearm now.

Your breath hitches, and you can just connect the dots so easily.

“W–Why me, though, Jimin?”

“Oh, clever boy, I just need the real thing, that’s all,” she coos. Her digits are playing with the line of your collarbones now. 

“See, I’m just so fucking sick of my—well, what’s the word, devices. They’re pleasurable, sure, but unlike a real person, which in this case—is you—” Her hand grabs your chin from behind, and you can’t find any resistance. Her sonic reduces into a sensual whisper into your ear. “—they lack warmth.”

“S–So, do you want to have—”

“Sex? Yes, I want you inside me, baby. I want you body clashing against mine, while you moan my name like you’re some common whore.”

It’s haywire, your mind. You are lost in her—her voice, her face, her body, everything that’s about Jimin. Is she really inviting you to have sex with her? Is this interaction even real?

“So, what do you say, wanna go somewhere after this? Somewhere—small, somewhere—private.” Her voice dives into a whisper beside your ear, and you can feel a smile forming beside it. “I’m sure you can work on your bills—anywhere.”

You stare forward, trying to look unfazed to cover your crumbling composure.

“I–I can work on the bills anywhere, Jimin.” Your voice betrays you.

She gives a quiet laugh, “Good to know, treasurer,” before lightly grabbing your chin, with her index and middle finger resting on your lips. Are they seeking silence or entry?

Slowly, they push your upper lip ever so slightly, eliciting a whimper from you. Fuck, is she trying to—

“You know what to do, baby.”

Rejection.

Hesitation.

Submission.

You open your mouth for her—now courtesy of Yoo Jimin. You take in her fingers. They’re cold from the air conditioner. Bite. Lick. Swallow. You close your eyes while doing so, absorbing her taste with your tongue. You feel you’re under her control—so submissive. It’s ecstatic.

“God, do you like being called a whore? Because you’re acting like one right now,” Jimin asks.

You profusely nod at her statement, continuing to suck on her fingers.

“Then keep doing it, whore.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you can hear her giggle. And as your vision comes back to her, the free hand is rubbing against her clothed core now. Mewling sounds can be heard.

“God, keep sucking it, baby. I’ve never cummed as fast as this before.”

“Ngh.” And you keep sucking her fingers.

A sound of the door stops you in your tracks though.

“Guys, I need a few chairs–am I interrupting something?”

Ning Yizhuo, head of student welfare, barges into the room. She stares straight at you two. Good thing Jimin pulls her digits out and puts them behind her back before Yizhuo’s eyes catch sight of you glistening on her, leaving you stranded in your burning desire for your president.

Maybe it’s the way your eyes are still fluttering. Maybe it’s the way your mouth ever so slightly hangs open. Maybe it’s your quick breaths.

Yizhuo wants to know what’s up.

“We’re just–” Jimin tries to find the right word in your eyes. Her blinks are rapid. She’s concerned. She’s afraid.

“You’re–what?” Yizhuo isn’t a patient figure. She’s trying to gauge something out of Karina.

“I–I’m adjusting his posture! O–Our dear treasurer has a bad sitting posture and–”

“Cut the shit, Jimin. What the fuck did you guys do?”

“S–See, he’s sitting a lot, you know? B–Bills. Accounting. Excel stuff.” Jimin’s brows hint at the concern within her chuckle. She pushes the middle of your back to set you straight up. As you follow her move, Yizhuo clenches her eyes.

“Just get me some chairs and don’t fuck inside this room.”

—

Jimin swings her door open, and as expected, every single bit of it is immaculately kept clean. There’s not a single piece of trash on the floor of her white room; the table is meticulously arranged; the bed is folded. There’s a Meteora vinyl placed on her shelf. God, what a tasteful woman.

“Drop your bag.”

You comply as she also does so.

And she immediately pounces on your body, consuming your taste and scent at your nape. Her lips are wet, sending shocks through your pliant frame.

“Mmph, keep this perfume, baby. I just wanna have this scent of you every day.”

It’s CK One.

She plants her kisses along your neck—standing up straight—ever so determined to make you hers. Her hands lock your shifting, shaking body in place, despite being so eager to feel every inch of you—up and down.

“So—pliant, so—submissive,” she whispers.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you deflect, trying to have a hold of the battle. There’s a glint of brattiness inside you that wants to resist her just a little, just before you give in.

“Is that so?” Jimin mewls, before pushing you onto the bed.

“I’m not letting you have me that easily, miss president,” you say with your back against her soft cushion. Jimin is straddling her lean, lengthy legs over yours. She looks so damn tall from this view—you lying beneath her.

“Sucking my fingers, then decide to be a bratty bitch right now—” She lightly taps the tip of your nose, also scrunching hers. “—I like that.”

You say nothing, giving her just a wink from below.

“Oh, baby, I’ll have you scream my name so many times.”

“Fucking make me then.”

And fires ignite in her eyes.

She dives onto your left ear—nibbling, biting, swallowing, whatever she can do with her mouth without tearing your auricle off. Her deep moans send suppressed shudders through your neurons.

Jimin spreads saliva all over your ear, no sign of relenting. Slurping sounds of her flesh ring in your head. She plants each lick with purpose, and it sends jolts and jolts through your body. Still, you’re far from falling apart—tethered on the ground.

“Tsk, i–is this the best y–you can do?”

“Oh, baby, you’re already stuttering? I can do more if you want~,” she tastefully threatens. Then, she brings her right hand into play, tilting your chin up. Your mouth is right beside her neck. The pale smoothness of her skin is presented in front of you, and you just can’t help but—

“F–Fuck!” Jimin yells, clearly enraptured with the swipes of tongue you are giving her. Still, she keeps spreading her saliva on your ear as if it’s hers (it’s hers).

“Oh, b–baby boy, maybe you can use your t–tongue on other things instead,” she whines.

“Your cunt?” You keep stretching your tongue onto her nape, getting a taste of her sweat.

She pulls back from you, robbing the sensations away from your throat. “Clever, now just lie like this. I’m riding your pretty face.”

Jimin then takes off her purple lace panties, giving you a hint of her wet cunt—unshaved—as she lifts her leg, before stuffing the garment onto your nose. Fuck, her musk is so intense; you can just die happily right here.

“You just love it, don’t you?”

You sheepishly nod, pressing her panties against your nose even tighter, eliciting laughs from her sinful mouth.

“I think that’s enough, baby. I wanna fuck your face now,” she says, before tossing away the filthy garment.

Jimin then moves forward on her knees, bringing her heat closer and closer to your face. God, the fact that she’s unshaved only brings you higher. You need to slurp her juice; you need it on your face, you–

“Ready?”

Her cunt is hovering above you now, she’s pulling her skirt up, letting you see her face for the last time before being buried under her.

You nod.

And she sinks onto your face.

The first contact is soft, so, so soft. You’re practically making out with pussy, as she shakes above you erratically. There isn’t much light, with her skirt darkening your vision of what’s around, but it’s like you’d complain. You’re eating your student president out in her room, and you’re doing it so, so well that it sends shivers through her body, again and again.

“Ngh, f–fuck!” Jimin shouts from above—the things you’d do to see her face right now, to see an effect you’re having on her.

You say nothing, just keep lapping up her folds enthusiastically. Her juice drips into your mouth—sweet.

Jimin starts to grind her hips, as the moans grow louder. She’s getting wetter, and you’re still happily drinking her sugary nectar—drunk with it.

“Ah, ah, y–you’re doing well, my treasurer.”

You give her a thumbs up. You keep licking her cunt as if your life is depending on it. She moans so loud; everyone on this floor is probably going to hear that, but you don’t care anymore. The only thing in your head right now is to please Jimin—only Yoo Jimin.

And you can feel her thighs tense, shaking with pleasure. She’s going to cum. Her moans grow more chaotic and shorter than they were.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, fuck!”

She cums hard, collapsing onto the bed, cunt still on your face, ass up in the air. Her core clenches and clenches on your face, and she just forgets to breathe as her hips convulse.

“No squirt today, huh?” you joke from below.

She snaps back into the situation she’s in, sneering, “Fuck off, don’t fucking play stupid with me, wh–whore.”

You laugh, “Alright, alright, let’s get to the main course, shall we?”

“Y–Yeah.”

Jimin lifts off from you, leaving a string of her lubricant between your lips and her cunt.

“God, that’s hot,” you just can’t help but say it.

She giggles, and you can now see the sweat forming on her forehead; there’s beauty in it.

You two, in a haste, discard all of your clothes until you’re left with nothing—just bare bodies on the bed together. You’re sitting opposite of her, expecting her to say something.

She looks ethereal under the room light. The messy hair, the perfect features, the bare body, they all combine into the epitome of perfection right in front of you. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

“Can I suck your tits?” you mutter. Fuck reticence, you need her, now.

She chuckles. “Sure, but only if I’m on top of you.”

“You just have to find a way to dominate me, don’t you?” you huff.

“Don’t say it like you don’t like it, baby.” She caresses your cheeks, and you shiver at her touch.

You lie down, as she slowly eclipses the light above both of you. Her large breasts are hanging down so close to your face. And—

“F–Fuck!”

You latch your mouth on her right breast as if it’s innate, with your hand kneading on the other. She lets out empyrean moans that only makes you want to suck on them even more. God, you can do this all day.

And not wanting to wait anymore, she impales her cunt with your cock, and you can only moan into her tits. This sensation, it’s overwhelming. Her velvety walls are hugging you so, so tightly. It’s so warm. She’s warm.

“Fuck,” she groans, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Your cock is so well-bent, baby. It’s hitting my g-spot so good.”

“T–Thanks, J–Jimin.” Your mind is so damn clouded by the pleasure that you can say nothing but her name right now.

And a crack starts to form when she moves—up and down. Her unshaved cunt dragging along your digit, emanating pleasure all over your body from the core.

“B–Babe, c–can you stop s–sucking my tits?” she pleads.

You pull yourself out of her mounds, as she’s still riding you like there’s no tomorrow, and you let out small moans at each contact. “W–What? Ngh.”

“I wanna kiss you.”

You freeze under her. She’s still motioning herself to squeeze the cum out of you, whimpering each time your cock hits the hilt. Is it a confession? Does she love—

“B–Babe,” she brings you back to the mortal world.

“Y–Yeah, kiss me.”

She invades your mouth as if it wasn’t already hers at the second she sits on your face. Your tongues intertwine in a quest to declare their feelings of their owners.

Your hands are still squeezing her breasts. It’s addictive. You press and press into her flesh just to feel her as much as you can. This might as well be the only body you want to have just to yourself, as you dedicate yours to her. Every curve, every contour, every limb, you want her; you want her to want you; you need her. This kiss, fuck, it’s doing wonders to you.

She’d be the one to break off from the kiss to pant above you, hips still smashing into yours in a perfect rhythm.

“W–Wanna go out with me?” she asks.

She’s desperate, all the Tinder dates, all the–

“Babe, I–I fucking know that it’s desperate, yes or no. Fuck those Tinder dates, fuck those guys and girls, I–I want to go out with you, t–treasurer,” she pants.

Maybe it’s her J’adore that’s permeating all over you. Maybe it’s the way your hips are clashing into each other. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the glint in her eyes.

But if you have to recall, it’d be the confidence she’s radiating in clashing your flesh together just right now.

You nod.

Jimin smiles, pulling you into another kiss. You swear it can tear you apart if you have to let this woman go—figuratively.

She pulls off, her breaths becoming shorter and shorter again. “C–Can you cum with me, baby?”

Again, you nod, smiling. It’s inside your loins, building up, building up. Your body tenses up beneath her, same as hers. It’s there. It’s there.

“Fuck, baby, breed me. I’m yours, just breed me, just–ugh!”

And her whole body freezes, juices flowing onto your crotch. Her face is contorted by the pleasure coursing through her. Again, she forgets to breathe, back arching. You don’t slow down, though. Your orgasm is coming too.

“B–Babe–ah!”

It breaks. You busy yourself inside her to the hilt. Just like her, you forget to breathe. You shoot spurts of your seed deep into her womb, intending to breed her as her wish. Your cock shakes inside her, as she moans at each twitch.

It subsides, eventually. The shots get softer and softer to the point the cum just dribbles off the tip of you now. Fuck, your juices even leak out of her cunt onto your crotch, mixed together.

“F–Fuck,” is all she can say, before collapsing onto you, chest pressed up against yours.

“The plan’s still up?”

“Yeah.”

And she slips to the side, embracing you from behind, as you two doze off in the nocturne.

—

“Can I use your toothbrush?”

A long drag of uncertainty comes from the outside. Sun has risen hours ago, yet you two are still in the drowsy state.

“Or do I have to kiss you again for the answer, Jimin?”

“Put your morning breath away from me!”

At least she’s quick with her riposte.

As you brush your teeth, naked, she saunters into the bathroom, still similarly bare from last night. Her breasts bounce ever so slightly with each step in the mirror. Despite the disheveled appearance, her natural beauty shines through the mess—a seraphic being, one might say.

“Ha, yeah, I know I’m pretty, baby,” she says. “People would kill to have a body like me.”

You finish your clean up, before saying, “You’re insufferable, you know?”

Jimin laughs, before giving you a quick peck on the cheek, emanating mellow all over your face. Fuck, you can feel the blood rushing to your erection now.

“You too, babe.” She smiles, before grabbing her mouthwash for a gargling.

