#ALL OF THESE PEOPLE ARE TOO YOUNG FOR HIM

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, racing accident (spa 2021 q3), fuck the fia basically, autistic shutdown, angst (!!!!), brief mention of a life-ending accident.

Notes — Ok. Prepare yourselves. This one might hurt.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

Chapter Twenty (Spa—Italy) 

The circuit is underwater.

Amelia sits on the low wall in front of the garages, glancing over at the track. Puddled, she thinks. Flooded was probably a better word, but nobody wanted to say it out loud.

A thousand stubborn fans in the grandstands spot her and call her name, undeterred by the downpour. She waves and flashes them a quick smile before hopping down and heading back toward Max’s garage, pulling the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands.

“They’ll red flag it,” she says, shrugging as she steps inside. “Even if it means postponing qualifying. It’s not drivable out there.”

Max sighs and glances at his dad, who just gives an unhelpful shrug in return.

GP pops his head around the corner, his expression flat. “Just heard from race control. We’re heading out in twenty minutes.”

Amelia stares at him, aghast. “Are you serious? I mean—do they have a set of working eyes between them? It’s awful out there!”

GP shrugs like it’s out of his hands. “They want to give the fans something. Don’t want the complaints. Plus, some of the teams are pushing, saying it’s just a case of slicks.”

She narrows her eyes at him, unimpressed. “Which teams?” she demands.

GP opens his mouth to answer, but Max cuts him off. “No. Don’t tell her. She’ll only cause a scene.” Max turns to her, giving her arm a squeeze. His touch is meant to be calming, but it feels too light against the storm brewing in her chest. “It’s fine. We’ll all be careful,” he promises. “We’ve driven in worse conditions.”

She blinks, and all she can see is a boy—too young, too trusting—spinning out on this very track, his life taken away from him because someone said it would be fine. “Two years ago…” she starts, voice catching.

Max doesn’t let her finish. “Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself, zusje.”

She presses her lips together, closing her eyes for a beat, sucking in a trembling breath. When she opens them, she looks past Max—at Jos, then GP. “Christian thinks this is okay?” she asks, voice low.

GP shakes his head immediately. “No. He was one of the team principals against it.”

Oh. That was pleasant surprise.

— 

The rain only got worse once there were cars on track. 

Amelia paced like a caged animal just behind the line of Max’s engineers, arms folded so tight across her chest it felt like she was holding herself together by force alone. The spray was impossible. Drivers couldn’t see five meters ahead, and the aquaplaning was awful. 

Her stomach twisted tighter with every sector.

They were not driving anymore — they were guessing. Hoping.

She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. 

A car twitched through Eau Rouge and saved it. Barely.

She shot a furious look at GP, who lifted a hand in her direction like he was expecting her to throw something at him and needed to defend from it.

“I swear to god,” she hissed under her breath, “if anyone gets hurt—”

“Amelia,” Jos said sharply. He didn’t look away from the screens. “Don’t.”

She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, breathing hard through her nose.

—

Lando thrived in the wet.

Where other drivers hesitated, he attacked, carving through the standing water like it was nothing more than mist. He looked alive out there. 

He was flying.

By the end of Q1, he was at the top of the timesheets, Max just a few hundredths behind him.

Amelia watched from the back of Max’s garage, heart pounding harder with every sector split. She barely registered the noise around her, engineers discussing, the pit wall scrambling as Max came back in for a fresh set. 

By the end of Q2, he was still there.

Still leading. Still flying.

Amelia didn’t even realise she was holding her breath until the session ended, the screen freezing with his name at the top.

Still at the top. Ahead of both Mercedes, ahead of Max. 

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth to stifle a noise she didn’t even recognise — part pride, part awe, part something else, raw and endless.

— 

“Did that McLaren make it around the corner?” 

It happened fast. Too fast. A flash of a McLaren on the big screen, the car snapping sideways through Eau Rouge, spinning into the barriers with a violence that made the garage gasp.

The monitors flickered to the crash site. Crumpled carbon. Shattered wings.

No movement.

Amelia didn’t move either.

She stood dead still. Silent. 

And then she started whispering under her breath. "Oversteer mid-corner. Hydroplaned. No visibility. No grip. No correction possible." It wasn’t emotion — it was fact. Cold, clean, merciless.

Someone called her name.

She didn’t react.

Jos appeared a second later, hand reaching for her arm, voice low, concerned, "Amelia—"

She ripped away from him so violently he took a step back. "Don’t touch me!" she snapped, voice too loud, too sharp. "I'm thinking!"

Silence snapped over the garage like a taut wire. Eyes everywhere.

She didn't care. She just stared at the monitor, at the wreckage, at the nothingness.

Then… a voice, through a sudden crackle of radio static. GP had shoved a headset onto her head, barely sliding it into place, as Lando’s voice filled her ears, grainy but alive. "—I’m okay. Sorry about that, boys. Big crash."

She blinked. Stared at the screen. Saw Sebastian pulling up next to him in the Aston, saw Lando wave from inside the cockpit — a shaky, unmistakable sign of life.

Another voice filtered in, maybe GP’s, maybe Will’s. “Driver’s talking. He’s moving. All good.”

Lando again, winded but alive, alive, alive, "Make sure Amelia’s okay. She didn’t see, did she? Fuck, mate, that was bad. Go make sure she’s okay—"

She couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought. 

She just stared at the footage as it played over and over on the feed, the spray, the blind corner, the sudden absence of the car where it should have been, the brutal, sickening impact against the wall.

Her nails dug into her own forearms hard enough to leave crescent moons.

Her mind blanked.

Detached.

Facts and figures and split times. Angles and force vectors and hydroplaning coefficients.

If she thought about it clinically, if she could just keep it mathematical, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much. 

— 

They let her into medical after twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes where she didn't move. Twenty minutes where she counted every breath she took and tried to keep her body from violently trembling. 

When she finally crossed the threshold, Lando was sitting up on the stretcher, hair soaked and matted down from the rain and sweat. His race suit was still zipped up to his neck, damp and dirty from the impact. His left hand was flexing repeatedly like it hurt, but he was smiling at the doctor. A crooked, too-wide smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

When he saw her, the smile vanished.

“Baby,” he said, voice rough.

She stopped halfway across the room.

He looked her over once, quick and assessing — and she knew he saw it. The stiffness in her posture. The emptiness in her eyes. The way she was standing like she was still waiting for a second crash, a worse outcome.

He pushed off the stretcher, wincing a little but moving anyway, stubborn and alive, and crossed the room to her.

She didn’t move. Didn’t lift her arms. Didn’t even reach for him.

Lando didn’t seem to care.

He wrapped his arms around her anyway, wet and shivering and still so real, pulling her into his chest. His hand found the back of her head, cradling it against him. "Hey," he murmured, soft enough that only she could hear. "I’m here. I’m okay. You can touch me. I'm real."

She stood frozen for a second longer, and then, slowly, she pressed her hands to his ribs. Felt the rise and fall of his breath. The heat of him under her palms.

"Physics said you should have flipped," she said into his chest.

"Yeah, well," he said, smiling against her hair, "physics can suck it."

She let out a single, sharp breath, not quite a laugh. Not quite a sob.

Lando's arms tightened.

"You can be mad," he told her, still that same soft, low tone. "You can be scared. You can even punch me if you want. Just... don’t disappear into that pretty head of yours, okay?"

She closed her eyes, finally letting her forehead drop against him, anchoring herself to the solid, beating proof of him.

"I’m trying," she whispered.

"I know," he said. And he just held her

— 

The door cracked open again, and suddenly Max was there.

Still half in his race suit, soaked through from the rain, his hair dripping into his eyes.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask. Just crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of Amelia.

She turned her head slowly. 

Max’s eyes flicked over her quickly, assessing, calculating. "Hey," he said, voice low, controlled. "You’re alright?”

Amelia didn’t respond. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t doing anything, really, just sitting there in Lando’s lap, stiff, her hands still twisted in the fabric of his fireproofs like she was the one holding him together and not the other way around.

Max exhaled, long and slow. Then, without asking, he reached out and cupped the back of her head, pulling her gently forward until her forehead bumped against his.

"Listen to me," he said quietly, his voice rough with feeling. "You did everything right. You are alright. Lando is alright. I'm here. We’re all still here, okay?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing finally hitching a little.

Max just held her there, forehead to forehead, grounding her with the solid weight of his presence.

"You’re safe, zusje," he murmured, almost too softly to hear. “And so are we. Everyone made it out alive, okay? Is that what you need to hear? Nobody died today.” 

A shaky little sound escaped her, halfway between a sigh and a sob.

Lando tightened his arms around her from behind, his chin pressing into her shoulder, anchoring her.

Max pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “I got pole.” 

She manages a tiny, proud smile. “Well done.” 

— 

@/f1girlies: Amelia not even flinching when they showed Lando's crash... just staring at the screen like she's trying to solve it. There is a terrifying amount of love between them. 🥲💔 #F1 #BelgianGP

@/landozluvbot: idk what broke me more. Lando's crash or seeing Amelia looking like a ghost in the garage after. she didn’t even cry she just shut down 😭😭

@/redbullmax: Max asking if Amelia was okay over the radio after the red flag… this fcking team is going to kill me #BelgianGP

@/McLarenUpdates: The way Amelia was repeating technical data out loud after the crash... pure survival mode. That’s an engineer trying not to lose it over the boy she loves getting hurt 😭 #BelgianGP

@/softforf1: Seb pulling up next to Lando to check on him. Max worrying about Amelia. Everyone looking after each other. F1 can be brutal but it’s a family too 🧡 #F1Family

@/verstappencharts: “don’t touch me, i’m thinking!” amelia shouting at jos verstappen 😭😭 girl was fighting for her life. i was genuinely in tears watching her. my fellow neurodivergent girlies understand that she was fully shutting down 

@/mclarensun: saying "make sure amelia’s okay" while he's still in the car wreckage was the most heartbreaking thing i’ve ever heard no i'm not okay

—

She feels broken.

A shell of herself.

Curled up on her side in her dad’s hotel suite, knees tucked against her chest, face buried in the pillow that still smelled like him — his shampoo, his aftershave, something warm and familiar and safe.

Lando was sleeping.

Bruised, sore, but breathing. Alive.

She’d left him there, in their hotel room, the weight of everything pressing too heavy on her chest to stay. She couldn't hold herself together, not even for him.

Her dad had found her at the rooftop bar, sitting alone in a corner, staring blankly into a glass of Sprite. He hadn’t said anything, just crouched down, touched her hand, and guided her gently to her feet.

He’d led her here, to his suite. Set her down on the bed like she was something fragile. Like if he said the wrong thing, she might shatter completely.

Then he’d stepped outside into the hallway.

She pressed her face deeper into the pillow, breathing in the scent of him, wishing she could crawl into her childhood and never have to leave again.

She felt selfish.

Selfish for making this about her when Lando was the one who’d crashed.

Selfish for being weak.

Selfish for needing someone, when Lando needed her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her body stiff and aching, and tried not to think.

Tried not to feel.

Tried, and failed.

— 

Her dad returned, a quiet figure in the doorway before stepping inside. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed with a soft sigh. “Fernando is here, sweetheart,” he said, his voice gentle, trying to ease something too big for him to handle alone. “I thought he might be able to help.”

Fernando sat beside her, his presence grounding, steady. He didn’t rush into conversation, simply waiting. His eyes softened as they met hers.

After a long, thoughtful pause, he spoke, his voice low, weighted with experience. “I’ve had a lot of crashes, niña,” he began. “Big ones. Ones where I didn’t know if I was going to make it out alive.”

Amelia, still frozen, slowly turned her head to look at him.

“In 2010, I crashed in Canada,” he continued, his hands folded in his lap. “The wall hit me hard. The car was destroyed. I remember seeing the barrier coming and thinking, ‘This is it. I’m not going to get out of this one.’”

Amelia’s breath hitched. She searched his face for any sign of what he’d felt, but his expression was calm. 

“I remember sitting there afterward,” he said, “and not feeling pain at first. It was like everything just shut down. I was alive, but I couldn’t process what happened. I didn’t know what came next.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the room.

“Then, in 2016, another crash—this time in Baku. The impact was hard, but what scared me the most was the silence. After the crash, there was this stillness. I didn’t know if I could move, if I could breathe properly. And all I could think was, ‘What if I can’t get out of here?’”

Amelia’s lips parted, her hands trembling in her lap as the emotions she’d buried began to rise.

“I’ve been through a lot, niña,” Fernando said, his voice steady but compassionate. “But every time, you trust that the team, the doctors will pull you out. Even when you can’t feel it. And when it’s over, you’re just thankful. So thankful.”

He looked at her with intensity, his gaze warm. “Lando will feel the same. Thankful he made it out. Thankful he can return to you.”

Amelia’s walls cracked. Her breath quickened, uneven, as emotions she’d kept buried threatened to break free. Her voice trembled as she whispered, “Nando, I was so scared.”

Fernando pulled her into a tight hug, his voice soft yet firm. “Ah, niña... fear is part of this sport. You know that. You know about all the crashes I’ve been through, probably with more detail than I can remember. Use that smart brain of yours. Let yourself feel the fear. But don’t feel shame for it.”

Amelia clung to him, then turned to her dad. She managed a small, broken smile, a silent ‘thank you’ for bringing Fernando to her.

— 

She tiptoed back into their hotel room, shedding her clothes and slipping into bed in just her underwear. She pressed herself against Lando's warmth, inhaling a shaky breath.

His arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her closer. “Where’d you go, baby? You’re freezing,” he murmured against her ear, tucking the blanket around them both.

“Just needed to talk to Fernando,” she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Go back to sleep, Lan.”

She watched him sleep for a while, his breathing steady and calm. Her fingers gently brushed his neck, resting there, feeling the steady pulse beneath her touch. With a quiet exhale, she let herself drift off, comforted by the rhythm of his heartbeat.

— 

“They should’ve suspended the session the second the aquaplaning became a problem and the drivers started to make it clear that the conditions were too dangerous,” Amelia said, her voice low but firm.

Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. “I agree.”

Amelia crossed her arms, leaning against the table as she glanced down at the papers in front of them. They were in a small, quiet back room in the Aston Martin hospitality, away from the noise of the paddock. Sebastian had been working on the official complaint for the GPDA, and Amelia had come in to help finalise a few things.

“I really appreciate you checking on Lando after the crash,” Amelia told him, after a lapse of silence. "It meant a lot. To him and to me.” 

Sebastian gave a small nod. “Of course. And how are you doing? You have had a rough few races, huh.” 

She nodded, itching the back of her neck. “Yeah. It’s— it’s been a lot to deal with. But yesterday could’ve been prevented. That’s why I’m so mad, I think.”

Sebastian leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “That’s why the GPDA matters. We have to keep pushing for better safety measures, for the drivers to be heard." He paused, glancing at her with a thoughtful expression. "You’ve got the right mind for this, Amelia. I’ve been meaning to ask for a while now, but how would you feel about joining me on the panel? You’d bring a fresh perspective, especially with everything you do behind the scenes. You’d make a real impact."

Amelia raised an eyebrow, a bit taken aback by the offer. "I don’t know…”

“Of course, I get it,” Sebastian said quickly, giving her a reassuring smile. “No pressure. But think about it, yes?”

Amelia nodded. "I will. I just— I already feel like I’m being split in a million directions.” 

Sebastian gave a knowing smile. “No pressure. The offer will still be there if you ever change your mind.” He glanced down at the page. “So, you think we’ve got the final draft ready to send off?”

Amelia glanced at the papers again, nodding. “Yeah, I think this should do it. We’ve got a strong case. Now, we just need to make sure it’s heard.”

Sebastian gave a small smile, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. “Alright. Let’s get it to the drivers then. Thank you for helping out, Amelia. This wouldn’t be as strong without your input.”

She smiled back, feeling a little lighter. “Of course.” 

— 

They suspended the Grand Prix after one lap.

Amelia was selfishly relieved. She left GP with a quick smile and made her way across to the McLaren garages.

She waited as Lando climbed out of the car, got weighed, and finally spotted her — standing there with a cookie she’d swiped from the hotel breakfast, held out like a peace offering.

His face lit up, the disappointment of the day forgotten in an instant.

“God, I love you,” he said, grinning as he took the cookie.

She just grinned back. 

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2021 F1 Grid

Sebastian V.

Please can everyone sign this document and send it back to me? Thanks!

Max V.

GDPA?

Sebastian V.

Yes, mate.

Lando N.

Wait, did Amelia help you with that Her name’s at the bottom

Sebastian V.

Your girlfriend is very smart, Norris. She also believes that driver safety should take precedence over the entertainment value of a dangerous session.

Lewis H.

She’s a good kid. @Lando I tried to talk to her after Silverstone, but she brushed me off.

Lando N.

Yeah mate, not being funny, but you were part of the reason the guy she sees as a brother ended up in the tyre barrier You can’t be surprised she’s a bit pissed

Max V.

She ignored you, Lewis? LOL

George R.

Alright, let’s not do this here. Groupchat is for racing talk only. And Amelia, if necessary. This is not necessary.

Yuki T

.I have signed! I didn’t read it first. What did I just sign?

Esteban O.

Contract extension.

Yuki T.

HOLY SHIT, REALLY?

Esteban O.

No. Start reading things before you sign them.

— 

Max wins his home race.

The Dutch fans go insane for it. Orange smoke suffocates the track before he even crosses the line — it’s like a living, breathing thing, filling the air, staining the sky. The stands are roaring, a wall of noise and cheers that doesn’t seem to let up.

She can’t stop smiling.

This will mean everything to him.

The whole weekend had been madness; the crowd, the pressure, the constant buzz that hummed around Max like static. She’d worried, in a quiet, gnawing way, that it would be too much. That the expectation would crush him.

Instead, he rose to meet it, higher and higher, like he’d been made for this. He had, probably. He was controlled. Fast. Untouchable.

In the paddock after the race, everything feels a little magical. 

She and Lando are making their way toward the exit, half-holding hands, half-dragging their feet because nobody really wants to leave the energy behind yet, when a member of the Dutch media steps in front of them.

“Are you proud of Max’s win?” the reporter asks, microphone shoved toward her, as if there’s any possible answer but the obvious.

She beams; can’t help it, even if she wanted to. “I’m incredibly proud,” she says, heart in it completely.

Behind her, Lando chuckles low in his throat. She feels his hand tighten around hers, warm and steady. When she glances back at him, he’s looking at her like she hung the stars, his smile fond, just for her.

— 

There’s no time between leaving the Netherlands and travelling straight to Italy, but somehow Amelia still manages to carve out enough of it to throw together a Pinterest board titled ‘Monaco Apartment’.

She shows Lando every phase she goes through — minimalist, then eclectic, then back again — and he just laughs, indulging her with amused commentary and the occasional veto when something was just a bit too extreme.

Eventually, she settles on something halfway between bohemian and modern; clean lines and light, natural colours, but still full of texture and life. Cozy, but grown-up.

She picks out paint colours while they’re waiting in airport lounges, scrolling through endless swatches. Lando gives his opinions on furniture when she nudges her phone under his nose — usually something like, “That’s too white, I’ll spill something on it,” or “I like that, it looks comfy.”

He has only one real request: that the spare room be turned into a streaming room for him, and she could take the bigger office.

It’s a no-brainer.

The office is huge, the window overlooks the street below, and she can already imagine herself there; late nights, sketching out ideas with music playing softly in the background.