Your cock, again, finds the condition to rise in front of this woman. It’s twitching, and you just have to turn back before she notices it.

Still, her sharp eyes find you, and she gives you a small slap on your bare ass, sending pleasure rushing through your body.

“Hey!” she growls with the mouthwash, before quickly disposing of it. “You’re fucking hard again?”

“I–I–I–uh–”

Jimin then presses herself up against your back, arms ever so tightly trapping you from behind in a hug. It’s warm. She’s warm.

“Let me, baby,” she whispers against your wobbling right ear. “I can’t have my co-workers’ needs go unsated.”

“F–Fucking hell.”

In one careful motion, Jimin slides her arms down to your erection, right hand grabbing the length. “Wouldn’t mind some respect from my baby boy~” Her grip and the languid, careful strokes make your legs wobble.

“Tsk, n–no fucking way, J–Jimin,” you muster any inhibition you have left to deflect.

“Well, then.” Jimin then tightens her hold on your cock, transpiring both pain and pleasure to you. “How about now?”

“Nghhhh, f–fuck,” you cry out, the contorted expression appears in the mirror.

“Just like that, baby, moan for me. Show me who owns you,” Jimin coos, loosening her hold a slight, still keeping the adagio tempo.

“Nnnh, J–Jimin.”

“Good boy, good boy,” she murmurs.

She drags her filthy hand up and down your cock so leisurely, finding the rhythm for your pliancy. She strokes and strokes to build you up to the second release with her, this time by her hand.

It feels like eternity—the way her unhurried digits find the pace that would make you want so much more, or how she whispers ‘good boy’ into your ear every time she wants a whiff of reassurance of control. It’s like she needs one, anyway, judging by how you’re moaning like a bitch right now.

“God, you’re making so much sound for me.” The way she swipes her index finger at the tip of your cock on each stroke, fuck, you can fall onto the floor right here and now. “Wanna see your face in the mirror, baby?”

You turn your head leftwards to find reflections of a contorted face and a grin side by side. Her hand is diligent as ever—building you up to your inevitable release.

“What do you say, baby? Wanna see our faces in the mirror?” she inquires again. You can feel a mischievous smile beside your ear.

“Ngnh, a–alright.”

With ease, she forces your body to turn into your image of the ball of lust—the shower of kisses on your neck; the hand sliding up and down your cock; the thigh pressing up against your ass. You shift and shift within her restraint, and that seems to only fuel her fire.

“Moan some more for me, baby. I wanna hear your voice. I want my men moaning.”

You comply, letting out a series of whimpers just for your student president. The sensation of her hand is so damn enthralling—each slide, each nick of a finger, each twist of her wrist, they are all designed to make you surrender to her.

“Good boy. Your moans are so pleasing to hear, you know that?”

“Nngh, t–thanks, Jimin.”

“Wanna up the ante, baby? I can do it faster~” As if her languid tempo isn’t already doing its job in trapping you inside her overflowing lust.

You hesitate, finding yourself wanting this act to go on to such lengths, maybe even when the sun sets again. Being under her comforting warmth is too satisfying.

“I–I don’t know, Jimin.”

“Oh, this baby can’t decide? Guess I’ll just have to–”

She suddenly lets go of your length, cutting your string of desire so easily. You whine, as Jimin lets out a laugh.

“Don’t!” you say in a rush, and letting go the hand you haven’t realized you’ve been holding—hers.

Jimin giggles. “Say please, baby.” She tightens her hug on you, squeezing the plea out.

Your eyes meet hers in the mirror.

“Please, Jimin.”

“Good boy.” And she wraps her hand around your erection again, casually stroking it.

“Ngh.”

The sound of her jerking your shaft fills the room. It’s heavenly—her voluptuous chest pressing up against your arching back with right hand busy sliding on your rod. She does it so cleanly—the technique, the pace. You swear you will cum by the second she whispers another ‘good boy’ into your welcoming ears.

As if she knows your inevitable release, she seeks a higher speed on your cock, stroking it with a swiftness that tries to draw out your moan and your cum as much as she can.

“Ngh, J–Jimin,” you whimper.

“Oh, gonna cum already, baby?” Jimin giggles at your crumble, before giving a peck on your left cheek. “Go on, cum for me. Cum, just like you did last night inside me.”

White spots start to form within your vision. Your breaths become more erratic. It’s there. It’s there.

“Jimin~”

And you explode all over her mirror, painting white streaks on it. You are left with ecstasy on your face as Jimin smiles at your release. Your body shrieks and shudders in her embrace. Your cock twitches in her hand, sending flying ropes of cum everywhere. Fuck.

“Yes, baby, just like that.” Her voice is deep—so seductive.

You continue to shake in her hold, not being able to subside from your high so quickly. Your release grows lighter and lighter in her hand, until it comes out in drops, finally letting you catch your breath.

“Good boy,” Jimin says, before forcing your body towards hers. You are spun around, and she gives you a kiss.

It’s short, but it’s powerful—no tongue fighting for dominance, no slurping sounds, just a kiss.

And she pulls back from it once she’s satisfied, judging from the smile on her face.

“Wanna do this again?” she asks.

“Definitely—well—maybe. You know Yizhuo would beat our asses if she catches us again, right?”

“Just shut up, babe. She won’t know if you’re good with secrets like me.”

You pout, bringing out a laugh from her.

Winter

“It’s going well, isn’t it?” Kai asks.

You give him a small smile. “It’s bearable, yeah.”

“Good to know, good to know.” He then takes a sip of his latte from his cup, looking outside.

“Fuck, I forgot to ask you this,” you say. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Oh yeah! In fact, there’s a woman I've been seeing recently, Yizhuo. You probably know her, right? You guys are working together,” Kai answers.

“Oh,” you utter. “Oh.”

He chuckles, before continuing, “Yeah, I know it’s weird–”

“No, no, not at all, bro,” you deflect with a chuckle along with him. “I’m happy that you’re happy.”

Kai, still chuckling, inquires, “How about you? It’s gotta be more than ‘bearable’ for you to be all happy like this.”

You give him a smile.

[waaayoutofline]

Like Seeing A Ghost.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Prompt: Married life and family core.

Summary: Your teenage daughter changed styles, and you cant help but be remained of a certain someone.

Warnings: None. Just love and fluff.

WORD COUNT: 1490

AN: I wrote this under the wonderful influence of sleep depravation. I just corrected it grammatically. It’s the first time I have written a family related prompt, so sorry but it’ll probably be a bit cringey :´). YDN stands for: Your daughters name btw—

It was a quiet day in the Maximoff household, a rare sense of calm settling over the space. Humming softly, you switched off the vacuum and put it away, satisfied with the tidiness of the room. The peaceful silence was soon interrupted by the doorbell, drawing your attention with mild curiosity. “I’ve got it!” you called, making your way to the door. You didn’t need to check the peephole, you already knew who it was. “Darling, finally! Your mother is almost finished with—oh dear gods.”

You froze as your 16-year-old daughter stepped inside. Taking in her appearance, your eyes widened in surprise. She shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, clearly bracing herself for the reaction that didn’t come as quickly as she expected.

Gone were her typical morning clothes, replaced by a more alternative look. She wore an oversized black t-shirt featuring an old rock band, her arms covered in fishnet sleeves, fingers adorned with silver rings and chains. Her makeup, though still a work-in-progress, was heavy with black eyeliner and smudged dark red eyeshadow. A silver cross dangled from her freshly pierced ear. She completed the outfit with a mid-length skirt and red Converse sneakers. If it weren’t for her eyes—the same color as yours—you might not have recognized her at first. But even then, the look wasn’t unfamiliar. She resembled someone else you knew all too well.

“It’s… it’s—” you began, voice faltering. Your daughter braced herself even more, her posture defiant, though you could see flickers of uncertainty in her expression. That defiant stance finally broke your composure.

“It’s like seeing a ghost! Oh, my beautiful girl,” you exclaimed, bursting into delighted laughter. “It’s like going back in time. Wanda, darling, come here, please!” you called out, grinning at the uncanny resemblance.

Your heart swelled with nostalgia and amusement. You never thought you’d see such a familiar look on your own child, yet here she was, carrying a piece of the past into the present.

“What is it, love? Is it Y/D/N? I made her favorite,” Wanda called, wiping her hands with a kitchen towel before stopping abruptly. “Oh wow. This is… definitely a surprise.”

Your daughter, tired of the mixed reactions from both of you, crossed her arms defensively. “Before you say anything—no, I didn’t get any piercings or tattoos. But this is how I want to dress from now on. And if you have any issues with it, then…”

Your eyes softened at the sight of her defiance fading into vulnerability. You glanced at Wanda, who nodded. “Darling, you don’t owe us any explanations,” she said gently.

“I… don’t?” Y/D/N repeated, tentatively. You took a step forward, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Of course not. You know your mom and I want you to discover who you are. All we care about is that you don’t hurt yourself in the process. Why would you think we’d be upset?”

Your daughter’s shoulders relaxed as the tension eased. “A… friend of mine dresses like this, and her parents didn’t take it well. They told her if she didn’t dress ‘normal,’ they’d send her to some creepy summer camp.”

Wanda frowned. “Well, they’re idiots.” Your daughter smiled at that. “They are! Like your mom said, we’ll never judge you for who you are. All we want is for you to be safe and happy.”

With that, she smiled and pulled you both into a hug. “Thanks for being such cool parents.” You exchanged a glance with Wanda and hugged her back.

“I mean… if we weren’t, we’d be total hypocrites.” Your daughter tilted her head in curiosity, prompting a laugh from you as you moved toward the living room.

Wanda scoffed. “Oh, don’t you dare, Y/N,” she warned playfully, following close behind, already anticipating your next move. Before she could stop you, you pulled out the family photo album. Your daughter plopped down next to you on the couch, while Wanda took her place on the armrest, wearing a mock pout.

Flipping through the pages, you found what you were looking for. “Why haven’t I seen this before?” Y/D/N asked, eyes wide with interest.

“These are from years before you were born,” you explained softly, turning the album’s pages with care. “Most were taken when your mother and I first met. We kept them hidden… because she was a little shy about them.”

Wanda playfully nudged your arm, her smile a little bashful. “Do you really have to show them? I’d like for our daughter to still respect me, you know.”

You grinned, glancing at your daughter. “Of course, I do! I mean, just look at her. You two are practically twins—it’s adorable.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, though her blush deepened. “You’re having too much fun with this.”

As you flipped another page, your daughter gasped, eyes widening in disbelief. Wanda’s face turned a deep shade of red as she quickly covered her face with her hands, her embarrassment palpable. You, however, couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me you were so cool?” Y/D/N exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over as she snatched the album from you, flipping through the pictures like a child on Christmas morning.

“What do you mean “were”?” Wanda huffed in mock offense. “I’m still cool!”

A brief silence followed, punctuated only by Wanda’s playful exasperation. You reached out, squeezing her hand, the warmth of her skin grounding both of you. The resemblance between mother and daughter was striking, as if time had folded in on itself. “That picture,” you said, pointing to a particular one, “was taken around the time I first met your mom. She was this emo, tough, and incredibly intimidating girl—” You started dramatically, glancing at Wanda, who shot you a half-hearted glare.

“Okay, okay, no need to humiliate me further,” Wanda cut in, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

“Humiliate?” You softened your voice, your eyes meeting hers. “That was the version of you I fell in love with.” You turned another page, your tone warm and nostalgic. “I mean, the whole ‘bad girl’ thing really worked for me.”

“Mom, gross!” Y/D/N laughed, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust.

You nudged her playfully. “Oh, hush. What I’m trying to say is… I fell in love with that Wanda, and every version after her.”

With each page you turned, years passed in the photographs. Different styles, changing haircuts, moments of growth captured in still images. But one thing remained constant—your love.

“…and the next,” you continued quietly. “Because that’s what love is. It’s not about how someone dresses or looks. It’s about loving them for who they are, through every version, and with how they express themselves to the world.”

You closed the album gently and reached for your daughter’s hands, holding them tenderly. “That’s why no matter how you choose to present yourself, it will never change how we feel about you. You are our daughter, and we will always love you—no matter what.” Y/D/N smiled, her eyes bright with relief and understanding. Wanda, still blushing from your words, looked at both of you with so much love that it was almost overwhelming. A sudden thought crossed her mind, her lips curving into a small, playful smile.

“You know,” Wanda began, her voice light, “if you’re interested, I still have some of those clothes.”

Your daughter’s eyes lit up. “No way.”

“Oh yes, way. Why don’t you start by heading up to the attic? I’ll join you in a sec.”

In an instant, your daughter gave Wanda a quick, excited hug before practically running towards the stairs. You and Wanda exchanged a glance, bursting into quiet laughter. As you stood up, Wanda caught you by the waist, pulling you close, her eyes filled with nothing but love. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. She leaned in and kissed you, slow and tender.

“Mama! Do you still have that red jacket?” your daughter called from upstairs, breaking the moment. Wanda sighed, chuckling under her breath as she pulled away.

“I do!” Wanda called back, her voice filled with affection. “In fact, that jacket I stole from Auntie Nat!”

Another excited shriek echoed down the stairs, and you both shared a fond look.

“I better go before she tears down the attic,” Wanda said with a small smile, taking a step back.

You nodded, watching her as she began to leave, but she paused at the doorway and turned back, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Hey,” she whispered, “I am cool, right?”

A full, hearty laugh escaped you, the sound filling the room with warmth. “Yeah, Wanda. You’re the coolest.”

Wanda grinned, the playful tension melting away as she disappeared up the stairs, leaving you with a heart full of love and a smile that lingered long after she was gone.

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 1

In a very special engagement (as in a don't normally post 5 days a week), I introduce "A Love Connection"!

If the premise looks familiar the original idea is from here, where a couple of people in the notes or tags said they'd love to try it. And after a year, I figured I'd try my own hand at the idea.

This will update on Tuesdays at 10am and 10pm EST. With hopefully eight chapters.

Summary: Steve has tried everything under the sun to find someone to truly connect with, so he gives up after a particularly horrible date. Then Chrissy introduces him to her favorite game show "Love Connection". When Chrissy and Robin apply for him, they don't think they'll except him, but he does. His suitors are Billy Hargrove, Tommy Hagan, and Eddie Munson. Will Steve crash and burn again or will his connection be there waiting for him?

~

Look, to say Steve’s love life was a disaster would be unfair. That would be underselling it. It was a fucking catastrophe. He had gone to bars, joined hobby groups, used all the apps, even Grindr; though that was mostly for hookups, which sucked. But that was the nature of the beast if he was honest.

And the beast had completely devoured him. All his dates were either only interested the casual, cheated on him, or wanted one-night stands. Which Steve absolutely did not want. He wanted connection. Intimacy.

“I absolutely give up,” he whined to Robin, after the last date tried to slip out in the middle of the night, knocked over their lamp into their goldfish bowl, killing the goldfish, then he tried to hide the evidence by dumping it down the garbage disposal and turning it on! Lied about it, then stole their last beer as “compensation for his trauma’ and told Steve to never call him again.

“Look, Ryan wasn’t the best guy,” Robin replied with a grimace. “He liked Oasis and Tool unironically. Always a red flag.”

Steve snorted. Robin was a music snob most days, but she wasn’t wrong about that. Ryan and he had been dancing around and with each other for weeks before they finally got so hot and heavy that they went back to Steve’s for sex.

“It’s not fair,” he huffed. “You went to that bar and you a hottie girlfriend and I went to that bar and fucked a fish killer! I loved Garfield! He lived for five years before that bastard mercilessly murdered him. That’s long than my last ten relationships combined!”

Robin winced. “Ooh... I’m going to have to call Chrissy and let her know we can’t go back to that gay bar again.”

“Oh he’s so dead now!” Steve ranted. “Not only is he fish killer, he has driven us from our favorite bar!”

“Let me order us some take out,” Robin said standing up, “then I’ll call Chrissy over and we’ll all cry over Ciarán Hinds and Amanda Root falling in love.”

Steve sniffed away a couple of tears and nodded. “Then can we have a funeral for Garfield?”

Robin tilted her head and smiled sadly. “Of course we can. It’s a Sunday so none of us have work. We can watch as many weepy romance movies as you want, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve croaked. She gave him a big hug and kissed his cheek. He watched her wander into the kitchen to see what leftovers they had in the fridge so they could order from somewhere else. He loved her so much.

~

Sometime in the afternoon when they were more than a little tipsy, Chrissy commandeered the remote and turned on her favorite game show.

“Love Connection”

“Noooo...” Steve whined, burying his head into a throw pillow. It was Garfield shaped. It was what inspired the naming of the valiant fish. “This is the last thing I want to see. It’s so fake. No one gets together on these things. It’s so cheesy.”

“Exactly!” Chrissy crowed. “That’s why it’s perfect, we get to make fun of them!”

Steve thought that the only good part of the show was the second half. The first half was split into three different rounds. The first round was each suitor answer the one question, for a total of fifteen and then the catch would rank them, best got three points, second two, and third only one.

Then in the second round there were a set of rapid fire either or questions that the catch would yell out and the suitors would write down their answers. If their answer matched the catch’s they would get a tally. Whoever had the most tallies would win five points. Then three points to second place and one to the last place.

Then in the final round, each suitor would be asked separate questions and the catch would rate their answer one through three and that’s how many points they would get. Then at the end of the round all the points would be tallied up and the two highest would move on to the next round.

To the part that Steve actually liked. The first question always asked was “what would you do for a first date?” And the suitors got to take the catch out for the date and then afterward for drinks, the two dates would ask the catch some of the questions he asked them. Then the catch would pick the one they connected to the best.

It was all the stupid questions that bothered Steve. That was the fun part of dating, having these conversations and learning about them as you go. But then maybe that’s what Steve’s problem was, is that the people he dated didn’t care about these types of conversations.

“Why would you say you hate sports,” Steve huffed, waving his hand at the screen, “when the guy is a major soccer fan? Like did she think that she was going to put a stop to him enjoying it after starting dating?”

“Ooh yeah,” Chrissy agreed. “Just pick a different catch.”

Robin turned to her and tilted her head. “Do they get to chose their catch? I thought it was all random.”

Chrissy paused the show and pulled out her phone and the Wikipedia article. “Okay, it says here that people can apply to be suitors,” she waved at the row of women in the three booths. “Or catches.” She indicated the guy with her hand. “If they’re chosen to be a suitor then they are given a list of catches, headshot included. Then they rank vote them, so if four people pick Henry, then one will be on their second rank vote. And that part is randomized. According to them, anyway.”

Steve snorted. He highly doubted anything was randomized or voted on. They went for the biggest drama and everyone knew it.

“How long has this show been going on?” he huffed. “Like please tell it’s new and shiny and that’s why people like it.”

Robin snorted and shook her head. “Sorry, babe. But this is season twelve.”

“Oohh...” Chrissy said. “We need to show him the season six finale. That was hella juicy!”

So despite Steve’s protests, Chrissy pulled it up on her streaming services even though they hadn’t even finished the episode they were on.

When the credits rolled, Steve stared at the screen in utter shock. “What the honest fuck was that?”

Two of the three guys got into an all out brawl when the one guy had scored the lowest and felt that the second place suitor cheated. Not first place, second. Both guys were arrested and hauled off the set.

“It came out later Sven was right,” Robin said. “Elliot cheated. His cousin was an ex of the catch so he went in knowing a lot about Stella. The things he got wrong were things that had changed since she was dating his cousin.”

Chrissy nodded. “That’s why the have partitions up between the suitors now and why they have vigorous screening now. The show was almost canceled.”

“So why wasn’t it?” Steve asked honestly. “That was a shit show, if I was Stella I would have sued them into oblivion.”

Robin squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. “She did, but they settled out of court.”

“Basically,” Chrissy said, pouring them more wine and handing the first glass to Steve, “she wanted them to completely overhaul the system. She didn’t want it off the air, she wanted it safer for future participants.”

“The more the fool them,” Steve huffed. He took a long sip of his wine. “All right, fine. Let’s start at the beginning.”

Robin and Chrissy cheered and they all huddled up together on the sofa to watch this absolute train wreck of a show.

They were about half way through the third season and twice as drunk when Steve slurred, “Why are there no gay peemles in this? It’s a trav–trad–tramajesty.”

“Travesty!” Robin slurred back, her language skills always being the last to go when she’s three sheets to the wind. “And you are absolutely right! This is homophobic!”

Chrissy nodded solemnly and pulled out her phone. “I’mma show them...” she muttered with her tongue sticking out. “At loveconnectionUSA Need more gays, hashtag loveconnection hashtag need more gays.”

It wasn’t long after that that the three of them passed out on the sofa, empty bottles all around them and a message on the screen asking if they’re still watching.

~

There was a loud beeping noise and it absolutely was hurting his head. He reached over to where his phone was usually plugged in on his nightstand, but his hand went straight through it. He waved his arm all over the place but still his nightstand eluded him.

He peaked open one eye but his vision was obscured by a mass of blonde hair. He tried to push it out of the way but it kept falling back into his face. Finally he pushed Robin off him and onto the floor with a thud.

“Hey!” she yelped.

Steve peered over the edge of the sofa with a look of confusion. “Why are you on the floor?” he muttered over the still beeping of his alarm.

“Stop!” he mumbled and somehow, blissfully it did.

“I’m on the floor because you pushed me there,” Robin huffed, getting to her feet. She did a sniff test and grimaced when she completely failed. “God... how much did we drink yesterday?”

Chrissy struggled to sit up and blinked at her girlfriend groggily. “Not enough if I feel like this.”

Steve rolled over and looked at them both in confusion, then the events of Saturday and all day Sunday came flooding back in.

“Oh fuck...” he muttered, sitting up himself and rubbing his face. One eye was blurry from where his contact had shifted in the night. He wasn’t even sure why he had them on. Probably from sheer force of habit.

He got up and stumbled toward the bathroom where he emptied his stomach of all its boozy contents. He really didn’t remember them eating after breakfast, only a steady stream of harder and harder liquor.

While his was puking his guts out, Chrissy and Robin stole the shower. Thankfully only taking the time they needed to get the gross feeling of being hungover off their skin.

Then Steve closed his eyes as they exited the shower and snuck into Robin’s room to get ready for work. They all worked at Hawkins Middle School, where Steve was a history teacher who coached swimming and basketball. Chrissy was a health teacher and advisor for cheerleading. And Robin was the language teacher. The principal snatched her up because she could teach French, Spanish, and Italian, with her only needing to hire a German teacher.

Steve got his shower and then opted for glasses instead of his contacts, not trusting his shaky hands not poke out his eye or some shit.

They all were mostly human once they got coffee, painkillers, and cereal in them, the three of them, no doubt looking like escaped extras from a zombie flick. They moved as one, gathering up their stuff and shuffling out to Steve’s car. Chrissy sat in the back, Robin riding shotgun.

Chrissy opened her phone to check to see if she had any messages. “Holy shit!”

~

Part 2

Look I'd be sorry about the cliffhanger, but you're only waiting 12 hours for it, soooo...

Have fun!

Tag List: TEN SLOTS OPEN

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[dira333]

Cats and dogs and bunnies too - Sakura Haruka x Reader

Timeskip

You notice it long before he mentions anything.

Sakura Haruka is fond of dogs. Cats too. Once, he even caught a little bunny that had been adamant about escaping its owners, petting it slowly with a look of utmost focus as he took it back.

But he’s careful not to show it too much. 

Sometimes he pretends he doesn’t notice the old dog at the corner flagging its tail at his sight until you walk over to pet it, like admitting to it would be a weakness.

-

Sakura Haruka has many weaknesses. 

He always stubbs his toe at night, when he gets up for a toilet break because he doesn’t want to turn on the light in fear of waking you.

He drinks too much coffee and forgets that he’s no longer sixteen but twenty-six now, that his back starts hurting if he sits hunched over for too long.

He never remembers sorting his clothes before putting them in the wash and wears the white-turned-pink shirts with pride after he accidentally drops one of your red panties in with the white laundry.

He’s married to you yet he tends to forget, staring at the ring on his finger in silent wonder at least once a week.

“Baby?” He asks one Sunday morning, his head in your lap, his laptop forgotten on the coffee table.

“Hm?” You massage his scalp, pretending to rub the stress from his temples.

“Could we get a dog?”

It’s a simple question, one you thought he’d ask much sooner. 

You wonder if he knows about the box of supplies in the back of your closet, of the surprise present that’s due any day now.

“Do you want one?” You ask back.

Haruka is quiet for a moment. You might think him asleep if not for the tension in his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he admits finally. 

“Good,” you lower down to press a kiss to his temple. “Then we’ll get one.”

“Really?” He blinks up at you, his eyes now soft and vulnerable, like they were when you met all those years ago. 

Haruka once told you that looking at you seems to make his heart crack open and looking at him now you can’t help but believe it.

“Really. What kind of dog do you want?”

“I don’t care,” he answers just like you knew he would. “What kind of name would we give it?”

“Well, let’s think about it. What if we get a little dog? What would you name a little dog?”

“How little?”

“Like a Corgi? Or a Spitz?”

“Princess.” The name shoots out of him too fast to be casual. He’s thought about it for sure.

You laugh, a little surprised by it. “I mean, sure, but you already call me that. Don’t you think it would get confusing?”

Under your gentle touch, his cheeks burst aflame.

He’s too flustered to speak and you let him stay quiet, tucking his hair behind his ears.

“What about a big dog?” You ask eventually. 

“Queenie,” he breathes out softly, clearly learning from his mistakes. You wonder if he knows that he’s only picked out female names so far.

-

“Haruka, can you come help?” You yell from the doorstep. “There’s a package but it’s too heavy for me.”

“Coming!” He calls out, jogging down the stairs in all his post-work-glory, the sweatpants and hoodie combo looking cozy enough to forget about the whole surprise.

“Kiss me first,” you command, pulling him in by the collar until you’re satisfied, grinning when he picks the package up with ease.

“Careful, it says fragile,” you point out as he carries it up, unaware of the other box you carry after him.

“What’s in it anyway?”

“I don’t know,” you lie, “Open it.”

It’s not properly taped shut, which he laments about as he fiddles with the tape. But all the words leave him when the box opens and he comes face to face with all the goods.

“Dogfood?” He asks, a little confused, picking up the bag. “Toys? You already ordered the stu-” He stops short when he sees you holding another box in your arms, this one already open.