He grins at her when she agrees without hesitation, bumping their shoulders together as if to say 'teamwork.'

The new chapter of their life together starts to take shape, little by little, through swatches, and wishlists. 

In a few months, they’ll move in for real.

Maybe then it’ll finally feel like something tangible.  

— 

WhatsApp — 2021 F1 Groupchat

Lando N.

Quick question

Max V.

Already found it, mate. She left it in the strat room.

Lando N.

👍

George R.

That was quicker than usual.

Charles L.

I see Lando’s name pop up and immediately start looking for an iPad. Is that Pavlovian?

Checo P.

Yes.

— 

On the jet, she finishes it.

Not just a rough sketch of the chassis — the whole package.

Every line, every angle calculated. Suspension geometry, underfloor shaping, cooling architecture. Aero efficiency balanced with mechanical grip.

She closes the sketchbook slowly, fingertips brushing the page like she’s sealing a secret inside.

A complete concept. Theoretical, but sound.

She glances at Max across the aisle, wondering briefly if he’ll resent her for it someday.

But she’s already done it for him. Designed the core philosophy that would carry him through 2022 and 2023, championships won before the seasons have even begun.

She isn’t thinking about just the next two years, though.

She’s thinking beyond that. She's thinking about evolution, dominance. . . legacy.

A future she could build, one millimetre at a time.

NEXT CHAPTER

[laceyfaeryy]

MDNI 18+

mentions of: grinding, brief mentions of uniform kink?? age gap (legal)

big older! simon riley with salt and pepper beard with his younger girlfriend

it was usual to have people stare at the two of you, someone as big and grumpy like him having a younger girl who was a ball of energy talking his ear off. it was comical to say the least.

“you sure she’s not uh… too young?” his captain stared at you as explored the base, clueless to the prying eyes and whispers around you. simon shrugged, a rare smile tugging on his lips as his eyes followed you. with his years of experience with bloodshed each seemed to be etched on his skin, slight lines and creases forming. “she’s a grown woman, she can make her own decision and she chose me.”

simon wouldn’t admit it, but it was an ego boost to have you under his arm, knowing that he got a sweet thing like you and not some snobby guy your age.

“you have enough energy to keep up with her?” price raised a brow as you chatted among the workers in the base, your mouth moving faster than your brain could comprehend.

simon narrowed his eyes, “‘m not that old, i can keep up with her just fine.” he grumbled.

price shrugged, “jus saying, ‘m older than you and well… i don’t think i have the stamina to keep up with their needs, their horny lil things.”

oh he knew.

“trust me, i can handle her just fine,” simon grunted as he shifted in his seat, the uniform felt slightly more restricting now, specifically around his crotch area. price hummed, “jus’ surprising that’s all, you’ve got that salt and pepper beard goin’ on and you still have stamina?” he eyed simon before going back to you, asking random questions to people you just met. “must be pussy whipped aren’t ya? lucky bastard havin’ something nice to come back to after deployment.”

though their conversation was interrupted when you sat down on his lap as his arms instinctively wrapped around your body. “mus’ be fun havin’ a body guard eh?” price teased as he flashed a smile to you, a smile plastered on your face at the comment. “he’s the best,” you gushed staring at him all gooey eyed as you gently caressed his cheek, his stubble and rough skin scratching you slightly.

“look good in uniform si,” you whispered as your finger gently traced from his vest down to his cargos, specifically the crotch area. his grip on you tightened, he knew just how horny you were, the way you were already slightly grinding on his thigh. “not now, not here,” he warned, price giving him a knowing look. though simon knew that you didn’t care, you never did.

“a girl has needs simon, if you won’t attend to them im sure many of the people here will.” nodding towards the group of prying soldiers, their eyes focused on you. “not here,” simon grunted as he got up, tugging you to the nearest room before slamming it shut.

he wasn’t lying to price when he said he could handle you, because even the thick walls couldn’t muffle your moans.

tag list: @happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @prettyinpink-bimbo @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone

[lgvalenzuela]

Now that this is making the rounds again I'm gonna spill something on the Veilguard companions because it's the only game in the series where I've been here since the begining and I've played this game so much I might as well be an expert

-Davrin is incredibly smart, he might say he wasn't a smart kid. But writing a book on your expertise because you have beef with a dead author? Straight up nerd behaviour, I haven't seen someone so mad about books since Dorian threw my library books out the balcony

I love his narrative, I love that he didn't become a Warden because he had to but because he wanted to (which like...I'm pretty sure is a first as far as Warden companions?) He wanted a propuse. But becoming a Warden was so ingrained in his brain when you meet him that he's so convinced he's gonna die young he's preparing for his death actively, he's preparing Assan to be able to take care of himself (also if anyone thinks his whole narrative is about Assan I'm gonna start throwing hands)

His narrative can be taken multiple places due to player choice. But personally I'm really into this self sacrificing hero that just... Finds a reason to live.

-Harding's narrative is literally about toxic positivity, Lucanis literally spells it out on the scene where they have coffee together. She's refusing herself very righteus feelings of anger for what's been done to her people, and to her specifically. She's grieving through the whole game and for multiple reasons and she's on the verge of breaking down the whole time. Both her endings need her to accept this part of herself, the part that's mourning and the part that's angry.

Also the dressing down she gives Solas at the end? Mwa! Poetry. Queen shit.

-I don't know how to explain Bellara without going into personal life? But like a grieving neurodivergent asexual woman, kinda feels like they were just writing me at some points.

Her narrative with Cyrian was the first (and not last) time I cried. I love how her and Davrin represent the past and the future of their people. How you sometimes have to look into the past to see a clearer future, how the sins of the past don't define you but it DOES feel too easy to just say: Oh but it wasn't me, and this is not Who my people are now.

Also in general I love their dynamic, I love when I can actually see relationships grow and chance in game. And I can see Davrin and Bellara forming a strong bond and Davrin being that anchor that Bellara needs. Not like Cyrian! But he cares for her! And she needs someone to care for her, to remind her that its okay, and that not everything is her fault.

-Neve is not an ice queen, she just uses ice magic. But take her with you anywhere and she's full of jokes. Damn she even approves of most of Rook's purple dialogues. She loves It when you're a silly goose.

Her entire character revolves around caring. She's there because she cares, because nobody seemed to care so she had to step up, she's willing to sacrifice so much just because she knows people need her. She's righfuly mad if Minrathous is ravaged by the dragon but it's...honestly not that hard to get on her good side again? She seems a little more mad than Lucanis, Lucanis seems more sad. But she honestly doesn't seem to personally blame Rook. None of them do. Because they're smart enough to know it was an imposible choice from the start. And she can see Rook put in the work (well I mean if you as the player care enough)

-Taash is not fucking immature or stupid. Taash has trouble communicating, I think we would all benefict from knowing the difference oh my God. Did we not learn this lesson with Sera? (Stupid question I know)

Honestly it's a thing I've always loved about this franchise and these characters. They all communicate differently, they do depending on their upbringing and just...some people have trouble communicating! It's fine! Just give them a second! Maybe let them write some things down!

-Emmrich🧡 (that's all, send post. I'm gonna have something else to say when I've already post this I can see it)

-My biggest surprise is Lucanis for sure. Fun fact? Wasn't on my radar when the first or second trailer or whatever else material dropped. But my Rook was born as a joke, he wasn't suppoused to even be Rook on the first place, he was meant as a secondary character and shipping him with Lucanis was also a joke.

I love him dude. I have such a thing for characters that have a kind heart, the more surprising that they have it the more I love it. I'm so glad he wasn't a Zevran type (and I LOVE Zevran, but for that we already have him!) He was just a weird little ace that had no fucking idea what was happening most of the time.

This is only when It comes to romantic love because he's really observant. He so quickly realizes what's wrong with every companion, he only really has THAT type of relationship with Davrin because he's matching his energy and honestly I think both of them think it's kind of funny at some point. He's good with people but in such a weird way where he doesnt know he is? He's just... Happy. I think he's truly happy for the first time because he has people that can rely on him and he can fully take care of. And in turn you can show him that he's worth those things too.

Things I never would have guessed from fandom osmosis before actually playing the Dragon Age games:

-Alistair is actually pretty smart, and has a lot of knoweledge to share about the topics he's interested about.

He's also not that shy, and flirts with a warden pretty smoothly, if a bit innocently for his lack of experience and general humorous persona.

And his primary motivator is revenge which is an interesting way to take a character like him.

-Zevran is the only character who actively searches for consent even in simple flirting like calling someone beautiful. If you tell him to stop he never makes a mention again.

He's also one of the most loyal and sentimental companions you can have. He cares a lot, want to admit it or not.

-Merrill is one of the most educated and smart characters on the series, she takes calculated risks based on her own studies and research, and the only reasons she fails is because nobody trusts her and refuses to treat her like an adult.

Part of it is also the game refusing to frame her as anything but a naive child when she's anything but.

-Isabela has the most emotional intelligence out of all the characters in DA2, she knows exactly what they're feeling and what they need to hear at all times. It's clear that she's wise and worldly, and just needs time to build confidence between her and the others because she's been hurt a lot and her respect is gained.

-Fenris has an amazing sense of humor and you can find him consistently laughing at both Hawke's and companions he likes silly jokes. He's just really deadpan when delivering his own jokes.

He's also considerably patient and doesn't lose his temper unless confronted with people who have actively abused him.

-Anders spent SEVEN YEARS protesting peacfully, and it took the risk of genocide on his people to reach the desperation of act 3.

-Dorian is incredibly reserved. He tries to avoid talking about his life with a veil of humor and sarcasm, but he's specially guarded around his sexuality and love life. He only comes out to the Inquisitor in a moment of fury to piss of his father and he may have not done so if not pressed.

If in a romance with Bull the only reason the others find out is because Bull exposes it in front of everyone (I wish they would have find out a better way to let the player find out than Bull ignoring Dorian's wishes of privacy)

If romanced by the Inquisitor he's in his first real relationship and it shows, he's lost most of the time but tries to hide it by acting cocky. It's really funny.

He's also a huge nerd, I wasn't expecting that but I was pleasantly surprised.

-The Iron Bull it's not just smart, he's so caring, he shows you around so you can meet the people, the ones nobody cares about, he introduces you to them.

-Sera also goes to the pile of characters who are really smart and nobody gives them credit for it. She says it herself, she's just really bad with words, but as long as you try to understand her she makes a lot of sense.

The game just gives you no other option than to treat her horribly, which I sense a pattern of framing the neurodivergent coded characters in a certain light with Merrill and Anders.

-Vivienne is the only one (with Dorian) that asks the Inquisitor if they're okay after Haven, and gives beautiful words of afirmation.

She's really affable if you bother to befriend her.

[hivemuthur]

I’ve had a thought. You believe Viktor to be Experienced, right? What would his first time have looked like? This could be a request if you wanna write a one shot. Or just like share your thoughts. I’d be intrigued to see what you come up with if you wrote it out tho 🤔

You do like to throw me curveballs (I love that, thank you). Here is some virgin!Viktor take, he's not exactly super freaky but take it as the origin of Freaktor :')

Humble as I Go

viktorxfem!reader explicit! first time, a bit awkward, a bit sweet. Both Viktor and Reader are virgins! There is no specified age for the sake of legalities, but you can imagine them both young.

word count: 3,8K

author’s note: ok, so I've seen some angry post about condemnation of virgins through HC-ing Viktor as a non-virgin, and what I'm saying here is that I disagree with his infantilization in most virgin!Viktor fics. I was a late bloomer so I am literally nobody to tell people when it's cool to start having sex, it's absolutely irrelevant to your maturity. But having him unable to add 2+2 or being completely oblivious to sex in his 30s IS ableist. For the most part, disabled people know their bodies pretty well because they have to, and I can imagine Viktor being pretty well-read as well, him being curious about life. So no, it's not a punch toward people who didn't have sex yet, it's a punch toward those who see a disabled guy and think 'let's make him pathetic.' @rennethen beta read, thank you as usual! Happy (sort of) Freakday :')

—

Viktor stares at his thighs intently, grateful for a moment to regroup. The fabric around the knees is bulging and thinned out, threads threatening to pull—if not today, then tomorrow, or the day after. It’s also slightly damp, soft beneath his fingers where he’s wiped his sweaty palms while waiting for you to come back from the bathroom.

He’s afraid to get up from where you sat him on the bed—he’d slipped in the puddle that gathered on the pavement in The Fissures on your way home, after you’d muttered that your parents were away. And your house is nice. It’s warm and cozy. It’s full of love, with plenty of things that don’t match finding a place beside one another. A wet stain from his ass on your bedsheets wouldn’t bode well for what you’re both so excited for—and frightened of—all the same.

The door creaks, and then your head peeks out. A ghost of a smile lingers on your mouth, and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear—and Viktor, oh, he can’t help but smile too. He actually laughs, breathy, nervous and quiet, but welcomes the weight of you settling beside him on the edge of the bed, as if your presence alone repels every doubt.

You don’t say anything at first. Just lean into his side, shoulder brushing his, your palm resting between you. His fingers twitch beneath it. “You okay?” you ask eventually, soft.

Viktor nods once. Then again, slower. “I think so.” A beat. “My hands are sweaty.”

You smile into your knees, arms looping around them. “Mine too.”

That gets a laugh out of both of you, hushed and crackling with nerves. You untangle your limbs first and stretch one leg over the edge of the bed, your knee knocking gently into his. His trousers shift as he moves to look at you more fully, and the suspenders tug awkwardly with the motion.

“I like these,” you say, your finger sliding under one of the straps and letting it snap back lightly against his chest.

“They’re necessary,” he replies. “My trousers are too big. They used to be my father’s.”

You hum like that makes perfect sense, which it does. His whole frame still has the look of someone who hasn’t quite finished growing into himself—elbows and knees a bit too sharp, shoulders a little unsure of their breadth. You reach out and brush his hair back from his forehead, and this time he doesn’t flinch, just watches you with wide, liquid eyes.

“I keep thinking I’ll mess this up somehow,” you admit, quiet.

“You won’t,” he says quickly. “Even if we do it all wrong, it’s still with you.”

That makes your throat ache. You kiss him—small and soft, mouths barely moving, just the warmth of it. When you pull back, Viktor’s eyes are closed, but he’s smiling. Your hands drift to the buttons of his shirt, but hesitate, hovering. “May I?”

He nods. “Yes. Please.”

You undo them slowly. One, then another. His skin is pale where it’s usually hidden, collarbones delicate, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. When you glance up, his eyes are open again, fixed on your face like you’re the most intricate, important thing he’s ever seen.

His hands fumble next, trying to return the favour, but they shake a little and get caught in the hem of your sweater. You both laugh again, leaning forehead to forehead, nerves zinging in the air between you like lightning trapped in glass.

“Wait,” he says, reaching down awkwardly, and peels off his socks like they’ve betrayed him. “I don’t want to wear these for this.”

“They’re not that bad,” you say, but you’re already tugging off your own to match. “There. Even.”

The grin he gives you is crooked and overwhelmed, but he’s glowing with it. There’s no hurry, not really. Just a shared understanding that you’re moving toward something neither of you has ever done, and yet it feels inevitable in the best way.

Your hands find his suspenders and slide them down the slope of his shoulders. The tension in the elastic gives a soft snap, and he flinches, then laughs under his breath. He looks smaller without them, somehow—softer. Less held together.

His trousers sit loose on his hips now, waistband gaping far away from skin and it looks like a second Viktor could fit in them easily. When your fingers find the button, he nods, barely a breath. You undo it, and the fabric slides down, pooling around his ankles with a sigh. You both blink at the sound, then laugh again, quietly—he shrugs, self-conscious.

“See?” he mutters.

“Thank gods for those, huh?” you say, pulling at one of the suspender straps, and Viktor chuckles, air leaving his nose loudly as if he was holding it until now.

You guide him out of the trousers, then pause, eyeing the brace along his leg. “Would you like to—?”

He follows your gaze, then nods, sitting back to unbuckle the straps. “It’s easier like this,” he murmurs, focused on the clasps. “I don’t usually take it off unless I have to.”

“You don’t have to,” you say gently.

“I want to.” His voice is soft, but certain.

You watch as he undoes the last strap and lifts the brace carefully aside. Without it, his leg looks thinner, a little tense—but you only touch his knee, light and reassuring, and his shoulders drop. You lean in to kiss his cheek, and he smiles, just barely.

Then you reach for the hem of his shirt, and he lifts his arms to let you pull it off. It takes a moment to work it over his head—his hair sticks up after, and you smooth it back without thinking. He’s left in his undershirt, but the skin you can see is pale in the light, slender and unevenly freckled. When you run your palms down his arms, he inhales sharply, but doesn’t stop you.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, and he ducks his head like he doesn’t believe it, but his smile flickers small and bright.

“You’re not supposed to say that first,” he says. “I was going to say it.”

“You still can.”

He does. Quietly, but steady. “You’re beautiful.”

Then he touches your wrist, tentative, and waits. You nod.

He starts with your sweater, careful with the buttons even though his hands are shaking. You help him with the last one, and then the shirt beneath. His knuckles brush your ribs as he works the fabric off your shoulders. His gaze lingers—not just on your chest, but on all of you, awed.

His fingers trace the waistband of your trousers next, and he looks up again. “Alright?” he asks.

You hum an answer, too full to speak. The zip comes down smoothly. He tugs, slow and a little awkward, and you lift your hips so the fabric can slide off easier. When he gets them halfway down your legs, he stills for a second. Watching your thighs, your knees, your bare skin, as if it’s something rare and precious.

When he finally gets them off, you’re both just… there. Sitting in your underwear, knees bumping, hearts thudding so hard it’s almost funny. You reach for the duvet, tugging it over both of you. Not to hide—just to be close. Wrapped together in the warmth of this.

And then, when you’re ready, you reach again. Gentle. Curious.

“Hi,” you say, and smile.

“Hi,” he echoes, and his gaze never leaves yours.

The covers rest around your hips, pooling softly between you. Viktor’s knees knock against yours again, faint and accidental. Or maybe not. Your fingers graze his, and he turns his palm up, opening it for you.

“I’ve never done this before,” you admit, voice hushed. “Obviously.”

“Me neither.” He huffs a laugh, awkward and fond. “You can probably tell.”

You nudge your shoulder into his. “It’s okay. I think… I’d be scared with anyone else.”

His eyes flicker down, then back up, bright and unblinking. “You’re not scared now?”

You shake your head. “Not with you.”

He exhales like that means the world. Slowly, carefully, he brings a hand to your cheek, thumb barely brushing the skin. “Can I kiss you again?”

You nod, may times, and this kiss is different—shy at first, but it lingers, warmer, his mouth parting when yours does. His hand slides behind your neck. Yours settle over his ribs, thin beneath your palms. The duvet shifts with your closeness, and you both feel it: your bodies pressed together, clothed in breath and nerves.

It changes then—from careful lips to Viktor’s mouth opening a little more, and yours following. The world narrows to the slick, tentative press of tongues. It’s warm, unfamiliar, and clumsy in a way that makes you both stifle little laughs between kisses. His breath tastes like mint and you’re curious when he’s managed to refresh. Yours is all heat. A soft sound slips out of him when you suck gently on his lower lip, and he mirrors it, hesitant but eager.

The sounds are quiet, wet, a shared secret. A rhythm begins to build—just earnest, as if you're both learning at the same pace. His hand slides from the back of your neck to your waist, pulling you in, every touch like a plea for permission. You tip, gently, and both of you laugh as you fall sideways, mouths still pressed together.