“Don’t tell me-” Haruka breathes out, taking a step back as if he’s going to lash out in panic like he used to.

But he doesn’t. He just breathes, in and out, his eyes zeroed in on your face until he’s calmed himself enough to take a step forward.

Another one follows and then he’s close enough to touch you, yet he doesn’t.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“It’s really heavy,” you joke just as Queenie’s head pops out of the box, the puppy clearly not amused about your arms shaking from her weight.

So many emotions flicker over his face, sad ones and happy ones alike. 

When Haruka reaches for the dog, his hands shake but his grip is gentle and his hold is steady.

It reminds you of the first time he held your hand, knuckles bruised and eyes tear-shot. He’d been gentle then too, even scared-shitless.

Maybe one day he’ll hold your kid like that too. But time will tell if and when that happens. 

There’s still a cat to adopt. And maybe a bunny too.

[jakedustry]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 - 𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈

popular!riki x fem!reader

in which after many of your protests, your friends manage to convince you to go to your school prom, reminding you you don't need a date to have fun, and you even believe them for a second – until you are left alone at your table, with no one to talk to. Fortunately, your close friend shows up right in time to show you prom can be funny after all.

wc 2.8k

warnings none (me thinks) except for kissing

↪ izzy adds... I wrote this a year ago on my wattpad account but thought it would be nice to bring some riki fluff on my tumblr too :)) This is only vaguely proofread!

“I don’t want to go,” you whined, grabbing a hair tie from your table before turning to face the group of girls sprawled on your bed again. “I am serious. First of all, I don’t have anyone to go with, and second of all, I don’t have a dress either,” you explained your reasons when you notice the looks on your friends’ faces. 

“But you have to go! Prom is so much fun!” One of the girls exclaimed, ready to argue with you. “It might have been fun if someone asked me to be their prom date,” you mumble, sighing. “Or if you guys were still in school. I don’t want to go alone!” You complained. 

Honestly, you didn’t care much about not being asked out for prom. What bothered you more was that none of your friends would be there with you. You were the youngest in your friend group, and with all the girls being a grade above you, it meant there was no one you could talk to. 

“People are blind. I don’t get why no one asked you out.” 

“It’s whatever. I am not going anyway,” you repeated, sitting on your bed between the two eldest. “Everything got far worse after you left. The girls in my class keep laughing at anyone who breathes. I don’t need them making fun of me because I don’t have a date.” 

“You don’t need a date! You can go alone and dance with whoever you want! I swear prom is super fun!” Your friend kept trying to convince you. “And I already finished your dress,” your best friend joined the conversation, making all of you look at her. “What? Really?” Your eyes widened. 

She had decided to study fashion design after finishing high school, and she had been promising you she would make a dress for you since the first semester started, but you knew she was busy, so you never paid much attention to it, thinking she wouldn’t have time for it. 

“Why haven’t you shown us earlier?!” 

Your best friend unlocked her phone, scrolling through her gallery to find a picture. “I thought I told you about it before. And I wanted to bring it tomorrow to see if it needs fixing,” she shrugged. “Here it is,” she turned her phone towards you so you could see first, showing it to the rest of the group afterward. 

It was a long midnight blue v-neck piece with a fitted bodice and a sweeping skirt, and you absolutely loved it. Even though you always preferred pants and shorts over a dress or skirt, you could see how much work she had put into making it for you. Seeing the dress made you feel a sudden wave of excitement. You wanted to wear it as soon as possible. 

“You are so good!” The oldest gasped. “It’s nothing,” your best friend chuckled, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck. You knew she was proud of her work, too. “It really does look gorgeous, though,” you assured her, still in awe. 

“Well, now you just have to go.” You sighed, “Alright, I’ll go, but you guys have to promise we’ll get an ice cream and sleep over at mine after it.” The girls grinned, agreeing immediately. 

♡⸝⸝ 

You looked into the mirror again, fixing your hair with a smile. Even though you didn’t feel super excited to go out alone, you must admit, you felt pretty tonight. The dress your best friend designed fit you perfectly, and once you put your hair up and let her do your makeup, you found yourself looking forward to the dance more. 

“You look stunning,” your best friend assured you, her smile so genuine she might also make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world. “Should we go?” She asked, offering you her arm. You giggled, wrapping your hand around her arm and leaving your room with her. 

“No boy will be able to resist you tonight.” You couldn’t hide your smile as you heard your best friend, your confidence slowly building up. You nodded, following her to her car. 

Your confidence, however, dropped down again as you ended up alone at your table, staying the only one not dancing. 

You ended up sitting at a table in the far corner with a few of your classmates, looking around the place as soon as you sat down. You must say, they did a great job with the decoration. “I am going to get something to drink. Do you guys want anything?” One of the girls asked, putting her handbag on her chair and looking around the table. One of her friends stood up, too, saying she would go with her when their other friends asked for drinks.

You just watched them, not saying anything. They weren’t your friends. Honestly, you barely knew them, so you didn't want to bother them with getting you a drink. It felt awkward sitting there with them, but there was nothing you could do. It wasn't like it would feel any less uncomfortable at the other tables. 

Half an hour later, the dance floor was already occupied, with almost no space for any more pairs. You saw a few of your classmates here and there dancing or sitting at their tables and talking to their friends, but you didn't dare to walk up to any of them. 

So you ended up sitting alone at your table, watching everyone else enjoy themself while you had nothing to do. You knew you shouldn't expect much when you didn't have a date, but you got your hopes up when you talked to your best friend, and now it made you regret coming here after all. 

You shifted in your place, staring at the almost empty glass of coke you got earlier. Playing with your straw, your thoughts drifted away to your friends again. To your actual friends, not just your classmates. You remembered how your best friend would laugh at the stupidest things whenever she was around you and how the eldest in your friend group would always talk about her boyfriend, to the point it annoyed all of you. 

You sighed, closing your eyes for a quick second so tears wouldn't fall down your cheeks. You just wanted to be with them.

“How come you are here alone?” You opened your eyes upon hearing the familiar voice, quickly blinking to make all the possible tears disappear before they could even show up. “I thought I was too late,” he mumbled so quietly you almost didn’t hear him. Almost. 

“It’s weird that none of the guys here asked you for a dance yet. They are missing out,” he grinned, sitting on a chair beside you. “How long did it take you to learn those lines, Riki? Do you go around asking every girl?” You teased him but couldn’t hide a smile. 

You watched him, taking a proper look at what he was wearing. All the boys had a specific dress code: formal pants and a button-down. A vest or a suit jacket were optional, so most of them weren’t wearing them. But he was. He had a black vest on his white button-down, and you could swear he looked better than ever before. It was somehow attractive seeing a man wear a vest even though he didn't have to.

You knew he was attractive. You would be a fool to deny it when all the girls in your grade and the grade under you had a crush on him at one point. But still, it felt as if your eyes had opened only now. 

“Now seriously. Why did you reject everyone? I thought you wanted to dance tonight,” he questioned, looking around the place. You shrugged, looking the same way he was, “No one asked me yet. I didn’t get the chance to reject anyone.” 

You had met Nishimura Riki last year for the first time. You were running through the school hallway late in the afternoon, being one of the last students still in school. Lessons ended more than an hour ago and you had lost track of time while studying in the school library. It was a pure fate that the two of you met, really. You weren’t planning on stopping. If anything, you almost sped up to get out of school as soon as possible to catch your bus, but you ended up slowing down instead when you heard your favorite song coming from one of the classrooms. 

You glanced inside, wondering who was stupid enough like you to be still hanging out in school at this hour. That was when you saw him dancing in the middle of an empty classroom to your favorite song. Back then, he obviously had no idea it was your favorite song, and you had no idea it was one of his, too. 

He noticed you standing at the door and froze, a sudden wave of embarrassment brushing over him. He turned the music off immediately, watching you apologize for interrupting. You felt as embarrassed as he did but didn’t move right away. You lingered in the silence, keeping eye contact with him until you felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. You apologized again, running off before he could say anything. It was a chaotic first meeting, but you still managed to get stuck in his head. 

You didn’t have a proper conversation with him that day or any of the days prior, but you started greeting each other in the hallways since then, exchanging small smiles or glances from across the room. 

It went like so for weeks, with neither of you walking up to each other to actually say something. You didn’t know his name, and you assumed he didn’t know yours either, but you still found yourself looking forward to seeing him between your classes. 

And not so long after, when your best friend wanted to introduce you to her boyfriend’s friends, you finally got to hear his name. You stuck together with Riki most of the afternoon, only exchanging a few words with his other friends. It was Riki who your eyes landed on, unable to look away as you found yourself getting lost in your conversation. 

You considered him your close friend since. 

Riki looked back at you, confused if you were telling the truth or joking. “No one asked you for a dance?” You shook your head at his question, looking down at your glass again. “I swear everyone is blind,” he shook his head in disappointment. “You look amazing today,” he assured you. “You look amazing all the time, actually,” he mumbled, making your cheeks turn pink. “Thank you,” you muttered shyly. 

He hesitated for a second, encouraging himself before he stood up. “Do you want to dance?” Your name rolled on his tongue so easily, as if he had said it a million times before. You smiled, looking up at him again. His hand was reached towards you, and he averted eye contact. For the first time in the year you knew him, you saw him without his usual confidence, and it might have been making you more nervous than him. Everything about him tonight made you nervous. The way he stood, talked, and dressed. It all made you weak in the knees. 

You carefully took his hand, already worried your hand was sweating. He looked you in the eyes again, holding your hand properly as he took you from the table. The current song was ending, but he still had the next one and hopefully a few songs after that, too. 

Riki awkwardly waited for the song to end before looking at you again as he heard the last line. “We are going to kill the next song,” he proclaimed, making you giggle. 

“How about something slower for our pairs this time?” His eyes widened, terrified, as he looked at the DJ. Everyone cheered for him, but Riki couldn’t. Not when he wasn’t sure what you would think about dancing with him to a slow song. 

He glanced your way again, his eyes scanning your face and trying to see if you were still up for a dance. You looked him in the eyes, trying to figure out the same thing. Eventually, you decided to take the first step and put your hands on his shoulders. He stepped forward, making it easier for you to reach him before he placed his hands on your waist, a sheepish smile on his lips as he looked at you with nothing but love. 

It wasn’t a secret to many – actually, he was pretty sure everyone except for you knew – that he had a crush on you for as long as he could remember. Since he saw you in the hallway, with your hair tucked behind your ear, he couldn’t stop thinking about you, and it has been getting worse and worse ever since. And seeing you so close now, trying to keep eye contact with him even though your cheeks were getting hotter the more you looked at him, only made him love you more. 

“We can’t really kill this dance,” you mumbled with a smile, trying to ease the atmosphere so it wouldn't get awkward. He chuckled, nodding before he leaned down to you, stopping once his lips reached your ear. “But we can be the best-looking pair.” His words sent shivers down your spine, making your cheeks turn redder than ever before. You stepped closer again, laying your head on his chest so you wouldn't need to look him in the eyes. 

You nodded, slightly squeezing his shoulders. “Thank you,” you mumbled. “For dancing with me tonight.” You looked up for a second, assuring yourself he heard you. You had underestimated his visuals, you realized. Now that you were standing so close to him, your bodies touching, seeing him bite his bottom lip at what you said in the purple lighting above the dance floor has made you go crazy. 

You felt girls looking at you, trying to murder you with their stares, but you didn’t mind. You couldn’t even think about them when you had a handsome boy right in front of you. Especially when you knew his eyes were on you only. 

Your eyes widened in question when you heard your name leave his lips, questioning what he needed. He hesitated for a moment before moving his right hand from your waist to your face, lifting your chin with his thumb and index finger. You were too pretty for him to be able to think straight, no matter how much he tried. “Please don’t kick me for this,” he whispered, leaning down again, this time connecting his lips with yours. 

You moved your hand to the back of his neck when you felt his lips on your, pulling him closer to yourself. You were both aware of people staring your way, whispering about god knows what, but you couldn’t care less. This was your moment. 

Riki grabbed your hand again, exchanging one look with you before he took you from the dance floor, rushing to the main hall outside where you all left your jackets before. You didn’t question anything and followed him, keeping your eyes on your intertwined hands. “My things are still in there,” you reminded him, having no idea where he was heading. He didn't answer anything, though, not looking back for even a split second. 

As he stopped in the middle of the hallway, finally looking at you again, you realized he was looking for a quieter place without so many people around. Honestly, you didn’t care where you were. He could take you anywhere, and you would go with him. Because all you could think about at the moment were his lips. 

“I’d kiss you again if your lips weren’t so high up,” you mumbled, creating a grin on his face. He pulled you closer again, leaning down so you could do as you wished. “I thought we were just friends,” he whispered against your lips, making you shiver once again. The look in his eyes, combined with his deep voice would be the death of you soon. You were sure of it. 

“You kissed me first,” you reminded him, breathing on his lips so he could get a taste of his own medicine. “So maybe we aren’t really just friends, pretty boy.” 

“Definitely,” he agreed, his hands cupping your cheeks as he kissed you again, this time with more passion, making sure you could feel every last bit of his love on your lips.

✧˖°. izzy's tags @beomiracles @adel222 @hwanghyunjinismybae ✧˖°. want to get notified? join taglist here!

[inkchwe]

high & dry | 𝖍𝖛𝖈

➸ First story in the @hogwartsaltior universe! ୨୧ pairing: chwe (vernon) hansol x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 4.5k ୨୧ genre: fluff ୨୧ tags: hogwartsaltior!au, dj!vernon, gardener!reader ୨୧ synopsis: Vernon is good with his words behind a microphone and with hundreds of students listening to him. Why is it so hard to talk to one girl in the gardening club?

“Thank you for listening to Chwe’s Power Hour sponsored by Hogwarts Altior. Have a good day and night folks.” Vernon puts the headphones down on his makeshift desk, surrounded by studio equipment and paperwork that he always neglects to turn in on time. His homework also sits unfinished in his backpack, but he’ll worry about that later. His focus is on looking over the stats for his latest stream.

Dokyeom, Vernon’s roommate and fellow Gryffindor, gives him a thumbs up as he scours the laptop screen in front of him for the numbers Vernon’s after. “Best show so far man.”

“But do the views say that?” Vernon looks over Dokyeom’s shoulder, anxiety bubbling in his stomach.

“Read it and weep, kid.” To his surprise, his best friend is actually right for once. Almost two hundred students listening in, both on and off campus. The outreach Vernon’s radio show has gotten so far is something to be incredibly proud of, but he wants more. Maybe if he can prove music is not a waste of time, his parents may take him more seriously when he talks about switching majors.

“Holy shit,” Vernon says out loud, smiling at the evidence.

“I know.” Dokyeom closes his laptop and begins getting his stuff together. “Listen, I gotta head to Combat Training, but we’ll go over the next show tonight.”

They exchange handshakes as Dokyeom exits the tiny office space the university gave them as a studio, leaving Vernon alone with his thoughts to ponder during what remains of his lunchtime.

Astrology isn’t the worst degree in the world, not by a long shot. He likes to learn about the constellations, the stars, how the planets moved in tandem with one another in a symbiotic pattern. And sure, being in one of the longest educational tracks seemed daunting, according to his friends, but it’s interesting to look up at the sky and know there’s a system up there that needs to be understood and appreciated like everything else.

But does he love it? After a year of studying, that remains to be seen.

What he does love, though, is his Power Hour.

It gives him a zest to his daily routine that didn’t exist before. His schedule had just been friends, Quidditch, and studying. It was fine at first, but being without something that truly drove him to do more, be more, had become taxing after a while.

Walking out of the building, he decides to go home and eat lunch in the comfort of his bed before his next class, Star Charts.

Vernon loves to take note of the greenery as he passes the gardens towards the student quarters. But he knows it’s deadly to step foot near the many plants and flowers, not just because of his allergies. He doesn’t want to smell like a joint if he steps in the wrong spot thanks to Josh and Jeonghan’s extracurricular activities in the horticulture club.

What does make him stop today, however, isn’t just the plants. It’s mostly the girl plucking weeds from the ground at the entrance of the courtyard, stealing his breath in a way pollen never could.

Face caked in soot and a messy bun at the top of your head, you know a steamy shower is in your plans as soon as classes are over. You loosened the yellow tie around your neck hours ago to focus on the gardening work in front of you, but it turns out to be a bad decision due to it flopping around in the wind. If only the last root could give…

You look up to see a guy facing your direction, mouth lightly agape and seemingly looking directly at your spot on the ground. Was something or someone behind you that you failed to notice? You turn your head to look over your shoulder, finding nobody down the path or coming out of the greenhouse you were in prior to your work outside.

You look back in the guy’s direction, but he’s gone. He’s speed-walking up the path to the student quarters when you do catch the image of him, his back quickly going out of sight.

Shrugging, you go back to the stubborn weed that has taken up too much of your time. Maybe you’ll cut it at the base and call it a day.

Vernon scribbles the score of the student’s assignment on the front of the paper, relieved it’s the last in the stack. TA duties have been completed to fruition, possibly for the first time in weeks. He wishes him and Wonwoo got to switch TA positions, but Vernon’s aware that it breaks all kinds of moral codes for a TA to also be a student of the very professor they’re assisting.

At least Vernon gets to see the architecture of the Law building for reference in his drawings. He didn’t have any painting classes yet, but the more he could practice now, the better. If he was to ever become as good as his mother, anyway.

The tall doors of Professor Sung’s class open, and Vernon almost can’t believe his eyes.

It’s you. You’re not covered in dirt but still entirely breathtaking, holding a large potted plant in your hands. As you walk closer, careful not to bump into the desks on your way towards him, he is unsure what to say for the first time to capture your interest.

You smile and set the pot down on Professor Sung’s desk. Both of you speak at the same time, words blended on top of each other’s.

“Sorry to bother-“

“I’m allergic to pollen.”

Your face morphs into confusion, but you laugh all the same. Vernon wants to immediately crawl into a hole. Why in all things magical did he just let those words come out of his mouth? 

“Okay, noted.” You point to the plant. “This is for Professor Sung. It’s asphodel. No pollen, I promise.” You look over the graded papers on the desk. “You must be his TA.”

Vernon nods immediately and stops, feeling ridiculous again for being so eager and forthcoming with information. What was wrong with him? You were just a girl. A beautiful, cute, hardworking, breathtaking girl, but still a girl!

Your mouth goes slack in recognition, eyes suddenly widening. “I remember you now! You were outside of the student grounds the other day.”

Vernon laughs nervously. He puts the papers in front of him into a neat pile, trying to stifle his panic. All he remembers from that day is you and trying to run from the fact you caught him staring. The cringe he feels is excruciating. “Yeah. I like to look at the plants on my way to my room. You guys have done a great job with the…selection.”

You laugh again and bite your lip. “Yeah, it’s mostly me and Jeonghan. You probably know him.”

He nods again. “We practice together on the Quidditch field. Well, us and my roommate Seokmin.”

“I know Seokmin! And forgive me, I forgot to ask your name.” You hold your hand out politely and give him your name in turn.

How can a person be so gorgeous and nice? Vernon thinks maybe it has to do with your Hufflepuff placement, but he has a feeling the evidence lies in your personality. One he wants to get to know now as soon as possible.

“Hansol,” he replies after placing his palm in yours, your soft skin making him weak in the knees. “Most people know me as Vernon or DJ Chwe or Chwe but y’know—what I’m saying is, my name is Hansol.”

You smirk. “Nice to meet you, Hansol.”

You play on Vernon’s mind in a loop. The feeling mimics the visual graphic Dino made for Vernon’s radio station icon, the turning CD adorned with the words “CPH.”

“Alright, listeners, I hope that music mix brightened your day and leaves you in anticipation for the next one. My name is Hansol Vernon Chwe. Thank you for another installment of Chwe’s Power Hour, once again sponsored as always by Hogwarts Altior. And you have a good day and night. Peace!”

Dokyeom and Vernon take their. headphones off at the same time, Vernon’s best friend blowing out a breath. “At this rate, man, you’re going to be turning discs all over the world.”

Vernon chuckles. “I don’t know if I’d go that far, bro.”

“C’mon! You talk about it all the time. Pull the plug. Chase your dreams.” Dokyeom knocks Vernon in the shoulder with his fists multiple times, turning the younger boy into a heap of laughter. “And, maybe before that, let in the girl you’ve been talking about?”

Dokyeom motions for Vernon to look towards the clear windows of the station. When he does, he finds you there with a smile on your face, an entirely new plant in your hands. It’s smaller than the asphodel you harvested for Professor Sung. The plant, like its pot, is in an assortment of bright colors, mostly teals and greens.

Vernon motions for you to come inside, so you do. You greet Dokyeom before Vernon. “Seokmin and I share a free period, and he told me he helps you with your station stuff.” You smile and put the plant on Vernon’s desk near his headphones. “Don’t worry. No pollen.”

Vernon inspects it with his eyes, unfamiliar with the plant in front of him. His brows narrow in pure curiosity, and you answer the question that sits on the tip of his tongue.

“Muggles call them succulents. They’re really easy to take care of. Just a little sunlight and watering once a week should be enough.” You laugh to yourself and glance around the office space. “Thought the place could use some color.”

“Thank you,” Vernon says. His heart can’t help but be shaken up even more by your presence in his sacred space. He barely knows you, yet he’s so enraptured at your mere existence.

He used to make jokes about his friends when they were down bad for girls, ones that they knew were out of their leagues. Now, he feels like an asshole for doing so. Clearly the workings of the heart are something out of a person’s control.

Vernon isn’t idiotic enough to call it love, but it’s as intense as infatuation can be.

“I’m gonna go, but I’ll see you guys later.” As Dokyeom’s leaving, he raises his arms in the air in a silent chant for Vernon. Thankfully, you don’t notice Vernon’s idiotic best friend and roommate, entirely focused on him.

You stand there, unsure what to do now, but Vernon fills the space with the dumb courage he musters. “I was just on my way to grab a bite to eat. Do you want to join me?” 

He stutters, suddenly trying to play it cool. “I mean, unless you have a meeting or something with the gardeners. In which case, I don’t want to intrude—“

You raise your hand to shut him up, giggling. “I would love to, Han.”

The nickname on your lips makes his heart stop and start again in a millisecond. He could get used to that. Definitely.

On the brink of midnight, Vernon gets a text from Jeonghan.

[YJH]: Got party favors in the greenhouse. U in?

Vernon groans, stuffing his head in the pillow. Should he smoke when he has an early class tomorrow and another Power Hour special? Probably not.

But the second text that pops up makes Vernon sit up straight in his bed.

[YJH]: Your missus is our DD, if that changes your mind ;)

Lunch a few days ago had been a success. You laughed at all of his jokes and even took his hand when he offered to help you up from the picnic table. Although you exchanged numbers at the end of the “date,” he hadn’t found the nerve to text you.

But now, he won’t waste the opportunity to see you.

Vernon puts on his old Quidditch hoodie and a bit of cologne to mask the odor. The next step after he sees you is to do his laundry to avoid smelling as much as possible. Homework sits somewhere in the middle of that plan.

He closes the door to the greenhouse behind him, the smell of the herbs hitting his face immediately. It wasn’t a mystery how Josh continued to supply himself and his friends with…supplements. As the president of the Horticulture club, he can access any specimens at any time. Surely it should been you, your care for plants and flowers not going unnoticed by him and probably your other classmates. Pretty privilege has to apply, for sure. But you’re much prettier than Josh, too, so what the fuck’s up with that?

You smile when you see Vernon enter the greenhouse. Your new friend skates by the stoned, giggly man-children sitting in the lawn chairs and passing their joint around. Hoshi is practically asleep, eyes almost closed and chuckles leaving his lips at the speed of a young schoolgirl. Vernon has the passing thought about how ironic it is all the Slytherins he knows take up their efforts with “gardening” yet probably know only a handful of plants.

“Hey, flower child,” Vernon says, sitting next to you on the workbench.

“Oh, spare me. Is that my nickname now?” You jut out your bottom lip, pouting.

“I think it’s nice. It fits!” Vernon motions with his hands to the surrounding vines and other foliage within the greenhouse. 

You nod in agreement. “Okay, point taken.”

He looks over at the assignment you’re doing, some form of chemistry if he had to guess. “What’re you working on?”

“Lab stuff. If I want to be a herbologist, I have to pass this class,” you say with a groan.

“Wait, you’re telling me there’s actually something you’re not good at?”

You stick your tongue out at him, threatening to poke him with your pencil. “Just wait, you’ll see I have many flaws.”

He knows that can’t be true. To him, even the most minute flaw of yours is impeccable.

“But yeah, just balancing equations and the like. I know astrology is more metaphysical stuff, but—“

“I love chemistry,” Vernon says, standing up and grabbing leaves from random plants between his fingers. Strangely, the more he walks around and steps into your world, the more confident he feels. “Speaking of that, I wanted to ask—“

“Hansol, watch out!”

Little does Vernon realize his back is perfectly positioned in front of an adult sprig of venomous tantacula, the plant ready to spring for the sight of prey. In an instant, Vernon sees your wand appear from your side and ducks out of the way to avoid the impending spell.

“Diffindo!” The venomous tantacula shrivels as soon as its body is separated from the base of the plant. You breathe in a sigh of relief at the fact your friend has not met his demise at the hands of the creature. However, Vernon’s quick dive turned out to be a bad choice. He managed to drop into a large pile of terracota plant pots. Some of them cut up his arms and a small part of his face in the process of his crash landing.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” you ask, bending down to inspect his face. You touch a hand to his cheek, moving his face in your direction. Vernon responds with a gummy smile.

“Nothing a bandaid can’t fix.” Vernon releases a breathless laugh.

“I have a medical kit somewhere around here.”

You run to find it. Vernon’s just dumbfounded and pleased he got so close to you on a technicality. Yes, his face is probably bleeding a good amount, but he knows it’s worth it to see your pillowy lips and doe eyes up close and personal.

When Joshua stumbles up to Vernon on the brick floor of the greenhouse, stoned out of his mind, he laughs like a madman. “Did you fall or something?”

Vernon smirks, resting his head happily on the ground. “You could say that.”

The collection of vinyls, CDs, and musical content in Vernon’s room is a marvel. The piles are mixed in with the typical items in a guy’s room, socks strewn about the floor and star charts leaning against the wall. When you call Vernon a slob in a playful tone, he can’t deny it.

“I have to be in the mood to clean,” Vernon says in his defense. 