Viktor braces himself on one elbow, looking down at you. His curls are a mess. His chest rises and falls in quick little stutters, and your fingers find the hem of his undershirt, then slip beneath. His skin is warm, smooth, and he twitches when you drag your hand along his ribs.

Your legs shift, one sliding against his. The covers slip lower. His free hand trails up your side. Hesitant, at first, but when he finds the curve of your breast and cups it, you gasp—soft and startled and entirely involuntary.

He freezes, then breathes, and you watch his throat move as he murmurs, “I like that sound.”

“Well,” you blush and swallow loudly. “I liked… that.”

His thumb brushes over your nipple through the thin fabric, and the breath that leaves you this time is closer to a moan. His eyes flick to your mouth and linger. Then, shyly, he bends to kiss you again.

You let your fingers drift lower, and wrap them around the hem of his undershirt. He breaks the kiss with a gasp, and lifts his arms in wordless permission. The fabric peels away easily, and when it's off, you pause to look—Viktor’s chest is narrow, ribs visible under pale skin. One of your hands grazes his sternum, and he makes a small, helpless sound in response.

“You’re…” you begin, but it gets lost in a breath. “Beautiful.” His ears go red, and he lowers his head, but he’s smiling.

He mirrors your movement, fingertips brushing the strap of your bra, a question in his eyes. You nod, and reach back to unhook it yourself. When it slips off, Viktor stares like he’s been handed something sacred. His hands hover before he rests one gently against your side, the other cupping you carefully. The sensation makes you shiver, and when his thumb brushes your nipple again—skin to skin this time—you bite your lip.

You tug him back in for a kiss, and while your mouths meet, you shift your hips just enough for your knickers to slide down. You shimmy them off beneath the covers, kicking them away with your toes. He notices. His eyes widen.

“You too,” you whisper, smiling, and he lets out a quiet, nervous laugh.

He pushes his briefs down with both hands, wriggling a little to get them past his hips. They’re snug, but they come off, down to his toes where they tangle, and he has to kick them off. Again, you both let out breathy laughs, pressed forehead to forehead. Now there’s nothing between you. Only skin and heat and everything unknown.

Your palm traces the curve of his shoulder, gliding down his chest, where his heart beats like a second one between you. He mirrors the path, fingers grazing your hip, then your waist, learning you in slow lines and soft breaths. And then, lower.

You hold each other’s gaze when his fingers slip down, brushing through the heat between your legs. The first touch is feather-light, but it makes you tense around the sound it nearly draws from you. His jaw clenches; he swallows, focusing, adjusting, trying again—gentler, more measured.

Your hand finds him in the same moment, wrapping around him with instinct more than knowledge. The sharp breath he lets out doesn’t sound like anything you’ve heard from him before. His hand pauses. He blinks fast, lips parted, stunned by the way your touch makes him falter.

“I—I didn’t know it would feel like that,” he says quietly, wonder bleeding into each word. Your thumb brushes over him and his hips jump. His forehead touches yours, and he whispers, "I might not last that long."

“I don’t mind,” you confess, breath caught.

You’re both still breathing each other in when Viktor shifts, propped on one elbow, looking down at you with flushed cheeks and hesitant eyes. “I… I’ve been reading,” he says, and his voice is so small you almost miss it.

You blink at him, trying not to smile. “Reading?”

He nods. “About this. About how—it might hurt. For you.”

The smile breaks through anyway, teasing, gentle. “Were there diagrams or something?”

The tips of his ears go crimson. “Maybe.”

You laugh under your breath, and it seems to give him courage. His gaze flickers across your face. “Will you let me try something?”

You nod, already breathless at the tenderness in his voice. “Yes.”

His hand glides down your belly, careful and warm, until he’s cupping you again. You’re already soft and slick, the trust between you easing the way, and when the tip of his finger begins to press inside, your body welcomes him with a gasp.

“You’re…” he murmurs, eyes wide in awe. “You’re so soft.”

His voice makes your toes curl. He moves slowly, watching your face the entire time, his brows drawing together in concentration as he slips in deeper, then adds another finger, and you arch at the stretch.

Your hand tightens instinctively around his cock—still warm and heavy in your palm—and the reaction is immediate. Viktor gasps, hips twitching toward you, and then he whimpers, “I beg you, don’t distract me.”

You giggle, trying to find your composure. “Forgive my manners,” you manage, mock-polite, but your voice cracks as his fingers curl just so. “Oh—”

His expression softens into something closer to wonder. “Is that alright?”

You nod, panting. “Yeah. Better than alright.”

“Good,” he says, with so much focus it almost makes you laugh again—if you weren’t so full of feeling. “You’re doing so well.”

“You too,” you whisper, and you mean it. Every moment is something you didn’t know you’d treasure. Every breath from him, every careful touch, feels like something precious.

Viktor’s fingers move again, slowly, curling as if he’s trying to memorise you by feel alone. Your hips twitch, and your head falls back against the pillow, lips parted. It isn’t overwhelming, not yet—but it’s building. Warming. Like a fire catching at the edges.

“I like how you feel,” he says suddenly, shyly, as though he’s admitting something shameful. “Inside. Around me.” Your throat tightens. There’s something about his voice—equal parts reverent and surprised, like he can’t believe you’re letting him do this.

“You can—keep going,” you breathe. “It feels really good.”

His lips brush the ball of your shoulder. “Tell me if it stops feeling good. Please.”

“I will.” You smile, lifting your hand to brush his fringe aside, fingers sweeping through soft hair. “You’re already being perfect.”

That makes him fluster, his fingers faltering for just a moment before resuming. He adds a tiny twist to the motion, and the sound that leaves you is unguarded. “Viktor—”

“I like that sound too,” he says, grinning, and then ducks his head to hide it against your shoulder.

You both giggle quietly, your bodies trembling with nerves and affection and something deeper that you’re only beginning to name. Then, he kisses your neck. “Can I try something else?”

You hum and nod, nearly absent and his thumb shifts to stroke you in slow, tentative circles while his fingers stay deep, coaxing the pleasure higher. You cling to his shoulders, skin hot under your palms. It feels good—careful, considered. It’s not polished or practised, but it’s full of kindness, full of him.

And when your hips roll up without thinking, chasing the rhythm, Viktor breathes a shaky “Yes,” into the hollow beneath your ear, like your response gives him permission to keep going. You feel yourself starting to tighten around him, fluttering.

“Gods,” you whisper. “You’re so good.”

“You too,” he says, kissing your cheek, breath ragged now. “You feel… you feel amazing.” His hand has you, fingers deep, careful, as his thumb circles around you slowly. You can feel yourself tipping—your legs tense, your thighs pressing closer around his palm. It's all so much: the warmth of his body against yours, the way he keeps watching your face like he’s afraid to miss even a flicker of feeling.

Your breath catches. “Viktor—”

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Let go if you want to.”

One permission is enough for you, and with a soft gasp, you do let go. It rolls through you slowly at first—warmth blooming outward, your muscles clenching around his fingers as your hips jerk. Your breath forms a sound that might be a moan, might be his name. He holds still inside you, except for the slow strokes of his thumb, drawing it out, waiting until your body begins to tremble and soften again. Only then does he carefully slip his hand free.

You’re blinking up at him through the haze, breathless, glowing from within. “You—”

“Did I hurt you?” His brow is furrowed. “Was that alright?”

“It was—” You laugh, dazed. “It was incredible. I think I forgot my name.”

He blushes, his chest rising and falling with shallow breath. You pull him closer, pressing your mouth to his, lazy and grateful. When your hand finds him again, he shudders violently. “You’re so hard,” you murmur against his lips.

He nods, almost sheepish. “Since the beginning.”

Your fingers close around him, and he gasps, hips twitching forward despite himself. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, panting.

“Do you want—?” you begin, but he interrupts with a desperate little sound.

“Gods, yes.” He lifts his head, eyes wide and earnest, “I really, really want to.”

You kiss him again. “Then come here.”

You watch as Viktor reaches behind him, fumbling for where his trousers lay crumpled near the edge of the bed. His hand disappears into the pocket and comes back holding a small, square packet. He blushes when he sees you looking, sheepish. “I, um… thought maybe.”

You smile. “I’m glad you did.” You help him tear it open, hands brushing. There’s a stutter in his breath as he rolls it on, careful and methodical, brows drawn in focus like he’s solving a delicate matter. His fingers tremble.

When he’s done, he looks at you—truly looks. His hair is messy from your hands, lips swollen from your kisses, his whole expression open and tender. “Are you ready?”

You nod, guiding him forward with your hands on his hips, your legs parting to welcome him in. He steadies himself on his forearms, nose brushing yours. “Tell me if I do anything wrong,” he whispers. “I’ve never—”

“You’re perfect,” you whisper back. “I want you.”

He lines himself up, the tip brushing where you're soft and slick. The sensation draws a sharp breath from both of you. And then, slowly, he begins to press inside.

It’s careful, hesitant, and overwhelming—tight and unfamiliar and so incredibly intimate. He gasps, pausing halfway with his eyes fluttering shut. “Oh—God.”

Your hands are on his back, one tracing the line of his spine. “You’re okay,” you whisper. “You’re doing so well.”

He presses the rest of the way in, shallow and shaking, his body curled over yours like he’s trying to disappear into the moment, or maybe into you. For a few seconds, he doesn’t move. He just breathes, and you are grateful for this time to adjust. You feel the warmth of his chest against yours, his heart racing in time with your own.

“It’s—” he starts, then breaks off with a soft, overwhelmed laugh. “You are so good.” You cup his face, unable to say anything. When he finally starts to move, it’s slow and stuttering. He’s trying so hard to hold on, eyes glazed, mouth parted. You kiss his cheek, his jaw, his temple—anchoring him.

“I certainly won’t last,” he confesses, voice breaking. “You feel so—”

“It’s okay.” Your hand slides to the nape of his neck, thumb brushing his hair. “I don’t mind.”

His hips rock a little faster, the rhythm unsteady but full of feeling. Each thrust draws a soft whimper from him, a breathy moan from you. He buries his face against your shoulder, breath heavy. When he comes, it’s with a quiet gasp, his whole body tensing and then melting against you. He clings, arms tight around you like he’s afraid to let go.

You lie there, tangled together in the hush that follows. Eventually, he lifts his head, eyes searching yours. “Did I…?”

You smile and kiss him. “You were wonderful.”

He exhales, dazed and a little teary. “You make me feel like I could do anything.”

“You can,” you say suddenly all serious and Viktor blushes differently this time. His face blushes and his ears, but you are certain his heart does too. He rolls of you, limbs lose and boneless, and pulls you close, arms wrapping snugly around your shoulders until there is space big enough only for you to breathe each other in. Legs tangled and fingers twisted in another’s hair you lay sunken in the sheets. The room quiets around you, and neither of you knows if this was so big only because you don’t know any bigger—but you choose to take it as it is: humbling.

[ozzgin]

You plan to throw them a surprise party, they think you're leaving the school. Misunderstandings should be avoided when you're dealing with a pack of obsessively attached students, yet here you are. content: gender neutral reader, yandere horde, parody, kidnapping, Patreon commission

[Yandere School Masterlist]

You’ve been acting strange lately. As the end of the year approaches, so has your behaviour become increasingly suspicious: acting emotional at random times, frequently reminiscing your arrival at Yandere School, asking your classmates to take another photo in order to commemorate the moment. Something is about to happen.

“A surprise party?”

Your mother eyes you curiously, putting the cutlery down. You nod, wiping the corner of your mouth with a napkin, and your father hums without gazing up from his 1001 Ways to Stalk book.

“I just wanted to thank everyone for helping me all this time,” you explain with a faint blush, idly nudging your breakfast around the plate. “To be honest with you, I don’t think I would’ve passed any of my classes without them.”

Your statement is by no means an exaggeration. As it turns out, sheer determination alone does not necessarily compensate for lack of talent or proper skill. You wanted to follow your parents’ footsteps, yet you quickly discovered that having a dream wasn’t merely enough to compete against the true elites of the yandere world. It was out of the kindness of your classmates and staff that you nonetheless succeeded. Your teachers stayed behind with you, your classmates wasted their weekends helping you through every step of the homework. To think such a fierce, cut-throat community would go against its very nature and extend unconditional support, to you of all people...Ah, you’re getting flustered again.

“That’s a fantastic idea, honey,” your mother encourages with a warm smile. “I’m sure they will love it.”

Meanwhile, somewhere away from your peaceful morning meal, the students are gathered with roughened faces and clenched fists, weighted down by an unspoken tension.

“I think it’s already obvious to everyone here,” a young man declares sombrely, taking a moment to observe the masses, “that (Y/N) is most likely considering dropping out.”

“How could this happen,” someone else shouts, voice breaking theatrically. “We did everything to keep their grades up. I’m certain it worked; I broke into the school’s grading system to confirm for myself!”

“Maybe we were too involved,” someone sheepishly suggests.

“Nonsense.”

“Well, they did catch us in the changing rooms that one time,” someone admits. 

“Ah, what about the time we stole their childhood albums to make copies for our shrines? (Y/N)’s mom almost killed us!”

“Don’t forget when our coach got caught sniffing (Y/N)’s confiscated jacket.”

“Can you blame him? That scent’s heavenly.”

Everyone nods in approval, then scrambles back into a focused frown after being scolded by the apparent leader of the pack. We must stay focused, he warns with authority.

This is no laughing matter. If you were to transfer to a different school, they would lose their one and only Darling! There’s no telling how the students and staff will react; there could be riots, wars, utter chaos. One could even go as far as to say that your fate no longer depends on your own whims. Your presence is of political importance, potentially causing irremediable damage to all involved parties if you’d ever make a rash decision.

“Do you have a date in mind,” your mother asks, taking away the empty plates.

You shake your head confidently, standing up from the table.

“We must settle this quickly, gentlemen,” the leader warns. “Mark down the date in your calendars.”

“Could it be that we got the time wrong,” your father probes, tapping his foot impatiently.

“No, I’m certain it’s today,” the woman retorts, checking her watch.

The classroom is overflowing with dazzling party elements, from balloons, to colourful garlands, to tables cluttered with snacks and appetizers; yet it’s missing the most important element – the people. You!

You shake your head to no avail. The blindfold is tightly secured over your eyes, and the intricate knots roped around your body leave no room for any kind of movement. You can tell you’re presently tucked in the trunk of a car, though you’ve no idea where said car is headed or why you’re folded in here to begin with.

Did you forget about some school appointment? No, the next kidnapping simulation should be after the holidays. You’re also rather confident you haven’t accidentally promised to be the study partner of some classmate on this day in particular. You should know; you have a thick scheduling notebook just for this purpose, given most of the school seems to be eager to tie you up and pretend to steal you away. Whatever happened to that third year who actually tried to leave the country with you? Despite your reassurance that you never once feared for your life, they still suspended him.

Ah, but now is not the time to daydream about the good old days. You have a party to attend. Your parents should already be at school, and you’d guess that most of your friends are on their way there. What will they think once they realize their host is missing? What a deplorable way to show them your gratitude!

Before you can consider how to escape this predicament, the door opens with nonchalance, and you’re carefully carried out and placed onto the ground. The blindfold is swiftly removed, causing you to squint your eyes against the sudden avalanche of light.

“What are you guys doing here,” you mumble in shock, gawking at more than half the school standing across from you.

“Don’t do this to us, (Y/N),” one girl cries out, collapsing to her knees and punching the ground for additional effect.

“What did I say about emotional blackmail,” the leader grunts. He snaps his fingers, and a pair of students lift the offender up, dragging her to the back of the group as she shouts in protest.

“Do excuse our methods, (Y/N),” he proceeds to explain with the calculated tone of someone deep in negotiations, “but you have to understand we’re all struggling to accept your decision. If we have ever wronged you or made you feel uncomfortable, let us know and we shall ensure immediate punishment for it!”

“Wait, what decision?”

“To leave Yandere School,” someone bawls, the others lowering their gaze. “We won’t accept it! Never!”

There’s a moment of silence as you process the words, lips pursed in confusion.

“Don’t lie to us, you’ve been acting strange for the past few weeks.”

“I mean, yeah, I was...planning a surprise party to, uh, thank you for all your help. Although I can see why you’d think it was a goodbye announcement instead,” you say, letting out an awkward chuckle.

Oh. That’s what it was. Well, it makes sense. It’s definitely something you’d do, upon further consideration. The crowd erupts in a murmur, and the leader of the pack rubs his temples, visibly humiliated to be caught in this farce of a misunderstanding. With ears flushed red, he quietly asks you for the location, then scrambles to retrieve the car.

“I’m so glad they showed up,” your mother sighs in relief, gesturing to a nearby teacher. “I was worried I might have to use the stun gun, had anything happened to my little (Y/N).”

A couple of your classmates swallow dryly, tugging at their collars. It’s the second time they’ve narrowly escaped death at the hand of your parents.

One student is angrily stuffing his mouth with some of the appetizers, trying to hold back the tears. If he knew it was all just a misunderstanding, he would’ve tried his luck with you instead of chauffeuring you around. Good Lord, to think you were all tied up, just for him, and he fumbled it.

[suuuupernovaaa]

been thinkin’ bout you

summary: you’ve been thinking about joel, not realizing he’s been thinking about you too

warnings/tags: 18+, smut, jackson joel, HEA

MASTERLIST

Even through the flannel shirt, I can see the muscles in his back and arms as Joel lifts the solid wood over his shoulder, hauling it up the steps and inside Paulette’s house to assist her with repairs to her kitchen.

God, what do those muscles look like unwrapped? If I could just undo the buttons, one by one, and peel that shirt off of him…

A sharp elbow in my side snaps me from my fantasy, and I turn, already glaring at the woman next to me.

“You’re doing it again,” Maryanne says, a teasing grin on her face. I roll my eyes at her, but there’s no real malice behind it. She’s been my closest friend for years.

I stand up from where the two of us were sitting in the town square. “I can’t help it,” I tell her with a shrug, and she sighs as she always does when I talk endlessly about Joel. She’s a saint, letting me do it, but I’m sure she’s tired of hearing about it. “Gotta get to work. Stop by later.”

She nods and lifts her coffee to her lips, and I jog down the snow dusted street to my modest two story home. The paint is peeling and the porch is sagging, and I’m proud to call her mine.

Inside the front door is a small waiting room next to the stairs, only a few chairs and what books I could spare, plus a small bin of donated toys, and to the right of that is the town clinic. One cushioned table for a patient, a supply cabinet, and a couple plain chairs.

When the town was established as a safe haven in 2016, my parents became the town physicians. My mother had been an OBGYN before the world fell, and my father a surgeon. Together, they knew enough to keep the people Jackson relatively healthy, with what supplies were available.

I’d been 26 at the time, and thought I’d received no formal education - because it was no longer truly something available to me - I’d been receiving training from my parents from the day the clinic was established, until their deaths a year earlier. Thanks to them, I too now know enough to keep the townsfolk (relatively) healthy, with very few supplies. They come to me with aches and pains, illnesses, injuries, and the occasional birth, and I do my best not to let them down.

A steady stream of patients is in and out today, much like any other. A crying toddler with an ear infection. A construction worker with a nasty cut and a bad attitude. A mother entering her third trimester with her first child.They pay however they can, or not at all, and I’m happy to serve them.

Early afternoon, the door bell dings. I’m sitting across from the clinic and my desk, updating my patient records, and don’t spare a glance up.