You roll your eyes. You’ve met messier guys, but Vernon’s definitely making his way to the top of the list. “If I had to be in the mood to garden, half of the greenhouse would be withering away as we speak.”

“Is that how Josh keeps his presidential position, by only doing half of the work?” Vernon smirks, running his hands over the map in front of him. The homework needed to be done yesterday. Calling you as a reinforcement to make him focus is his best chance at getting it done.

Then again, seeing you now, he thinks that was a mistake. How can he focus when you’re in his room, chastising him to work and clean his room in such a cute way?

You may just be the end of his academic career as he knows it.

“No. Josh is a good president, and he really stands up for us with the student government. If he hadn’t advocated for muggle flora imports when they wanted to put more money in the Quidditch reserves, the greenhouse wouldn’t look half as good as it does right now.” You snap your fingers together. “Like the succulent in your radio station! Josh is technically to thank for that.”

“Don’t let him take the credit. I bet you put in a lot of effort growing that thing.”

You scoff and go back to inspecting his music collection. “Have you listened to every album you own?”

Vernon nods, smiling. “Some more than once. But that’s because some of those are my folks’ copies.” He gets up from his bed to stand next to you, tracing the outlines of the vinyl jackets with his fingers. “Like this one? Stevie Wonder’s In Square Circle? One of my favorites.”

The corners of your mouth turn up. “Surprises me you’re not a music undergrad. You already know so much.”

He chuckles sadly. “My parents thought it would be best to find something more practical to study.”

“Astronomy is practical?”

A smirk appears on his lips. “Point taken.”

You huff. “Anyway, it’s your life. It should be about what you love to dot. My parents wanted me to be a lawyer, but herbology’s my calling.”

“No kidding, flower child.”

“You know that nickname is cringe!”

In the midst of your banter, Vernon was unaware how much the distance between you closed. He can smell the perfume lingering on your neck, the scent of moondew driving him insane. His better impulses tell him not to stand so close. He should avoid inching further towards you. It’s wrong to focus on the look in your eyes that tells him not to stop.

Your breath hitches just a touch, and that’s his signal to throw all of his reservations out of the window. He presses your back to the vinyl player, caring little for the scratch of the record at the sudden movement. He can buy another one later.

He captures your lips with his and instantly feels every worry sap out of his being. You wrap your arms around him, hands firm against the back of his neck and fingertips grazing the ends of his hair. Magic in his world is not just exclusive to charms, potions, and cauldrons anymore.

He has you to thank for the definition expanding.

When a moan slips out of his mouth, you pull away breathless.

“Sorry if I was too forward. I—“ Vernon blurts out.

“No, no, don’t apologize.” You smile shyly. “I wanted you to.” You press your hands to his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your palms. “Just don’t want to rush into anything.”

He nods without a second thought, hanging onto your words with glee. You’re into him. Enough to want him to kiss you, at least.

“Does this mean I can ask you on a proper date? Not just lunch after CPH?”

You giggle into his neck. “Yes, I would love that.”

After a month of secret kissing behind corridors, study dates in the library, and even Vernon helping tend to pollen-free plants in the garden with you, he may have to admit he’s fallen into the deep end.

But how does one say that, especially someone as terrible with non-lyrical words as him?

So, he decides the perfect way to tell you isn’t in the standard sense.

He writes.

He writes down his thoughts and feelings to a random beat that popped into his head, the rhymes that show up on the notepad in front of him exactly what’s inside of his heart. He makes final touches, moving a word around and then repeating some others. It’s not a full song, just the idea of one at this point, but it says what it needs to, and that’s more than enough.

Vernon texts his parents about his next special, and this time, they promise to listen. Maybe now he can prove to them it isn’t a fruitless endeavor not worth pursuing.

He puts the headphones over his head, one half of his mind occupied with a million thoughts and the other half excited to see what will come after the special. Dokyeom counts him in, mouth in a thin line from focus.

“Welcome to Chwe’s Power Hour, everyone. I’m Chwe Hansol, the man himself behind this lovely hour of music, and I thank you all for tuning into this special episode of the show.”

They go on as usual, answering user-created questions from the last stream and also playing a couple of requested songs. When they make it to the ten-minute mark, Vernon sees Dokyeom’s cue.

“So, recently, I met someone who has quickly become a very important part of my life. So, today, I want to share something that was on my mind with all of you.”

Vernon nods his head to Dokyeom who begins playing the backing track for Vernon’s song. Some guitar strings and a welcoming beat begin to play. The confidence suddenly rises out of Vernon, taking on its own life as he begins the song. The words come out of him effortlessly, the poetry he wrote for you synchronized with the music in a way that has even Dokyeom swaying in his seat cheerfully.

Flower child,

Why can’t I keep my thoughts off of ya?

You grow in my chest without my consent.

Please help when my heart’s under arrest.

Flower child,

I always recognize your steps

When you walk around my head.

The path you have to be familiar with.

Don’t tell me your interest’s a myth.

Flower child,

Is this garden ready to bloom?

You drive me wild.

Can I grow with you?

Flower child,

Can I show you?

You’ve left me beguiled,

Flower child.

The guitar and beat of the song fade out gradually. Dokyeom can’t help himself when he claps his hands together and cheers for his best friend, the sounds coming through in the stream. Vernon laughs and clears his throat.

“As you can hear, my co-host DK seems to have enjoyed my song.”

“Are you kidding?” Dokyeom says, mouth agape. “Best thing we’ve played on this show, no doubt.”

Vernon chuckles heartily, his chest filled with pride. Not just for himself, but for this creation he’s found enough conviction to share with the world. 

“Thank you again for all tuning into this episode of Chwe’s Power Hour, sponsored by Hogwarts Altior. I cannot wait for the next episode and your thoughts on this one. It was without a doubt my favorite special so far. To all of you listening, have a good day and night.”

When the stream comes to a close, Dokyeom grabs Vernon in a tight bear hug, screeching in glee for the younger one’s success. “That was fucking incredible!”

Before Vernon can reply, he feels the buzz of his phone in his back pocket, your name lighting up his screen.

Meet me in the greenhouse? x

Vernon walks through the greenhouse. The foliage and flora he’s encountered many times in the past since meeting you and beginning your love affair greet him. He hopes the flowers he picked up on the quick run from the radio office to the courtyard capture your heart in the same way the plants in the greenhouse do.

Even if they make his eyes itchy around the eyelashes, he will deal with it. No amount of pollen could ruin this day.

You’re working on some homework at the gardening bench when he comes in. You drop your pencil immediately when you spot him out of the corner of your eye. You smile at the bouquet in his hands. “Usually I’m the one bringing you plants.”

Vernon grins as well. “Thought I’d return the favor this time.”

You leave your stool and walk towards him. Pecking his lips, you grab the flowers from him. “You know zinnias have pollen in them.”

He shrugs, taking no stock in the stuffy feeling in his nose. “You’re worth all the allergies in the world.”

Your cheeks turn a deep shade of red. Pressing your nose into the flowers, you take in the smell with a satisfied hum. “They’re beautiful.”

“They represent long-lasting affection, according to Joshua. But he might’ve been stoned when he said that.” Vernon smirks, grabbing onto your free hand.

You giggle. Staring deep into his eyes, your expression suddenly becoming serious. “Speaking of that, I listened to your show.”

Taking a deep breath, Vernon hopes he can find the same courage he had in the studio then now to use exclusively for you. “Since the second I saw you, I was drawn to you. And all the feelings I’ve had since then I put into that song to express just a fraction of how amazing you are. And I know it’s cheesy, but I meant every word, and I hope you feel the same.”

You step away from him, letting go of his hand and walking back to the gardening workbench. Vernon’s anxiety spikes, unsure what your next step will be. Would you say what he wanted to hear, or would you tell him something that would break his heart altogether?

You drop the bouquet on the table and run back to him, knocking all the air out of Vernon’s lungs with a sudden, soul-encapsulating kiss.

In the pressure, movement, and heartfelt nature of your lips against his, he feels idiotic second-guessing you for even a minute. 

You both separate, lips still inches away and smiles abound. Despite your actions saying everything he needed to hear, the words leaving your mouth just confirms every emotion in his heart. “I love you, too.”

[nerdishpursuits]

People on Twitter being disappointed Marta did not spill her guts to Fina over the Gervasio situation?

Ugh, I can’t even begin to fathom the kind of shame and despair Marta must be feeling after finding our her father is just as vile as her brother.

No wonder she’s so closed off in the aftermath, her armor back on. Her entire world is crushing down around her and she’s barely given time to process it. On the contrary, responsibilities just keep piling up. She needs time to order her thoughts and feelings, and to stop reeling from it all.

Not to mention she’s so used to being alone and having no support or understanding that, right now, she’s on auto-pilot. Even with all the progress she’s made thanks to Fina, at the moment she’s back to her default settings.

Also worth mentioning: time-line wise, her relationship with Fina is still quite new (3 months maybe?), so she’s not used to pouring her heart out. She’s not used to allowing herself to be emotional. In her family they don’t talk, they don’t share. They simply shove it all down, compartmentalize and pretend all is well.

So far, Marta has only let her guard down, all the way, a couple of times. First, when she was trying to rewrite the story for Jaime and, as a consequence, cried in front of Fina: one of the few times she’s ever shown herself so openly vulnerable. And second, if we consider her breakdown in the kitchen after Jaime’s death. However, Fina just so happened to find Marta as she was crying her heart out. And that’s how she allowed herself to be held and comforted. That’s how she let herself embrace the healing power of being understood and supported in her time of need, of being held and given space to grieve. And right now she’s grieving again. For her uncle’s dire fate, which could so easily be her own, for the loss of the family she thought she knew, for the loss of her best friend, for the possible loss of her aunt and the ever-looming threat of a cruel and unkind world, who could wrench Fina from her arms at any given moment.

But all in all. Change is incremental. After wearing her armor for 40 years, relearning certain behavioral patterns doesn’t happen over night. The good thing is, Marta has undergone immense change since the beginning of the series. This is nothing but one more hurdle to overcome. And if there’s no drama, there’s no series. Marta’s character arc has been one of the most satisfying, if not the most satisfying to watch unfold. I’ve confidence she’ll brave the storm with Fina by her side, once she’s had the chance to brace against the sudden winds, wipe the rain from her eyes and see clearly again.

Right now, she’s too overwhelmed and weighed down by uncovering the kind of despicable people her bother and father are. She might even, irrationally, fear that she’s tainted by association, given she already believes her family name is a curse and a burden. Not to mention the terror of realizing she might not be able to protect Fina after all, that their new-found sense of relief might prove to be a curtain of smoke.

We’ll see. But I think Marta and Fina will find a way to make it work and triumph together. Of course there’ll be obstacles. A show like this needs its heavy dose of curvas. But I trust these two will always find their way to each other, as they learn to navigate all kinds of situations together. And they’ll be all the stronger for it.

[writing-until-i-drop]

Sneak Peek At "A Stepdad For Christmas"

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x single mom! femOC

we've still got so much Jake and Daisy to get through before we meet Olivia and Bonnie but here's a little something

“Look at the eye candy,” Olivia’s fifteen-year-old daughter Bonnie tilted down her heart-shaped shades to get a better look at some Navy men out for a shirtless jog.

“Honey, everyone in uniform is too old for you. As in illegal, too old for you.” She whined then slowly turned to look at her mom with an evil grin, one that Olivia knew did not bode well for her. 

“Mom, I just figured out what I want for Christmas.” Christmas was always a big deal for them and Bonnie always gave her mom a bullet point and color-coded list of what she wanted. But never this early in the year.

“It’s July-”

“I want a hot stepdad,” Olivia debated crashing the car. Only for a split second but still. It would be easier and God would forgive her. He knew what he did when he made teenage daughters. 

“No.” 

“C’mon, Mom. You and dad boinked once to get me and that was it. We share a wall, I know there’s been no one else.” 

“What did I do to deserve this?” Olivia pleaded with whatever God was laughing at her. 

“You helped a gay man con his homophobic father into leaving him millions in inheritance,” Bonnie deadpanned. “That’s why I’m like this.” Olivia rolled her blue eyes, the same blue eyes that were looking back at her in the passenger seat. “But back to it, you need to get laid and I need something that’ll make all the girls want to hang out with the new girl. So hot stepdad, get me one.” 

Olivia was ready to threaten her daughter’s life in the most loving way possible when she caught a glimpse of a man in a khaki uniform climbing out of a blue, vintage Bronco. He was absolutely stunning, a specimen of tanned skin, muscles, and wavy hair that made Olivia suddenly feel very patriotic as he slid off a pair of tinted aviators. Do I have a thing for mustaches? She had never found them attractive before but this mystery man’s mustache was definitely working for her. 

“We’ll see what Santa can do.” Like he heard her, the man turned and caught her eye, winking. Olivia’s cheeks burned, a warmth spreading through her. She might have been married to a gay man who had a string of secret boyfriends but between raising Bonnie and keeping up appearances with Henry in public, she had never “cheated.” 

“Mom, the light’s green,” Bonnie smacked her arm. “We should get coffee before stopping at Aunt Pen’s.” Olivia hummed in acknowledgement, maneuvering to the directions the GPS was dictating over the speaker, her mind consumed with thoughts of mustached men in Navy uniforms. Well. One man in particular. 

Masterlist

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[sageluvsjoel]

Lost and Found

part two to; a different kind of miracle

jackson!joel miller x reader x autistic! daughter

Requested HERE

masterlist

summary: A couple years after Joel had accepted and learned to adapt to his daughters autism, he loses his temper with her and she disappears

genre: hurt to comfort, post outbreak, fluff at the end

wc: 1.4k

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

i do not authorize plagiarism or copying of my work!

It had been an exhausting week, one of those stretches of days where everything seemed to go wrong. Winter was coming early to Jackson, the temperatures already biting through the air, and Joel was on edge. Supplies were running low, and the town was trying to organize runs to gather essentials before the weather turned too harsh. He’d been so focused on making sure everyone was prepared—on doing something—that he hadn’t noticed how much it was weighing on him.

And, of course, his little girl, now ten years old, had her own struggles. Lately, she’d been more withdrawn, more prone to sensory overloads. Jackson was a safe place, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t noisy, chaotic, and unpredictable—three things that sent her into a spiral. Joel knew this. He understood her in a way he hadn’t a few years ago, but that didn’t mean it was always easy.

She had a routine—one she relied on to get through the day. That routine kept her grounded, kept her focused. But life in Jackson didn’t always allow for perfect routines, and today had been a prime example of that. Joel had asked her to do something simple—help him clear a path outside their house so they could prepare for the coming snow. She’d been reluctant, focusing intently on the puzzle she was working on, her mind miles away from the task he wanted her to do.

At first, Joel had been patient. He always tried to be patient now. But with everything else gnawing at him, his frustration had bubbled over.

“I need you to listen, alright?” Joel had snapped, his voice harsher than intended. “I’ve asked you five times now, and you’re just sittin’ there like I’m talkin’ to a wall!”

She had flinched, her small body going rigid as her fingers hovered over the puzzle pieces. Joel immediately regretted his tone. But it was too late—the damage had been done. She closed herself off, retreating into her own world, her face expressionless, her eyes downcast. Before he could soften his words or try to reach her again, she was gone—out the door, moving fast.

“Hey!” Joel called after her, but she didn’t stop.

He’d thought she needed space, so he let her go, figuring she’d come back when she was ready, as she always did. The town wasn’t big, and she often found quiet places to be alone when she felt overwhelmed.

But hours passed, and she didn’t come back.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted streets of Jackson. By the time dinner came and went, you and Joel were growing increasingly worried.

"Have you seen her?" you asked, anxiety creeping into your voice as you looked out the window. The sky was bruised with dusk, and there was no sign of her.

Joel shook his head, trying to keep his own fear from showing. “She’ll turn up. She just needs some time. You know how she gets.”

But as the hours stretched on, and the cold deepened, doubt started to gnaw at him. He’d checked the usual spots—the quiet corners of town where she liked to hide when she needed to be alone—but there was no sign of her. And with each empty space he searched, the knot of fear in his chest tightened.

You grabbed his arm, your face pale. “Joel, what if she’s… what if something happened?”

It was the question he had been trying to avoid, but he couldn’t deny the possibility any longer. He had seen too much, lost too much, to take anything for granted in this world.

“I’m gonna get Tommy,” Joel said, his voice strained, the panic rising in his throat. “We’ll start searchin’ in pairs, see if anyone’s seen her.”

Tommy didn’t ask questions when Joel showed up at his door, his face drawn and tight with worry. Within minutes, half the town was mobilized, everyone searching every corner of Jackson, calling her name.

The minutes dragged on, turning into an hour, then two. The cold was biting now, the wind picking up as night settled fully in. Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, each passing minute heightening the terror that something had happened to her.

Had she wandered too far out of town? Had something—or someone—gotten to her?

The questions battered his mind, a relentless barrage of worst-case scenarios, each one more terrible than the last. He tried to keep it together, tried to stay focused on the search, but the weight of it—the thought of losing her—was suffocating. It was his fault. He’d yelled at her. He’d made her run.

You found him pacing near the stables, his breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts. “Joel,” you called softly, your voice trembling, “we’ll find her.”

But Joel barely heard you. His mind was already lost in a sea of guilt and fear. “What if… what if somethin’ happened to her? What if she’s out there, and it’s my fault because I couldn’t keep my temper in check? I should’ve never—”

Before he could spiral any further, a voice crackled over Tommy’s radio. “Hey, we think we found her.”

Joel froze, his heart leaping into his throat as he grabbed the radio. “Where?”

“She’s in the old storage shed behind the library. Looks like she’s just sittin’ there.”

Joel didn’t wait for a response. He was running before Tommy could finish speaking, his boots crunching through the snow as he sprinted toward the shed. You were right behind him, both of you breathless and frantic.

The door to the shed was slightly ajar, and inside, huddled in the corner, was your daughter. She was sitting cross-legged, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring down at the ground, completely still.

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t panicking. She was just… sitting there, lost in her own world, oblivious to the chaos she had left behind.

Joel fell to his knees beside her, his heart hammering in his chest as he reached out to touch her shoulder. “Baby girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with relief. “Where have you been? We’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you.”

She blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream, and looked up at him with wide eyes. “I didn’t know you were looking for me,” she said quietly. “I just… needed to be alone.”

Joel’s heart ached at the simplicity of her words, at the quiet truth of them. She hadn’t run away because she was scared or in danger. She had run because she was overwhelmed, because the world had gotten too loud, and she needed space to breathe.

And he had panicked because he hadn’t understood that, because he had let his fear take over.

You knelt down beside her, brushing a hand through her hair. “You scared us, sweetheart,” you said gently, your voice shaking. “We were worried something had happened to you.”

Her brow furrowed, her expression soft with confusion. “I was just sitting here. I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

Joel closed his eyes, the weight of his relief crashing over him like a wave. “It’s alright,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re alright. That’s all that matters.”

You pulled her close, and Joel wrapped his arms around both of you, holding on like he was afraid to let go. For a long time, none of you spoke. The only sound was the soft rustling of the wind outside, the quiet hum of the world moving on.

When you finally stood up, Joel kept a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, his grip gentle but firm. “Next time, you tell me if you need space, alright? I’ll give it to you. Just… don’t disappear on us like that again.”

She nodded, her face still calm, but there was a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

As you led her out of the shed and back toward home, Joel couldn’t shake the lingering fear in his chest. The world was still dangerous, still unpredictable. But as long as they were together—as long as he understood her, truly understood her—he knew they’d be okay.

She was his miracle, and he would never lose her again.

dividers by @kodaswrld

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[welcome-to-green-hills]

If you notice, look at Shadow's Air Shoes in the new DLC (Featuring Keanu.), they actually resemble the Movie Shadow Prop's Air Shoes (The black-colored part of Shadow's Air Shoes.), rather than the Air Shoes shown in the Movie/First Trailer.

I also heard that despite Keanu voicing Shadow in the DLC, it's supposed to be 'Game' Shadow rather than 'Movie' Shadow (I guess the difference in the Air Shoes' Designs are how we're supposed to be able to tell outside the VAs.). This makes sense if you see the Ring Portal that Shadow comes out of, it's Game Shadow's White Space (Is that what Shadow's Hub World is called in Shadow Generations?).

I don't know if this is supposed to be canon or not, but I guess it could be considered an "insignificant/inconsequential detour" in Game Shadow's Overall Adventure in Shadow Generations. Not knocking the DLC in any way (SO GLAD I GOT THE DIGITAL DELUXE VERSION, TOO❣️), btw, just trying to see "how" Game Shadow 'NEVER' ends up bringing up being in "Real World"/SCU Tokyo.🤣

Hi Hon!❤️✨

I definitely see what you mean about SCU!Shadow’s shoes being different between the game and the movie. If it helps, the design that we see for the game is actually an earlier model that Sonic Team received to make the DLC. The model in the game was created in August of 2023. Same with the voice work as well.

As for whether or not it’s canon, I think that it’s supposed to be a bonus stage for the game. It kinda falls in line with TMoStH when the game came out last year—you can choose if you want it to be canon or not. That’s just my guess though. I think that we’ll get a better idea when it’s closer to the DLC’s launch.

[ghostwise]

Matacuervos, ch. 6 - The friend at midnight 3.3k words - cw: death, canon-typical violence, discussion of childhood trauma, slavery, and child abuse Zevran reels from a revelation about his past. Things do not go according to plan. The night ends with an unexpected visit. Read update on AO3 - Read from ch. 1 on AO3

It was in the Brecilian Forest where Zevran first told Hamal about his parents. 

All of it. The whole sordid story. The dead whore mom with her Dalish gloves. The unfaithful father. A childhood of lice, abuse, and malnourishment at the hands of the Crows. But the telling felt right somehow, there in those groves where Clan Sabrae had brought up young Mahariel. 

If Hamal’s own troubled past was in that frigid landscape, Zevran’s legacy of sorrow could come and intertwine with it. Perhaps both would find some measure of comfort then. 

And so the pines caught up every secret in their needles. The story sank into the damp and mossy earth.

Zevran had not thought of his past since, and he didn’t plan to start now.

The payment that undid your father. 

Over the course of an hour, Gloria Amilcar betrayed every single thing she knew about El milagro’s business with the Crows, including the contract that had led to Zevran’s orphaning. It turned out that his mother needn’t have been a widow. His father had been, contrary to what he’d always believed, a good man.

Or had he?

More than likely the words were just a ploy the woman was using to throw Zevran off his guard. That wasn’t hard to believe; it had worked so well, after all, as he worried and plucked at her story over and over again in his mind.

The payment that undid your father. 

Had his past all been a lie? 

It made no difference. He shut his eyes and pushed the question away.

Sra. Amilcar sat at her desk all the while. It was not just about his parents; with a dagger at her throat, Zevran had cajoled a wealth of information from her, including Crow contracts dating back thirty years, not to mention plenty of material he could use as blackmail against powerful men throughout the country, if the need ever arose.

She looked up at Zevran, her eyes wide.

“So now I’ve told you everything I know. You won’t kill me?”

“I haven’t decided.” Zevran aimed a half-hearted glare at her. “Do as I’ve asked, then we’ll see.”

She nodded grimly and got up.

It was late, and the brothel sang with activity. Sra. Amilcar’s absence had not been noticed, for the hosts were busy collecting payment and escorting guests up to dingy rooms. Bawdy lyrics resonated as she and Zevran exited down the hall, past all the revelry. The back door was through the washroom, which was cramped, hot, and muggy even with the windows open.

The light that spilled out onto the street was golden, but the air outside was all silver, and clouds had rolled in from the east.

Zevran marched the woman towards the apartments. An uncharacteristic silence struck him as they approached. The lively voices from before were gone. Where was everyone?

“Stay here,” he said, slowing to a stop. “Don’t move. If you run, I will catch you within ten paces.”

Warning issued, he crept forward, scanning the nearby alley. There were several sets of footprints in the dirt, leading away from the apartment. An uneasy feeling gripped him. But before he could investigate, the door to the apartment opened to a darkness from which a slight figure stepped out.

“Help!” Gloria shouted, and she stumbled forward as if pulled in by the sight of that figure. “Nadia! Help me! He aims to kill me!”

Zevran whirled around. Sra. Amilcar’s voice cut off in a muffled scream, as Hamal had snuck up beside her, and clamped his hand over her mouth, silencing her. 

“Now, now,” Zevran scolded. “I thought we had an understanding.”

Nadia made no move to reach for Sra. Amilcar, nor did she run for help. Instead she regarded the older woman with a loaded gaze, her eyes carrying something deeper than betrayal.

“Is it true, Gloria?” she asked softly.

Zevran looked at her.

Just a hundred yards away, El milagro stood apart, humble and self-contained, floating in a world where pain and sorrow could be vanquished—albeit, temporarily, and for a set price. But here, in the moonless night, Gloria Amilcar stood face to face with every sin she’d ever committed against her fellows in exchange for a comfortable wage. 

“How many?” Nadia asked. “How long?”

It was too much. Amilcar went limp in Hamal’s arms. 

“Shit! Did I suffocate her?”

“She’s just fainted. Perhaps she finally felt something for the children she’s delivered to their deaths over the years,” Zevran said without any sympathy. More importantly, he was surprised by Nadia; by both her unexpected appearance and her help.

“Bring her inside,” Nadia said in Antivan. “We’re not on a busy street exactly, but we are hardly away from prying eyes.”

Zevran raised a brow, looking at Hamal for some guidance.

“Long story, but I had to tell her the truth,” Hamal explained hurriedly. “Took a bit of luck and a fucking complicated game of charades, but I think I explained the situation. She made sure the children were safe. They’re not here, Zevran,” he added, as he carried Sra. Amilcar into the building. “Nadia took them away. She will be contacting the guard.”

Zevran blinked. That had not been the plan.

“Then I can only be thankful,” he said in Antivan. “To you both.”

What a mess this all was. As they entered the building, Zevran wished he could confer with Hamal in private; tell him what he had learned, plan what they should do next. He had hoped to compel Sra. Amilcar into luring the slaver into an ambush. That was becoming more difficult by the minute.

As for the apartment, it still smelled familiar, like dust and mold and absence, like the black spot in the corner of the room, which had grown in size since he’d lived here as a boy. Zevran cast a quick glance around, noting the toys strewn on the floor, and a pile of books on the table, with titles like El gato con botas and El flautista de Hamelin. The windows hosted a pair of floral curtains.