“Be right with you!” I call cheerfully, but get no response. Finishing my notes on my previous patient - a sprained ankle - I stand up and tuck the file away before exiting my office.

My breath is cut from my lungs when I see Joel Miller standing there, holding his bloody hand in a dirty cloth, looking at me with tired eyes.

xxx

Joel has done his best to avoid the little white house just off the main square since he settled in Jackson, and he’s done a good job, almost a year, until now.

The cut is too deep, bleeding too much, and even he knows he can’t avoid seeing her now.

Something about the young doctor unnerves him. Her brown eyed stare is intense. Her smile is practiced and polished. He finds her looking at him too often, though she looks away if their eyes meet.

“Joel, what happened?” she asks in that steady, smooth voice of hers, pouring from her lips like honey, as she ushers him into the room where she sees her patients.

He clears his throat. “Accident on the job, hand just slipped,” he tells her.

She nods, pursing her lips, which he notices, not for the first time, are full and soft. There’s a freckle dead center on her bottom lip, and he’s imagined running his finger over it once or twice.

“Sit, please,” she drawls, and he obeys.

She works in silence as she cleans the wound, and numbs the area around the cut, which is just on his palm near his thumb.

Every time she touches him, he tenses up, and he wonders why that is. Why she makes him feel this way.

Maybe it’s because he’s noticing the little flecks of gold in her brown eyes, or the way her curls seem to be doing their best to escape the braid she’s trapped them in, or the way the knitted grey sweatshirt she’s wearing can’t conceal the figure underneath.

She’s one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen.

“I would tell you to be more careful,” she says, glancing up at him as she works to close the wound, “but I’m sure you don’t need to hear it.”

He grunts, and she smiles, her lips pulling back to reveal dimples in her cheeks. His pulse rises.

“How’d you, uh, learn all this? Weren’t you too young to be a doctor before?”

She reaches behind her for some bandages, and turns back to him with a smile. “I was 13 in 2003,” she tells him, and Joel does some quick mental math. She’s only 33. So young, but so confident, so self assured, and so fucking gorgeous.

“My parents were both doctors, and they did their best to teach me what they knew.” He can hear in her voice, how much she misses them. Everybody here misses someone.

“Well, they did a good job,” he says, and the look she gives him in response nearly stops his heart. She beams at him, smiling ear to ear, and holds his injured hand in hers.

“Thank you, Joel.”

xxx

It’s a marvel that my hands aren’t shaking as I bandage his newly sewn wound. Joel has never come into the clinic before, and while I don’t wish anyone to be sick, I’ve always hoped he’d find a reason to visit, just so we’d have an excuse to talk.

I don’t know if he can feel it too, or if it’s just in my head, but the tension in the room is making me feel dizzy. I’ve never been this close to him, and it’s intoxicating.

He’s a man of few words, but the fact that he used those few words to compliment me has my head spinning. And has me feeling unusually bold.

As he stands up and grabs his coat, he says, “I don’t have payment, but I noticed your porch is crooked. I can fix it, if you want.”

I wave my hand in the air, even though the image of Joel working with his hands, sweaty, maybe even shirtless (a total dream, since it’s cold outside), on my porch, is the most enticing thought I’ve ever had.

“No payment necessary.”

He shakes his head, a cold look of determination on his handsome features.

“Once I’m done at Paulette’s in a few days, I’ll be down to fix it for you.”

He doesn’t say another word before walking out the door.

xxx

True to his word, in four days, Joel is back at my house with a wagon of supplies. He arrives early in the morning before any patients are set to come, and I greet him at the door still in pajamas, holding coffee.

He wastes no time with chatting, and gets right to work after explaining that my patients will need to use the side door for a few days.

It’s unnerving, knowing he’s right out there. Between appointments I offer him food, drinks and company, and he humors me by accepting, and mostly listening to me talk while he eats whatever sandwich I’ve made him.

I find myself wondering if I can find other projects around the house, just to keep him there.

By the third day, I can tell he’s nearly finished. I escort my latest patient out the side door with instructions on how to take care of a minor burn, and then join Joel by the porch.

“It looks wonderful, Joel. You’re amazing,” I say with a smile, and he nearly returns it, his lips twitching upward for just a second. If he actually smiled at me, it might knock me off my already unsteady feet.

“Should have it finished today.”

My heart sinks all the way down to my feet, and I wrap my jacket tight around myself. “Let me take you to dinner. As a thanks.”

“Porch was already a thanks,” he replies, holding up his hand, still bandaged.

“Well… I can make you dinner. Tonight. How about that?”

He glances at the porch, and then at me, and his expression is impossible to read.

“Sure, dinner sounds good.”

xxx

I can’t fucking cook. Why the fuck did I invite Joel for dinner? He’s already had the best I can do - sandwiches. Plain ass sandwiches.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

The dinner I’m throwing together looks like hell. It started off as soup but something happened to it, the texture is gritty and thick, and even though the flavor is pretty okay, it’s still an embarrassing meal to serve to anyone.

Especially an anyone that you’re obsessed with.

But Joel is knocking on the door and there’s no time to fix this horrifying mess, so I take off my stupid apron and hang it on the hook, then greet him with a practiced smile.

Damn, he looks handsome. Jeans just tight enough, and a blue and green flannel unbuttoned over a gray t-shirt.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, which he extends to me. It must be from Paulette - she brews it in her cellar.

“Oh wow, thank you!” I say, taking it and ushering him into the kitchen, where I find my wine opener. “Okay, so, this dinner is not going to be very good. Please don’t destroy the porch as retribution,” I say with a laugh as I pull the cork from the wine.

When I turn, I expect to find Joel across the kitchen, maybe sitting at the table, but he’s directly behind me.

I nearly bump into him, he’s so close, staring down at me with an unreadable expression that stops me in my tracks and leaves my jaw hanging open.

“I don’t really care about the food,” he says in his deep, crawling drawl, and it sends shivers up my spine. He plucks the wine bottle and opener from my hands, and sets them on the counter next to me, next to my pot of failed soup.

“Oh,” is all I can think of in reply, because I really cannot tell what is happening.

Until Joel reaches out, his fingers brushing so gently along my cheek for hands so rough, and tucks a stray curl behind my ear. His gaze lingers over my face, and then trails downward.

“Oh,” I say again in understanding, as a nervous coil begins to form low in my belly.

“Oh,” Joel echoes, staring at me with such intensity that I shiver. I step closer to him, closing the already small gap between us, and reach up to grab the collar of his shirt.

It takes no effort to pull him down, until his lips are a breath away from mine.

He smells like winter, like the outdoors that he spends so much of his time in, and I close my eyes and take a deep breath of him in, my shoulders shuddering when I let it out.

“Oh,” I say once more, before his mouth captures mine in a kiss that starts off tentative, unsure, and deepens into something startlingly passionate, and I can’t help but let out a small moan.

One of his strong hands wraps around the back of my neck, while his other arm circles my waist, pinning me flush to him.

I don’t even realize he’s backing me up until I bump into the counter, and I wrap my arms around his neck as his hands fall to my waist, and squeeze.

A moment later, our lips still locked, he lifts me up by my hips and sets me on the counter.

I squeal in surprise, and feel him smile against my lips. My hands find their way into his hair, and I moan into his mouth when his hips push forward into mine, eager and demanding. I spread my legs, wrapping them around him, desperate to pull him closer to me.

He breaks our kiss then, and trails his mouth, hot and wet, down my jaw and my neck, and I lean back, exposing as much of myself as possible to him.

His hands grip my hips tightly, grinding me against him, and I feel breathless and light headed.

“Maybe…” I say, mustering all of the strength I possess, “maybe we should go upstairs.”

“Mhm,” he says in return, and steps away slowly, as if it pains him to do it, and sets me on the ground. He stares at me like I’m a meal and he hasn’t eaten in weeks. “Lead the way.”

I take his hand in mine and pull him up what now feels like the longest set of stairs that’s ever existed, to the first room on the right.

It’s a little messy, as I truly had not imagined Joel returned my interest, and wouldn’t have imagined all this even if he had, but at least the bed is made.

For now. I yell in surprise when Joel picks me up like I weigh nothing and tosses me into my queen sized bed, and stares down at me again with that intense look.

As he crawls to me, parting my legs once more, he says, “I’ve seen you staring at me.”

A blush creeps across my cheeks. He hooks his knee behind mine, spreading my legs wider and settling between them, his firm body pressed to mine.

“I knew you wanted me,” he says quietly, his lips ghosting over mine. “I wanted to bend you over your desk when I came in with my bloody hand.”

A small gasp escapes my lips, and he dips his head to bite the soft flesh of my neck.

“I would have let you,” I reply.

He chuckles. The deep sound of it sends ripples up my spine. “I know.”

He kisses my neck and collar bone tenderly as his hand trails down my side, and begins slowly pulling the skirt I’m wearing up and up, until it’s bunched around my waist.

His fingers tease the waistband of my panties, and I squirm with need.

His mouth finds mine again as his fingers dip below my panty line, finding soaking wet core. He lets out a deep moan, and I buck my hips, desperate for more.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he drawls.

“Need you,” I breathe.

His fingers work at a punishing pace that has me gasping and wriggling beneath him as I beg and curse at him.

No one has touched me like this in so long, and even when they did, it was nothing like Joel. His rough hands, the way he looks at me, kissing me and whispering to me as he goes, it brings me to the edge quicker than I thought possible.

I moan his name as I tumble over, my orgasm taking me by surprise.

“Yes, say my name,” he replies, and doesn’t let up until I ask him to.

He kisses me again as I lay there, feeling boneless but still needing more - needing him.

“Take your clothes off,” I demand, suddenly away that we’re both still fully clothed, which feels childish and exciting at the same time.

He smirks down at me. “Yes, ma’am.”

As he stands to remove his jeans and flannel, I pull my white tshirt over my head, and remove my skirt and ruined underwear next.

He pauses, boxers still on, and stares at me, naked on the bed.

Fuck, he’s perfect. Strong and sturdy and so much a man that I feel I might die if he doesn’t get back on the bed soon.

“You’re perfect,” he says in that deep drawl of his, echoing my own thoughts, and I can’t help but blush. I crawl off the bed and walk to him, grabbing his hand.

With a hand on his chest, I push him to the bed, and he allows me to, falling backwards.

He gazes at me hungrily as I crawl over him, and pull his boxers off and toss them into the floor.

The intake of breath from him is sharp when I straddle him. He’s so fucking big, but I’m so fucking ready.

His calloused hands grip my hips as I tease him, rubbing my pussy over his hard length. I feel powerful when he moans and his hips stir. I want to drive him as crazy as he’s been driving me.

I lift up and position him at my entrance, and his eyes meet mine, practically begging me for it.

Slowly, I settle down into him, inch by inch, letting myself stretch to accommodate his size.

“Fuck,” I moan, the word drawn out as my head falls back and I seat myself on him fully. Nothing has ever felt this good, not in my entire life. “Joel…”

“Yes, baby. Move for me,” he says gently, but it’s a demand. I look down at him, see the determination in his eyes, and start to move.

He hisses as I do, still gripping my hips, guiding me.

He hits every spot I need him to, so fucking deep inside me, and another orgasm starts building immediately.

So quickly, Joel flips us over, so I’m face down on the bed, and I yelp in surprise.

“I need to really fuck you, baby. Hard.”

He pulls my hips up, spreading my legs, and slams into me. I scream when he does it, and the scream melts into a moan as he pulls out of me and slams back in again, the sound of flesh on flesh hitting my ears.

“Oh fuck, Joel. Oh fuck!”

“Yes, that’s right,” he says in a strained voice as he begins to lose control, fucking me hard and fast, the pressure building and building. I grip the sheets below me and my eyes water.

“You belong to me,” he says, leaning closer to whisper in my ear. “You’re mine now. Say it.”

“I’m yours. Oh fuck, I’m yours.”

His pace is punishing, and perfect. It doesn’t take long before I’m cumming again, my walls gripping him tight, and pulling him over the edge with me.

xxx

He hadn’t planned to do any of that. He had planned to sit for dinner, ask her questions about herself, try to be - as Ellie had said - charming.

It flew out the fucking window the moment she opened the door. She was always covered up outside, wearing a jacket or sweater, and at the clinic, she’d dressed professionally. Still, he could see how beautiful she was.

It was nothing compared to the sight of her in that white tshirt, tight across her chest, and the floral skirt hanging from her hips with a slit so far up the side it made his heart stop for a minute.

Her hair, usually braided or pulled back, hung in wild curls around her shoulders, much longer than he’d known it was, and it made his mouth dry.

There could be no sitting through dinner, no talking - that could be after.

Joel had not needed anyone this way in a long time. Maybe ever. He had to have her, had to let her know she belonged to him, not just tonight but every night after.

The quiet doctor who stared at him, who was so gentle and kind and intelligent, who turned out to be absolutely filthy, just like he’d hoped.

She lay on his chest afterward, her coarse curls tickling his bare chest, and she squeezed him tightly, as if she was worried he was going to get up and bolt.

He struggled for the words now, to tell her that wasn’t going to happen. Now that he had her, he wasn’t going to let her go, this one bright thing he’d found for himself.

“I, uh, I’m sorry I didn’t eat your dinner. You know, first,” he said, and it’s not what he’d meant to say. It’s just what came out.

She laughed, the sound like church bells. “It’s really bad, Joel. I can’t cook. I just invited for your dinner because I was desperate for a date with you.”

His heart warmed, and he squeezed her shoulder.

She lifted her head, propping herself up on his chest, and smiled down at him.

“I’m just going to ask and if it’s awkward after, then so be it,” she said. “Was this a one time thing, for you?”

He could see it in her eyes, how desperately she wanted him to say no. Her lips darted from his eyes to his lips and back.

“No, it wasn’t,” he replied, and together, they both relaxed. The tension left their bodies, as that line was drawn.

Not a one time thing.

“I meant what I said,” Joel told the woman in his arms.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“You’re mine now.”

A shy smile pulled at her lips, and despite all they’d just done, a blush painted her freckled cheeks. She kissed him gently once, twice, three times.

“Then you’re mine, too.”

She couldn’t imagine how fine that was with him.

[abigailspinach]

Fic rec on this very topic … one of my very favorite fics

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47523799

“That’s not it. I—” She gets a painful look of pity on her face, eyes flitting to his scars. “Twelve? You were only twelve?” He nods, feeling his cheeks warm. “Twelve. That was what finally got me, you know. At first I was not…it wasn’t shame, not quite. But shock, I suppose. I was in shock. I didn’t think my sister could be a traitor, I didn’t think she could be all they said she was. But then I thought…well, I didn’t really know Paila. A handful of meetings over the years…maybe I had missed something, some sign. Maybe I was being manipulated. Maybe I had a rosy view of her in absence of really knowing her. But I started wondering.” She runs her hands through her graying hair. “There had been another family, the next town over. They’d come to us for advice after they had been contacted by the seekers. That child had to be…five, six at the most. I went to ask them what had happened. They said they never heard anything, had reached out only once, to their senator, and been told it was better to stop looking. Five years old. That’s when everything came crashing down and I couldn't believe the Empire's lies anymore. So I went looking for my sister but all I ever found was…this…”

….

relax.

“Did you ever think about finding them?" he asks. "Your birth family?”

Cere is quiet for a long moment before she answers. “No, I didn’t. I think I was afraid of what I’d find. For every one like the one you helped today, there’s another who believes what the Empire tells them about us. It’s possible that they would have been welcoming, relieved…but equally possible that they wouldn’t. It was a risk I didn’t want to take.” Cere stops the pressure in his hand, but keeps her fingers on his pulse. The headache doesn’t worsen again. “There was a girl. I heard about her shortly before I found you. She had been a senior padawan, in her twenties. I picked up her trail and found the people who’d sheltered her in the first days after the massacre. They told me that a few months after, they learned her birth family had been searching for her. They reached out. She secured false identity documents, booked passage…and vanished. They’d assumed she found her family and was in hiding with them now. I almost didn’t go after her. They were so sure she was safe. Still, I felt compelled to check. Travelled to her family’s hometown and got the story from the neighbor, after buying him a few drinks at the cantina. She made it. They took her in for one night. The Empire moved in the next day. Hauled her off screaming.” Cere’s next breath is a little unsteady. Both of them know all too well where the young woman had ended up. The only question was how deeply she was buried in the Inquisitors’ fortress. “Her birth family had lured her out of hiding, and betrayed her. I found out that their son got a place at the academy with an assurance of a good commission on graduation and the father secured a lucrative Imperial contract. Rewards for turning in their traitor Jedi daughter.” Cal can tell how heavily this story weighed on her. “I wish it were not so difficult to trust. I’d like to think that if someone reached out, I might find connection. I have sympathy for the families out there forever wondering…but I admit I have to be wary of them as well.”

do you think the birth families of the jedi mourned when they heard the news about order 66. do you think they worried and that they weeped when the clone wars began and they heard that their children were going off to fight in it. do you think they looked at their calendars and kept track of how old their children had become every birthday. do you think they knew that their child was only 10 when they were murdered during order 66. do you think any jedi went out to find their birth parents after losing the only family they really knew. do you think any families sheltered other escaping jedi, knowing what likely happened to their own. do you think the families cried. do you think they mourned. do you think, even though they hadn't seen their children in years... they still weeped?

[eden031]

First meetings

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Pairing: Jack Abbot x intern!f!reader

Warnings: Jack POV, age gap, voilence against healthcare workers, violence against violent patients, talks of murder, trauma response, Jack is working through his emotional constipation, realisation of feelings, angst, Jack Abbot it down baaaaaad.

Summary: After his intern is attacked by a patient Jack Abbot has to face the fact that pushing people away might not always lead to the best outcome.

A/N: Okay, so this is lowkey a miracle…I don‘t know how I was able to write it this quickly, but here is the Jack POV companion chapter to Part 5, also we get some insight into things reader did not know about. Sooo, there will be two more chapters, mabye more, I don‘t know, I just love them your honor. Also I feel like I could also write this entire series from Jack‘s POV for a second time because it was so fun to work through how he feels about this situation and how he handles it. Hope you enjoy this :)

Shift change had gone smoothly for once, a relief if he was honest with himself. Though there was a small voice in the back of his head telling him not to trust the calm. Shaking his head he tried to get rid of the feeling that had attached itself to his mind like a tick, looking over at one of the work stations he saw his intern standing there. A chart clutched in her hands, her brows furrowed while she read through it.

Suppressing a smile at her expression he glanced at the chart in his hands. It was strangely empty for a Friday afternoon, usually it would be flooded with people that had done something stupid to start off the weekend. He hoped for the best regarding traumas, he was not sure if she could handle another day where people died like flies. The deaths had not hurt him, not really, he had gotten used to it by now, of course they stung, but that pain he had seen in her eyes was long gone from his mind. Still, when he had seen her empty stare and seen the tears he had felt so helpless. It was something he hated more than anything, he was usually in control, usually in charge of the situations he was in, but at that moment he felt like he had lost all sense of control.

He simply couldn’t resist anymore, comforting her, checking in on her, it had taken all the will he could gather in his bones not to call her back then. Too young, too bright, too much goodness ahead in her life to waste time and energy on someone like him. That was what he had told himself for almost a month, but the moment he had seen her in the Pitt it had started to crack, that wall he had built, the excuses stacked on top of each other began to fade away.

Every time half a granola bar was pressed in his hand by her his walls cracked further. There was no point in denying it anymore, especially not now.