Hamal laid Sra. Amilcar on the floor, resting her head on one of the soft plush toys.

“My husband tells me you orchestrated an evacuation,” Zevran said, turning to face Nadia. He gave a curt nod, feeling strangely awkward and unlike himself. “Thank you. We… could not have done it on our own. However, I cannot help but wonder… my husband is a stranger to you. Yet, you agreed to help so readily. Why?”

“It must seem odd,” Nadia admitted. “But I suppose… it’s because I remembered the day you went away, Zevran.”

“Me?”

She paused to give him a proper look, curious and lingering. “Yes. It never sat right with me, you know. Even though we were told the orphaned children were going somewhere better—it never sat right with me! Children should not be sent off without a goodbye or a kind word! And knowing what I know now…” She sighed. “Adelmar was heartbroken. We found out you and the others were gone only when we came to read to you the next day. So what if you were orphans? You were—in a small way, you still are—ours.”

“Ah,” Zevran said, struck by the idea that he had ever been anyone’s. 

“Do you remember Adelmar?” Nadia asked.

Zevran thought about it. Nadia and Adelmar had been so kind to him and to the others—of course he remembered. Their visits were one of the few good things he experienced in those years. It hadn’t all been cruel.

“Of course I remember her,” Zevran answered. “I remember you, too.”

“That’s why I helped. Because we loved you. And you love him.” She looked at Hamal with certainty. “So we’ve never met. But we’re still kin. Of a sort.”

Such sweetness seemed out of place here. Zevran glanced up at the molded corner of the ceiling.

“I’m glad,” he said softly. “Because someone is going to knock at that door any minute now. And I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything!” Nadia said earnestly.

“I need you to leave.”

She hesitated. Zevran could see her deliberate over her situation, before speaking. 

“I know what I am getting into,” she said carefully. “I know we are talking about slavers here. You think me naive? In my line of work? Violence and abuse are no strangers to me. I face danger often. And forgive me, but this very much involves me. It involved me even before I knew what was happening, right under our noses.”

“Crows,” Gloria croaked out, half-conscious, from her spot on the floor.

“Gag her,” Zevran snapped at the interruption, and Hamal pulled off one of his gloves to do so—but Sra. Amilcar spat the words as quickly as she could with all her meek strength.

“He’s a Crow, Nadia! I will not help them! He’s the dangerous one-!”

And now came a litmus test Zevran knew well. Though he wished he didn’t.

In the past, revealing his status as a Crow had been an occasional risk he dealt with by killing a person or buying their silence. Now it was a half-truth that could only hurt an already delicate situation. His shoulders tensed, and Hamal exchanged a frantic look with him—he’d do whatever he was told, this Zevran knew. But he really hoped they would not have to restrain Nadia too.

“Is that true?” Nadia asked.

Zevran looked at her evenly. “We haven’t lied to you.”

Nadia’s eyes darted low, then back to him, but each look was tenuous, as if she was struggling to keep him in her view. As if she were reconsidering all those words about kin and memories.

“You are a Crow?” she asked again.

“No! Not anymore, I swear it! And the less you know, the better, believe me.” Zevran urged her further, “But it is all the more reason you must leave! Forget you saw us! Tell no one!”

Nadia shut her eyes.

All too quickly, their time was up. Three heavy knocks sounded at the door. 

“Please,” Zevran whispered. “Run. Hide upstairs. Do anything else. You took the children to safety, you’ve already done your part.”

Zevran grit his teeth. At this rate, he would lose his chance.

“Fuck it,” Nadia said at last with a sigh. “I believe you, Zevran. But I will not leave, and you haven’t the time to argue. Let me help! At the very least we owe each other that!”

.

Fuck it was right.

Despite his best efforts here Zevran was again, helpless against the whims of fate. It wasn’t what he’d planned. But he was flexible.

He wore a placid smile as he stepped through the door to meet the man.

“Good evening, serah. You were expected.”

It was a Crow talent to read your target as quickly as possible in just a few seconds. A cursory glance told Zevran a lot already. The man at the door hesitated. He didn’t answer right away, so it was likely had had been expecting to meet Sra. Amilcar, which meant he was already on the defensive. And he was dressed in comfortable, common clothing, covered with a shawl, so it was likely he was armed.

There was no mistaking it. This was the man who’d taken him and the other children, all those years ago. 

Older and greyer, but it was him.

And he didn’t recognize Zevran.

“Good evening,” the man returned, and he eyed Zevran briefly before glancing away. “I’ve a meeting with the lady of the house.”

“She is otherwise disposed,” Zevran said warmly, knowing very well that in that moment Hamal had restrained her, and was bringing her upstairs. He would be at one of the upstairs windows in probably two minutes’ time. A lot could happen in two minutes. “I will be helping you tonight. Won’t you come in?”

“I only meet with her,” the man said, painting the words with an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry to hear she’s not available. Perhaps it’s best I come back another day. You her secretary or something?”

“That’s right,” Zevran said. “I am Amrit, her secretary. Surely she informed you of my recent hiring? She is ill, and she apologizes, but I assure you there is no need to reschedule. I am more than capable of managing our business, despite appearances. Won’t you come in?”

The man regarded him, unconvinced, but not threatened yet.

“I really do regret hearing of her illness,” he said at last. “Have her send word when she is better. I will return then.” He turned and began walking back towards the carriage.

“But our agreement!” Zevran hurried after him in the unguarded fashion of an angry man who had very little understanding of his circumstance. “Please! Sr. Rossi will have my head!”

“That so?” The man grunted, pausing at the front of the carriage. “Not my business. Anyway, I’m not walking back the deal. Just waiting to talk to the lady in charge. You understand. Delicate business, this is.”

“What does it matter who you deal with, so long as you get what you need?”

“I suppose you want me to hand all that money straight to your hands, elf?” He gave a dry chuckle. “But do not worry! If what you say is true, then we’ll talk again soon.” He paused and gave him what was no doubt meant to be a lecherous smile. “Maybe we could talk alone then, you and I. Being as you are such an enterprising young man we could work out an agreement of our own. What do you say?”

The suggestion did not escape Zevran, and he nearly bristled; once he would have leaned into it, using it to manipulate his target, but it was all too crass in these circumstances.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “that won’t work for me.” 

It was time for a more direct approach. Not willing to let his target escape, Zevran drew his dagger and aimed a kick at the back of the man’s knee, knocking him down. The man fell against the carriage and steadied himself against one of the wheels. Regaining his balance and drawing a shortsword from beneath his shawl, he stepped towards him.

“You little elven whore!” he spat.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” Zevran returned, easily parrying a strike from the man’s blade. He had the advantage as far as his eyesight was concerned; every small detail of his enemy was clear as day to him. But he had no idea what Hamal or Nadia were up to. Only that Hamal would be upstairs any moment now, and Nadia, Maker willing, was flanking their position to get to the carriage unnoticed.

It was clear that the man was familiar with his weapon, but not often called upon to use it. Each strike was just ever so slightly unpracticed. He tried again and again to land a blow upon Zevran, without success, and as he was an older man, having been in this cruel business for over thirty years, he tired quickly.

After trying and failing to disarm Zevran, he made a sudden dash onto the carriage, and took the reins into his hands. But Nadia had done her part with shocking efficiency; they hung from his grip uselessly, and he looked at Zevran with wide-eyed fury.

“You’re dead, Amrit. I’ll gut you quick!”

“Try!”

“Don’t touch him!” Nadia hissed.

The rest of the pieces fell into place. Nadia appeared from the opposite side of the carriage, having climbed up to ambush the man after cutting the horse’s reins. She grabbed her enemy with surprising efficacy—clearly she knew how to incapacitate a violent man—and as Zevran disarmed him, she pinned his arms from behind, and pressed a borrowed dagger against his throat.

The man stood stock still, glaring up at Zevran.

The scuffle had been short, but not effortless. Zevran’s wrists ached from the strength he’d needed to deflect each attack. He climbed up onto the carriage in order to regard the man more closely.

Here was the beast who’d stolen so many of Rialto’s children, who had been selling them for decades, to the Crows and who knows what else.

“Clever. What now?” the man asked. “You cut my throat and rob me?”

“Ah-ah,” Zevran said. “Not so easy, I’m afraid.”

The man spat at him. Saliva landed on his cheek, and though Nadia tightened her hold on the dagger, Zevran retorted with a calm smile.

“Let’s get you inside,” he said, grabbing the cut reins so as to bind his hands together. “We have much to discuss.”

He hadn’t taken him for a mage.

A blast of energy exuded from the man, briefly occluding Zevran’s senses; in that moment he couldn’t see, speak, or hear, and he certainly couldn’t move or react. 

He’d experienced something similar before, in Ferelden, only that time it had been Morrigan unleashing her magic upon their enemies, stunning them. Maker, he missed having a mage on his side.

The mage leapt off the carriage, pushing Nadia off and onto the ground on the way. He’d incapacitated his own horse in the attempt to escape, so he made a run for it, boots striking the cobblestones in a relentless pace.

Zevran came to his senses with a throbbing headache. He let out a shout as he saw the man already far down the street, headed towards the brothel. 

“Hey!” 

Nadia whimpered from where she had fallen. Hamal must have made it to the window, for an arrow zipped overhead with a characteristic whistle. Zevran did not doubt Hamal’s aim; he was a gifted archer, but that was the problem. The arrow struck with enough force to knock the man off his feet. Zevran cursed.

It gave him a feeling that the whole situation was unraveling. An ugly pit grew in his stomach—fear of retribution, perhaps an old response from growing up in the Crows—and worse still, as Zevran ran after the man, another figure rounded the corner, limping along with her cane.

“Amrit?” Rocio asked, seeing him. 

Where had she come from? She must have followed them, Zevran realized. In fact, she must have had hurried all the way across Rialto to get here. She had come, not knowing how fate had worked its mysteries in order to bring them all here: Zevran, Hamal, Rocio, Nadia, Gloria, and this loathsome man at the center of the web. But Rocio was so much like him, after all, so how could Zevran truly be surprised?

Her eyes traveled to the injured slaver, now at her feet. Her expression shifted to one of horrified recognition.

“It’s you.”

“Get away from him, Rocio!”

“I remember you,” Rocio said. “Do you remember me?”

The man looked up at her, bleeding. He didn’t have a chance to answer before she swung her cane in a shining arc, and struck him on his skull. The man cried out in pain.

Zevran urged his stunned body to carry him closer to the scene. 

Rocio had stumbled onto the ground, thrown off balance by the ferocity of her own attack. She struck the slaver again and again with her cane. The blood pooling around him did not deter her in the slightest. 

Zevran had underestimated her. He’d left a crucial clue, by omission, tipping her off to the exact location where he suspected the next group of children would be taken from.

“Bastard!” Rocio cried. She seemed to only grow angrier with each blow. “Son of a bitch! You will never—take another one—again!” 

Finally, Zevran knelt before her, watching his chance of getting answers vanish. But he could hardly be upset about it. 

Somehow in the gleaming moonlight, the sight of Rocio’s vengeance was too stark and beautiful. A well deserved victory, and a catharsis that brought tears to Zevran’s burning eyes. 

[ashipiko]

Birthday Showcase (Ashi) will be available for a limited time starting June 5th!

This showcase features a limited-time SSR Ashi (Birthday Jacket) card!

EVENT NOTES BELOW ↓↓↓

WHOS READY FOR ROUND TWO. IM NOT??? HAVE I ACTUALLY BEEN ON TUMBLR THIS LONG ALREADY????? 😭😭 well anyway!! got thru the pains of card making and now we’re here </3 not really excited for the groovy but. we will get thru 🫡

THIS YEARS EVENT WILL BE THE SAME AS THE LAST!! <3 send asks and wish Ashi some bday wishes and get an OC interaction and/or doodle in response!!! 🤔 no promises it’ll be a lot but I’ll try my best to get thru them all

I THINK THATS IT? ILL REBLOG THIS IF ANYTHING. hopefully a month in advance is good enough HAHAHA

[chloesimaginationthings]

Do you post dubs on yt? just wanted to ask bc never knew you had a Tumblr only saw theses (along with others on yt dub acc)

I don’t personally post dubs to YouTube, but I know many others do dub my work!

From what I saw, most if not all credit me, which is all I ask for if you’re gonna dub my work ^^ Though I eventually would like to post to YouTube myself, hopefully animations!

[nonetoon]

Got jump scared (reminded that tomorrow is hourly comic day)

[wundrousarts]

Going to do a Nevermoor series reread in June + July + August ? if anyone else also wants to do a reread around that time, could be fun to have more of the fandom prepping for Silverborn

Did initially make a roadmap plan to split the books up into weeks on top of already being months, so that people could focus on specific parts and discuss each week….. but between the fact that I messed it up the first time, Silverborn kept getting delayed as I planned it, and I’m actually really bad at keeping to stuff like that (looking at you, Silverborn Countdown Challenge…) I’m deciding to just go for it at whatever pace happens.

[lorelune]

the game plan:

- finish o4o in the next few weeks (barring pain levels, they have been higher than normal. more on that later)

- open up comms (i’ll probably take two or three OR i’ll be releasing a certain numbers of words that can be claimed for commissions out of the whole, until we hit that word cap) (if this doesn’t make sense i’ll explain more later trust)

- profit and pay off portos vet bill AND get a new work desk