In his peripheral he saw someone move, though did not think anything of it until a screech cut through the air. His head snapped up and he saw the figure of a large man shoving Princess to the ground, continuing his way towards someone, he started moving quickly. The only person that might have gone in that direction was his intern.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” The guy hollered at the person he seemed to be stalking towards, suddenly cold sweat began to trickle down his spine, he moved quicker, but it was already too late. The guy grabbed his intern, a hand around her throat was all he could see. “YOU FUCKING SLUT! YOU THINK YOU ARE BETTER THAN ME! I WILL KILL YOU!”

"Security!" he shouted as he moved in closer, terror pumping through his system like he was the one under attack, his movements seemed to slow down as his mind singled in on the image of the large hand wrapped around her throat. The shouting from security began, but he couldn’t reach her, it was too far, he was too slow. Suddenly a sharp movement, he had not seen what it had been, but the guy let go of her, stumbled backwards hollering in pain and then he saw her swing. Her fist connected with the guy’s face, an almost thundering crack sounded through the ED. He stumbled backwards, crumbling to the ground. Jack saw the way his head hit the ground, another cracking sound, blood began to pool underneath the man’s head.

Worry seeped into his mind as he moved quickly, he called her name, but her eyes were fixed on the crumpled form of the man on the ground. Again he called her name, this time she looked up at him.

“Are you okay? Can you take a deep breath for me?” he asked, still she simply stared at him, that empty look in her eyes he had seen countless times in the heat of battle.

Gently he said her name again, his hands twitched as he carefully took her face in his hands. Guilt and regret washing over him as he spoke again. He should have paid more attention, he should have been quicker.

“Hey,” he gently squeezed her face, “Are you okay?” he felt his brows furrowing, gentle relief came of him as he saw her eyes regain focus.

“What?” she whispered, hot tears running down her cheeks, brushing past his thumbs. His heart clenched, from the corner of his eye he could see a few nurses and Robby crouched around the man. Robby looked up at him, giving him a soft nod, telling him to take care of her. He could feel her trying to turn her head back towards where the man was laying, but he tightened his grip. It would only make things worse if she would panic about the asshole’s state of well being.

“Don’t look there,” he tried to be as gentle as possible while he spoke, still cradling her face in his hands like it was the most precious thing he had ever held. A few shuddering breaths came from her, with every single one he could feel his heart crack a little.

“I think I need to sit down,” she spoke so softly that it was almost impossible to hear her over the commotion, but he just nodded. Not wanting to let go he moved his hand between her shoulderblades, the other one he rested on her shoulder, gently guiding her towards the nearest chair in the nurses’ station. The empty look had returned to her eyes, a look he knew he never wanted to see again. He should have been quicker, shaking his head slightly he tried to get rid of those thoughts, he could sulk when she was alright. Crouching down in front of her he took her hand, first tapping it, though when her eyes did not seem to come into focus from that he tapped her thigh, his heart clenched as her eyes still did not come into focus. He repeated those actions, trying to get her attention, then finally her eyes seemed to focus and she looked down at him.

“Alright, listen,” he tapped her hand and thigh again, he did not know why, but it seemed like she could lose focus again at any given moment. “I am going to put you in line for an x-ray and a CT for now, just to make sure that nothing is broken or damaged otherwise.” he could barely hang on to his composure, feeling like he might snap at any given moment. His eyes found the bruise, the deep purple handprint around her neck, it made his stomach churn as he thought that this could have turned out so much worse. “While we wait for an x-ray we are going to ice your hand, okay?”

She nodded, slowly he got up from the awkward crouching position he had been sitting in. He was about to walk away to get the ice pack when he felt her grip on his hand tighten slightly. Stopping, he tilted his head in her direction, thinking that maybe she would want him to get something else along with the ice pack. Though then she looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy, lower lip trembling as she looked at him.

“Please don’t leave me,” her voice was so soft, a crack in her words. He felt his heart shatter, his sweet intern, she should never have had to experience this.

“Alright,” he nodded, stopping in his tracks, then looking around, spotting Mateo standing near them. Quickly he waved him over.

“Could you get her an ice pack? And call radiology for that x-ray and CT scan,” he had spoken softly to the nurse, but his focus was back on her quickly. Slowly crouching down again he felt her clinging to his hand like it was the only thing keeping her in the moment. He squeezed back, trying to give her some kind of comfort but that empty look on her face returned, the tear stains were enough to break his heart, to make him want to pull her close and tell her that everything would be okay.

“I treated him,” she whispered, her voice breaking again. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” This time her voice was shaking more violently. Tears began to run down her cheeks again. A quiet sob, then it happened quickly, loud sobs and more hot tears, quiet croaks. His heart shattered as he tried to comfort her. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” She repeated it like it was a mantra, like she was trying to find something that could explain what had happened. His stomach churned as she sobbed softly. Slowly he moved to stand, panic flashed over her face, but dissipated as he pulled her into a hug. It was an odd angle and his back would hate him for it the moment he was able to stand straight again, but right now it was what felt right. Not caring about the way Dana glanced over at him with an amused smile or how Mateo seemed mildly flustered as he brought him the ice pack, telling him that they had bumped her up as best as they could. He could feel the snot and tears seeping into his shirt as one hand found its way into her hair, gently brushing through it, his chin resting on top of her head.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, you did everything right,” he whispered, “You did so well,” he gently rubbed her scalp, trying to get her to calm down a little, “You did so well,”

He remained in that position for what felt like hours until Mateo came back to get her for the x-ray. As he pulled away he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, her eyes were glazed over at this point and her hand easily slipped from his.

Nausea settled in his stomach as he helped Mateo transfer her into a wheelchair, she didn’t really protest as she was wheeled away. Though he could see her head twitching to look around. It was almost like she didn’t really realise what had happened right now, like her mind had gone into a complete shutdown.

Leaning against a table he pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, letting out a long sigh. Guilt and worry weighed heavy on him. He should have been faster, he should have reacted quicker, hell he should have known something was up the moment the damn shift transfer had gone without a hitch.

“You okay, brother?” Robby spoke softly from beside him. Crossing his arms over his chest he looked at his long time friend.

“Yeah,” he nodded, though his voice sounded rough, like he was about to start crying. He cleared his throat, trying to get his usual tone back.

“You sure about that?” Robby looked at him with that really worried expression, usually only reserved for when he was standing on the ledge of the roof.

“Fucking hell, Robby,” he muttered, looking around the nurses’ station was relatively empty, barely anyone there, “He attacked my intern,” it sounded a lot more possessive than he had wanted it to sound, though right now he did not really care.

“He did,” Robby nodded, “Though she got him pretty good,” Robby spoke softly, “Hit him so hard that some of the bone fragments were shoved towards his brain,” a moment of silence, “And he also has a skull fracture from falling,”

“Serves him right,” Jack spoke, the anger in his voice now less controlled than before, Robby glanced at him for a moment, worry evident in his eyes, but a certain curiosity seemed to linger there as well.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Robby sounded more concerned about his well being at the moment than the well being of his intern and for some reason that made him furious.

“I am not the one that needs to talk right now,” he snapped at Robby, which made a few people turn their heads. Robby raised an eyebrow, then his hands.

“Alright, if you say so,” he nodded, though their conversation was disturbed by Dana calling out.

“Gloria incoming,” the charge nurse sounded almost as pleased as if someone had told her that all of the staff had called in sick half an hour before shift started.

“Great,” Robby muttered, “I will do the talking,” he gave Jack a warning glare as he saw Gloria marching towards them.

“I heard an intern of yours punched a patient?” she sounded angry, which made Jack’s blood boil. As he was about to open his mouth Robby put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a warning glare.

“Yes, but it was in self defence. He was choking her and threatening to kill her,” Robby sounded so calm about this. Jack tried to see the rational side to this, tried to tell himself that yelling at Gloria was not going to change what had happened.

“If you wait another ten minutes you might see her and her neck with a bruise in the shape of a fucking hand on it,” Jack spoke in a tone as measured as he could. Though he was pretty sure that he still sounded very angry, especially since Gloria looked at him like he was insane.

“Alright,” she nodded, “Have you asked her if she wants to press charges?” she crossed her arms in front of her chest. A snort came from both Jack and Robby at the same time.

“She was practically catatonic when they took her up to radiology,” Robby said in a quiet tone.

“The only thing she said for the past,” Jack looked at his watch, “forty five minutes was various variations of ‘I didn’t do anything wrong’ and ‘He was just a mean patient’” Jack gave Gloria a long, hard stare. The anger slowly ebbing away again, it was replaced by worry again, the worry that she wouldn’t be okay again. That this incident would make her unable to work in this ED ever again.

“She treated him a few weeks ago,” Robby elaborated, “From what some other staff said he was being incredibly rude to the female workers,”

“Gosh,” Gloria rubbed her face, Jack suppressed a snarky comment about Robby having told her multiple times already that shit like this happens when she continues to cut budget on the ED.

“Radiology just called, Mateo is bringing her down again, results should be here within twenty minutes max, you want me to call Tommy to pick her up?” Dana chimed in from the side. Both Jack and Robby nodded at that.

——————

Tommy had picked her up shortly after the results from radiology had come in, nothing was broken, no serious tissue damage. She had still been in that state of dissociation when Tommy had taken her home with care instructions given by Jack and Robby.

He had stayed in the hospital for the rest of day shift, he couldn’t go home. It didn’t feel right, he just couldn’t bring himself to go home.

Leaning against the railing of the roof he looked down on the streets below, the buzz of people below making him less agitated. Still even as he looked down he was wondering what he could have done, if he could have been quicker. It felt like his brain was playing that moment in a loop, if he had looked up when he had seen the movement from the corner of his eye and realised that it was a patient he could have been fast enough. Though at that moment it had not seemed to be an issue.

He should have been quicker, he should have been able to do something, not just move too slowly when her life was in danger. That expression on her face haunted him, that emptiness, the usual kind and gentle features just completely blank. The way she had clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her in this reality had shattered something in him. Shattered these walls he had been trying to keep up. Hell he knew the moment that he wouldn’t be able to keep them up when he had felt that burning hot rage in his stomach when she had joked around with Tommy for the first time.

From the moment she had stumbled in the Pitt he knew that the work he had been putting in keeping away from her for over a month would be for nothing. If he had never seen her again it might have worked, but the moment she had looked at him, eyes wide with shock, he knew that he had already lost. Running his hands through his hair he let out a long sigh. Maybe he had been too pig headed to admit that to himself until now, he probably had been. It had been there from the moment they had first met. He still remembered her appearing beside him, ordering him a refill for his drink. He still remembered thinking that she would leave again if he acted grumpy enough, but he couldn’t, not with those eyes staring right into his very being.

“Not thinking of jumping today?” Robby’s voice sounded tight, he knew that his friend was trying to joke, but both of them knew that this was not why Robby was on the roof.

“No,” Jack paused, “Thinking about the least suspicious way to kill that guy,” he grumbled under his breath as he continued to wring his hands together, like it might give him some peace of mind.

“Don’t think you are the only one trying to figure that out. So, are you going to tell me what that was back down there?” Robby leaned against the railing beside him.

“What do you mean?” At least he could pretend to play dumb for a little while. He knew Robby had sniffed out something was wrong the second he had cradled her face in his hands like it was the most precious thing he had ever held.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Robby gave him that kind of look that he would give patients if he knew they were not telling the entire truth.

“Robby,” Jack sighed deeply, running a hand over his face, a low groan escaped his lips. He knew that he would have to come clean with someone at some point. He had heard the rumours, the bets, he knew that people suspected things about them and he had not made it any better with the way he had acted today. In his inner eye he could already see money being handed around.

“Fuck,” he drew out the u so long that it felt silly to some degree. He knew Robby was probably the safest person to talk to, but hell, he hadn’t even talked to his therapist about it. He hadn’t told anyone about it except for the ceiling of his bedroom.

“That does not sound good,” Robby sounded amused, like he was curious about the entire situation.

“Robby…” Jack turned his head to look at his friend, he was not even sure how to start explaining this, how does one tell another person that they met a subordinate at a bar before ever interacting with them in a professional setting and that said meeting did not only involve talking.

“I care about her,” was all that came out of his mouth. He knew that Robby would want more information than that, though he also knew that Robby would have to pry certain parts of his feelings out of his cold, dead hands if he wanted to have them.

“That much is obvious,” Robby sounded like he wanted to grab him by the scrubs and shake him.

“Jesus fucking christ, Robby,” Jack sighed, rubbing his face again. The guilt, anger, worry and all the emotions of the past day and weeks started to accumulate, they all started to build up and he knew that he needed to do something. He had wanted to keep her out, wanted to make sure that she didn’t get too close, but now he realised that it was too late, he really was a stubborn old man, just like she had said.

“I really got soft, didn’t I?” he laughed as he shook his head. He knew Robby would immediately pick up on the fact that he was trying to steer the conversation away from her. The next words coming from his friend’s mouth felt like a punch to the gut.

“No, you didn’t get soft.” there was a short pause, “You were always soft for her,”

He felt like a cornered animal, he knew he could just tell Robby everything, tell Robby the truth, but he knew that if he did, there was no coming back. It felt like it was the last piece of the wall that had been chipped away, like this would be the last stone that could fall before she could just step right into his most guarded of places. Shaking his head he realised that it had already happened, he just didn’t want to accept it. She had not taken that wall down bit by bit from the outside, no she had climbed over it the first time they had met and began to chip away at it from the inside.

“Yeah, you are right,” he nodded, wringing with his hands, “You know when I first saw her in the ED, I thought, what is she doing here?” a laugh escaped him. Taking a long breath he shook his head, he was really going to tell Robby about this. Though it felt right, to do it on the roof, it was almost like ‘what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’.

“When we first met she told me that she just finished med school, but did you think in that first second of seeing her I connected the dots?” Robby didn’t say anything. He simply listened, Jack ran his hand over his face.

“It’s weird, you know, I was trying so hard to leave her behind, leave the memory of her in the past, but she haunted me, so when I saw her in the Pitt at first I thought I was slowly losing it. Not the war, not the pain and suffering I saw, no a woman was making me lose my mind,” a snort came from him.

“Oh, but she was real,” he shook his head, it was like all that what he had wanted to tell someone was now beginning to flow.

“I really thought I could avoid it. I really thought that pushing her away in the first place wasn’t going to come back to bite me in the ass down the road.”

At that comment Robby laughed.

“So what happened down there? I think I realised that trying to keep her out was pointless because she had slipped in far too long ago,”

He remembered her hand on his face when they laid in his bed, the blanket wrapped around them, their legs tangled together, how beautifully she had smiled at him and told him that she wanted to freeze the moment in time. At that moment he had wanted nothing else, he had wanted nothing more than to keep her there with him, never let her leave. He hadn’t known why exactly and even now he didn’t really understand it, but it had been so easy then and it still was.

Now it was all he craved, to have her by his side, never having to let go of her ever again. Being able to see that smile every time he went to bed and every time he woke up.

A warm hand landed on his shoulder, Robby gave him a smile, a smile that showed that he understood. Hell, Robby was probably the person that would understand this situation the most, the person that might actually be able to say something that made it less painful.

“I think I don’t have to tell you what you should do,” Robby simply patted him on the shoulder again, slowly walking away from the railing. Leaving him standing there, knowing that that he had lost the battle with himself long ago.

—————

Tags: @antisocialfiore @fudosl @smileykiddie08 @darksparklesficrecs @tommosgirl06 @rosieposie88

[bakug0uzb1thc]

Ribs by lorde came up in my recommended songs and I had to write down this idea b4 I forgot it. Sigh..

Older! Katsuki Bakugou x Fem! Reader

(You both are 43)

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

When you realized you were getting old wasn’t when the store clerk bagging your groceries called you ‘ma’am’ or when you and Katsuki’s son graduated.

It wasn’t even when you first started noticing grey hairs appearing. No, it was when you discovered you and Katsuki have been married for 20 years.

You and Katsuki married young; 23 actually.

A lot of people said that the two of you should wait until 25 but you both had already decided that you guys had waited long enough.

You laid in bed, hugging his broad frame. Trailing all the years of scars gained after every fight he fought and won.

His angry expression only able to soften a little bit as a cause of aging. his glasses perched on the bridge of his scrunched nose and though his eyes were aged he still had the same deep crimson shade .

His quirk causing hearing loss gifted him a nice pair of hearing aids that he hates, but forces himself to suck up just to hear your beautiful voice whisper your sweet affections..

“we’ve been married for 20 years.” you said leaning up giving him a few kisses, an act of love that felt natural for you. “ Yeah we have.” He said having an arm warped securely around you.

After that you guys didn’t really talk, just laying comfortably with eachother in silence. That’s kinda what you guys did.

“We’re growing old together.” You smile into his side playing with the wedding ring he kept on a chain necklace. “mhm.” He closed his eyes smiling remembering a memory he thought was stupid in the moment but now he held closest to his heart.

He pulled you in closer burying his face in your hair. “n I wouldn’t change anything, I love my life and I fuckin’ love my sweet girl.”

The name rolling off his tongue, the same nickname from high school still staying even though it’s been a few years since anyone has called you a girl.

“I love you too hubby.” You hug him tighter. You both fell asleep in eachothers arms and that’s how you both planned every night to look like.

In the arms of the man you’ve never stopped loving and admiring.

[gc-genshin]

Sanctuary

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!nurse!reader

A/N: Need this old man bad. Late night and listening to the song “Ordinary” by Alex Warren led to this.

Word Count: 569

—

Dr. Jack Abbot had never believed in fate.

He’d seen too many carefully orchestrated decisions in trauma bays, too many political moves in hospital boardrooms disguised as divine intervention. The world didn’t run on destiny—it ran on skill, control, and timing. But that was before you.

He couldn’t explain the way you unsettled him.

In his world, everything was curated. Commanding presence, controlled tone, decisions sharp as scalpels. Relationships were pragmatic, efficient. But you didn’t play by those rules. You didn’t try to impress. Your brilliance was quiet, natural—like a force of nature wrapped in scrubs. Grounded in the chaos. And the first time your eyes met his, in the middle of a hectic trauma, something in him shifted—so subtly, he almost missed it.

It wasn’t attraction in the usual sense. It wasn’t the shallow thrill he got when younger nurses or med students idolized him. It was deeper. He felt it in his chest like a truth he wasn’t ready to name.

You were pulling him out of the ordinary.

Jack had never been lacking. Confidence, respect, control—they were his currency. But with you, it wasn’t about what he had. It was about what he was missing. You were at least twenty years younger than him, but you carried yourself like you’d lived a hundred lives. And somehow, around you, he felt young again. Unsettled. Exposed.

He wanted you to look through him, past the practiced veneer. Strip it all away. See him—just him. He didn’t crave your attention to feel validated. He craved it like something sacred. Like a man desperate to be forgiven for sins he hadn’t admitted to.

He caught himself watching you between calls. In the stillness after a code. When you tucked your hair behind your ear and glanced around like you’d forgotten the world was watching. You existed like poetry he wasn’t meant to read—delicate, sharp, untouchable. And still, he wanted to be unraveled by you.

He imagined what it might feel like to fall completely—to be broken open by your hands. To let you tear down every last barrier until he was bare in a way he’d never allowed himself to be. The people in his life wanted parts of him. The doctor. The decision-maker. But you? You didn’t seem to want anything at all. And that was exactly why he wanted to give you everything.

He pictured a world where he could press his forehead to yours, whisper the quiet, aching truths he’d never said out loud. Where you’d both be wrapped in something timeless, untouched by the pressure of image or protocol. The idea was intoxicating. You weren’t just different—you were divine. Your stillness. Your mind. Your presence. It felt like standing in a cathedral. And he, for once, was the sinner begging for absolution.

There were moments—brief, raw—where he thought you might feel it too. The way your breath paused when you passed each other in the hall. The flicker of hesitation in your eyes. But then you’d pull back—just enough to remind him: you were untouchable.

Let the angels have their heaven. Jack only wanted you.

Even if you never let him in.

Even if you tore him apart.

Even if he had to fall on his knees just to worship the ground you walked on.

He didn’t care.

Because in a life that had always been ordinary,

you were the extraordinary.

And he was already yours.

—

Eugh

[peachyprophets-blog]

OG!Yandere!Nice Headcanons

AN: I just watched to be Hero X and I had to do this! Have fun!!

CW:English is not my native language, SPOILER!Yandere behavior, obsessive behavior, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, suicide,mentions of death, no happy ending!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

જ⁀➴OG!Yandere! Nice first saw you when he saved the town from a villain, saving you from being propped up to your death.

જ⁀➴OG!Yandere! Nice fell in love with you instantly when you thanked him repeatedly with the sweetest smile he'd ever seen!

જ⁀➴OG!Yandere! Nice found out everything about you that same evening: your name, where you live, who your friends and family are, your hobbies, and everything else. He just has to know!

જ⁀➴OG!Yandere! Nice tries to be around you as much as possible without being too obvious because of the contract he has with his fake relationship with Moon.

જ⁀➴OG!Yandere! Nice who sends you a gorgeous bouquet of flowers every week with a loving message.

જ⁀➴OG!Yandere! Nice who has already made several people who harassed you disappear, not a drop of blood was found on his clothes after this.

જ⁀➴OG!Yandere! Nice who's getting closer and closer to you, first through messages on social media under an anonymous account, then you see him more and more often in places you like. You like this cafe because it's so quiet? He too! What a coincidence! Then he starts spending more and more time with you.

જ⁀➴OG!Yandere! Nice who slowly becomes more and more obsessed with you and slowly isolates you from everyone else. Then he convinces you to move with him. It's not so bad that Moon lives with him, so you'll have some company!

જ⁀➴OG! Yandere! Nice the one who always helps you look neat, never have a stain on you, and be happy.

જ⁀➴OG! Yandere! Nice who lies in your arms after another stressful day, exhausted from the burden placed on him, he loves it when you run your hands through his hair, combing away all his worries.

જ⁀➴OG! Yandere! Nice who takes you for a walk to spend a nice day with you, but you get attacked by a villain.

જ⁀➴OG! Yandere! Nice who holds your lifeless body in his arms after you were killed by the villain, looks to everyone else like he's mourning the loss of a close friend, but apparently, what he loves has been ripped from his hands.

જ⁀➴OG! Yandere! Nice who finds himself on the roof days after your funeral, a young man who had previously cursed him, gave the young man his typical smile and his typical finger gestures before he fell into the depths.

-Peachyprophet

[maskedbyghost]

You ask, I deliver:

The possessive reader AU, I know neither of them can stand the thought of their partner going to the dentist. Laying back, letting someone else know the interior of that mouth, fingers sliding over soft tissue and mapping out the points of those teeth? Possibly drawing blood that should rightfully be theirs? Someone sedate these two like they’re aggressive cats coming in for a cleaning at the vet.

shoutout to this absolute legend who sent me the idea because you unlocked something unholy in me. READ PART 1 HERE cw: smut, possessive/obsessive behavior, semi-public sex (in a car), unprotected sex..

You drive him to the appointment because he hates doing it alone. Still, honestly, the entire time you’re behind the wheel, you’re gripping it hard enough that you’re surprised it doesn’t just snap in half, because the only thing going through your head is the mental image of some stranger putting their hands in Simon’s mouth, tilting his head back, touching him in places that should be yours, places only you should ever be allowed to know, and the tiny noises he makes when he’s uncomfortable.

You swear to god if you think about it one second longer, you might actually commit a felony.

Simon looks over at you once when you stop at a red light, raises an eyebrow under his cap, and says, “You gonna calm down, sweetheart, or am I gonna have to sedate you this time?”

And you smile at him, all bright and sunny like the most normal girlfriend ever, except you know it’s not right, you can feel it pulling at your mouth wrong, too many teeth showing, a smile you have to force out of yourself before you start growling or crying or both.

Simon just shakes his head a little and mutters, “Terrifying,” under his breath like he thinks you can’t hear him.

At the office, you sit together in those shitty chairs, pretending you’re normal people, and you’re almost holding it together until the door opens and of course it’s a young woman, pretty, smiling, fresh little uniform and shiny name tag and all, and your stomach twists itself into a thousand angry knots because now you’re not just imagining some faceless stranger, you’re staring at the exact woman who’s about to put her hands in Simon’s mouth, who’s about to know the little sounds he makes when he flinches, who's gonna touch him, smell him, see him with his mask off, and you grip the chair so hard you think it might crack.

“Simon Riley?” she calls, all sweet and professional, and Simon stands up, but before he can even move, you grab his wrist like you’re going to drag him back down into the chair and refuse to let him go, and he just gives you this look, this calm, amused, patient look that makes you want to bite him right there in the waiting room.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, like he knows you’re two seconds from throwing yourself at the poor woman and clawing her eyes out, and he squeezes your hand once before he goes, and that’s the only thing that keeps you in your seat.

You sit there staring at the closed door, thinking about all the ways you could ruin this woman’s life if she smiles too much or laughs at one of his stupid little jokes or leans too close or touches him too long, because no one should get to touch him but you, no one should get to see how good he is when he’s soft and quiet and letting someone take care of him, and it’s yours, it’s all supposed to be yours, and god, you’re so far gone you don’t even want to be normal about it anymore.

By the time he comes back out, you’re already halfway to throwing a fit, but he just looks tired and a little dazed from the fluoride, and he’s rubbing his jaw like it’s sore, and that’s all it takes for the switch to flip in your brain, from violent to protective in half a second.

You drag him out into the parking lot without a word, shoving him into the passenger seat and climbing over him before he can even say anything, straddling his lap with your knees pressed into the seat on either side of his hips, grabbing his face in both hands like you’re checking him over for damage even though what you really want is to mark him, make him messy, make him smell like you so no one else ever gets any stupid ideas again.

“She touched you,” you whisper, half accusation, half devastation, pressing your forehead to his while breathing him in so hard it feels like you’re trying to pull the air out of his lungs.

“She wore gloves,” he says, voice low and careful like he’s talking to a crazy person, which, fair, because you are, and it’s not even enough, it’s not even close to enough, because he still let her, still let someone else close, still trusted someone else to take care of him when that’s your job.

You kiss him messy and hard, sliding your hands into his hair, tugging at it just to feel him grunt against your mouth, and then you’re rocking your hips against him, grinding down until you feel him start to stiffen underneath you, until you know he can’t even think straight anymore, and you pull back just enough to pant into his mouth, “Mine. All mine. No one else touches you. No one else gets to even look at you like that.”

Simon’s hands dig into your waist, trying to slow you down, trying to catch his breath, but you’re not having it.

You’re already unbuttoning his jeans with shaky hands, already sinking down onto him with a broken little gasp because you need it, need him inside you, need to erase the memory of someone else touching him, need to make him so messy and ruined that no one else would ever dare think he belonged to anyone but you.

You ride him fast and desperate, muttering broken things against his skin, promises and threats and prayers all tangled together — "you're mine, mine, only mine, gonna mark you up so bad no one'll even think about touching you again, gonna make you come so hard you forget everyone else’s name but mine"

And Simon’s already so wrecked, clinging to you, groaning into your neck, hips stuttering helplessly, and when you bite down on his shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise through his hoodie, he spills inside you with a sound so rough and desperate it’s almost a sob.

You don't let up, grinding on him slow and filthy, kissing his throat, his jaw, whispering, "mine, mine, always mine," over and over again until you feel him throb inside you one more time, a second, broken little aftershock you didn’t even know was possible.

And when you finally pull back and look at him, red-faced, breathing hard, pupils blown wide, he just smiles that stupid, wrecked little smile he only ever gives you, and you know you don’t have to say anything else.

Because the way he looks at you — like he belongs to you, like he wants to belong to you — is all the proof you’ll ever need.

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

fuck me i love them

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate

[anya-nya-nya]

Anaxagoras's lack of friends’ reason is actually not the firm belief that everyone around him simply are too stupid to understand even the mundane chit chat with him, but his childhood trauma that now dictates his opinion in such tickling topic. Losing all his close ones in such a young age was enough to dawn a miserable thought on Anaxa: nobody would be here for him forever.

He appreciates his students, but hides his main study from Hyacine. He finds no one to say goodbye after finding out how little time he has now, when even gloomy Mydei gives his farewell for people he loves. All the natural love everyone has in their heart for friends and lovers was rerouted towards science: truly the only thing that would be here always, outliving everyone.

But alchemy isn't magic, it's a set of receipts and algorithms. Even the strongest potion that cures any physical disease can't heal an ephemeral soul. Anaxa knows that yet still prefers to find his peace in a lonely basement for experiments.

So when you appeared, a new variable in his equation, all the calculated plans were disturbed in a second. Since when a mere human can splendid a whole science and did a thing even main discoveries of Anaxa’s studies couldn't do: give him luxury of ease? Rush he experienced during sleepless nights wasn't as bright and vivid as the one that pushes him to meet you again and again.

Anaxa wants to believe the interest he took in you is purely academic, as he doesn't mind to study psychology too and understand why you have such an influence on feelings he was sure were already buried under an amount of scientific scrolls. But something tells him this time he couldn't be both an observer and test subject: this longing need is too strong to be soothed down by any moments of reflection or calming poison.

It's beyond science. It's where his true self is.

[lieslab]

And I heard about the twister that lives inside your heart

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Felix X gn reader

Summary: You breakup with your boyfriend, unable to cope with your rapidly declining terminal illness, but he refuses to let you fight alone.

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 8k

Trigger warning: Terminal illness, stages of grief, hospice care, descriptions of the body shutting down and death.

A/N: This has torn my heart to shreds. If that's me, I can't imagine what you'll experience. Terminal illness is horrible and brings unimaginable pain to everyone involved. To the requestee, I hope this is what you were looking for. Please grab your tissues before you start, you'll need them <3

_ _ _

Feelings could be fatal. Felix knew that. You could call it naivety, but he called it love. Felix knew he loved you from the first day he saw you. The way the breeze flew through your hair and cherry blossom petals rained down behind you. 

Your eyes scanned the area. You were searching for something and it certainly wasn’t the love of your life. When your eyes caught his, a soft pink flushed your cheeks. His freckled cheeks pushed up into a smile, two dimples appeared, and he gave you a brief wave. 

Your own smile grew and you returned his wave. In those few seconds, he threw away the need to rush to the company building. They wouldn’t miss him for a few extra minutes. He introduced himself and you greeted him. Before he knew your name, he knew his heart was yours. 

Such a cliche k-drama moment, he talked about meeting you all the time. Whenever he got the chance, he brought it up. Recounting the way the petals drifted towards your body, as if they were magnetized by your being, just as he was. The sunlight reflected in your eyes in a way that made your soul shine.

Some group members scoffed, shoving their fingers in their ears, waving him away, and throwing shots of disapproving groans. Not yet taken captive by their own lovers, they couldn’t stand such a cheesy romance. Other members felt the opposite way. A brightness when Felix’s head perked up. He spoke with his hands, gesturing and pouring out his endearment for you. People didn’t know Felix without knowing you. 

Jeongin happened to be one of these members. He listened to Felix’s words about you non-stop. When Felix talked about the dates you went on, he took silent notes. If any member could pull someone and make them the happiest person on earth, it was Felix. 

A walking ray of sunlight, hand crafted by Apollo himself. Embedded with charm and charisma. A whimsy childlike wonder coddled his heart and kept him young. Jeongin took note of that, too. 

The cheesy pickup lines. The apology gifts for occasionally doing the wrong thing and hurting your feelings. The special presents, not for a specific reason, but just because he could. Because maybe, deep down, the tiny trinket of your favorite animal would look cute on your side of the nightstand. 

He purchased you some of the things you talked about. The way your eyes always widened and your smile grew. Sometimes, you never fully pulled the gift from the bag all the way. Instead, you leapt into his arms, covering his face with kisses. Treating him with your very own personalized thank-yous.

Felix tried not to talk about you all the time. He knew things existed outside of you, but you were the love of his life. Life is full of beautiful things and you were one of them. He told the world about you. 

From brief conversations with strangers, complimenting their outfits that you shared traits with, to showing you off on his arm at formal events. His heart stitched to yours. Smitten from day one, he thought you’d be his forever. 

Jeongin grew used to this idea as well. So when he awoke to Seungmin shaking him and informing him something was wrong with you and Felix, on a starless night, he panicked. He jerked himself upright with tendrils of dark hair sticking up like he’d been zapped with lightning. 

He shoved himself into a hoodie and slides. Each footstep that landed closer to Felix and Seungmin’s dorm, it brewed anxiety in his chest. You weren’t just Felix’s significant other, you turned into one of Jeongin’s closest friends. He cared about the two of you immensely. 

A soft hand knocked on the outer oakwood of Felix’s bedroom door. “Felix? It’s Innie, please let me in.” 

“Go away.” His voice seeped with sadness. “Just leave me alone, please.” A sniffle followed up his plea. 

It killed him. The idea of his group mate and one of his brothers tucked alone inside his room, he hated it. He took a step forward, pushed open the door, and slid inside. What he saw caused his heart to drop. 

Felix sat up in his bed with his white comforter tucked over his shoulders. His usual honeyed freckles sat red and swollen. Beneath his eyes, tears glistened over the tops of each cheek. 

“Felix, you’re scaring me.” 

“It’s over, Innie. It’s all over.” 

“Huh?” 

“They broke up with me over text. I don’t know what I did. They won’t respond to me. They left a long paragraph, stating they were moving away. What did I do, Innie?” His bottom lip quivered and more tears filled his eyes. “What did I do?” 

“Lix…” His voice came out softly. He imagined all the things he could have done in a split second. A broken sob fell from Felix’s chest. With squeezed shut eyes, he tucked the blanket tighter to his body; trying to seek out the comfort your warmth could no longer provide. 

Behind him, Seungmin stood silently in the doorway. His face fell from the news. The last few days, his brain tuned through the conversations with Felix. No fights. No bitter arguments. From what he remembered, everything had been working out for you two. 

Jeongin stepped forward once and then again. He leaned forward, parading into the bed besides Felix’s body. Just as Felix did to him so many times before, he pushed himself closer to the broken man. 

Occasionally, even the sun needs to experience the comfort and softness of the sky’s blanketing clouds. 

~ ~ ~ 

On a grassy cliff, you overlooked the beach down below. Above you, seagulls squawked and squalled. They swarmed, desperate for food, but you didn’t have any. Nourishment for your own body was the last thing on your mind, let alone food for the birds. 

Silky blue waves pushed white foam against the rocks below. You sent the break up message to Felix and then hit block. Some would call you a coward, but you called it love. Love is always dangerous and this one wasn’t much different. 

For a few minutes, you teetered on the edge of the cliff. Not planning to jump, but rather reminding yourself you were human. You could feel the sea spray from up here. The squawks of life from above. The garbles and playful water splashes of the aquatic life below the crashing waves. 

You existed somewhere in between at this moment. Somewhere between soaring high above the heads of everyone you loved and slipping beneath the gentle waves of the sea. Soft tendrils of bright green grass wrapped around your ankles. They tethered you to earth, a gentle reminder that you weren’t alone. 

Life has a tendency to knock you down when life is going great. Just when you think you might get to soar, you’re a few feet off the ground and you’re dropped again. Another challenge. A new task and what will it result in? Do you manage to accomplish it with pride, or let it drag you off your feet and pin you to the ground? 

Life felt that way recently. You and Felix were browsing apartments. Nothing too official yet, but just ideas. It had been the next step of your relationship. Eventually, marriage and a house. A family? You debated, but there wasn’t a solid conclusion. You never strayed from that truth until now. 

You loved Felix with your entire heart. When you stayed over at his dorm and awoke to the constellation of freckles, you understood why people loved the stars so much. Patterns and small detailings in between life’s fine print. An entire secret that only few people understood and gained the grasp of. 

Throughout history, multiple people found similar patterns in the sky. They recorded them, gave them names, and pulled stories from them. Felix’s freckles made you an astronomer in your own special way. With a single swipe of your thumb against his cheek, you could recall all the memories. 

His freckles brightened on the sunnier days. In the winter, they paled. You hated when they were dulled over with makeup. He insisted they were still there, but you forced yourself not to reach up with a licked thumb and rub it away. His makeup artists hid them without a second thought. They erased history. 

No matter how hard the next part of your life would be, you had to face it alone. As uncomfortable and unwanted it was, you vowed not to bring him down with you. You couldn’t and you wouldn’t. 

You would not let Felix pull off his helmet and lose himself in the deep dark diagnosis of your terminal illness. Your satellites crashed. The spaceship nosedived. You ran on fumes.

Your brain screamed mayday, but your heart chose peace; death with dignity, even if it hurt. 

~ ~ ~ 

Felix used to sleep peacefully at night. Now he jerked upright with shaky breaths. His arms reached out for you, squirming and grabbing in the darkness, he never found you again. The heartstopping realization that it wasn’t just a dream. This was real life and you were gone from his. 

You blocked his number.

He showed up at your apartment door banging, but you didn’t appear. The door didn’t swing open. He tried to knock on the windows, doing anything he could to reach you through the white siding and aged bricks. You never heard. You weren’t home. 

He moped. His teary face buried into the cold pillow and he screamed. Seungmin’s nights were busted open with the grief of his roommate. The first few times, he rushed into Felix’s room to settle him down. 

It stopped the night Felix locked his door. Seungmin grabbed the knob, but it didn’t turn. Inside, his limbs kicked and tangled in the blankets. Sweat caused his t-shirt to stick to his skin. He shrieked, calling out for you, but you never came. 

Even in his dreams, you never showed up. If it weren’t for the pictures of you in his phone, he might have assumed he dreamt it all. Your bright eyes and familiar smile. Your hands connected together like puzzle pieces. Where did you go? 

He started to take his attention to the night sky. Restless and missing you, he dropped himself in front of his window. Star-filled constellations, the ones you compared his freckles to. What a privilege it was to be seen in nature. 

When a glowing white orb swooped across the night sky, he weakly whispered your name. Nothing else mattered besides you. Where did you go? Somewhere beneath the blanket of darkness, you had to be drawn to something, or maybe someone. 

Did he do something wrong? It wasn’t cheating. Arguments hadn’t occurred in quite a while. The two of you hated bucking heads and when you did, you were both sure to come to a conclusion, or pause the high-filled emotions to walk away for a break. 

“You walked away, but you’ll come back, right? Come back to me, baby.” Moonlight reflected in his teary eyes. He clutched his arms around himself tighter, wishing it was you. “Just… just come back.” 

He barely uttered your name before collapsing and burying a sob in his hand, trying not to awaken Seungmin. 

~ ~ ~ 

It took a few days before you agreed to meet with Jeongin, but you didn’t go to his dorm. You couldn’t tell Felix about this. You didn’t want to tell Jeongin, but when he called you in a shaky voice, you knew he was crying. It broke your heart. If this was Jeongin, you couldn’t imagine how Felix must feel. 

You texted him the address and waited inside the set of double glass doors. Behind you, a bright pastel yellow soaked the walls. Bright and happy colors to try and pull you away from your impending doom. You tried to stay positive, but gloom haunted these halls. 

You sensed it on the first day you moved in. Assigned to a small room with an attached bathroom. A closet to hold clothes, a desk with a single chair, and a TV stand welded into the wall with a flat screen TV. 

The lilac bedding mocked you. The sage green walls reminded you of life. All the lush green things you’d leave behind. The simplest things like the scallions topping your scrambled eggs and the color of your favorite body wash. 

Those that were more prominent; soft grass beneath your feet, the earthy and warm scent of ozone when rain approached darkened skies, the towering green swaying in the wind when you looked up in the middle of the forest. 

The staff tried to make the outdoors exciting. Black metal benches perched around the exterior. In the back, a garden adorned with flowers blossoming in every direction. Ivy grown arches you could walk beneath. Stone bird baths that bright birds dipped their heads in and shimmied their feathers, no matter the weather. 

You grew to hate the birds. Their happy warbles, their chirps, and the way they could flutter away from their problems with ease. You wished you could be a bird, it’d be so much easier than this. 

When you spotted Jeongin’s car pull into the parking lot and enter a space, you finally pushed open one of the glass doors to approach him. He slowly stepped out of his car, staring at the red-bricked building in shock. 

“Why are you-” 

“Living in a hospice center? Because I was thinking about pregnancy and bringing another life into this earth.” You weakly chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but Jeongin’s head shook. 

“Why are you really here?” 

“Because I’m dying, Jeongin.” 

His face fell. You stared at him, taking in every small detail. The straight dark brows and half-moon eyes. Your heart would inflate with happiness when you made him laugh so hard, he leaned back and squeezed his eyes shut. As if shutting his eyes would make the humor disappear. Usually, it’d lead into more teasing and taunting. Today, an empty silence blanketed the two of you. 

“What?” 

“I have a terminal illness.” 

“Terminal?” 

“I can’t be cured, Jeongin.” You tried to smile and reassure him that you’d be fine, but you couldn’t get the corners of your mouth to lift high enough. 

You pulled away from the people you loved because you denied it. Because maybe you couldn’t see their faces, feel their warmth, and go to bed at night, only for your brain to remind you that you’d be gone soon. 

Terminal illness cannot be cured. Incurable. Irreversible. A punishment that nobody expects, but humans are doomed to fall victim to it, regardless. 

When cancer riddles your body and leaves you broken.

When the brain’s functions decline and your cognitive ability starts to speed downhill like an olympic winter toboggan. 

When disease infects a vital organ and tears apart the relationship it has with your body, it starts shutting down. 

A variety of different kinds are out there. You just never thought it’d be you. Not at this age. Not at this point in your life. Not now. 

You just started to live, but death is greedy. It takes and it takes and it takes. It is never enough. Death will never have enough. Hands soaked with blood and an engorged stomach full of souls and their fading warmth. Today, it looms behind you. Tomorrow, it steps closer. 

Anxiety burrows and nausea builds, but we never escape it. There is no leaving this life without the help of death. Whether you deny it, or accept it, you denied it. Death is cruel and you learned it at a young age. 

Family dinners grew smaller as it picked out family members. It took pets from the safety of the four walls that you called home. How do you live with the realization that you are meant to die sooner than most? 

“You need to tell Lix. He’s broken without you. He’s miserable and-” 

“I can’t,” you whispered. “I can’t do that to him and I won’t. He can’t know about this, Jeongin. This will destroy him.” 

“It’ll destroy him more if he doesn’t know you’re suffering through this alone.” 

“Innie...” 

“Please, you-” 

“Jeongin!” You snapped as tears burned in your lower lids. “I can’t tell my boyfriend I’m dying! I-I just-” Your bottom lip quivered. “I-I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!” 

Sensing you were about to break, he reached out to steady you. That’s when your arms wrapped around him tightly. You sobbed in his arms, terrified of it all. What did you do to deserve this? How do you cope with the anxiety and accept that death is striding towards you without stopping? 

Your own body, the thing saving you since birth, it’s not enough to shield your soul. Some higher power, some natural thing, it comes no matter what. 

What a curse that your death came before your life could really begin. 

~ ~ ~ 

The hospice center was imprinted on the inside of Jeongin’s eyelids. He couldn’t sleep. The nurses from earlier kept him up. How anyone found comfort by working with the dying, he didn’t know. People shouldn’t have to die, but they did. 

Blocks away, you laid on your deathbed and Felix didn’t know. You knew, Jeongin knew, but not Felix. With each breath, the balloon of guilt grew. What if you died without Felix being able to say goodbye? It’d kill him. The guilt would drown him. 

In a spur of the moment decision, he shoved off his blankets and pushed them off. He slipped on his slides, grabbed his car keys, and headed outside. On the way out of the dorm he shared with Chan, he dialed Felix’s number. 

After midnight, Felix was half asleep at the window. Curled on the floor with a cheek pressed against the window seal, his eyes groggily opened at the sound of a vibration. He sniffled and sat up, swiping at the phone to answer the call. “Hello?” 

“Felix?” 

“Innie, are you okay? You sound worried. What’s wrong?” He sat up with a yawn. Brushing back his messy hair, he adjusted the phone to his ear when Jeongin blubbered. “What did you say?” 

“I need you to come meet me in the driveway with my car in it.” 

“Is something wrong?” 

“You need to know something.” 

“I’m coming.” He rushed into the apartment’s entryway and shoved his feet into his still-tied shoes. Jeongin hung up on him, waiting for his arrival. 

He didn’t have to wait long. Felix appeared less than two minutes with his phone still in his hand. “Hey, are you alright?” 

Tears pricked at Jeongin’s eyes and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I need to tell you. I called and talked to-” 

Felix cut him off and stepped forward. “Really? They answered the phone? Are they okay?” 

The words vacuumed from his throat. How do you tell someone you love their significant other is dying? You were back in a bed, surrounded by the fading souls of others, slowly dying. He shook his head frantically and pawed at his eyes with his sweater. 

“They’re at a hospice facility. They said it’s a terminal illness, Lix.” 

He couldn’t breathe. His dark eyes stayed focused on Jeongin. Through the dark, he reached out and gripped his wrist. “What kind of sick fucking joke are you playing, Jeongin?” He squeezed his wrist tighter, too afraid to face the truth. 

“You’re hurting me,” he whispered. He tried to tug away, but Felix squeezed harder. “I can take you there. I’ll take you there right now. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep it a secret. I can’t watch you suffer. Neither of you. I-I can’t.” 

“How long do they have left?” 

“The doctors are saying three months at most.” 

“What hospice place?” 

“The one right by the catholic church on-” 

Felix didn’t wait for an answer. He spun around and took off into the darkness of the night. Jeongin called his name, but he didn’t stop. You were dying and he didn’t know. You didn’t break up with him because you hated him, you called it quits because you were dying. 

White street lights blurred through his tears. Each one put  a spotlight on his silhouette. Cruel higher powers watched in mockery. What happened to God and prayers? What happened to prayers being answered? 

He couldn’t breathe. The air in his lungs ran out back in the driveway. It came out in whimpers and pants for air. His throat suffocated. You weren’t meant for the earth to take back. The ground couldn’t hold you like he could. It wasn’t warm enough. You’d never be able to see the sun from six feet below. 

Immortalization and praise. Paradise and pleasure. The family he’d never get to start. His legs pushed harder, he ran faster. The wind roared through his hair and he screamed your name in the darkness. 

He wanted an outstretched hand. An explanation. A cure. Something to bring you back and keep you alive. He’d give it all up to save you. Whatever organ you needed, you could have his. He’d die if it meant you could stay alive. Anything you needed, he’d give it. He’d give his everything to keep you safe. 

The heavy thumps of his heart, the ticking time bomb of yours. Every breath he took, another you lost. He ran in your direction, stumbling and screeching your name. You slept soundlessly in a dreamless sleep. 

Near the end of the road, the curb caught his ankle. He jerked forward, shoving out his hands to stop himself. The pavement scraped and drew blood. God kicked him in the back, a reminder that not even the bravest and loyalist believers could stop his will from unwinding. 

Shaky breaths turned into choked out sobs. A dog with no home. A lover with no life. You were everything to him. What happens when everything is ripped away? When the goals are jerked from the journal before the accomplishments? Your body withered away and yet, you still craved life. 

Headlights shone behind him. He dropped to the ground defeated. His fingernails dug into the concrete and a sob escaped his throat. Familiar voices called his name. Chan got there before Jeongin. 

He pulled up the younger member and tugged him to his chest tight. Felix uttered your name again, unable to stop the louder sobs. The current of life changed. The tides shifted and pulled you under. 

You cannot always save the people you love, especially not in the snarling face of death. 

~ ~ ~ 

In the morning, you awoke to something soft stroking your cheek. You mumbled Jeongin’s name, thinking he somehow stumbled into your room. Instead, you found the familiar eyes of your boyfriend. His lips quivered before they smiled. 

“Hi, there.” 

“Lix?” 

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry. Jeongin told me everything and I’m not leaving you on your own for this.” 

You couldn’t be mad. Maybe, deep down, you told Jeongin because you knew he’d tell Felix. It’d take the pressure off of you. You’d never be able to explain it in full detail without breaking down. 

Perhaps, you’d been chasing your tail in denial because now that Felix was here, acceptance slipped between the two of you. A silent, but necessary evil. Neither of you could stop this ending. You’d try to do whatever it took, but people don’t leave hospice alive. 

“I should be the one apologizing,” you whispered. “I was selfish.” 

“You were scared. This is scary. It’s better to be scared together.” 

“I didn’t want to disappoint you. I feel like I ruined you. I made you fall in love and now…” 

“You could never disappoint me.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I love you and you’re mine.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Scoot over. I’m not leaving you here to fight this alone.” 

~ ~ ~ 

You loved one another endlessly and it flowed effortlessly. Your love ended in a doomsday. Your time was limited. Felix took a hiatus, wanting to be there with you through everything. 

You refused to let your terminal illness break you. The first two weeks, it almost felt like staying at a hotel, if you took away the staff members coming in to check on you. Felix stayed with you after purchasing an air mattress. He refused to let you be alone. 

In the third week, he brought you a notebook and a pen. You stared at it with a raised eyebrow. “What’s this for?” 

“I figured you could make a bucket list.” 

“But I’m in hospice?” 

“It doesn’t mean you can’t dream. I mean, they probably won’t recommend you go skydiving, but there’s other things you can do.” 

He leaned forward, gently taking the pen from your hand. He wrote a bullet point and the words ‘fancy dinner.’ You glanced over and chuckled. “Really?” 

“What? I’m thinking of something really nice. Whatever you want, just let me know. Steak? Sushi? Korean Barbeque? You just let me know and we’ll go.” He reached over, gently booping the tip of your nose with the pen, and placed it back in your dominant hand. 

You glanced down at the empty stripes of notebook paper. A bucket list wasn’t really something you thought much of, especially now that you were in hospice. You bit your lip, wanting to think of something. 

“I’ve got it!” You jerked forward, scribbling something out. “That’s what I wanna do.” 

Felix’s face softened. “Really? You mean it?” 

“A hundred percent. Of course, I mean it. I don’t know how. Not enough time, but I think if we-” 

“We’ll figure it out.” 

You nodded and your eyes met his. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning over and hugging you in a tight hug. A quick kiss to your nose, right where the pen tapped you. Your arms returned the favor. A soft sigh escaped your lips and you relaxed. 

You’d be okay dying in his arms like this. ~ ~ ~ 

Death lingered, but you roared. Using what time you had left, you did it all. In a final trip at the grocery store, you and Felix argued over what flavor of milk was better. Strawberry or chocolate? It lasted nearly the entire shopping trip. 

The two of you went back to his dorm. Seungmin went over to bother Changbin and Hyunjin. You’d seen the guys in passing, but you didn’t see them too much. They all grew fond of you. Seeing you now and knowing you’d be gone soon, it was a hard pill to swallow. 

“You’re going to burn the vegetables!” You called over your shoulder. 

“Hey! No, I’m not!” Felix laughed and stirred the multicolored veggies in the pan. “Shut up and focus on your own dish.” 

“Telling a dying person to shut up is crazy work.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that! Come ‘er!” 

You let him grab your waist and spin you around. A dizziness settled over you. You smiled, regardless. His hands slipped to your hips and he gently squeezed. The fullness of your body melted away the less and less you consumed. 

Your fancy dinner turned into a home cooked meal. Not that you were complaining, it beat hospice food. You were due to return there later tonight. Until then, you and Felix were up to your usual antics. 

You teased him and he teased you. You playfully bumped into one another, careful enough not to cause accidents. Felix placed you in a kiss the cook apron. Every time he could, he snuck kisses on your bare skin. Not sure how much time you had left, he took advantage of it. 

You squeaked and shivered as he pushed another soft kiss into the back of your neck. “You can’t do that! That’s cheating!” 

He mocked you in a high-pitched voice. You spun around, reaching out to weakly grip his throat. You started to laugh, but it turned to coughing. The playful energy in the air ceased instantly. 

“Easy, easy. I’m sorry.” He pushed your hair back from your face. “Deep breath in and out.” His other hand went to your back, rubbing it to support you. “Do you need some water?” 

You nodded, a little embarrassed you ruined the fun. Just when you forgot you were dying, it came back to bite you in the ass. A brutal reminder that each second between the two of you was precious. 

He gently squeezed your shoulder before walking away and heading to the cupboard. He grabbed a glass and you forced slow deep breaths. Your body shut down more and more as the days went by. 

You could feel it. Your limbs felt heavier. Your body, more sluggish. Your brain became slower. Thoughts were on the tip of your tongue and then disappeared. 

When he reappeared with a glass of ice water, he pushed it to your chapped lips. You tipped your head back and slowly sipped. It soothed the aching sides of your throat. For whatever reason, your mouth felt drier; an interior sahara desert that you couldn’t shake. 

“Let’s take it easier, yeah?” 

You hummed. He pulled the water away and sat it on the counter. You hated to admit it, but the hospice staff were right. They allowed you to venture out with Felix, as long as  you were up for it, but warned you that as time went on, you probably wouldn’t have the energy. 

All the extra oomph and fun on your bucket list, you had to make adjustments. Hospice staff wanted you checked in at certain times. You were supposed to be an inpatient. You assumed they let you slip out more than usual because you were younger. 

Some of the older people were stuck in their beds. Heavy limbs, death rattles, and the faint whirring of oxygen tanks. Death wasn’t a constant thing. Some people had a few weeks and others were like you, they had a few months left. 

Regardless, a hospice inpatient center wasn’t a good place for a rowdy couple still head-over-heels in love. You wanted to run. They lectured you. When you laughed too hard at something Felix said while a nurse checked on you, she shot the two of you an unamused glare.

Not because she was mean, but because she grew worried. All the laughing and screwing around, it wasted your energy. You didn’t want to conserve it. You couldn’t. Death was coming and your time was still limited. 

“Felix?” 

“Yeah, babe?” 

“I think we should do that last thing on our bucket list this week.” 

He glanced back to look at you over his shoulder. His heart ached, knowing what that meant, but he nodded. “I’ll talk to the guys and we’ll do it.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Stop getting so sappy, you’re going to make me burn the vegetables.” He stuck his tongue out and laughed at you. 

“You started it!” 

~ ~ ~ 

Two days later, the two of you stood in thrifted outfits. You held hands out in the back of Chan and Jeongin’s dorm. The rest of the guys speckled around. Jeongin stood with a bible open. “I’m so glad I get to carry out my dream of becoming a priest before you die.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

The guys sat in a plethora of lawn chairs. Jeongin stood beneath a gazebo and glanced between you and Felix. “Are the two of you ready to begin?” The sun and the guys became your witnesses. 

You nodded and Felix agreed. His thumbs slowly brushed along the back of your hand. Jeongin sighed and read off a random passage of vows he found online. “Do you take Lee Felix to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

Felix blinked rapidly, squeezing your hands a little tighter. You smiled and nodded your head. “I do.” 

“And Felix, do you take-” 

“Shut up. I do. Of course, I do. Lawfully wedded spouse, from this day forward, better, or worse, or whatever. In sickness and until death do us part. Blah, blah, blah. I don’t care about that part. I just want to kiss you.” 

In the background, laughter appeared. Jeongin sighed and shut the bible. “Well, I guess I didn’t need that. Go ahead, you may kiss the-” 

Gasps filled the air. You squealed. Felix wrapped an arm around you and dipped you down, causing one of your feet to leave the ground. When the warmth of his lips met yours, your hands cupped his cheeks. 

Jeongin blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. A few of the others looked the same way. When Felix pulled away and placed you back on your feet, a warm and fuzzy feeling filled your heart. He grinned at you and booped your nose. 

“Alright,” Chan clapped in the background and shoved himself to his feet. “It’s time to cook the lamb and sides. Who wants to do what?” 

When you offered to do something, he shook his head and waved you away with Felix. “I think Felix wanted to discuss something with you.” He winked at Felix and spun around, dishing out roles to the other guys. 

You glance back to find Felix. He smiled and grabbed your hand. “Yeah, sorry. I wanted to do the ring exchange away from everyone.” 

“Oh, I forgot about the rings. That’s one of the most important parts and I-” 

“It’s okay, I’ve got it.” He grabbed your hand and led you away from the guys and the grill. Across the way, he stopped in his and Seungmin’s backyard. 

As carefully as he could, he pulled out a velvet box from his pocket and opened it to reveal two rings. Your face softened instantly. “They’re gorgeous.” The pair of rings sat snug between black velvet padding.

“I got us both rings with our birthstone colors. Mine is sapphire, but it doesn’t matter. You can either pick that, or yours. It’s entirely up to you.” 

“I want yours. I want to take a piece of you with me to the grave.” 

“Do you have to remind me that you’re dying so often?” 

“I can’t let you forget.” 

He playfully rolled his eyes, grabbed the sapphire jeweled ring, and slowly placed it on your ring finger. You picked out yours and grabbed his hand. You hesitated for a moment, noting how warm his hands were. Lately, yours has lost their warmth far too quickly for your liking. 

“Hey, are you okay? It’s okay if you want that ring, really, it-” 

“I’m okay. Just thinking.” You slipped the ring on his ring finger and held it up to the sparkling sun. “This fits you well. It looks beautiful with your skin tone.” 

“And the band color matches. Look at us. We did it! Kinda. We’re married! In theory, that’s all that matters.” 

You laughed and nodded. He reached out, cupping the side of your cheek. He kissed your forehead affectionately and pulled back. “Before we go back to the others, I wanted to read something I wrote to you.” 

He pulled a folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of his suit and stepped back. “If you were to tell me our love story would end with you dying months ago, I would have laughed. I would have dubbed it absurd and moved on with my life. Over these past few weeks, my world has shattered, b-but-” He choked up. “You’ve managed to help me rebuild it in ways that I didn’t think possible.” 

“I’ve always feared death. I’ve hated it. It’s sat on my shoulder and haunted me since I was younger. Out of the two of us, you’re the first to cross the rainbow bridge. I like to think that heaven is as big and beautiful as you imagine it to be.” 

“Whatever happens, it must be good because people usually don’t return from death.” A weak chuckle fell from your throat and he continued. “But please know, you’re welcome to come back at any time. If you find out that you can haunt people, my house is always open.” 

He didn’t dare look up at you. Not yet. “Our love is immeasurable for one another. I don’t think the spirit realm can stop it either. The devil can try, but I believe we’re untouchable and-” 

He shook his head and wrinkled the ball of paper. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid. I should have worked better on it.” 

“Nah, I’m glad you let me know I can haunt you. I’m going to take you up on that offer. Maybe try a ouija board or something? We’ll come up with a code word to let you know I’m okay.” 

“Like?” 

“Maybe a symbol, or something.” You shrugged. “I’ve always thought Monarch butterflies were pretty.” 

“Monarchs it is.” 

“Speaking of butterflies,” you reached down and took something from your own pocket. “I didn’t write vows because I couldn’t think of any, but I bought a disposable camera. I thought maybe we could take photos throughout today and the next few days. You can look back on them after I’m gone.” 

“That’s really beautiful. Can I take one of you?” You nodded. He turned on the camera, stepped back, and adjusted the frame. When he found the right angle he clicked, lighting up your eyes with a bright flash.

“You’re a natural at posing.”

You stared at him for a moment. A halo of sunlight shrouded you. He wanted to remember this brief moment forever. Your eyes went to the ground before finding his “Felix?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t want to die,” you finally admitted. Tears filled your eyes. “I’m so scared. I don’t want to go alone.” 

He leaned forward, shutting off the camera, and wrapping you in a hug. He pulled your head to his chest. “I don’t think you’ll be alone. It’s been documented that some people see their passed loved ones before they go. I think they’ll be waiting for you on the other side.” 

“You really think so?” 

“I hope so. I want to see my grandma again. If you see her, please give her the biggest hug for me, will you? She always gave the best hugs.” 

Your arms tightened around him. Your head dipped against his chest. His heart beat rhythmically. A painful pang of envy cut through you and you hated yourself for it. It wasn’t his fault your body was giving up. 

You sniffled. Tears soaked his suit, but he didn’t complain. He didn’t fight it. Instead, he gently placed the point of his chin on top of your head. His arms shielded you. You should have physically lived forever. His heart wasn’t the right place to carry your memory. He wanted you here forever. 

His eyes went over to the side. A few yards over, the guys talked and laughed. This was hard on them too, but they tried not to let the two of you see how much it bothered them. Death was hard for everyone. It wasn’t fair. 

It wasn’t fair that all these people he loved would be gone one day. Where would they end up? How? How do we keep going after the people we love are gone? Being human is such a poetic tragedy. So much beauty. So much pain. A chaotic mindfuck of emotions, too short and insufferably long; how rare and beautiful it is to exist. 

“When the time is right, I’m going to come find you and hold you just like this,” Felix finally uttered. 

“Promise?” 

“Of course, I promise.” 

“And in the meantime, you have to keep making good music. I’ll come back to haunt you. You should talk to me and tell me how life is. I’ll find a way to communicate, somehow.” 

“I believe it.” 

You pulled away from his chest and sniffled again. “Are we deluding ourselves?” 

“Probably, but it feels better that way.” He pressed another kiss to the tip of your nose. “We should probably go before the food gets done and the guys eat it all. Changbin and Han would.” 

“It’s not nice to throw them under the bus like that.” You took his hand and led him back to them. 

“It’s true and you know it. After this? We’ll have some of that cake I made.” 

About that time, Hyunjin came out of the back door with a square sheet of cake and a candle. Not yet lit, he slowly walked it over to the pair. The happy birthday song left his lips. Right as he nearly approached, he stumbled and slipped. 

Gasps sounded and Hyunjin shrieked. He jerked upright with wide eyes. The cake crumbled into pieces. He peeked out from beneath the vanilla buttercream frosting on his face. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! I-” 

“Why did you sing happy birthday?” You asked. 

“I couldn’t think of a wedding song from the top of my head.”

You lost it. A giggle burst from your stomach. You laughed, curling down and clutching your stomach. Felix joined in and the rest hesitated. Changbin was the first to break into high pitched laughter, pointing at Hyunjin. Hyunjin threw him the middle finger and that broke the rest of them.

Han reached down, pulled a fingerful of cake from Hyunjin’s cheek, and put it in his mouth. “Wow, it’s still good. Great job, Yongbok. Hyunjin, uh-” He glanced down. “You should learn to walk better.” 

“I’ll kill you!” Hyunjin’s dark eyes widened and a hand clamped over his mouth. “Wrong thing. I didn’t mean to say that. I just-” He got up and bowed to you. Cake crumbs and rich white icing slathered his face and suit. Feeling horrible, he wanted to disappear. When he bowed, bits of destroyed cake hit the ground. 

You couldn’t be mad. None of you could. Nothing about this was traditional. It was one last party. A marriage. A celebration of life. It was everything tied all together. Later, your family and more friends were showing up. 

Everything all at once because your tomorrow wasn’t promised. 

You glanced over your shoulder, grinning at Felix. “Hey, we might as well take another picture and put that camera to good use.” 

~ ~ ~ 

You died three days later. After that last big hoo-rah, you dwindled quite rapidly. You tried to put on a brave face for Felix and everyone, but he saw through your exhausted facade quickly. 

For those three days, it was a lot of quiet conversation in the stillness of the hospice room. The sage green walls and the chirps of the birds from your open window. You shifted to watch them, unable to stand watching the television. 

Everything ached. It didn’t hurt, it just ached, as if you ran an entire marathon without stretching and pacing yourself. IV fluids pumped you full of meds, trying to make the last bits of life as comfortable for you as possible. 

Felix forced himself to harness peace in the moments of your sleeping silence. When your chest rose and fell, a sure sign you were still alive. He pushed your hair from your face, gently planting kisses on your colorless skin. 

The warm color disappeared. As your illness strengthened inside you, you weakened. You tried to be the bigger person, hiding your fear, but on that last night, you knew your time was coming. 

You curled up to Felix, unable to let go. You didn’t eat. Instead, you shifted to his chest, listening to the steady wallop of his heart. “Felix?” You whispered

“Hmm?” 

“I think my biggest fear isn’t death itself. I think it’s leaving you behind. I gave you all my love for nothing. I feel like I gave you this burden.” 

“You’re not a burden and this isn’t a burden. Don’t talk like that.” He wiped a tear away from your cheek. “You’ve been my greatest adventure.” 

Your bottom lip quivered. “You mean it?” 

“Every last word.” 

You stayed entangled like that for hours until he had to use the bathroom. You were half asleep, drifting away. He kissed the top of your temple and then your nose, promising to be right back. It only took a few minutes, but it was long enough. 

When he came back and shifted you, he jerked back as if he’d been slapped. He sprinted away, calling for assistance. The pastel yellow walls mocked him. Tears filled his eyes as he explained the situation to one of the nurses. The stillness and fading warmth of your skin.

In your final act of mercy, you waited to go until he was tucked safely in the bathroom. He didn’t see the way your sleepy eyes followed him into the bathroom. Your breath caught in your chest after he shut the door. You couldn’t get it back, but you didn’t panic. 

Your body filled with helium. You floated. One last final gasp and your eyes drifted shut. A soul laid to rest, slipping to the other side, and diving into the sympathy of warmth. 

You left the world knowing you were loved and even if it was short, that was the most important part. 

~ ~ ~ 

At the funeral, the heaviness wasn’t as bad as Felix expected. Of course, he missed you. They all did. Maybe it hurt a little less because they knew it was coming. He stole as many kisses as he could. The next would have to wait until he joined you on the other side. 

He blotted his eyes as the preacher spoke. In the cemetery burial, he spoke to your loved ones. Sniffling and teary eyed, Jeongin stepped up beside him. “Felix?” 

“Yeah?” He glanced over his shoulder. 

“Why does death have to be so hard?” 

“Because it can’t live. It takes lives because of envy. It tries to capture and cage something it can never obtain.” 

“I miss them.” 

“Me too.” 

He pulled a white rose from a vase and approached your coffin. Jeongin tagged along behind him. Felix stepped up first. He glanced at the stained wood, hoping that wherever you were, you finally found peace. He placed the white rose in the center of the coffin. 

Before he could speak, something tickled his hand. Glancing down, the fluttering wings of a monarch butterfly. Tears welled in his eyes immediately. “You missed me so much, you came back this quickly, huh?” 

Behind him, Jeongin peered over Felix’s shoulder. “Is that a monarch butterfly? What is it doing here? It’s too early for monarchs.” He stepped forward and slowly eased his rose next to Felix’s. 

“It’s them,” he whispered. The wings flapped again and went to the edge of his suit. He blinked wet eyes and smiled. “I love you.” 

Just as Jeongin was about to remove his hand from the coffin, Felix gasped. Jeongin’s head turned and his eyes widened. On the tip of Felix’s nose, the winged creature sat unbothered. 

“Woah, didn’t you used to always kiss their nose?” 

“I called them my butterfly kisses.” Silent tears trickled down his cheeks. “They came back. One more kiss before they go.” 

I love you, too.

After a few more seconds, the butterfly flapped its wings and took off. Their eyes followed it higher and higher into the air. They exchanged another look and Felix smiled. He chuckled and wipe away falling tears

You might not be there in person anymore, but you’d always be with them in spirit. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

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[c-monthecob]

Ran Haitani Headcanons!

💤 Grew out his hair because Rindou told him he looked like their mother with it long.

💤 Wore glasses one time, and the other S62 made fun of him for it.

💤 People thought he was a little girl with his pigtails when he was younger.

💤 Started wearing different color uniforms after accidentally punching Rindou in the face during a brawl.

💤 Snores loud asf, like you can hear his ass from the halls.

💤 The kind of guy who will repeat your joke but louder and get all the praise.

💤 He hated recess. He'd throw a fit whenever the teachers tried to make him go out.

💤 Eventually, the teachers let him stay in and have nap time instead.

💤 Slept so much in class that teachers started to get concerned about his home life. (They reported him to CPS before)

💤 He and Koko go to the same hair salon. They go out for coffee afterward, too.

💤Gossips with his hairdresser and all the old ladies in the salon.

💤The women will show him pictures of their daughters and granddaughters, trying to set him up with them.

💤Shamelessly stands outside to watch the neighbors argue. He knows they won't say anything.

💤 All his food HAS to be cold. He says it cools his stomach down.

💤 Doesn't allow Rindou to sit on the couch after coming home from the gym because he smells musty

💤He wants to ask Baji for his haircare routine, but his pride won't let him.

💤Always nagging Rindou about his posture and frowning. "You'll get wrinkles and grow a hump"

💤Believed his life was over when he got a pimple. Rindou had a full face of ache and listened to him cry about it for twenty minutes.

💤Aging is his biggest enemy. He stresses over wrinkles and grey hairs like it's the end of the world.

💤 As an adult, he often regrets cutting his hair.

💤 Dyed his hair purple because it's supposed to make him 'look young'

💤 Refuses to sleep anywhere but his bed. He doesn't trust anything else.

💤 Has to sleep on a specific thread count or he will throw a bitch fit.

💤 Has a satin bed set and his name embroidered on his pillowcases.

💤 Washes his sheets twice a week, but blames the high water bill on Rindou.

💤He used to worry when Rindou wouldn't come home from drinking out, then he acquired the "He'll come back eventually" mentality.

💤In school, he'd pretend to sleep to listen in on conversations. "Oh, don't worry about him. He's sleeping." No, he's not. He'll relay everything to his brother right after class.

💤 Hates New Years. The fireworks keep him up all night.

💤 Only watches 3 specific asmrtists every night. He refuses to watch anyone else.

💤 He never eats in front of people. But he'll fuck up a plate when he's alone

💤 When he was a kid, he sent really low-quality photos to a modeling company.

💤He and Emma like to gossip while painting each other's nails.

💤In the final timeline, he made Hanma do a photo shoot for him. When Hanma wanted him to pay, he tried to smooth talk his way out of paying

💤Wakes up in a cold sweat constantly. He has no idea why. He just does.

💤Mistook Rindou for someone else and punched him in the face during a brawl

💤The guards had to hold him down to cut his hair in juvie

💤He adores trad goths. Loves the spooky Victorian vibe they give

💤He was a Twilight fan back in the day. (Team Edward)

💤Loves mean-girl movies. Clueless, Heathers (1988), and Mean Girls

💤He has a one-sided beef with Tom Holland. Apparently, he "Knows what he did."

💤His parents got him glasses but he refuses to keep them on because it's "Rindou's trademark."

[bengiyo]

Heesu in Class 2: Maybe It’s Time to Stop Calling Myself a BL Viewer

After finishing Heesu in Class 2, it’s been surprising to feel like I’m in the minority for enjoying it. We’ve seen a great deal of concerted posting from fans of the webtoon about how this show betrayed its source material with its adaptation changes. Over the last few weeks, I’ve read the original webtoon to gather my own thoughts. After reading through @my-rose-tinted-glasses post on why this project didn’t work for her, I decided to sit with it for a while. I then came across this tweet from Dr. Thomas Baudinette:

I respect Dr. Baudinette’s academic interest in the genre and the useful insider insight he brings to the table. However, I will say plainly that I think this is a grossly disingenuous take, grounded in the idea that stories about queer romance take precedence over other queer stories. Additionally, it deeply misreads the adaptation choices and insinuates that a queer show that includes heterosexuality in it is somehow betraying the BL audience. There’s a lot to unpack here, but I will say plainly that I will go back to just being a queer cinephile who dabbles in BL instead of advocating for BL if this is who we are.

I am a queer person here for stories about queer truth. BL is a romance genre. While I respect BL viewers who are here to get their feelings from swoony moments, I cannot abide the presumption that a story that is inherently about the coming out experience somehow let its source material down for maintaining that connection. Every year we get into a big fight about what is or isn’t BL (see: 180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us, Love in the Big City, What Did You Eat Yesterday?, etc.), often arguing that BL is a branding term used to get romance viewers to show up and support queer works. I think it’s fine enough to argue that Heesu in Class 2 isn’t a BL because it uses Korean drama frameworks (@lurkingshan) for its story instead of sandblasting you in the face with pop music as two boys stare at each other, but I think there’s real value in what the show is doing for mainstream viewers.

I’ve avoided discussing the webtoon too much in my commentary, but now that I have read it I will say firmly that this would have sucked as a TV show. We know that about 40-50% of the shows we get each year are based on their source material. The webtoon is adorable and well-intentioned. It’s also a very simple narrative in which we are primarily in Heesu’s point of view, and any time we leave his point of view it’s to see only what other people are thinking about him. In my opinion, simpler narratives like the Heesu webtoon work best as films and not as dramas. 

We recently went through this with Living With Him, in which a really short manga got stretched to eight episodes and had to add contrivances to the middle to pad out the time that eventually hurt the core narrative. Thai BL is rife with secondary, tertiary, and quaternary couples to pad out time to meet the long run time demands of the airing schedule. When you’re adapting a fairly simple story, you either have to add depth or bloat. Oftentimes we get both. In the case of Heesu, it’s clear that they were only adapting the first season of the webtoon, and so they added depth.

The constant refrain from detractors of this webtoon is that it deprioritized the queer characters and their narrative in favor of straight narratives. I wholeheartedly disagree. Every single straight story in this show (and the gay ones) are meant to add context to the queer struggles Hee Su and Seung Won face, from Ji Yu and Chan Young to all three of his sisters.

Ji Yu’s music arc hearkens to the queer fear of being public with yourself and facing judgment and scrutiny. Chan Young’s tennis arc features real parental abandonment consequences that many a queer person fears. Hee Sin exemplifies how easy it is to fall for people and also deal with the constant rejection of most people not being into you (because they’re straight). Hee Jae exemplifies how toxic a relationship with your best friend can be when the romantic feelings aren’t fully reciprocal. Hee Yeong shows us what it means to be brave and face your friend after you’ve let them down romantically. Ho Sik highlights how easy it is for straight people to express and pursue their romances, and then be public with them. None of these plots exist in a vacuum; they’re meant to add context to the tension between Hee Su and Seung Won.

On the queer front, the show expanded on the initial lesbian advice plotline as a way for Hee Su to open the discussion about queerness with his siblings. The look shared between the sisters, their careful responses, and the way they treat him in the final episode after Hee Su comes out to Hee Sin shows that they talked to each other. Hee Sin clearly pulled on her prior knowledge when she insisted to Hee Su that she still loves him. Hee Jae, the grumpiest sister, was especially direct about praising Hee Su when he offered to help them take Hee Yeong to the airport. Hee Yeong told him plainly that he must remember that she is always on his side and will support him. Seung Won’s mom acknowledged that her own coming out affected him, and let him decide how open to be about his family.

The coming out sequence with Hee Sin was so powerful. He made it clear that this isn’t a gay-for-you situation. He said plainly that his crushes are on guys, and will probably always be on guys. Hee Sin’s response took me back to this incredible scene from The Fosters, in which Lena’s dad apologizes to her for saying “I still love you.” He rejects it as something horrible, in which you confirm to your kid that you could possibly stop loving them. He says he wishes he had instead said, “Thank you for telling me something so important about yourself, and I can’t wait to meet the person you want to share your life with.” 

I’m also annoyed about the insistence that the straights were given priority in this narrative in which everyone gets about the same level of on-screen intimacy. This is a show that managed to avoid getting an R rating, which means that it’ll be accessible to a much wider range of viewers without needing additional parental controls. The straights getting time means that when the gays throw the ease at which they pursued romance back in their faces, it’s actually grounded in events that transpired in the narrative. I will also say that I did NOT like the way Jiyu and Chanyoung meddled with Heesu in the webtoon, and thought conspiring with Seung Won was not kind to Heesu. I like that the drama instead uses their stories to support the queer themes as Ji Yu directly supports Seung Won.

I’d also like to say that all the Chan Young commentary troubles me. Hee Su has been in love with this boy for ten years. I actually think the show needs to spend time fleshing him out into a real person for the audience to understand why Hee Su likes him so much. He’s charming and friendly. He’s kind and thoughtful. He wants to help the people he cares about. He also trusts Hee Su implicitly. 

I do not blame him for being overwhelmed and surprised when Hee Su suddenly confessed to him, and I think there is real value in him botching that moment. So many viewers who might not have spent a lot of time thinking about how they would handle queer people coming out to them will benefit from seeing Chan Young flub that moment. What’s more important is that he did eventually talk to Hee Su and begin to repair the break in their friendship. It isn’t about being right every single time; it’s about always doing the work required to make things right. 

Finally, I really loved that Hee Su got to be mad at Seung Won for confusing him all this time. It was fun to see Hee Su, who I think was way out of line for always interfering in Chan Young’s life, face the reality that he had also been subject to that kind of behavior. This worked so well for me because we understood that what Seung Won liked so much about Hee Su was how warm and open he was. I will have more to say in the future about how many shows we’ve already had this year reject one-sided pining as inherently pure.

In the end, it’s just a really dissonant experience for me to see such a kind show getting such an energetic negative response. Like anyone else who’s watched over 300 BLs since 2016, I like seeing cute boys kiss each other and make face as much as anyone else. However, if we’re unable to appreciate using a webtoon with clear ideas about the difficulty of coming out when you’re in love with a friend in a format that far more viewers are used to, I don’t think I can rock with this anymore. I can’t even find myself associated with the kinds of people who would have called Degrassi homophobic because it wasn’t exclusively gay.